The Stuart Sapphire (7 page)

Tam would have found this disclosure even more embarrassing had he realised that Princess Charlotte had been eagerly tracking him down since their first – almost – encounter in what had appeared to him as a brazen attempt by a serving wench to strike up an acquaintance.

As for the princess, her immediate demand was to find out who he was and what such a divine young man, so unconventionally attired in the habitually overdressed court, was doing at breakfast with her father.

For answers she turned as usual to Lord Henry. He had always been her friend, her natural half-brother, and as he was also close to her father, as she had never been, she managed to waylay him and lure him into conversation about the mysterious stranger.

When she learned that he was the sole survivor of the
Royal Stuart
, her eyes closed in ecstasy. What a cloudburst of romance! How could any girl fail to lose her heart to such a gallant godlike creature?

What were his intentions, how long would he remain in Brighton? Henry could give her no answers to that. A pity
that she had also to endure the presence of her governess, Lady de Clifford, tenacious as an extra limb.

Determined not to lose sight of her royal protégée, Lady de Clifford managed this task admirably with an ability, when necessary, to melt into the background and make herself invisible. As she was growing rather deaf, Charlotte being out of earshot was not a formidable problem, but as the possessor of an excellent memory, no incident was too small to be dismissed as insignificant.

She had been around the court long enough to recognise that Charlotte was at a dangerous age, already exceedingly vulnerable to possible romantic encounters. Most regretfully it was becoming strikingly obvious that she had not only inherited her father’s looks and physique, but also his amorous propensities, an unfortunate tendency that would require her governess to have the vigilance of a hawk, since the princess was already exhibiting alarming signs of indifference to convention and royal protocol.

Sometimes Lady de Clifford awoke in the middle of the night with bad dreams. What if the princess, while under her care, slipped the leash for an hour or two and became – (she gulped) –
enceinte
?

She had not missed the predatory gleam in the princess’s eye as she had raced down the path with Lord Henry to force an encounter with this very presentable young man. Watching him bow deeply, she shuddered. There could be no trail of royal bastards for the future Queen of England to legitimise in the traditional manner of past English kings.

‘Ah, Mr Eildor,’ said Charlotte, breathless with eager anticipation. ‘A pleasant day for a stroll, is it not?’

Tam, smiling politely, thought regretfully that it had indeed been a very pleasant day, full of promise until that
moment, as the dark-clad middle-aged woman trailing at a respectful distance behind the princess and Lord Henry, moved forward protectively.

‘My governess Lady de Clifford,’ said Charlotte. ‘You may leave us now, Henry.’ Her hand raised in a dismissive gesture was an exact copy that could only have been inherited from her royal father.

Henry bowed and with a look of relief turned on his heel, heading back along the path to the Pavilion.

The governess acknowledged Tam with a frigid curtsey while the princess wagged a teasing finger at him.

‘Mr Eildor is a lawyer from Edinburgh.’ She smiled, showing excellent teeth, and rather a lot of them. ‘We – we have – have heard all – all about you, Mr Eildor. Henry has informed us that you were – were a – a passenger on – on the ship that went down – sank last night. The sole survivor – how very fortunate.’ All this speech was delivered in a shrill voice hampered by a stammer while nervous glances in Lady de Clifford’s direction invited encouraging comment. The governess regarded Tam sternly.

‘Fortunate indeed. Ship sank – all hands lost, we understood,’ she added in a sepulchral voice exactly matching her gloomy appearance.

Tam bowed politely, hoping that this was also the end of the conversation, that escape was imminent and that the tiresome encounter would also be allowed to sink forgetfully into the ground.

But that was not Charlotte’s intention. Under that royal stare, Tam felt uncomfortably that his appearance was being assimilated inch by inch. It was all quite unnerving, as she continued to regard him, bright-eyed and eager, occasionally licking rather her rather thick, red lips – a disconcerting habit, like someone watching a particularly
strange and exotic insect through a microscope.

Suddenly she shivered. ‘Be so good as to recover our shawl and our book. We laid them down – somewhere – while we were looking at the latest art acquisitions – our royal father’s weakness.’

Although she addressed her governess, she did so without yielding her gaze from Tam’s countenance as if he might choose that moment to escape from her.

With a sigh, she watched Lady de Clifford hurry back across the gardens. Unable to conceal a gleam of satisfaction, another broad smile awaited Tam’s approval. This was followed by a convincing shiver, rubbing her bare arms, a gesture which brought an unfortunate reminder to the observer that the fashion for white muslin gowns reaching down to the ankles, but extreme décolleté even in daytime, was less than flattering to ladies, however young, with overample bosoms. The flowing empire line had its origins in France and it struck Tam as curious that all female attire seemed to have been designed for a tropical climate of eternal summers, despite the fact that the climate of England was totally unreliable, with snowy winters exceedingly harsh and long-lasting. True, shawls were an essential accessory, the mark of the lady of fashion, to wear with grace.

‘Are you to stay in Brighton for some time, Mr Eildor?’ she asked.

As Tam did not know the answer to that one himself, he smiled and said: ‘Until my plans are made, Your Royal Highness.’

Charlotte giggled, and let a plump hand linger on his arm. He felt its warmth through his borrowed shirt.

‘Please – please – you may call me – Charlotte, if you wish.’

Tam did not so wish and she saw too late that he was no doubt embarrassed by the thought of such intimacy with a royal person.

Aware that she was moving too fast, she removed her hand, her gaze becoming more intent as she did so, a myopic staring deeply into his eyes. Her breath touching his face, she laughed.

A deep, throaty and rather coarse laugh in one so young. Fourteen, fifteen – Tam wondered, perhaps girls grew up quickly in royal residences where loose morals were constantly in evidence, and his thoughts flew momentarily to the sight he had left in the royal bedroom, as with a suppressed groan, he heard her say:

‘When we know each other better—’ she hesitated. ‘What do your friends call you, Mr Eildor?’

‘My name is Tam.’ He bowed.

‘Tam? Why, what an interesting name. Scottish, is it not? From your accent—’

Tam agreed. They had at least found something safe to agree upon.

‘Where were you journeying – when the ship – went – went down?’

‘To London, Your Royal Highness.’

‘Please – please – Highness will do adequately, if you must – for the moment,’ she added with a flutter of pale eyelashes.

‘Very well, Highness,’ was the reluctant reply.

A pause. ‘I know London well. It is – my home – my – my mother lives at Carlton House. This is a brief – brief – visit only – to my father. We rarely see each other.’

Tam was quick to detect sadness, a certain loneliness and resentment too, as she said: ‘You have – have friends in London? We might meet—’

‘I have legal business – that is all,’ said Tam, dousing that hopeful suggestion.

Charlotte smiled, waiting patiently for more
information
. As there was none forthcoming, she eyed him coyly, head to one side, and said: ‘Your wife – in Edinburgh – she will miss you.’

And while Tam was considering a suitable comment, she continued: ‘Your wife and family will be heartily rejoicing that you have been spared from the shipwreck.’

Tam’s mouth twitched at this further probe into his private life from this royal minx. He shook his head.

Exact recollections of his life in the year 2250 already had a dreamlike quality, part of the condition of a
time-quest
, but he did remember that matrimony, as former centuries recognised it, had now become almost extinct.

Partners were chosen, male and female, male and male, female and female, for as long or as short a time as the couple desired. It was not completely unknown for a relationship to last for life, with children if one wished, and ultimately grandchildren, from the union. There were no hard and fast rules, only the human heart and its inclinations existed for each individual.

‘I have no wife,’ Tam said, and instantly regretted that automatic response, since he could not at this moment honestly recall any details of his own category.

How the princess’s eyes gleamed.

Damn, thought Tam. That was a mistake. He had thrown away a refuge – or would the off-stage presence of a wife have made any difference? Perhaps only to make him more desirable, a challenge, seeing that matrimonial vows seemed of equally minor importance to royal houses as those of the world he had temporarily left. Here, where marriage existed purely for territorial or dynastic purposes:
“An heir and a spare” was the rule.

‘Tell me about Scotland,’ said Charlotte. ‘We intend to visit Edinburgh immediately after our coronation.’

Tam gave her a sharp glance. Anticipating that her grandfather, mad King George III, would die imminently, she obviously did not think, or hope, that her father would long occupy the throne.

‘Loyal subjects will wish to see their new queen and we will wish to reward them for their devotion. We are told that Edinburgh Castle is rather chilly and that the Palace of Holyroodhouse is even worse. We understand,’ she added in a horrified whisper, ‘that one of our ancestors, Queen Mary, murdered her husband there.’

Before Tam could correct this popular misrepresentation of Scottish history, no doubt taught in English schools, the governess hastened along the path towards them, clutching a shawl and two moderately large books, while from the opposite direction Beau Brummell made a leisurely approach.

Tam observed that he was more immaculately clad than at their first meeting, having given due attention to his toilette. Bowing to the princess, who received this polite gesture with what could only be regarded as a look of annoyance, he turned to Tam:

‘Ah, Mr Eildor, what a pleasure to see you again – I was hoping we might meet and continue our most interesting conversation.’

Tam bowed, aware that Lady de Clifford’s firm hold on Charlotte’s arm was indicating that they should leave. But ignoring both her governess and the newcomer, Charlotte addressed Tam:

‘We are heading to the circulating library – over there, Mr Eildor,’ she pointed across the park towards the
promenade. ‘Please join us there, when you are free.’

She managed a smile but looked mutinous, cutting Brummell dead, angry that her encounter with Tam had been interrupted and not quite sure whether she should vent her displeasure on her governess, Mr Brummell, or both.

As was clearly evident from Brummell’s audible sigh of relief and a certain measure of ice in his polite greeting, a state of mutual dislike existed between the two.

As for Tam, he watched them go, feeling trapped as well as wondering why on earth the princess should need to borrow books, and if he might be in more danger from Brummell’s curiosity than the princess’s flirtation.

‘The library, did I hear aright?’

At his side Brummell laughed. ‘The library, did she say? Allow me to interpret your thoughts, dear fellow. Why should Her Highness consider a circulating library, says you, when there are enough books in the royal library to furnish most of London with reading matter?’

A pause. ‘Shall we walk?’

This was Tam’s first chance to view from the Steine the exterior of the dramatic and somewhat bizarre Marine Pavilion with its two oval-shaped wings, an addition to the original and more conventional dwelling that had replaced the prince’s rented farmhouse.

Alas, the search for a suitable excuse for escape was no longer possible, as Brummell continued: ‘Our circulating library has other attractions than books. There are gaming tables and it is the haunt of fashionable society during the daytime. Having one’s name in the subscription book is a passport into Brighton society. Indeed the Master of Ceremonies visitors’ book is the first port of call for new arrivals wishing to find out who else is in town.

‘Allow me to escort you there, dear fellow, a little later perhaps. Meanwhile I have a humble lodging at North House but I am sorely in need of refreshment, as I imagine you are too. So let us adjourn to the Old Ship Inn.’

Tam’s mind remained obstinately blank of any suitable excuse for declining this invitation, as Brummell led him out of the grounds across the Steine towards a less imposing huddle of buildings. Houses, taverns, market and shops, dwelling places of those whose daily bread and employment depended on their proximity to the royal court, as well as the now numerous petty thieves and criminals who preyed upon the advantages such a situation offered.

As they walked, Tam was amused to see that his companion’s appearance created quite a stir in the narrow lanes. Ladies curtseyed, simpered, fluttered fans, while gentlemen bowed gravely.

The interior of the Old Ship suggested that its roots were well established long before Prince George or even Dr Russell of Lewes, for that matter, discovered the restorative powers of the waters of the humble fishing village as a potential health spa.

There were many dark corners which suggested secret meetings and hinted at darker days as a favourite haunt and safe haven for smugglers, bent on the lucrative and illegal exchange of taxable goods from the Continent. The royal dandy was obviously someone of great importance and, it seemed, was well liked and respected, and not only for the cut of his clothes and the snugness of his breeches. A condition, Tam decided, which must be quite a thorn in the abundant flesh of the Prince Regent who regarded this man as a serious rival and a danger to his own jealously guarded popularity, with an elegance to which he could no longer
aspire, trapped forever in the gross flesh of decades of over-indulgence.