Royal Revels (14 page)

“Do you think the old girl knows that she’s talking about? Is it worth my while to play along with the prince?” Smythe asked, speaking more frankly to a gentleman of the world than to a lady.

“He’ll try to talk you into taking a commission in his own regiment, the Tenth Light Dragoons, but you mentioned disliking military life. He might assign you to some diplomatic post. Are you interested in foreign travels?”

“What you’re saying is that a job is the best I can expect,” Smythe translated.

“A position, Mr. Smythe. There is a difference. You have to work harder at a job.”

“I don’t mind hard work, but if the fellow really wants to do something for me, I wish he’d just give me some blunt and let me find my own niche. I don’t enjoy hobnobbing with the aristocracy, Belami. Present company excepted, of course. And it would avoid all the talk and trouble as well, if he’d just let me fade away quietly with a little blunt in my pocket.”

“You have no aspirations at all to be instituted as a legal son?” Belami asked, and listened closely for the answer.

Smythe emitted a barking laugh, slapped his knee, and said, “I wouldn’t be king, even for a day. I can’t think of anything more appalling than to fritter away my life signing papers and dressing up like a monkey at a circus to prance in public. No, thank you, but if there’s a purse of cash in it, I shan’t try to dissuade Papa. After all, he’s in a better position than I to know whether I’m his son, and if he thinks so, I’ll abide by his decision.”

“And what do you think, Mr. Smythe? Do you think you’re his son?”

Smythe drew a long sigh. After a pause he said, “I honestly don’t know, but I think I might be, and if I am, I deserve something. That’s my feeling on the matter.” He gave a wide-eyed, innocent look. Belami could have sworn he was telling the truth.

When he left Smythe off at the inn, he drove into the stable yard to see if Pronto’s carriage had arrived. It wasn’t there, but he was told that Mr. Pilgrim had returned half an hour before and gone out again. It was four pence to a groat he had gone to Marine Parade, and that was where Belami found him a quarter of an hour later. Pronto was passing his time by reading Plutarch.

“Damme, it’s about time you got here. I’ve been reading for half an hour,” he complained when Belami entered.

“I’m very sorry. Your lips must be tired,” Belami apologized in his most mellifluous voice, which caused instant suspicion in his guest’s breast, but he could find no slur in the remark.

“They are, and my throat’s as dry as a desert. I expected to see a bottle on the table now that you’ve got old Charney blasted off. Or so the servants say. How’d you do it?”

“She did it herself and good riddance,” Belami said.

“Aye, fish and company stink after three days, so Smythe tells me. Likely got it from this book,” Pronto said, and gave a fatuous little smile. He concluded this hasty departure meant the engagement was over. His hopes rose, and he smiled more broadly. “That’s a pity, Dick, a real pity, but I never thought the two of you suited in the least. Pretty cut up by it, is she? Maybe I ought to nip over and console her,” he said, reaching for his book.

“What are you talking about?” Belami demanded, but soon had it figured out. “It’s not a jilting, so you can wipe off your smirk and tell me what you learned in London.”

“What I learned there will put a smile on yours,” Pilgrim told him.

“Were the Wyckertons familiar with Alex Smythe?” he asked eagerly.

“The old lady knew him from the cradle. He never took any lad to America with him at all. And as for the sister, Ann, she never had any kid either. What happened is that some old pelter died on the boat crossing the ocean and Smythe adopted her boy. He was a couple of months old. That’s where George Smythe came from. All a hum, letting on he had an aristocratic father, the liar. I could tell by those hands he was no gentleman. Had a pair of hands on him like a sodbuster.”

“That’s wonderful news, Pronto! Well done!” Belami beamed, slapping his friend’s back for joy. “You’ve earned a glass of France’s finest.”

‘‘Wine will do just as well.”

“Of course,” Belami said, biting his tongue. “I’ll get some Burgundy brought up from the cellar.” He rang for a servant and asked Pronto for more details after the servant had left.

“There’s nothing more to tell. That’s it,” Pronto said.

The wine arrived, and two glasses were poured. “Ah, that takes the wrinkles out of my throat,” Pronto said, licking his lips.

“She didn’t know the name of the woman who died on the boat?” Belami queried.

“She never heard who it was, and it don’t matter neither, for it wasn’t Maria Fitzherbert and that much we do know.”

The first bout of euphoria was beginning to wane as a few doubts crept into Belami’s mind. “That could have been the story Mrs. Fitzherbert and Alex Smythe decided to send back home,” he said, after a frowning pause.

“Use your head, Dick,” Pronto said with an impatient shake. “How could they talk some poor old woman into dying on the boat? No amount of money would make that worthwhile.”

“Who is to say there ever was such a woman? Mrs. Fitzherbert could have had the child put aboard with a nursemaid, with Alex Smythe to claim him after the ship left or after it landed or whatever. It would be a good ruse to conceal the boy’s true identity.”

“Well, if that ain’t just like you to go making more trouble after I’ve got to the vital core of it and straightened it all out!” Pronto ranted. “I’ll tell you, Mrs. Wyckerly don’t deal in rumors. She knows everything.”

“She wasn’t on the boat, and she wasn’t in America. She only knows what Smythe told his sister via letters,” Belami pointed out.

“You mean to say you sent me trotting over to London in the dead of winter when you knew all along it wasn’t worth the trip?” Pronto demanded, his fierce blue eyes glittering. “The most important part of the whole case, you said. Deirdre heard you. I see you’ve managed to turn her off as well with your two-facedness.”

“Have another glass of wine, Pronto. You did well, very well. In fact, you did a superb job, and so swiftly too. I’m the fool for not having thought of this sooner.”

“There’s something in that,” Pronto agreed swiftly, somewhat mollified by the excellent Burgundy. “Besides, we’ve known all along Smythe ain’t an American at all—the English clothes, the accent... Or were they faked, too, to fool us?” he asked, sinking deep into confusion.

“I don’t know. Lately I begin to wonder if his tale isn’t true. I’m so confused, Pronto. I was never so bethumped with doubts in my life. Gilham’s story was true—well, more or less at any rate.”

“I didn’t mean to rip up at you, Dick,” Pronto said, his soft heart touched at the unusual sight of Belami admitting to a doubt. “So what’s afoot, other than the duchess and Deirdre shabbing off on you?”

“Not too much. Prinney’s in town, and he’s invited Smythe for an intimate dinner. He’s been to call on Charney—Smythe, I mean, not the prince. I’m taking Lady Gilham to an inn tomorrow night. I really must…”

Pronto put down his glass with a bang. “Not much! Oh, no, not much! I should have stayed here and kept a watch over you. Upon my word, Dick, it won’t do, you setting up assignations with Gilham right under Deirdre’s nose. She’s bound to hear all about it. I’m sure Gilham’s a taking little thing, but you promised me you’d lay off the lightskirts. Don’t expect me to cover up for you, for I won’t do it.”

“Business, Pronto. It’s all business. Gilham wouldn’t accept the money, so I have arranged to get her out of the house and have Réal go in and pilfer the letters and crockery and other stuff.”

“Seems to me you could arrange a better spot to take her to than an inn,” Pronto insisted.

“Where do you suggest, in the middle of winter, when I can’t be seen with her in public?”

“Bring her here,” Pronto said at once.

“My own house! You’re mad! If Charney ever got wind of it she’d have me put through a meat grinder. I plan to cut straight north up Queens Road and stop just outside of Lewes, at the Red Herring probably. In that way I won’t be seen with her. I should go to the Herring now and arrange it. I don’t suppose you...” He looked hopefully at his friend.

“Good. I’m glad you don’t suppose I plan to make the booking for you. Fagged to death. On the road nearly seven hours. Got saddled with a winded old pair at Croyden. Couldn’t get a private parlor at Horley, and at Cuckfield I left Plutarch behind and had to drive back a mile to get him.” A remembrance of this litany of woes put him in a pucker.

Pronto hefted the book. “It’s all about old Romans, Dick. Very interesting.”

Belami stared, bemused. “If you won’t do it for me, then I’d better nip up there myself and arrange it now. I’ll hire a private room, order a dinner and wine…”

Pronto’s eyes diminished into slits of suspicion. “Just how long do you plan to be there? It won’t take Réal two minutes to get in and nab the stuff.”

“I have to make it look good,” Belami complained.

“Well, you ain’t, my friend. You’re making it look about as black as the ace of spades.”

“Lady Gilham’s staff have to have time to go to sleep. We can’t leave at midnight. We’ll leave around nine and Réal will bust in after eleven, or an hour after all lights are extinguished.”

“Why not leave at ten or even eleven?” Pronto demanded.

“I’m taking her out for dinner, Pronto,” he explained patiently, though as the difficulty of getting in several hours without compromising himself began to strike him, he thought ten o’clock would not be too late to call on her.

“How are you going to explain this to Deirdre?”

“I’m not going to explain anything. And don’t you attempt it either. I think I better be feeling poorly tomorrow night. I’ll drop by in the afternoon and have a coughing fit.”

“You’re skating on thin ice,” Pronto said doubtfully. “Don’t count on not being seen at the Herring. No matter where you go, when you especially don’t want to be seen, you are. Somebody will see you and go trotting to the duchess with the news. I’d make a clean breast of it beforehand if I was you.”

“I’ll risk it,” Belami said rashly, for he hated being told what to do. “Are you coming with me now or not?”

“Believe I’ll stay here and read my book. I’ve just gotten to Mark Antony. Devilish man, spoiled rotten by bad company, just like me,” he muttered, leveling an accusing eye at his host. Then he sat down to read, poured out another glass of Burgundy, and put his booted feet up on the fender.

Belami made his arrangements at the Red Herring with no difficulty, unseen by a single soul he knew. He booked a private parlor under the name of Mr. Harcourt and left a note at Gilham’s telling her he would call for her around ten the next evening, though he intended to be half an hour late. He had some misgivings about his scheme, but as he was innocent he saw no need to upset Deirdre unnecessarily. Of course she must begin to learn that the nature of his work required an occasional escapade of this sort, but somehow this didn’t seem the time or the escapade to begin her indoctrination.

He dined at home with Pronto, after which they paid a brief visit to the duchess and Deirdre. With the chaperone riding bobbin throughout, nothing was accomplished but a universal state of vexation. Belami and Pronto soon left and went to the Old Ship, to allow Belami to make Captain Stack’s acquaintance. He was discreetly sounded out on the subject of George Smythe, but he claimed he had only met him a few weeks ago at this same inn.

“Have you been in Brighton long?” Belami asked civilly.

“I hired a little cottage north of town and raise a bit of livestock. Been there a year, since I retired from the army,” he answered. “I live alone, so I come in here to pass the time of an evening.”

“A bachelor, I take it?” Belami asked.

“Aye, they say women are fools, but I never found one fool enough to have me.” Stack laughed.

“Must be lonesome,” Pronto said, rolling blue, suspicious eyes. “Seems to me a man ought to get himself a wife.’’

“I was born in bed with a lady, Mr. Pilgrim, and that has been my sole experience with the fair sex,” he said, and gave a wink aside to Belami.

When Stack suggested a hand of cards, they soon found an excuse to leave his table as there seemed little to be learned from him. A chance acquaintance of Pronto’s stopped them on their way to the door. It was the local gossip, a retired judge named Humphreys. Pronto presented him to Belami, and they sat together for a glass of ale.

“I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Belami. I am a little acquainted with your mama,” Humphreys said. “I understand you have the Duchess of Charney staying with you. I shall pay her a call one of these days.”

“No, she was only with me till she found a place to hire,” Belami said to avoid gossip. He told Humphreys the address.

“I hadn’t heard that!” Humphreys exclaimed, all eager interest. “And the Prince Regent arrived today too, they say. We don’t usually have many visitors during the winter months. Usually I pass my evenings here with whatever company the hotel offers or drive up to Devil’s Dyke for a game of cards with Captain Stack, but his play is a bit deep for me.”

Humphreys spotted some cronies entering the room and took his leave. Belami sat silently staring at the wall, his fingers beating a tattoo on the table.

“Want a game of écarté?” Pronto asked.

“No, thanks.”

“I noticed Humphreys was quick to avoid Stack’s table. The old boy’s getting himself a reputation for a cheat.”

“I got a look at his deck. You notice he brings his own cards? He uses a system of filling in certain spaces on the patterned back of the deck. When a man produces his own cards, and the backs are highly embellished, you can expect to be rooked, but that’s not what I was thinking about.”

“I’ll bear it in mind—the marked cards. Must have been small marks. I never noticed them.”

“Humphreys seems well up on local doings, does he not?”

“A regular Intelligencer.”

“But he didn’t know the duchess had moved from my house. She hasn’t gone out to meet anyone, and to move from my place to the cottage behind Castle Inn is only a couple of blocks. Up around the Steyne, up Pavilion Parade, and a left turn. She didn’t have any furniture to take, to call attention to the trip. Just two cases that would have gone in the carriage with her,” Belami said musingly.