The Tainted Snuff Box (6 page)

“It will not signify.  I trust you to take care of the boots,” I told him while putting on the greatcoat and reaching for my hat.  “While I am out, perhaps you might see to obtaining some sand.  For Chakkri, you know,” I said, indicating the corner of the room where Chakkri’s private container stood. 

The valet’s gaze met mine.

In a fit of pique over the cat taking up residence with us, Robinson had selected a particular container for Chakkri to use for his personal needs.  The porcelain tray had been a gift specially made for me and presented by a merchant hoping to advance his daughter’s chances in Society.  The place where Chakkri often covered a damp spot was directly over the artist’s rendition of yours truly, complete with perfectly tied cravat, tall hat, and raised quizzing glass.

Robinson’s lips tightened.

“Yes,” I said, snatching up the last roll from the breakfast tray and making my way to the door, “we have to fill the tray with . . . something, eh?”

I left Robinson with a moue of distaste on his face.

In the hallway, I allowed myself a smile.

* * * *

Outside the Pavilion, a breeze carried the sea air to my nostrils, and I inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent.  Although the autumn air chilled my face, I was warm enough in my greatcoat, despite the grey day.

Striding along the building with my gaze trained on the upper floor windows, I counted aloud. “. . . Two, three, four—aha!  That should be my window right there,” I said to no one.  Moving several yards away from the structure, I removed the breakfast roll from my pocket and crumbled it into bits with my gloved fingers.  Busy tossing the crumbs about on the ground, I did not hear anyone approach.

“George,” a sweet, light voice called from behind me.

I swung around, dropping the rest of the roll.  “Freddie!” 

Her Royal Highness, Frederica, the Duchess of York stood a short distance away smiling at me.  The daughter of a Prussian king and married to King George III’s second son, the Duke of York, Freddie is a small, dignified lady with brown curly hair.  Today she wore a rich forest-brown pelisse over a cinnamon-coloured walking gown and matching bonnet.  Her charming countenance is the dearest female face known to me.  Especially when it holds such an expression of delight as it did now.

“Dear, whatever are you doing, breaking that roll and throwing it about the ground like that?” she asked.

“I thought to attract birds for Chakkri to watch from our window,” I explained.  I covered the few steps between us, swept off my hat, and bowed low to her.  Then I brushed a last crumb from my hand, reached out and clasped her gloved hand in mine.

  One of her hands.  The other hand held a leash, which was attached to a dog.  Freddie has what you might call a fondness for the creatures and lives with upwards of one hundred of them.  This one I had not seen before.  He is a sad-looking hound with big, people-like eyes, his colouring running to black and brown with a white chest flecked with black.  His snout is white, and he has enormous brown eyebrows which—I give you my word—he wiggled at me.

“Never mind that now,” I said, keeping Freddie’s hand in a tight grasp and looking down into her precious china-blue eyes.  “You have come to Brighton at last.  When did you arrive?” 

She smiled up at me.  “Last night, while everyone was at the Johnstones.  I had to come.  I had to give you your present and could not count on your coming soon to Oatlands.”

I gave her my best look of reproach.  “Present?  I do not need any gift other than your company.  But you wound me.  Almost nothing could keep me from your weekend house parties, as you well know.  Now that you are here, there will be no need for me to travel to see you.  You will be staying through the weekend, will you not?”

Freddie cast a look behind her where her maid, Ulga, stood at a respectful distance watching us.  Gently, she tugged her hand from mine.  “Oh, I cannot say, George,” she said.  “We will see how the Brighton air agrees with me.”

What she meant was that she would have to see if her blackguard of a husband, the Duke of York, found out she had ventured away from the country estate he rarely visited, Oatlands, to travel to the Pavilion.  If he did, he might decide to join her, with mistress in tow.

Yes, yes, I know the Duke is highly regarded in some circles, being the Commander in Chief of England’s land forces, but he is not highly regarded in the circle of my brain.  Gentlemen should be true to their marriage vows, and if they cannot be, they should at least be discreet.  The Duke of York is neither.

“Will you not introduce me to your escort?” I bantered, wishing to see the smile return to Freddie’s face.

“His name is Humphrey, but wait a moment before shaking his paw.  Let me give you your present first, George, before someone wanders along and finds it.”  Freddie walked over to a nearby tree.  The dog and I followed.

With the flourish of a conjurer at Southwark Fair, Freddie reached behind the tree and produced a walking stick.  She smiled and handed it to me.  “I had this made up especially for you, dear, to thank you for your help with that recent nerve-rattling incident regarding Miss Ashton.”

I stared down at the ebony cane in surprise and pleasure.  Beautifully carved, it is topped by an elegant silver dog’s head.  The canine’s eyes are sapphires.  Such a gift would remind me of the Royal Duchess every time I carried it.  “Freddie, it is handsome to be sure, but you need not have given me anything.”

“Nonsense, George,” she proclaimed roundly.  “If not for you, Miss Ashton would be in Newgate, my reputation would have suffered, and God only knows what else.  I simply desired to show my appreciation for all you did in recent weeks.”

I wanted to tell her that I would do anything for her, cross raging rivers, slay dragons, rescue wounded puppies, whatever was required, but she is a married woman and I am an honourable gentleman.  Dash it! 

“Thank you, Freddie,” I replied gravely.  “This shall be the only stick I carry from now on.”

“George, do not say so!  I know you have a marvelous collection of canes.  You must not limit yourself to just this one,” she insisted.  But I thought there was a spark of pleasure in the depths of her eyes even as she denounced my plan.

“Freddie, I choose to carry only this walking stick,” I said in a tone that stated the subject was closed.

A hint of colour on her cheeks, she took the cane back from me.  “Well, if you do carry it, it will afford you a measure of protection.  Here, if you twist the silver dog’s head like this,” she said, suiting her actions to her words, “you have a remarkably sharp swordstick.”  A gleaming blade snapped out of the bottom of the cane.  Freddie handed the cane back to me.

“Excellent,” I said, turning the head back, causing the mechanism to retract the blade, leaving me with an innocent-looking walking stick.

“Now let me tell you about Humphrey, George.  I received a petition from him—well, actually his master—who was forced to leave England.  Not being able to take the dog along, he feared for Humphrey’s future.”

I looked down at the animal and he gazed back with the most melancholy grimace I have ever seen.  He is a short-legged creature, and his long droopy ears and wrinkled jowls almost touched the ground.

“His master begged that I might give Humphrey a home, stating that with sufficient carrots and grated parmesan cheese, the poor darling would be quite content.”

“Carrots?”  I asked, casting a disbelieving eye at the animal’s stocky body.

“Indeed,” Freddie confirmed, nodding her head.  “Well, George, I need hardly tell you that I offered the dog a home at once.  I have not regretted the decision for a moment; Humphrey is such a loving soul.  Considering that he has recently been separated from the only master he ever knew, I felt it incumbent upon me to bring him along on this trip to Brighton, so he would not feel abandoned in any way.  He must know he is among friends.  Will you not pet him, dear?”

With a touch of reluctance born from a mental image of Robinson’s disapproving expression when I handed him gloves covered with dog hair, I knelt down and stroked the top of Humphrey’s head. 

“Look, George, he likes you!” the Royal Duchess exclaimed.

Did drooling equal affection?  If so, the dog was positively in love with me.  I inched my buckskin-clad knee discreetly away.  Robinson was skilled in his work, but I doubted he included a drool-remover in his cache of valet equipment.  I looked up to reply to Freddie’s statement, when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement at the window of my bedchamber.  Focusing my gaze, I perceived a startling sight.

Two eyes blazed at me, the orbs glinting red.  A tail snapped repeatedly against the pane of glass.

Chakkri saw me petting Humphrey.  Chakkri was angry. 

Rescue came from an unexpected source.  At that moment, Lady St. Clair, accompanied by her daughters and their maid, headed our way.  I could cease my attentions to the dog without offending Freddie.

I rose, then bowed as the ladies joined us.  They sank into deep curtseys for Freddie.

“Good morning, Lady St. Clair,” Freddie said regally.  “It is a fine day for a walk, is it not?”

“Quite so.  We are honoured to have your Royal Highness amongst us.  If it pleases your Royal Highness, may I present my daughters, Lady Chastity and Lady Prudence?”

There followed another series of curtseys and pleasant remarks. 

Lady Chastity noticed Humphrey.  “I’ve never seen a short-legged dog like that before, your Royal Highness.”

“Chastity,” Lady St. Clair said swiftly before Freddie could reply.  “Do not be overly familiar with the Royal Duchess.”

Lady Prudence shot her sister a pious look.

Lady Chastity pouted prettily, but did not defy her mother.  Lady St. Clair’s command had been gentle, but with a hint of steel underneath.

“It is quite all right, Lady St. Clair,” Freddie said.  “The dog’s name is Humphrey, Lady Chastity.  Would you like to pet him?”

Humphrey looked up hopefully.

Lady Chastity made a move forward, but her mother’s words, soft but effective, stopped her.  “You are very kind, your Royal Highness, but we would not keep you,” Lady St. Clair said.  I felt sure she did not approve of her daughter touching the dog, though nothing in her cordial tone indicated it.  “The girls and I are taking our morning exercise and will continue to the Steine, if you will excuse us?”

Freddie nodded.

Lady St. Clair and her daughters curtseyed.  “Good morning to you and Mr. Brummell, your Royal Highness.  I hope you and Humpty have a nice stroll.”

With that, Lady St. Clair moved stiffly away, daughters and maid in tow.  I glanced at Freddie who was gazing after them.

“Lady St. Clair did not remember Humphrey’s name correctly,” I remarked.

Freddie said nothing.  She is the type of lady who does not like to speak ill of others.  A little prompting would be necessary if I were to find out her opinion of Lady St. Clair.  And I wished to learn as much as I could about all of Prinny’s guests.  “Shall we take Humphrey for a walk on the beach?”

“Good idea, George.  He will enjoy it.  And you can tell me all of what has transpired since your arrival in Brighton.”

Freddie motioned for Ulga to follow.  We began walking at a slow pace around the house.  To get to the beach, we needed to walk past the grassy area known as the Steine.  Neither of us wanted to appear as if we were following Lady St. Clair and her daughters.  I said, “Though I have met Lord St. Clair before, I only met his lady and his daughters last night.”

Freddie stepped onto the footpath bordering the Steine.  The park-like area was crowded with people promenading.  “Lord St. Clair is a respected man in Parliament.  When he inherited his estate, Edenberry Grove, it had fallen into disrepair due to his father’s excessive gaming.”

“Horrid what gaming debts can do to a man.  I vow I shall never be brought low by them.”

Freddie gave a gentle tug on the leash as Humphrey had paused to sniff the ground.  “See that you do not, George.  As for Lord St. Clair, he eventually made the estate into one of the finest in the county.  His lordship made a fortunate choice in wives.  Lady St. Clair has done a great deal to help bring the estate to rights.”

Translation:  Lady St. Clair was the one with the money.

“The daughter of a neighbouring estate owner?” I asked casually, reaching down and moving the animal’s front quarters in order to get him to move along.  He finally complied.

Freddie smiled her thanks.  “Prior to marriage, Lady St. Clair was Miss Euthenia Beale, the daughter of a London silk importer.”

Translation:  Lady St. Clair was the daughter of a Cit, the common term used for City Merchant.  This explained her air of being Beyond Reproach.  In an effort to cover her undistinguished parentage, Lady St. Clair took pains not to make a single social misstep.

Neither Freddie nor I spoke for a few moments as we gazed out to the sea.  The waves were rough, pounding against the shore with wrathful intensity.  A bit farther down from where we were, the sea-bathing machines stood without customers.  Only a few fishing boats braved the heaving water.

I glanced over at Freddie, thinking she might not wish to stroll on the beach on such a day.  Indeed, as I looked around, I observed only a scattering of people about.  But Freddie loves unfettered nature and would not be deterred.

I grasped her cherished arm firmly and guided her down the steps.  Ulga followed behind.  Humphrey seemed excited, his snout raised in high anticipation of a good romp.

“Should I release him from his leash, George?” Freddie asked uncertainly. 

“Yes, do.  He seems eager for some exercise.  I daresay he could use it.”

Freddie bent and unhooked the length of leather from the dog’s collar.  He moved quickly for a fellow so close to the ground, his tail up and the tip wagging a bit as he traversed the pebbled ground.

“Perhaps I could ask your advice about Chakkri, Freddie,” I said, taking her arm and placing it through mine.  We began to walk down the beach, the sound of the waves crashing in the background. 

“Of course you can, dear.”