Amanda Scott (16 page)

“Oh, no, miss,” put in Albert. “Not if it was ever so.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Joan. “Show the gentleman in, Albert, if he is indeed a gentleman.” She looked at Sylvia. “Goodness knows Harry would have a conniption fit if I were to allow you to meet any of Prinny’s people alone. It simply wouldn’t answer, my dear.”

“No, I suppose not,” Sylvia agreed, “but look here, if the man insists, can you not slip out and then listen at the door?”

“What a thing to suggest,” exclaimed Lady Joan, but the twinkle in her eyes belied the indignation in her tone. “As if I, a lady bred and born, should stoop so low. You think he would not come to the point if I remain in the room?”

“That is precisely—”

The doors opened just then and Albert announced Major Teufel. A stocky man of medium height entered, his pace just short of being a marching step. His head was held so stiffly upon his shoulders that Sylvia found herself wondering if he could turn it without turning his whole body. His eyes moved in his head rather quickly, and his chilly gaze caused her to glance at the fire in the hearth, to wish it were a bit larger, though it had seemed until this moment entirely adequate.

Major Teufel jerked a bow, his glance taking in both ladies. “Am I correct in assuming that I address Lady Reston?”

Joan nodded regally.

“Ah, yes, well, I should hope you will not take it amiss, madam, if I request a moment alone with your guest?”

Joan’s pointed little chin raised a fraction of an inch, and Sylvia was surprised to see how haughty her friend could appear when she wished to do so. “I must protest, sir. My guest is an unmarried lady. Moreover, she informs me that she is quite unacquainted with you. Therefore, it would be most improper for me to leave her alone with you.”

Major Teufel’s cheeks became a most unbecoming crimson. “I have no designs upon this lady’s virtue, madam. Perhaps you do not know who I am?”

“Oh, but I do,” Joan said quietly, her gaze showing quite plainly that his identity did not impress her in the slightest.

Sylvia’s curiosity was by now growing to immeasurable proportions, and she feared that their rather interesting guest might well take his leave without divulging the purpose of his visit if her hostess antagonized him further. Therefore, she allowed herself a small chuckle and said lightly, “Do not tease the major, Joan dear. He must see for himself that I am quite past the age of requiring a chaperon and that it is no more than your own curiosity to know his business that stirs you to behave like a tigress defending her cub. He no doubt believes such curiosity to be unbecoming in a female.” He looks, she added to herself, to be the sort of man who would believe most normal behavior to be unbecoming in a female.

Lady Joan bristled, but after a look down her nose at the major that could have left him in no doubt as to her opinion of him, she gathered her skirts and departed with lofty dignity. Watching critically, Sylvia wondered how someone so small could carry off such an attitude so well. But then her attention was claimed by the major.

“Miss Jensen-Graham, it has come to our attention that you have an item in your possession that you ought not to have.”

“Indeed, Major, and what might that item be, if you please?”

“You would do well not to fence with me,
fräulein
.”

“I do not fence, sir. Few ladies do.”

The major had made no attempt to take a seat, and he now stepped toward her, his attitude menacing enough to make Sylvia wish she had a weapon at hand. Something in her expression seemed to give him pause, however, and extracting a large handkerchief from his coat pocket, he wiped it across his forehead and attempted a small laugh. “I forget myself,” he murmured, turning away.

“I am afraid you must be plain with me, sir. I am told you are employed by the Prince Regent. I cannot think what I might have in my possession that would interest your master.”

Teufel turned sharply. “You have a book, Miss Jensen-Graham, as you know very well. That book was printed merely to annoy my master, and I tell you to your head that you will get yourself into a great deal of trouble if you give that book to anyone but me. I should like to have it at once.”

“Dear me, Major Teufel, I cannot think how such information came into your hands. Surely, you must be mistaken in your source.”

She met his stern gaze with a look of bland innocence that was nearly overset by the fact that she noticed at the same time that the tall door directly behind the major had moved slightly. Taking firm control over her countenance, she continued to meet his gaze directly until the major himself looked away.

“You are not very wise,
fräulein
,” he said grimly.

Sylvia chose to display annoyance. “Sir, you have the audacity to enter a nobleman’s house, to harass his guest with information that cannot have been obtained in any honest manner. False information, in all likelihood. And I must tell you that my host is a very powerful nobleman, one whose word is listened to with respect in all political circles, one who interests himself in your master’s affairs. I have other friends, as well, sir, just as powerful. Perhaps, you do not know that my uncle is the Marquess of Lechlade? No, I can see from your expression that you did not know.”

Indeed, Teufel’s countenance had gone quite gray. “My lady—that is, Miss Jensen-Graham—pray believe that I mean no harm to you. It is only that my master wishes to obtain that which you have in your possession.”

“I have not agreed that I have any such item in my possession,” Sylvia pointed out. “And I must say, Major, that you have already overstayed your welcome in this house.” She arose gracefully and stepped to pull the bell. Albert entered with commendable promptitude, suggesting that her hostess was not the only eavesdropper. “Albert, be so kind as to show the gentleman out.”

“At once, miss. This way, sir.”

Major Teufel eyed the tall, broad-shouldered young man thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged and jerked another bow in Sylvia’s general direction. “Very well, I go,” he said grimly. “But you will reflect upon this matter, miss, and if you are wise, you will see the error of your ways.”

“Indeed, Major Teufel, perhaps you are right. Good day.”

“Goodness,” said Lady Joan, entering as soon as the major had gone. “What a detestable little man. How do you suppose he discovered you have the book, Sylvie?”

“I don’t know, but my guess would be that he has got someone rather close to the prime minister, someone who keeps Carlton House apprised of Mr. Perceval’s business. Indeed, since I have not received any reply whatsoever from Mr. Perceval, I must conclude that my letter has gone astray.”

“Has gone to Carlton House, you mean,” Joan said, her eyes narrowing as the ramifications of such a thing began to occur to her. “Perhaps we ought to discuss this with Harry, Sylvie. I know you do not wish to do so, and I cannot say that I relish explaining how I came to allow that bumptious man to enter my drawing room, let alone to converse alone with you, but—”

“No, Joan, let it be. Major Teufel has gone, and he will not return. Did you not see his reaction to learning who my uncle is? No, of course, you did not, for his back was to you, but I assure you he will not wish to annoy Lechlade. Not that he would, of course. Nor do I wish to bring the matter to my uncle’s attention. He might well insist that the book go straight back to the prime minister. Indeed, I had not thought of that before. It would never do to have to give the book back without receiving a single groat in return. Indeed, after having sustained such an interview as this one, I believe I deserve recompense merely for saving it from falling into Prinny’s hands.”

“I wonder why he would want it,” Joan said thoughtfully.

“Indeed, I cannot tell you that, for I have read most of it, and it does not do the Prince or his Whig committee much credit. Papa said the investigation was a travesty, and so it was. People said the most shameful things about the princess, and then nothing could be proved except for those things said in her defense. I suppose the book would be embarrassing to the Prince, but since Perceval seems only to wish to keep it from being made public, I cannot think why Prinny would make the slightest push to stop him from retrieving every copy.”

“Well, what will you do now, if you will not consult Harry?”

“I shall write to Mr. Perceval again, of course. I cannot continue to rely upon your generosity, Joan, and my fifty pounds is nearly gone. I need that money.”

Accordingly, she sent off another missive to Downing Street and sat back to await results. The following morning she received a message that put all thought of Perceval from her mind.

“Joan, only look at this,” she said, waving the crested note at her friend across their breakfast table. “’Tis from Lady Greyfalcon.”

“Gracious, I hope all is well in Oxfordshire.”

“I wouldn’t know. She writes from Curzon Street. And, Joan, you will never guess who escorted her to town—Papa!”

Lady Joan stared. “You don’t say so. Goodness, do you suppose he is ill, Sylvia?”

“No, of course not, for he would have Dan Travers to look after him at home. He wouldn’t come to London for a doctor. He thinks London doctors are all mad, dangerous, and fools to boot. No, he must have decided Lady Greyfalcon was not safe to be let out on her own, that’s all. Or else she hounded him until he knew he would get no peace, and now that the Assizes are over, he would have had no good reason to give her. Well, there is nothing to be accomplished by sitting here. She invites me to visit at once, and so I must.”

“Well, you will take Albert with you, then.”

“Nonsense. I shall allow you to provide me with the landaulet, if you will not come with me—”

“I cannot, for I am promised to Lady Franks this morning—one of her charities, you know—but I will not allow you to go unescorted, Sylvia, not after that man was here yesterday. I have not told Harry, for you asked me not to do so, but I cannot and will not allow you to walk into the lion’s den merely for the lack of a little protection.”

“Dear Joan, Sadie will provide all the protection I could want, and Greyfalcon would not thank you for calling his house a lion’s den—”

“You know perfectly well—”

“Yes, of course I do, and I love you dearly for being concerned for my safety, but truly, Joan—”

“Very well, Sylvia,” Joan said firmly, “Harry is still at home. He is in his bookroom, working on a speech he means to deliver in the house, and he will not be pleased to be interrupted, but unless you agree to—”

“I don’t believe for a single moment that you would behave so shabbily, Joan, but I shall not debate the matter longer. Albert shall come with me, and if I can persuade Papa to let me have a bit more of the ready, he can even come along afterward to Leicester Square, where I mean to purchase a length of cloth suitable for a new gown. Albert shall carry the parcel. Does that satisfy you?”

It did, and Lady Joan made no further objections. The landaulet was called for and Sylvia soon found herself within, Sadie seated by her side and Albert up behind. The short drive from Berkeley Square to Curzon Street was accomplished without incident, and Albert was soon letting down the steps in order to assist Miss Jensen-Graham from the carriage. Once she was safely upon the flagway, the footman ran up the steep steps to the front door to apply the knocker.

Sylvia spoke to Sadie as they turned to follow him. “It will be nice to see Papa, but I tell you, I cannot think—”

Just then her arm was grabbed roughly, and she was jerked around to find herself confronting a large, belligerent man, a total stranger, who demanded to know where she had got it.

“Let me go at once,” Sylvia commanded, attempting to pull her arm free. Sadie turned at once to her mistress’s assistance, but although she battered the man with her reticule, he paid her no heed, merely demanding that Sylvia “Give it over at once.”

“Give what over, you odious man?”

“The book. Ye’ve got it and it’s wanted. Give it over, or else.”

She heard Albert shout something, but at that moment, her aggressor’s shoulder was gripped from behind in a manner that made him wince and cry out sharply, and Sylvia looked up with relief as her own arm was released from his bruising clutches.

“Thank you, my lord. I cannot think what ails this gentleman.”

Greyfalcon shot a look at her over the man’s shoulder that told her as plainly as words would have done that he meant to discuss the matter presently. Then he turned his attention to the assailant, a man who, despite being nearly as tall as the earl and a good deal heavier, looked as unlike a criminal as a man might look. His most noticeable characteristic was a Roman nose that put Sylvia forcibly in mind of the caricatures one saw of Lord Wellington.

Greyfalcon spoke sharply. “You shall be given into charge, sir, just as soon as I can have you hailed before a magistrate.”

“No, Greyfalcon, you mustn’t,” Sylvia said quietly. “I am persuaded this man meant me no harm, and I appeal to your mercy, sir. Let him go about his business. He will never do such a thing again.”

“I never did nothing,” the man said in a whining voice. “Just tried to get back what belongs to another. Just the sort of injustice a man might expect, to be given in charge—”

“Hold your tongue,” Greyfalcon commanded in a tone that silenced both Sylvia and her assailant. The earl looked at Sylvia, who looked back at him beseechingly. It had occurred to her that if the man were hailed before a magistrate, her precious book might be demanded as evidence, and then what would prevent Mr. Perceval from claiming it as his property? Indeed, once it appeared in a magistrate’s court, how would anyone prevent its contents from being made public—an excerpt a day in the
Gazette
? She was beginning to understand why the Prince might wish to possess the only known copy.

“Very well,” Greyfalcon said at last, “I shall not delay your departure. This is no place to discuss this matter, and I have no wish to entertain the likes of you in my house. You are never to molest this lady again, however. Is that perfectly understood?”

The man bobbed his head. “Aye, m’lord. No offense intended. Just attempting to recover missing property.”