‘Deuce take it, Weston! That is the fifth wafer you have hit in a row. Are you practising for a duel?’
Theo looked up from inspecting his silver-mounted pistol. There was a gleam in his blue eyes. ‘If you are offering me one, Johnny.…’
‘Oh not I, not I,’ spluttered Mr John Denton, his pale-blue eyes bulging with horror. ‘No match for you, assure you. Just fascinated, watching you demolish those wafers.’
By now, Theo had reloaded. He aimed again and hit the sixth wafer.
‘It is no use to be a soldier if you are not able to hit your target,’ he remarked, turning away from the shooting range. He sighed. His leg was still damnably sore and stiff after the fall from Nimrod on the ice. Impatiently, he dragged himself back towards the bench and sat down.
Another young man stepped forward to the stand, ready to shoot. Theo watched in silence for a few minutes as the newcomer fired several shots. Somewhat to his surprise, Johnny Denton sat down beside him.
‘He is not in your league either,’ remarked Johnny, nodding towards the red-faced young man, who had not yet hit a wafer. ‘In fact, you are one of the best. Good job too,’ he added darkly, ‘if all they say about you is true.’
Theo glanced at him frowningly. ‘What do they say?’
Under that stare, Johnny drew back a fraction. ‘Oh,’ he stammered, ‘it is well known that you are quite a wild blade – and the ladies all mad for you.’ He coughed, ‘Fact is, they are all in a twitter now word has gone round that you are back in town.’
Theo’s lips thinned. ‘Thank you for the warning.’ By this time he had reloaded his pistol once more and he slipped it into his belt.
Johnny eyed him warily. ‘Do you always go around with a loaded gun? Makes you look like a pirate.’
Theo shrugged into his greatcoat and took his hat from the attendant. ‘I always keep my gun loaded,’ he said, ‘wherever it is.’
There was a moment’s silence, while the other man digested this.
‘I fear I have offended you,’ persisted the sweating Johnny. ‘Pray let me make amends. A glass or two at Brooks’s will soothe your feelings.’
They walked along the street together. Theo did not tell his companion that he was on his way to Brooks’s in any case. He was seeking a certain person and had not found him at Manton’s Shooting Gallery. It was obvious that Johnny was going to stick close to him. He frowned thoughtfully; he had never heard Johnny spoken of as an agent for any political group. But an instinct for danger warned him that this sudden friendliness had a hidden reason.
Once in Brooks’s they made their way through the crowd to a table in an alcove, a little apart from the clusters of gentlemen discussing the topics of the day. A bottle of port and glasses were set before them. Johnny poured the ruby wine into the glasses. ‘A toast to your skill, Weston.’
Theo raised his glass and sipped. He watched as Johnny downed the contents of his own glass and picked up the bottle again.
‘Oh.’ In the act of pouring, Johnny checked himself. He stared at Theo’s nearly full glass. ‘I say, is there something wrong with this bottle?’
‘Not at all. It is excellent. But I have to make a visit to a friend of my father’s shortly. I must keep a cool head.’ Theo stretched out his long legs, schooled his face into a bland expression and looked casually round the room. It was crowded and there was some matter causing a lot of laughter near the door.
‘I think they are placing a bet on something.’ Johnny followed the direction of Theo’s gaze, ‘Must be a new heiress in town or some such stuff.’ He sipped his wine again, then turned his rather protuberant eyes back to Theo. ‘Is it true you sold your matched bays recently?’
‘And my curricle.’ Theo’s voice was hard.
Johnny hesitated for a moment. ‘Heard you lost a large sum at play last month.’ He stopped, quelled by Theo’s forbidding scowl. He gulped some more of his wine then cleared his throat. ‘Fact is, Weston, if you need more cash, perhaps you would consider selling me that black stallion of yours? Just name your price.’
Theo set his glass down sharply. ‘Never.’
Taken aback by the fierce tone, Johnny blinked. ‘Well, then, I would wager you for him. A hand of piquet, say?’
Theo gave a bark of laughter. ‘You must know I have no luck with any games of chance. I have been physicked enough at the tables.’ He looked at Johnny’s red and anxious face. ‘I do not play cards. And thank you, but I have settled my debts.’
Johnny’s expression was dismayed enough to make Theo wonder just what the man’s plan was. Perhaps he was one of those who drew wealthy newcomers in to be fleeced at the card tables. But that would not happen in a club like Brooks’s. The only other possibility was that someone was already aware of Greg’s presence in London.
Another gentleman came up to them at this point and chatted a little. This gave Theo an opportunity to look round the room again. At last! The man he was seeking was seated at a table in a corner nearby. He wore spectacles and was reading the newspaper. Theo considered how to shake off his companion. When the other person bowed and left them, he raised his glass.
‘Come,’ he said with a smile, ‘you cannot have Nimrod, but let us drink to you finding a splendid horse anyway. Maybe at Tattersall’s next sale.’
Johnny brightened, he raised his own glass eagerly and gulped down the contents. He called for another bottle. They discussed the good points of hunters and carriage horses. It was not long before Johnny was beaming happily and propping his head up on one hand.
Meanwhile, Theo discreetly observed the gentleman reading The Times. Eventually, he shook out the paper and folded it neatly, then took his spectacles off his nose, polished them carefully on his handkerchief and tucked them into a case.
So it was yes. Greg would be granted an audience with the Prince of Wales. Now to find out when and where. The gentleman rose, picked up his hat and coat and made for the door. Theo leaned forward. ‘It is high time I went to pay that visit to my father’s friend,’ he said softly, ‘You will have to excuse me now.’ He pushed the bottle towards Johnny. It was doubtful if the latter even noticed that Theo had picked up his own coat and hat as he moved away.
Theo came down the entrance steps and proceeded as fast as he could along St James’s Street. His limp was pronounced and he walked slowly. At the corner with Jermyn Street, he stopped for a moment. He leaned against the wall to rest his leg. The evening chill was penetrating. A slight fog that smelled of soot was dimming the outlines of the buildings. A number of well-dressed men went by, making for their clubs. Some coaches rumbled past. A few clerks and errand boys, all muffled up against the cold, hurried along without a second glance at him.
At last Theo felt satisfied that he could move on. He walked faster now, crossed Piccadilly and soon reached a covered arcade, where the lamplight welcomed him in. The bow-fronted shop windows displayed elegant wares. He halted outside the second shop, which sold tasteful ornaments and items such as brushes, tiepins and fobs.
Inside, a respectful salesman was showing a middle-aged gentleman a selection of seals. Theo pushed open the door and stood at the counter, apparently absorbed in inspecting a tray of snuffboxes. When the customer had made his choice and the salesman was wrapping the parcel, the gentleman turned towards Theo.
‘I trust I have not kept you waiting too long, sir?’
‘Not at all,’ responded Theo politely with a slight bow, ‘it gave me time to make my choice.’
The salesman now returned with the package. The gentleman took it, raised his hat to Theo and left. A tiny slip of paper had changed hands meanwhile.
Theo breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way back to the main street. The audience would be granted in ten days’ time, after the much publicized prizefight at Richmond. Not the best of times, he thought but that could not be helped. Greg was to wait in the Tower Inn at Weybridge until summoned by a member of the Prince’s staff. With any luck, Greg would have received all his other replies by then so he could set off for Portugal immediately afterwards.
It was quite dark now and a drizzle held the fog down between the houses. The streets were emptying. Theo decided to return to his lodgings. He had no wish to run into Johnny Denton again. Who had sent the fellow to keep him under supervision? He was still pondering the question as he emerged into Bond Street. He was recalled to the present by a child’s voice addressing him.
‘Spare a penny, mister?’
Theo blinked at the ragged urchin. She did not look more than seven or eight years old. Her face was sharp and sallow but the eyes were still those of a small child. He dug a hand in his coat pocket and fetched out a sixpence.
‘Why, Theo Weston, I declare it is you!’ said a feminine voice behind him. ‘It has been an age since I saw you.’ The speaker was a bold-eyed young lady, fashionably dressed and holding out both hands to him.
Theo remembered her name with an effort. ‘Miss Harling.’ He bowed formally, avoiding taking her hands.
The lady darted him a sharp glance. She took in the tiny beggar and recoiled. ‘Oh, do tell her to go away,’ she exclaimed in a tone of disgust. ‘It is quite shocking the way these creatures intrude even into Bond Street. It makes me nervous.’
Theo handed the coin to the child, with a wink. The grubby little claw closed fast around it. ‘Thanks, mister,’ and the urchin ran off.
‘How can you encourage such vermin?’
Theo gave her a freezing look. ‘We are fortunate not to be so poor.’
Miss Harling gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘Your pet subject, is it not? But why so cold? You were eager enough for my smiles when you were last in London.’
‘That was a long time ago. I trust you are well, ma’am? Excuse me, I cannot stay.’ He raised his hat and walked on. Perhaps Johnny was right about these feather-headed females. Had he really been on good terms with this artificial creature in that time before the fever? Nowadays he would only associate with ladies who showed some genuine understanding for the problems of the real world.