Lady Vixen (61 page)

It
was only when Christopher was standing in the hall bidding his grandfather a
further good night that the subject of the removal to Brighton came up. Almost
as an afterthought Simon remarked, "The plans for going to Brighton still
stand, although Letty and I shall not be there until some time toward the end
of September." Giving Christopher a half-defiant glance from under his
heavy brows, Simon went on, "She and I are going to Beddington's Corner on
Monday. Thought it best that we have a few weeks by ourselves before joining
Gina and Nicole at the Kings Road house."

Christopher
smothered a shout of laughter, and with mocking amusement glinting in his eyes,
he murmured dryly, "And you can't wait to show her off!"

"Bah!
That has nothing to do with it! Every man is entitled to a honeymoon and I am
no different. Besides Letty has expressed a desire to see Beddington's Corner
and I see no reason to deny her. She has a lot of friends in the area, you
know, friends she hasn't seen in years. Don't forget we grew up there together.
Did our first courting there." His eyes were suddenly almost dreamy as he
finished softly, "It holds a lot of memories for us."

Christopher
made no reply, for none was needed. After a moment Simon seemed to recollect
himself and said in his usual testy manner, "Edward Markham and Robert are
going to escort Gina and Nicole to Brighton. Are you going to join them?"

At
the mention of Robert, any desire to go to Brighton vanished for Christopher.
Simon's presence had been his main reason for agreeing to go, and without Simon
there the motivation for traveling to the popular sea resort was no longer
valid. He had been having second thoughts about the wisdom of leaving London
too far in advance of the rendezvous with the American privateer. It was possible
he might be able to learn something more of the British plans by remaining
precisely where he was, and knowledge that Robert would be in Brighton made up
his mind for him. Carelessly he returned to Simon's question, "I don't
believe so. I find that I have too many commitments at the moment to tear
myself away." Seeing the thunderous lowering of Simon's black brows, he
added hastily, "But rest assured that I shall be in Brighton by the time
you and Mrs. Eggleston are finished with your honeymoon."

"Too
many commitments, hey!" Simon growled. "A little blond opera dancer
would be nearer the mark!"

Christopher
bit his Up in vexation and wondered how Simon had heard that bit of gossip—he
thought he had been most discreet. "That may have been true last week, but
Sonia and I have parted—she was, I fear, too greedy by half!"

Simon
only grunted and grumbled as Christopher turned toward the door, "Well, I
expect I should feel honored that you will even come to Brighton when I am
there!"

"So
you should!" Christopher shot back, a fond smile curving his lips.

"Bah!
Get out of my sight you young rascal—and see that you are here on Sunday!"

Christopher
took his leave and as the hour was not unduly late, just past ten, and the
night a fine one, he was wide awake and restless by the time his carriage
deposited him at his lodgings. To his surprise, upon entering the rooms, he
discovered Buckley, pacing the floor like a caged wolf.

"Ah,
there you are! I thought you would never return! Your man told me that you were
attending a family dinner, but I never expected you to be this late,"
Buckley growled by way of greeting.

Inexplicably
wary, Christopher smiled politely and, as Higgins entered the room, ordered
that a bottle of brandy he procured from the landlord's excellent cellar. With
his eyes fixed intently on Buckley's florid face, he inquired casually,
"Now, what brings you here?"

Buckley
looked uncomfortable and somewhat ill at ease and Christopher's watchfulness
increased. Now what the devil was biting the captain?

He
didn't find out for several more moments during which Buckley, obviously a man
with something on his mind, prowled about uneasily, indulging in the most
commonplace conversation.

Higgins
returned with the brandy, and after pouring the two gentlemen glasses of the
amber-colored liquor, he busied himself at the far end of the room, ostensibly
paying no attention to the others, though in actuality he had his ears trained
on what they were saying. Master Christopher might say that nothing was in the
wind, but he knew differently.

Buckley
glanced over at Higgins, and for a moment Christopher had the impression he was
going to demand that the other man be dismissed. But apparently thinking better
of it, he leaned confidentially toward Christopher, now sprawled negligently on
the sofa, and said softly, urgently, "About last night, I hope you will
forget that conversation we had. We were all pretty well in our cups and I
wouldn't like to think anything was said that shouldn't have been."

His
face a clever mask of apparent mystification, Christopher regarded him.
"My dear Buckley, whatever are you talking about?"

His
florid complexion became even redder, and Buckley muttered defensively,
"It is that damned memorandum! I never should have mentioned it! And I
would like your word as a gentleman that you will say nothing of it."

Assuming
his most supercilious expression, Christopher remarked with deliberate
stiffness, "I beg your pardon! I am not some gossiping old woman! Why
would I mention such a thing? It was a private conversation between us, and I am
not in the habit of repeating all the tittle-tattle that comes my way."

Obviously
relieved by Christopher's insulted manner, Buckley made soothing noises and
stumbled over himself in his haste to unruffle Saxon's very obviously ruffled
feathers. Christopher very nicely allowed him to do so, wondering if Buckley
had any idea of the foolishness of his actions. Even if he had not been so
vitally interested in the memorandum, Buckley's behavior tonight would have
increased his absorption in it. And for one very tense moment he considered the
possibility that he was being baited—that someone wanted him to take a very
definite interest in what went on at Whitehall. No, he decided thoughtfully,
Buckley was very honestly trying to cover up an indiscreet slip of the tongue,
and if Christopher had been what he appeared to be, that would have been the
end of it.

Buckley's
whole desire had been to ensure Christopher's silence on the matter, and having
been convinced that nothing more would be said about what had transpired the
previous evening, he very shortly made ready to take his leave. Escorting him
to the door, Christopher asked carelessly, "Shall I see you tomorrow night
at Lady Bagely's ball?"

"Oh,
no, not I, my friend! As a matter of fact I shall be out of town for the next
fortnight."

At
Christopher's look of inquiry, he added almost shamefacedly, "My mother
has taken to her couch, asserting most vocally that it will be her deathbed.
And as my company commander is a good friend of the family, he has ordered me
home for a few weeks to help ease her affliction."

"I
hope it is nothing serious."

Buckley
laughed. "No, that it certainly isn't; she does this at least three times
a year, and I think she would be most affronted if she were to he taken
grievously ill—she enjoys the attention too much to be sick!"

Christopher
saw him out, his smile vanishing the minute Buckley was out of sight. It seemed
he had chosen his tools wisely, after all, when he had decided Buckley and
Kettlescope were his most likely prospects from whom to learn anything about
the possible invasion of New Orleans. He had been right in thinking that
Buckley would be the one to be indiscreet, he mused to himself. Thank God
someone
had been possessed of a loose tongue

Unaware
of the speculative gleam in Higgins's eye, he bid his valet a brief good night
and took himself off to bed —but not to sleep. Instead he lay there staring at
the ceiling and mulling over the best way in which to get his hands on the
memorandum.

Obviously
he was going to have to steal it, and a lone thief stood a better chance of
escaping undetected than did two. Higgins would not be told—it would curtail
all arguments and discussions if he merely presented him with a
fait
accompli.
There was no shadow of a doubt in Christopher's mind about
Higgins, but he wished to avoid the worry and dismay his plan would cause if
Higgins knew about it in advance. Once the memorandum was in his hands would be
soon enough to solicit Higgins's talents in preparing the forgery. Besides, if
he were caught and hanged, he would just as soon hang by himself. Far better
that Higgins be kept as much in ignorance as possible.

The
following morning before Higgins awoke Christopher slipped from his bed, and
neglecting to shave, he dressed hurriedly in a rough set of clothing that dated
back to his days as Captain Saber. Quickly he made his way to Newton and Dyott
Streets in St. Giles's parish. He had considered going first to the notorious
Whitechapel area of London, but further reflection had deemed St. Giles's the
place most likely for his purposes. After all, Newton and Dyott streets were
the headquarters for most of the pickpockets and thieves about London, and
while he didn't need the services of either, he did need the stock in trade of
the latter, namely the implements and tools to open the safe in Major Black's
office. The inhabitants of St. Giles's would be suspicious of a swell cove, but
a shabby unkempt fellow as he was today would escape curiosity. It took him
several false starts before he found what he wanted—a set of tools that any
locksmith or nimble-fingered thief, for that matter, would be delighted to own.
Before returning to Ryder Street with his curious purchase, he also had the
forethought to acquire several locks of varying size and complexity.

Shoving
the morning's acquisitions hastily in the bottom drawer of the oak bureau in
his bedchamber, he swiftly stripped off his worn and coarse clothing. He then
rang for Higgins to lay out a fresh change of apparel and to fetch him some hot
water so that he might have a shave.

An
hour later no one would have connected the tall well-dressed young gentleman
who descended to the street and made his way to the stationer's with the
rough-looking rogue who had made several purchases in the back streets of St.
Giles's parish. He purchased many differently styled pens, and a variety of
inks, as well as a wide selection of papers from a number of stationers.
Returning to Ryder Street in time to eat luncheon, he concealed his writing
supplies in one compartment of the mahogany sideboard before ringing for
Higgins to serve him.

Immediately
after fortifying himself, he walked into his bedchamber and there rifled
through the drawer that held his various pairs of gloves. Finding a pair he did
not particularly care for, he stuffed them in the inside pocket of his jacket
and, warning Higgins that he would be home to dine this evening, strolled
languidly toward Whitehall and the War Office. Once there he inquired casually
for the way to Major Black's office and very shortly, after a brief look at
Buckley's deserted office, found himself in that gentleman's domain.

Christopher
had met the major once or twice when visiting with Buckley. Consequently he
knew him by sight, but until now he had never known the whereabouts of his
office. Finding it, he knocked for admittance. Summoning all the careless
arrogance and cool aplomb of his aristocratic background, he sauntered in.
Sending an apparently vague glance around the room, he murmured, "So sorry
to interrupt, but I thought Captain Buckley would be here."

The
major, a bluff, hearty fellow, exclaimed, "Why no! Buckley has been given
leave for the next fortnight. May I help you?"

Christopher,
his sharp gaze having noted the heavy iron safe in the corner, assumed an
expression of mock vexation. "Oh, that's right. How silly of me to have
let it slip my mind! Actually it was nothing very important; it's just that
when he called last night, he evidently left this pair of gloves behind, and as
I was in the area, I thought I would return them," Christopher replied
lightly, laying the pair of gloves on the Major's desk.

"You
may leave them with me, if you like," Major Black offered.

"No,
that won't be necessary. Chances are that I may very well see him before you
do. Thank you anyway."

His
mission accomplished, Christopher replaced the gloves inside his jacket and, as
the major was rather talkative, wasted a few minutes more desultory
conversation. Christopher put the time to good use, and unobtrusively studied
the iron safe that was supposed to hold the memorandum. From what he could see,
the safe shouldn't prove too difficult to open—especially if he spent the next
few days arduously familiarizing himself with the locksmith tools purchased
that morning.

Arriving
once more back at Ryder Street, he sent Higgins on several errands about
town—errands that were destined to keep the gentleman away from their lodgings
for a few hours. Once he was alone in his rooms, he broke out the locksmith
tools and spent the afternoon recalling and utilizing everything he could
remember about locks and the opening thereof. Higgins's return put an end to
such activities. Christopher proceeded to express himself well pleased with the
new cravats, the particular blend of snuff he had ordered from the apothecary's,
and the swatches of cloth he had requested from his tailor. Higgins was not
fooled; he knew he had been deliberately sent chasing all over London, but for
the moment he held his peace.