The Man in the Green Coat
Page 10
“Oh dear, it sounds as if we are going to cause a lot of extra work. I cannot like being under such an obligation to Lady Cecilia. Why, she barely knows us!”
“I can see that I must hurry off before you change your mind. Shall you be at Mrs Albright’s party tonight?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Gabrielle still looked anxious. “And you?”
“Most certainly! Till then, Miss Darcy.”
She rose and went with him to the door. When they reached it he turned and put one hand on her shoulder, while with the other he gently smoothed her wrinkled brow.
“Stop worrying!” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” she said smiling, and curtsied.
As soon as he was gone, she went to find Lady Harrison. Her ladyship was in the small upstairs parlour, talking with Alain. They both fell silent as Gabrielle entered.
Then Alain said brightly, “I’m trying to persuade milady that we will survive without her hospitality, Miss Darcy. I was shocked to hear to what straits her generosity has brought her.”
“I am sure Alain will do well,” said Lady Harrison mournfully, “but le pauvre Monsieur Bellavant, and Mademoiselle de Grivis, and the others—where will they go?”
“They will get by,” Gabrielle assured her. “Hundreds of other émigrés have managed. You have protected them as long as you could, so pray do not fall into the megrims now. I have wonderful news!”
"Monsieur Everett has found us a cottage already?”
“Better. Lady Cecilia has invited us to spend the summer in the Dower House, at Wrotham!”
“At Wrotham!" Alain was startled. “Doro—Miss Everett has spoken to me about her home. I had never hoped to see it, but perhaps I may visit you there?”
“Mais naturellement! ” Her ladyship beamed. “Gabrielle, ce sera tout a fait merveilleux! A vrai dire, I do not think that a cottage would suit me.”
“That is what I feared, dear Madame, since our respectable house in Neuchâtel was too bourgeois for you. I was right to accept, then?”
“Of course, chérie.” Lady Harrison had no more qualms about accepting hospitality than she had about offering it.
"This Dower House, what sort of house is it?”
Gabrielle told what little she knew. Madame was delighted to hear that her advice on decorating was requested, and charmed at the prospect of travelling into Kent with the Everetts. If she was also amazed at the lengths to which Mr Everett would go for Gabrielle’s sake, after knowing her so short a time, she kept that to herself.
Alain begged off accompanying the ladies to Mrs Albright’s rout, but Gerard, still pale and repentant, offered his escort. Lady Harrison was struggling into her best gunmetal-grey silk evening gown when Lady Cecilia’s promised formal invitation was delivered. Putting off the moment of truth, she sat down at once to write a graceful acceptance.
* * * *
Dorothea begged off accompanying her mother and brother to Mrs Albright’s rout. Her best friend had invited her to a small party for young people (well chaperoned of course), to play at fish and forfeits and spillikins and such nursery games, and perhaps stand up for a country dance or two. It sounded much more amusing than another grand crush, said Dorrie.
Mr Everett was struggling into his tight-fitting coat, and wishing he had had the sense to continue his self-imposed exile from the amusements of the Beau Monde, when a note was delivered. Scrawled in an uneducated hand on a tattered scrap of paper, it was addressed to Baxter, but the valet handed it to his master at once.
“From Ted?” enquired Mr Everett, unfolding the missive and attempting to decipher the writing.
“Sir,” affirmed the monosyllabic manservant with a nod of his bald head.
“It seems Sir Oswald’s lawyer has the reputation of a shyster. How perceptive of Lady Harrison! Ted has located Mr Hubble’s offices at Lincoln’s Inn. I believe I shall go and see Mr Hubble tomorrow.”
“Sir.”
“No, on second thoughts, if the man is a shady character himself, he might get the wind up and destroy evidence, or even warn our quarry. Baxter, tell Ted to see if he can worm his way in and find any papers relating to the Harrison family. He is not to take anything. Nothing to be put in writing, and if he’s caught doing anything illegal we don’t know him.”
“Sir.”
“I pray I never meet your friend Ted in a dark alley.” Mr Everett examined himself in the mirror on his dressing table. He looked, he thought, unexceptionable. Vaguely dissatisfied, he swept his hand through his hair, leaving it in fashionable disarray, Now he looked merely unkempt. With a sigh he picked up his brush and restored it to order. “Thank you, Baxter, that is all. I may be late tonight, don’t wait up.”
“Sir.”
* * * *
Mrs Albright had described her party as a rout rather than a ball because of the unfortunate absence of a formal ballroom in her town house, about which she had been complaining for years. To make up for this deficiency, she had cleared every stick of furniture out of her large drawing room, hung it with Indian silk, and hired just two musicians so that they would not take up too much space. She had also provided a variety of attractions in other rooms in the hope that not too many of her guests would choose to dance.
Mr Everett wandered through the house searching for Gabrielle. She was not listening to the soprano in the conservatory. She was not playing silver loo in the library. She was not making polite conversation, nor exchanging gossip, in the small drawing room. She was not in the dining room sampling the lobster patties. She was not in the billiard room, but Gerard was, watching the play, and Mr Everett approached him.
“Good evening," he said. “Where is your sister?”
“I’m not betting,” said Gerard defensively. “Just watching.”
Mr Everett’s lips twitched, but he said with perfect gravity, “I am glad to see you are not in the card room.”
“Oh, I don’t care for cards above half. Nor dice, either. It’s the other things, like curricle races and how long it takes to down a pint of porter, that’s what did it. But I do think it was downright treacherous of Gaby to have squeaked beef to you!”
“Take a damper, young man. She didn’t. I guessed.”
“Oh. I see.”
“She said it was none of my business how you came to land in the suds.”
“She’s a right one, Gabrielle! She never used to tattle to Miss Wilford or Papa when I found myself in a hobble, just helped me out. I say, sir, thank you for finding us a place for the summer. Is there good shooting at Wrotham?”
“Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about Wrotham. At present I am looking for your sister!”
“She was dancing last time I saw her, with Sir Hubert Rathwycke, I think.”
“Thank you,” said Mr Everett, with a calmness he was far from feeling. Sir Hubert again! Was Miss Darcy attracted by the undoubtedly handsome young rake? He scowled at himself in the hallway mirror as he hurried towards the sound of music.
He was in time to see the end of the dance. Gabrielle and Sir Hubert were a good-looking couple, both with dark, vivid colouring, and they twirled about the floor as if they had been practising together. Mr Everett ground his teeth audibly, earning a surprised glance from an elderly matron standing nearby.
The cotillion came to an end. Ladies curtsied to their partners. Pink and breathless, Gabrielle approached the door on Sir Hubert’s arm, saw Mr Everett, and greeted him eagerly.
“May I have the next dance, Miss Darcy?” he requested, nodding curtly to her companion.
“Of course, if you will sit it out with me. I could not stand up again immediately to save my life.” She fanned herself vigorously. “Pray excuse me, Sir Hubert, Mr Everett will take me to Lady Harrison.”
Dismissed, the baronet took his leave with a bow and a smile.
"He is a monstrous fine dancer,” said Gabrielle as soon as he was out of earshot, “But a prodigious bore! Is it not provoking? He has no conversation beyond
fulsome compliments, which are very pleasant for the first five minutes and then become insupportable.”
Mr Everett's face lost its glower. “Don’t, I beg of you, let him hear you say that!” he advised her with a grin. “I can think of nothing he would consider more insulting.”
“No, for he fancies himself a nonpareil, and God’s gift to the ladies. Madame says he has a raffish reputation and I should not be seen with him, but he is such an accomplished dancer and I cannot think it dangerous to stand up with him now and then.”
“So long as you do nothing to set the tabbies’ tongues wagging. I have news for you. Is there somewhere we may be private?”
“What, and set the tabbies’ tongues to wagging?” she mocked “The conservatory is the traditional place for such assignations, is it not?”
“So I believe, though I am not practised in the art. However, Mrs Albright has provided her conservatory with an operatic soprano, and I expect her audience would boo and hiss were we to talk there.”
“Suppose I challenge you to a friendly game of piquet? It will have to be for farthing points, for I am bound to lose. I can never remember the rules, so talking over the cards cannot spoil my play.”
They made their way to the card room. All the tables were occupied, so they reserved one and went on to the supper room. There they joined a group of friends and acquaintances who were making inroads on the magnificent buffet of cold hams and sirloins, jellies and creams, strawberry tarts and pigeon pies.
A waiter served champagne. Thirsty after her exertions on the dance floor, Gabrielle drank two glasses. She was used to wine, having been brought up on it in the French fashion, but the bubbles went to her head and made her giggle like a schoolgirl.
Mr Everett thought her enchanting, but sent for lemonade. He had no wish to take advantage of her condition to win at piquet, even at a farthing a point.
A servant came to tell them that their card table was free. When some of the gentlemen proposed to come and watch their play, Gabrielle—eyes sparkling—forbade them. How could she concentrate on her cards, she demanded, with doubtless well-meaning advice flowing from every quarter? She and Mr Everett escaped into the other room and settled down at a green baize table in a quiet corner.
As he unwrapped the fresh pack of cards, sorted and shuffled them, Mr Everett reminded Gabrielle of the rules. She listened intently, but as she then asked with considerable indignation why there were no trumps, he decided that she thought she was playing whist.
“Should there not be four players?” she said uncertainly.
“No, no, Miss Darcy, we are playing piquet.” He smiled at her and patted her hand. “Should you like to deal first?”
“Certainly. You must not think I am confused because of the champagne. I simply do not understand cards very well, I fear.”
“I look forward to an interesting game!” he said, laughing. “I hope you avoid playing with hardened gamesters? Wait—just twelve cards each.”
“What is your news?” she asked, picking up her hand. “You said I can discard five cards?”
“Yes, or fewer if you wish. One of my men has already tracked down the lawyer Hubble. Are you sure you mean to discard that queen?”
“I think so. It is not a trump, is it? What did he have to say about Hubble?"
“It seems the man is not known for his probity.”
“A knave?”
“No, that is a king. Oh, you mean Hubble. I hesitate to go so far when I have so little information, but I decided not to confront him in case he took fright. You have a quatorze, Miss Darcy."
“I thought four knaves must be good for something. What shall you do next?”
“I shall add up my points, and then we play for tricks. I ordered Ted to search Hubble’s offices for papers related to the Harrisons’ affairs.”
“Is that not hazardous for him?”
“I am not personally acquainted with Ted, but from Baxter’s hints I gather that he is an accomplished burglar.”
Gabrielle frowned as she lost the fourth trick. “I do not think you should expect your hirelings to take risks that you are unwilling to share. Bother, I meant to play my ace.”
“Don’t tell me what you have left in your hand! He is not likely to be caught and he has strict instructions to take nothing.”
“If he is a burglar by trade, he may not be able to resist temptation. You ought to go with him. Besides, he might be unable to recognise anything of importance.”
“He has worked for me before with every success.”
Mr Everett dealt for the second game of the partie.
“All the same, you should go with him,” said Gabrielle obstinately, picking up her cards.
“If you insist, Miss Darcy! There, I have a sequence of eight. Beat that if you can.”
They played in silence for a while, but it was obvious that Gabrielle’s mind was not on the game. She lost dismally, shuffled and dealt with an abstracted look. This time her cards were so good that no amount of inattention could make her lose. She took nine of the twelve tricks, and at the end was only fifty-five points behind her opponent.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as he dealt the last game. “I said you should not make your man take risks you would not take, but you are doing just that for me. Or at least for Madame.”
“Then I do not have to go?” He accidentally discarded a ten, which she picked up.
“Oh yes, but I will go with you.”
“No, you most certainly will not!” Mr Everett lost his composure, his concentration, and trick after trick.
“Yes, I shall. I shall borrow Gerard’s clothes again, as I did to cross France, so you need not fear that anyone will recognise me.”
“I shan’t tell you where it is nor when I am going.”
“I’m sure I can find out for myself, and if you do not give me the time, I shall go on my own. And as I shall not have an expert burglar with me, I daresay I shall be taken up by the watch and sent to Botany Bay!”
“Piqued, repiqued and capotted!” groaned Mr Everett, totting up the points. “I owe you tuppence ha’penny, Miss Darcy. Will you accept my vowel?”
“When do you intend to redeem it, sir?”
“If you insist, ma’am, two days hence at midnight, at Lincoln’s Inn!”
Chapter 11
The night mist crept up the river, under Blackfriars Bridge, and swirled across Thames Street. Sneaking down narrow alleys and passageways, it lost its way in Clare Market and wandered patchily, now hiding now revealing the dark, silent tenements.
It deadened the furtive footsteps of the small man, carrying a dark lantern, who hurried down Bird Lane and peered round the corner of the gin shop. Silently approaching the two figures waiting there, he tapped the larger on the shoulder.
Startled, the man swung around.
“Ted?”
“Right, guv.” Ted put his finger to his lips and winked significantly. “Let’s ‘ave a bit of ‘ush now, though,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Y’reddy?”
“Ready? Yes. We’ve been waiting near half an hour in this confounded place.”
“Sorry, guv. ‘Ad a bit of a set-to with the missus. Wimmin!” He spat accurately into the fetid gutter running down the centre of the pavement. “’Ad to tell ‘er tonight’s business is fer King and Country. Wotcher bring the lad for, then?”
“She—he insisted on coming,” said Mr Everett drily.
“Shall we go?”
“Ri’chare, guv. T’ain’t far. Foller me.”
He dived into the maze of alleys and lanes. The others hurried to keep up, sure that if they lost sight of him they would never find their way out. An occasional lamplit window or torch guttering before a tavern compensated for the blowing mist, but left sinister corners of a deeper darkness where anything might have lurked. Gabrielle reached for Mr Everett’s hand.
“Sorry you came?” he whispered.
“Not in the least, only I should not like to find myself alone here
! I cannot think how he finds his way.”
They emerged from a particularly noisome alley into a small, paved courtyard with a horse trough in the centre. The mist had not penetrated here, and the starlight was bright enough to show an iron railing running across the opposite side of the square. A beam of light from the lantern shone upon their guide, crouching towards one end and fumbling with the lock of a narrow gate. They heard the clink of metal on metal, then a grating noise, and a creak as the gate swung open.
“Quick!” hissed Ted, and closed the lantern.
Once again he seemed to know exactly where he was going as he led them between tall brick buildings, under archways, up and down steps. At last he paused in a street somewhat wider than most, peered around, and darted across to take shelter in a doorway no different from a hundred others.
Mr Everett and Gabrielle joined him. He spilled a little light onto a crooked sign and they read, "Hubble, Blayne and Hubble, Attorneys-at-Law.”
As Ted poked at the door lock, they heard a mournful cry in the distance: “One o’clock and all’s well! One o’clock and all’s well!”
A bobbing light rounded the corner of the street, and they pressed back into the shadows as the watchman trudged towards them.
The door swung open. Ted caught it with a not quite silent oath before it hit the wall. They squeezed past him into the pitch-darkness of a musty corridor, then the faint oblong of the doorway vanished with a click.
“That’s better!” breathed Ted. “’Arf a mo, just let ‘im pass and we'll ‘ave a bit o’ light in 'ere.”
Gabrielle, clinging to Mr Everett’s arm, held her breath as the thud of the watchman’s staff approached.
“One o’clock and all's well! One o’clock and all’s well!”
The sound retreated. Gabrielle stifled a desire to giggle with relief.
“’E'll be gorn a nower at least,” promised Ted, and slid back the panels on the lantern.
The corridor was grimy as well as musty, and the office into which he now let them with practised ease was no better. Gabrielle looked round in dismay at the row of desks with their tall stools, the piles of dusty documents, huge volumes bound in stained black leather, boxes undoubtedly full of yet more papers.