The Stuart Sapphire (21 page)

Walking towards Steine House, Henry knew that he was also at a crossroads in his life. Much had happened since Tam Eildor’s arrival and the events of the past two days had made him aware that he no longer wished to stay as one of the grooms of the royal bedchamber.

The prince’s almost casual dismissal of Percy’s death and the necessity of finding a replacement for their years of friendship, he realised, was the final straw.

In a few years his father would be King and Henry knew that the amoral, extravagant life in the Pavilion replaced by Buckingham House was not for him either.

His meeting with Gemma had changed his outlook on life dramatically. He had outgrown life at Court and, after a long wait, for the first time in his life he believed he had found a love that could last forever, instead of the frantic couplings that went on in the Pavilion and in the society in which he lived.

He needed a wife.

He found Gemma and Maria Fitzherbert cosily seated by the window deep in conversation. They looked completely at ease, like old friends who had met regularly through the years.

Gemma looked up at Henry shyly. ‘I have a lot to tell you,’ she said.

‘You have made up your mind,’ he said eagerly.

She shook her head and laughed. ‘Not yet, Henry. Do please give me time.’ She gave a helpless look in Maria’s direction who smiled:

‘There is much to consider, Henry.’

In answer he said: ‘Then pray tell her, I am quite a good fellow.’

Gemma laughed. ‘No need. She has been singing your praises,’ and quickly changing the subject, ‘What is this you have to tell me?’

‘Shall I leave?’ Maria rose to her feet.

‘No, stay. It concerns you too,’ said Henry, touching her arms and smiling at her tenderly. ‘But I trust this will help Gemma make her decision.’ Drawing a deep breath, he said: ‘I have decided to leave Court. I have held my position for more than twelve years and with Percy gone, and the necessity of sharing my tasks with a newly appointed stranger, I feel it is time I had a place of my own.’

Pausing, he looked at Maria. ‘As you know, I have a small estate in West Sussex given to me by the prince on my 25th birthday. An apology, I suppose, that he could never acknowledge me.’

Gemma intercepted a deep and understanding glance between the two as he turned to her and taking her hand he said: ‘I wish to live there as a country squire. I have a fancy to try my hand at dabbling in local politics, perhaps
giving my tenants a model village.’

‘Bravo,’ whispered Maria. ‘A very wise choice. You were never meant to be a courtier, Henry dear. Always too honest.’

He bowed and turned again to Gemma. ‘What do you say?’

Gemma smiled. ‘I think it’s a wise decision too.’

Again he bowed. ‘All I ask of fate is a loving wife to share my new life with me,’ he said gently.

She looked at him intently. ‘Once you said you would do anything, anything if I would marry you.’

His eyes were full of hope as he whispered. ‘You have my word.’

She frowned. ‘This may seem a rather odd request. But I know someone whose life is in terrible danger—’

‘You wish me to break the law,’ he said sternly.

‘No, there is no law for this particular person, just people who want him dead.’ She paused. ‘People, alas, known to us.’

He looked uncertain, then she said: ‘Henry, will you help Mr Eildor to get safely away from here? There is very little time.’

He stared at her. ‘How did you know? I have just realised, talking to – to the prince, that he is in mortal danger.’

Gemma did not ask the obvious. How the prince could not intervene.

‘There is a way,’ said Maria. ‘I have a planned excursion, in a few hours, a moonlight picnic to meet friends at a little cove along the coast. We can take Mr Eildor with us, no one will be surprised at that, and put him on the coach for London. By the time he is missed, he will be safe and can make his own arrangements to return to Scotland.’

All three agreed that this was an excellent plan, the best that they could think of at short notice. But Gemma, who knew the true facts of Tam’s desperate and quite unique situation, realised that only the fact of being close to the sea might make Tam’s emergency exit possible.

Henry decided that he should go in search of Tam immediately and tell him of their plan. In sight of the Pavilion, deep in thought, he heard his name called and saw Townsend heading rapidly in his direction, accompanied by a stranger he was eager to introduce as Mr Watkins, a Brighton resident.

‘Tell his lordship your story, sir.’

Mr Watkins bowed. A modest grocer, he was rendered rather tongue-tied at having to address a member of the royal court at the Pavilion. His tale, confused with ‘ers’ and ‘ums’, was likely to take some time, and as Townsend was not a patient man, he interrupted several times to speed him on.

Then, exasperated, he pushed Mr Watkins aside. ‘Excuse me, sir, if you will,’ and to Lord Henry: ‘It is like this, sir. Mr Watkins claims that he stopped a carriage on the Lewes road the other night. He was misinformed by his friends after a somewhat hilarious evening and had taken what he believed was a short cut back to Brighton—’

Henry listened horrified, all too familiar with the carriage involved.

‘Mr Watkins reported this to Sir Joseph and was sent to me to investigate the facts. There is as you know a substantial reward involved.’

‘Indeed,’ said Henry vaguely. ‘Then do not let me delay you.’

Townsend looked at him slyly. ‘Just thought you might be interested, connections with Sir Joseph and so forth.’

All of which suggested to Henry that Townsend was in full possession of the facts of the carriage accident and knew that he was also personally involved. Townsend continued: ‘HRH might also care to know of this matter, being a close friend of His Grace and very keen to see justice done. However, he is dining and cannot be disturbed. I thought that in the circumstances your lordship might care to report to him—’

Henry waited no longer. Murmuring reassurances which he did not mean, excusing himself he went in search of Tam. His room in the guest apartments was empty and borrowed clothes on the bed suggested that he had already left.

Hastily he retraced his steps to Steine House and to the footman said:

‘Mr Eildor? Is he here?’

He was informed that Mr Eildor had arrived only five minutes ago and was at present in the small parlour waiting to be received by Madam.

‘I do not need to be announced,’ said Henry and crossing the hall he found Tam staring out of the window. ‘Thank God, I got here in time.’ And closing the door: ‘We are in a pretty fix, Mr Eildor. I have just met a Mr Watkins from Brighton—’

And proceeding to relate Mr Watkins’ experience on the Lewes Road, he gave Tam a despairing glance. ‘The worst is to come. Mr Watkins claims that he also recognised you as the gentleman he met on the steps of Creeve House when he was about to call on Sir Joseph and claim his reward.’

Pausing for breath, he said wryly, ‘Thankfully he did not also recognise the coachman muffled up to the eyes as the man who was now listening to his story. But he also recalled that there was a lady inside the carriage. She was
very silent, her eyes closed, very pale and ill-looking. She ignored his excuses for interrupting her journey and was asleep or, as he now realised – dead!’

This was bad news indeed, a piece of ill luck. ‘How did Sir Joseph receive this information?’ Tam asked.

‘Very seriously. Gave him half the reward on account, sent him off to find Mr Townsend with instructions to begin an investigation. He then told Mr Watkins that he would receive the remainder of the reward once his story was proved and led to the arrest of Her Grace’s killer. Mr Watkins, advised to act upon these instructions, was told that Mr Townsend was in the employ of HRH and most likely to be found at the Pavilion. Which is where they were both heading when I met them.’

He put a hand on Tam’s arm. ‘Mr Eildor, you have been recognised. Before long Townsend will be on your heels, tracking you down. It would be most unwise for you to linger here. We are in terrible danger.’

Tam smiled. ‘Not you, sir. There is no way I would ever divulge the coachman’s identity. You have my word on that.’

Henry shook his head. ‘My concern is for you. You must leave this place immediately, with us in Mrs Fitz’s carriage. Do not on any account return to the guest apartments. That was the first place I looked for you and no doubt Townsend will be lying in wait.’

Tam had delayed only long enough to change into the shirt and breeches he had been wearing when he landed on the hulks. Over them he threw the borrowed cloak which he would discard, along with the borrowed shoes.

Henry said: ‘You must stay here until we are ready to leave. You will be quite safe and should Townsend come in search of you, the servants will have instructions to keep
him at bay. Fortunately HRH will be in no condition to interview Townsend, or anyone else for that matter, until tomorrow morning,’ he added wryly.

An angry Townsend was soon to learn the truth of Henry’s words. Frustrated by his attempts to find Tam, who was no longer in the guest apartments, although his clothes suggested that he was not far away, he thought for a moment and felt it imperative that the prince be told the latest developments involving the carriage accident. At the Pavilion he was informed that the prince was dining with important guests and had given orders that on no account whatsoever was he to be interrupted.

As Townsend tried in vain to stress the importance, it was even more maddening to hear the prince’s loud guffaws. Swearing under his breath, he decided to take the law into his own hands, as he had done so many times in his life and with great success.

Summoning two of the personal bodyguards who knew him, he informed them that there was a wanted man in the Pavilion whose immediate arrest was of vital importance to HRH. They regarded him with suspicion, shook their heads and said they took their orders only from the Prince Regent himself.

Townsend thereupon assured them that the criminal was a thief that HRH was most anxious should not escape, adding a promise that should anything at all go wrong, and HRH decided that he had overstepped the mark, then he would take full personal blame. However, if they succeeded in capturing the criminal, then he would also make certain that they were well rewarded.

To his chagrin they remained unimpressed. Who was this man – a mere Bow Street officer – to order them about?

Mr Watkins, patiently waiting and trembling
considerably
in an anteroom, was summarily dismissed, armed only with promises of the rest of that reward in due course.

Townsend watched him go regretfully.

What an opportunity missed! If only he had been allowed to bring him face to face with Tam Eildor, to be brought before the prince and dramatically presented as the man in the carriage, whose identity would be made public after he was safely behind bars as the Marchioness of Creeve’s murderer.

What a sensation. What a personal triumph!

Of course, Townsend was aware that the prince knew that it wasn’t true. But a scapegoat had to be found. Perhaps Eildor should be allowed to escape from his prison and get shot trying to evade the law, thus silenced forever.

It did Townsend’s temper no good at all as he marched out of the Pavilion to hear sounds of music and merriment issuing from the dining room.

The Prince Regent had excellent reason for merriment as he gazed across the vast dining table at his important guests. His adviser on paintings and furniture had newly returned from France armed with negotiations for a Rembrandt to add to the royal collection.

Lord Yarmouth was the son of Lady Hereford, for some years the prince’s mistress, a middle-aged lady who had little that was obvious to commend her as a beauty and whose presence at Court had long been a gift to the caricaturists.

Yarmouth, however, had brought with him a delectable young widowed countess from Paris. Regrettably, only a short stay, he was informed, but her eyes meeting those of the Prince Regent boldly across the table promised that a
great deal might be achieved as his guest for a night or two.

Another conquest. He was greatly relieved that his new bedroom, although not yet completely decorated to his satisfaction, was ready for immediate occupancy.

Aware of Prime Minister Perceval seated as far away as possible and scowling at him from the far end of the table, he ignored the issues that had brought him to Brighton; to urge the Prince Regent to return to London immediately. Echoes of the Regency Bill of 1810 still threatened the smooth running of parliament with stormy debates between not only Whigs and Tories but also involving his own brothers.

Tonight at his side, seated very proudly in her prettiest gown, was his daughter Princess Charlotte, the unlikely source of his additional good humour. This was indeed a surprise to many of the prince’s more intimate guests, well aware of the uneasy relationship between the two. The servants too were taken aback, since the princess was normally excluded from dining even informally at the royal table.

Just an hour earlier, Princess Charlotte had sought out her father, timidly tapping on the library door where he was frowning over those beastly tiresome State documents to be discussed with Prime Minister Perceval.

He looked up, saw who it was and was very short with her. What did she want? And could it not wait?

‘Papa – sire – this is – is – quite – urgent.’ As always her father’s presence brought back that childish stammer, the feeling of inadequacy and disappointment forced upon her from birth.

‘Papa – I – I found – this.’ And with a trembling hand she laid down the Stuart Sapphire on his desk in front of him.

With a cry of triumph he seized it. Even clutched in his hand, he could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘From – from your bedroom, Papa – wh— which you have just – vacated – upstairs.’ And aware that he was not going to shout at her as usual, growing bolder, she added: ‘Actually, Papa, I rather like it – I was wondering—’

He held up an impatient hand. ‘Yes, yes, by all means, you can have anything. But tell me about this!’ Waving the sapphire, ‘Where did you get it?’ A sudden dark frown. ‘Who gave it to you?’

‘No one, Papa. I – I was looking around your – your old bedroom – thinking I might like to have it for my stay sometime – I dropped my shawl, and when I was picking – picking it off the floor, I saw jammed in between the boards, something – something shiny. And there it was—’

She stopped, giving him a wide-eyed innocent look. ‘I did not know that it was lost, Papa. I would have been most – most upset had I known.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Seeing that you had always promised it to me,’ she added reproachfully.

But her father was no longer listening. Relief flooded over him. All was well, his kingdom steadied again, no longer rocked to its foundations.

What a day it had been! The marchioness’s murder – solved. Poor Percy, but it did serve him right, just a bit! The missing Stuart Sapphire – solved. And waiting for him later this evening, if he could remain sober enough to enjoy her, that delightful creature, the French countess.

His cup of joy overflowing, he realised that now at last he could be rid of Mr Eildor. He would tell Townsend to get on with it. And now that the sapphire had been recovered, he might return to London immediately.

Yes indeed, he would summon Townsend first thing tomorrow morning, tell him that his services were no longer required. A gracious thank you and small reimbursement for his troubles should be sufficient.

But tonight there were even more important matters.

He smiled at Charlotte, warmed to her for a moment of gratitude. ‘Thank you, my dear. There is a young man we
should like you to meet. Prince Leopold of Saxe-
Coburg-Saalsfeld
is coming to London shortly. Meanwhile, perhaps you would care to join us at dinner this evening. A little experience at entertaining our important guests—’

Charlotte did not care in the least about any young prince, but to be invited to one of her father’s banquets! She rushed forward, round the desk:

‘Oh thank you, Papa, thank you.’

For a dreadful moment he thought she was going to kiss him, but it was just a brief hug instead.

Townsend had, with some difficulty, completed his search of the Pavilion, assured by guards constantly on duty that no, they had not seen Mr Eildor.

He was certainly not on the premises and of course they would recognise him. But not even Mr Eildor, or Mr Townsend for that matter, they told him sternly, would be allowed to enter the royal apartments unchallenged.

Had Mr Townsend tried the guest apartments?

He had, as well as a thorough look around the gardens, so where could Eildor be hiding? He would hardly be wandering around Brighton, seeing that he had no money and no friends.

Then Townsend had a sudden inspiration.
Remembering
that conversation with Lord Henry and Lady Gemma when they had arrived from Creeve House, Eildor might well have taken refuge with Mrs Fitzherbert.

Hastening to Steine House, he was informed by a footman that he had missed Mrs Fitzherbert. Madam had left half an hour ago in her carriage. No, he did not know Madam’s destination nor the identities of her companions. But should Mr Townsend care to leave a message?

Walking down the steps Townsend realised the
significance of the carriage. Eildor would already be on the outskirts of Brighton, ready to catch the London coach. As he stood on the Steine, wondering what to do next, he saw a rider approaching from the promenade, heading towards the Pavilion.

By a stroke of luck it was one of the Dragoons guards who knew him well. Attracting his attention, Townsend explained that he was in pursuit of a dangerous criminal and asked if he could possibly borrow his horse? The man looked doubtful until Townsend insisted that this was an urgent mission and vital to the safety of HRH. So, agreeing somewhat reluctantly, and saying this was a very fast horse, he dismounted.

Watching Townsend ride off, as he made his way back to the Pavilion, the officer wondered what all the fuss was about, as neither he nor any of his comrades had heard of any threats to their royal master.

Townsend was jubilant. Riding a good, fast horse he should easily overtake a leisurely carriage, and he was now quite confident that Eildor’s destination was the coaching inn some four miles down the road. There he would lie in wait, and arrest Eildor. Having failed miserably to locate the Stuart Sapphire, perhaps some of that failure would be forgiven and forgotten when it became public that he had solved and captured single-handedly the Marchioness of Creeve’s murderer.

The fact that Eildor would be shot trying to escape would also, he felt sure, be the wisest and most agreeable solution to any scandal threatening the Prince Regent.

As Mrs Fitzherbert’s carriage came in sight of the coaching inn, Tam realised that this was indeed journey’s end. They had travelled almost in silence, preoccupied and anxious,
for even he suspected Maria Fitzherbert knew that there was more at stake than whether it would stay fine for a moonlight picnic.

Alighting from the carriage, Tam was relieved to see that the inn was on the cliff road, within sight of the sea. Following them into the inn, he made his decision. He must take his chance on the sea being at hand and trust that the microchip would see him back to his own time, and not leave him stranded in some dread limbo of past or future.

Making his excuses in the already overcrowded inn with no chance to say lingering farewells, no chance to grasp Gemma’s hand or kiss her cheek, he slipped the coins Henry had given him for his coach fare into her reticule and announced that he would take a look outside as there were other travellers gathered to board the London coach.

Alone, he walked the short distance to the edge of the cliff, appearing just as a casual observer. He heard the horn and the vibration of the horses’ hooves announcing the imminent arrival of the London coach.

Turning, he thought he saw Gemma’s face at the window of the inn.

Raising his hand in farewell, at the same instant his name was called.

‘Mr Eildor!’

It was Townsend on horseback.

‘A word with you, sir. A word, if you please.’

This was it. ‘Goodbye, Brighton. Goodbye, Gemma, dear lovely Gemma, be happy,’ he whispered.

Townsend had dismounted. ‘You cannot escape, Mr Eildor. I have you now!’ he said triumphantly.

He heard a noise, a vibration like air being sucked out of the world around him and the place he had seen Eildor standing just yards away was empty.

Empty? Damn the man, he had escaped, he had jumped off the steep road down on to the stony beach.

‘Come back! I’ll have you yet!’ he yelled.

He ran to the road’s edge, his pistol cocked at the ready, but there was no sign of Eildor. Or of any living soul, the shore deserted as far as the eye could see, an azure line on the horizon, the sea at ebb tide.

Had Eildor slipped past him, and joined the coach? Impossible that he could not have seen him, and as he walked back to the horse, he almost tripped over a black cloak and a pair of shoes. All that remained of Tam Eildor to show that he had been there at all.

Townsend felt suddenly quite ill. It was a magician’s trick, of course, no one in his experience had ever vanished into thin air. But how the devil was he going to explain all this to the Prince Regent? Or to himself?

He had quick look in the coach, which was about to leave. Eildor was not among the passengers.

Going into the inn, just to make sure, he fought his way over to a table where Mrs Fitzherbert, Lord Henry and Lady Gemma were taking a little refreshment.

Approaching them, he bowed and stating the obvious: ‘Mr Eildor is not with you?’

He was told: ‘He left just moments ago for the London coach.’

They were smiling, laughing at him, three conspirators.

Damn them, damn them. Ordering a pint of ale and a pie he went to another table and there he tried to work out logically what had happened.

Was it possible that Eildor had somehow slipped by him and hidden on the coach? Surely he was not journeying to London in his bare feet? He might have dropped the cloak by accident, but he would never have abandoned a good
pair of shoes. That took a lot of explanation.

The three conspirators had their backs towards him, Lord Henry in casual conversation with Mrs Fitzherbert, and Lady Gemma looking intently out of the window.

They heard the coach leave. ‘Got away all right, has he?’ asked Henry.

‘Just perfectly,’ said Gemma who knew the truth and had seen Tam vanish from the cliff road. Fighting back tears and smiling at Henry, she realised that someday he must be told.

But not, of course, until they were married.