The Stuart Sapphire (20 page)

‘I can’t, Gemma.’

She sighed and said: ‘Don’t you want to?’

‘I think you know the answer to that, Gemma. In the interests of time of which we have so little, to put it simply, I love you. If that is what you want to know. But there is no way I can transport anything or anybody from 1811 into the future.’

She knew it was true, and leaning over she kissed his cheek. ‘I love you, Tam. What is more, I think I will always love you,’ she added sadly.

It was the answer he already knew. For one brief moment they had looked into the depths of one another’s souls where there were no secrets.

‘There is not the least possibility of meeting anyone like you ever again.’

This revelation did not make Tam rejoice. No longer jealous of Lord Henry, he wanted above all things for Gemma to forget this brief time when the paths of their lives had touched and to be happy. But in common with taking her forward in time, her future was beyond his powers.

‘We cannot rely on Old Davy. If I told him the truth he would think he was dealing with a madman – and however hard-headed smugglers are, they do cling to sailors’ superstitious nonsense about the sea.’

She thought for a moment. ‘There is another way. Henry and I left immediately after you, he to see his father, so I came to tell you that Mrs Fitzherbert had arranged to meet friends on a picnic along the coast. It was agreed that Henry and I should accompany her suitably chaperoned, and quite fortuitously, having just met you again, she thought perhaps you would like to join us.’

She laughed and gave him a coy glance. ‘Please say yes.’

And Tam realised that the shadows were darkening ahead.

Looking at Gemma with time ticking away into hours only, this would be their last leave-taking.

As if she read his mind, suddenly practical, she said: ‘I am glad we never had the chance to be lovers, Tam. I do not think I could have borne the sadness of having made love, being yours for a brief hour, then having to face the rest of my life without you. And because I would never forget you, your ghost would stand between me and any other man.’

The sun had come out again and there were people walking in the gardens. Tam wondered idly if Charlotte had produced the sapphire for her father. Once the prince knew that Percy had killed the marchioness, the two mysteries solved would also signal his death knell, his immediate execution.

Tam Eildor the expendable would be eliminated.

Footsteps near the arbour, voices. Gemma said: ‘I must go back to Steine House. Henry will be looking for me.’

In what might be their own farewell, Tam took her in his arms, held her for a moment and they kissed, not deeply or passionately but as loving friends. Releasing her, she laughed: ‘At least you are real, Tam Eildor.’

‘Real enough.’ Real enough for my heart to break, Tam thought. A few more moments like that and I would be the one staying in her time. He had never felt such strong emotions, but he recognised the potential dangers.

He walked with her the short distance to Steine House. Bowing over her hand, she curtseyed, and they parted as polite strangers.

Turning, Tam walked briskly towards the Pavilion. The world seemed suddenly empty without her. The pain was so great, he wondered if next time he took on a time-quest,
was there some way he could leave his emotions behind, become a mere detecting machine?

He didn’t like what he had found in 1811 and the sooner he returned to the future the better. As for Gemma, she would forget him and marry Lord Henry. There might even be a mention of it in the history books, if he could bear to read about it.

He saw Henry walking across the gardens. He looked anxious and preoccupied. Greeting Tam, he said: ‘I am searching for Lady Gemma. Have you seen her?’

‘I believe it was she I observed heading in the direction of Steine House.’ Something of a lie, but he was not sure how the lovesick Henry would take that long tête-à-tête in a secluded arbour.

Henry nodded briefly and, about to continue on his walk, he turned quickly and said: ‘Do take extra care, Mr Eildor. If your work with Mr Townsend is at an end, I would advise you to resume your journey to London as soon as possible.’

Without awaiting any reply, he bowed briefly and hurried on.

Tam watched him go. Was that the remark of a jealous lover? Did Henry suspect something and want rid of the competition? Or, more charitably, had he some knowledge and was this a deadly warning?

It was indeed a deadly warning.

Henry’s interview with his royal father had not gone at all well. It was obvious to him, and he feared also to Gemma, that although polite, the prince was somewhat taken aback at Henry’s sudden decision to wed and at his choice of a wife. Such a slip of a girl, plain and not a bit of flesh on her, no bosom either. Just a bag of bones in bed.

Henry could almost read his father’s thoughts as Gemma took her leave from the royal presence and he could hear that Townsend was forestalling him with the sad news of Percy’s death, Townsend’s own carefully edited version.

‘A stalker, you say, Townsend,’ the prince had said; ‘How very odd. He should be closely questioned.’

And the prince was not well pleased that this would not be possible since Townsend had shot him on the spot. Listening to this graphic account, the prince interrupted:

‘How very unfortunate. He might have had useful
information.’ A hard glance at Townsend’s face and he said smoothly: ‘Perhaps it was an accident, do you think, Townsend? Perhaps he killed the wrong man.’

Townsend barely suppressed a sigh of relief. ‘As your Royal Highness suggests, it is possible,’ was his vague reply and the glance they exchanged and the prince’s brief nod confirmed that Eildor had to go and Townsend was now the man for the job.

Once the sapphire was recovered, and the marchioness’s killer apprehended, that would be the right time.

Listening respectfully to the prince’s sympathetic noises over the death of a loyal servant, the necessity of getting a speedy messenger on the road to inform Percy’s wife and family, who the prince had met only once, Townsend felt that perhaps he was secretly relieved that yet another witness had been permanently silenced, a royal scandal averted.

They had been interrupted by the arrival of Henry and Gemma. After the brief introduction both she and Townsend were dismissed.

Henry was upset as the door closed on Gemma, keenly aware that she had not made the right impression on his father, as he had hoped. But that must wait. There were other matters, as the prince said:

‘That was a sad business indeed about Percy. Most unfortunate. He will be sadly missed.’

‘He was my good friend, Sire—’ Henry began.

‘Indeed, indeed, and you will no doubt miss him. But have you any suitable person in mind who might most easily fill this vacant role? I am sure there are many with the right qualifications—’

His manner was urgent, and as Henry listened politely to the required qualifications of background and breeding,
he was taken aback by this impersonal requiem for Percy’s long years as a trusted and loyal servant.

‘I have not yet had time or even desire to consider such matters. I beg pardon, Sire, but so many things happened all together: Lady Sarah’s funeral and my meeting with Lady Gemma. I had just asked Sir Joseph for her hand a few hours before – before – Percy—’ Overcome with emotion his voice trailed off.

‘Quite so, quite so.’ Mention of the funeral reminded the prince that the identity of the marchioness’s killer was still lacking.

He frowned. ‘Matters are not progressing, indeed not at all, in that direction, or the urgent recovery of our missing sapphire. We are disappointed in Townsend – most deeply – I had imagined he would have had the solution by now.’ And shaking his head sadly, ‘Our faith in him is quite destroyed.’

Henry forbore to point out that just a week had passed and that such matters might take some time.

‘You are quite sure, Henry, that the man who killed Percy is not the one we are looking for?’ the Prince said hopefully.

Townsend had been a little too rash in executing the fellow. Had he been kept alive a confession might have been obtained before his hanging.

‘I am certain sure, Sire.’

The prince looked at him and Henry knew that he must be told the truth however distressing.

‘Percy confessed – before he died.’ Pausing, Henry took a deep breath. ‘He confessed that he had in fact killed Lady Sarah.’

The Prince’s eyes widened in shock and he sat down hurriedly.

‘He – WHAT!’

‘He strangled Lady Sarah with her pearls – it was an accident—’

‘An accident! How could such a thing be an accident?’

This was going to be very difficult indeed. And embarrassing. ‘I am afraid, Sire, that in your absence – that night, Lady Sarah – er, led him on—’

He paused, waiting uneasily for his father’s reaction.

‘Led him on – did she now? Now there’s a thing.’

Henry suppressed a sigh of relief. At least he did not have to spell that out.

The prince gestured impatiently. ‘And did he also confess to taking the sapphire?’

‘No, Sire, he did not.’

The prince shrugged. ‘A pity.’ And with a wry smile, ‘Percy and Lady Sarah, eh? We would never have guessed that Percy had it in him, Henry. Poaching on the royal preserves, was he? By heaven, he could have been most severely punished, most severely.’

‘He was punished, Sire.’ And in as few words as possible Henry related all that Percy had confessed, including without graphic details Percy’s suspicions that someone else had entered the bedroom.

The prince’s head jerked upwards. ‘Ah, our jewel thief no doubt. How unfortunate that Percy was so occupied at that moment. He might have intercepted the villain and that would have saved us – and Townsend – a great deal of trouble and time.’

Pausing, he sighed deeply. ‘So we have a murder solved but we are no nearer to finding the stolen sapphire.’ Another sigh. ‘Who else was present?’

‘Only myself and Mr Eildor. The priest came later.’

‘Mr Eildor, eh?’

‘Percy wished to have a witness, Sire. He trusted Mr Eildor.’

The prince looked grim. Townsend was right. Although he knew nothing of Percy’s deathbed confession and had been a singular failure in recovering the sapphire, the Bow Street officer was right about Eildor. The man knew far too much, more than was good for his survival. He would have to go.

He looked at Henry and said lightly, as if making a joke of it: ‘We suspect that our present difficulties might have been solved this very instant if – if the stalker had killed Mr Eildor instead of Percy. Is that not so?’

Henry shook his head. ‘How so, Sire?’

‘Surely that is obvious, Henry. Why, it would save us having to recommend several unpleasant measures.’

Henry stared at him, there was no mistaking those grim words. ‘You intend, Sire—’ He could not finish it as a lot of things became clear at that moment. Tam Eildor was to be the next victim and Townsend would put a gun to his head in the same manner as he had despatched Percy’s unknown assassin.

And the thought came unbidden, suddenly spoken aloud. ‘Was it Eildor and not Percy who should have died, Sire?’

The prince evaded his gaze, stared out of the window. ‘We believe that was the intention. Might as well be straight with you, Henry. The so-called stalker, we have reason to believe, was one of Townsend’s own men. Came from London with him to keep an eye on things.’

Henry took a backward step. ‘Sire, that is dreadful, dreadful.’

And as he thought of his dying friend, he also remembered the carriage accident to dispose of the body of
his father’s mistress. The four guards disguised as highwaymen had been his own idea but he had not intended Eildor’s death.

‘Sire, could he not go to London as you promised him?’ he pleaded.

The prince smiled thinly. He raised one eyebrow. ‘You are very tender-hearted, Henry, about enemies of the state.’

‘Have you proof of that, Sire?’ Henry demanded sternly.

The prince shrugged. ‘A matter of time before Brummell’s enquiries in Edinburgh reveal something to Eildor’s discredit, or Townsend’s independent enquiries reveal him as a spy.’

‘A spy! Never – I refuse to believe such a thing,’ said Henry indignantly.

The prince smiled indulgently and wagged a teasing finger at his son. ‘As I have said, you are very soft-hearted these days, Henry. We are surprised at you. But love is surely to blame; first love, especially, does that to a young man sometimes.’

Henry wondered if that sudden shadow across his father’s face was a recollection of how he had threatened suicide when Mrs Fitzherbert refused to marry him. Emotional blackmail, which had succeeded.

‘Makes him think that all’s well with the world and that everyone in it is his friend. But it does not do for rulers of great kingdoms to be tender-hearted. We cannot afford such luxuries if we are to keep the people happy and keep our heads firmly upon our shoulders.’

And giving this a moment to sink in, watching Henry’s expressionless face, he said, ‘Mr Eildor is a danger to the state, to England and to ourself – can you not see that, my dear lad?’ he added patiently. ‘If he were allowed to talk,
the scandal regarding, er, what happened here that night, could be exceedingly unpleasant for many innocent parties involved.’

He frowned, considering his brother Frederick’s reactions to the knowledge that George was his mistress’s secret lover. Worse by far, his own lack of popularity with the parents who despised him.

Suppressing a shudder, he went on: ‘This knowledge could be exceeding dangerous in the wrong hands, it might well overthrow us and, indeed, unseat the whole government.’

As Henry continued to shake his head obstinately over Eildor’s fate, his father sighed and patted his hand. ‘Indeed, it is as well for England, dear lad, oft as we have regretted it, that we cannot acknowledge you as our own son, and heir to the throne.’

Not at all put out by these remarks, having been in silent agreement with that decision for most of his life now, Henry begged to be excused and went in search of Gemma.