“You are very kind,” Harting murmured.
In a matter of moments, the impeccably mannered staff produced refreshments and then discreetly withdrew. Miss Garrett poured them each a draught of iced lemon water.
Harting lounged in his seat. “It isn’t as hot as I feared.”
“Hot enough.” Anthony pulled out a handkerchief and swabbed his face.
Miss Garrett sipped at her glass, looking as cool as if she were made of marble—like everything else in this shrine to commerce. Anthony strode to the windows. They stood open, but little in the way of a breeze stirred the drapery. “I may very well strangle the next man who tells me I must wait before I can see this business through.”
Harting raised his glass and a single eyebrow in sardonic salute.
The door opened again and the clerk reappeared. “Lord Wellesley asked that you meet him in the gardens. If you’ll follow me.”
CHAPTER 33
They found Lord Wellesley holding an architectural plan up to the building and giving the overseer marching orders. Anthony scrutinized Wellesley while he had the chance: friend or foe?
He was as tall and thin as a whippet, his broad forehead so high he was nearly bald. White hair contrasted sharply with thick, dark eyebrows. His nose was long and thin, perfect for looking down upon lesser mortals. And his mouth was delicate, almost feminine.
The clerk approached close enough to be seen and then backed away again. Wellesley finished his conversation then turned to them.
“Miss Garrett, Lord Danbury, Mr Harting.” With infinite courtesy, he greeted each in turn. “I am Lord Wellesley. I understand you have arrived in Calcutta this very day with some urgent matter to discuss.”
“Yes, sir.” Harting produced his letter of introduction from William Pitt.
A single eyebrow went up as the Governor-General read the letter. Folding it neatly, he returned it to Harting. “Perhaps you would care to join me in my office. It appears the nature of our conversation should remain confidential.”
He offered Miss Garrett his arm and ushered them back inside, through another labyrinth of corridors and into what must be his private sanctum. A large desk guarded one end of the room with a couple of stiff-looking chairs standing sentry in front of it. Wellesley bypassed this area, leading them instead to a more informal seating area made up of several couches. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“Your clerk was kind enough to have refreshments brought to us earlier,” said Danbury.
“Part of the trick to overcoming the heat here is to make sure you drink enough,” said Lord Wellesley. He rang for more refreshments. “Now, precisely how may I be of service to you?”
Harting took the lead. “Actually, we are here to be of some service to you.” He carefully outlined the story of their adventures in detail, pausing only when a servant came in with drinks. The Governor-General interrupted rarely and the few questions he asked proved his attentiveness.
The telling of the tale took the greater part of an hour. At its conclusion, Wellesley leaned back in his seat. “So you’ve brought the Peacock Throne to India. It seems most irregular. Why not take it to England, where it could be guarded from every Nawab who got it in his head to set up a new dynasty?”
Harting took a long draught from his glass. “We felt the best course of action would be to pull Bonaparte’s fangs by returning the throne to India ourselves. If, as a British gesture of friendship, we repatriate the throne, it loses its power to rally troops to another’s cause.”
The Governor-General tapped his lower lip with one finger. “I fear you may overestimate the Oriental mind. They embrace any excuse to cause trouble. I shall have to consider this matter carefully. We must make no mistakes for the French to take advantage of.” He sighed and sat silent for a moment, tap-tapping on his lip.
Anthony struggled to keep the sneer within him from rising to the surface.
Wellesley’s gaze returned from the middle distance with an almost audible snap and focused square on Harting. “Perhaps I have been too hasty. This may be for the best.” He nodded. “Yes, Pitt was wise to place his confidence in you. This could be just the signal we need. We’re hosting a ceremony and ball here on the twenty-sixth to inaugurate Government House. I intended to display Tippoo Sultan’s throne at that time. We will show off the Peacock Throne at the same time. It will be a clear symbol of British dominance to all the native princes.”
Anthony ground his teeth. He had the same sinking sensation he’d had as a boy when he leaped from the roof of the stables and discovered he could not fly after all.
Surely Marcus had heard wrong. God grant that the man wasn’t that thick-headed. He concealed his anxiety behind the mask he had cultivated so long. For a languid moment he examined his breeches and plucked a stray hair from his knee. Only then did he turn his gaze to the Governor-General’s. “I’m afraid that won’t work, my Lord. Rather than avert a crisis, you tempt uprising.”
“Calcutta is well protected by the garrison at Fort William.” Wellesley’s cheeks and the tip of his aristocratic nose turned cerise. He patently loathed those who argued with him.
Too bad, thought Marcus grimly. I’m not one of your lap dogs to be bullied or bribed into submission. “Calcutta is not the only British outpost in the country.”
Danbury interrupted with the force of an explosion. “You’ll not lay a hand on the throne if your intention is to rub the faces of the Indians in defeat. Such an attitude would, would—”
Marcus cut in smoothly. “The spy could position his puppet as the salvation of India and begin what would amount to a revolution. A mob could be storming Government House in a matter of a few hours. We may be better armed but we are vastly outnumbered. If the rajas band together we haven’t a hope of survival. The French would have accomplished all they set out to do.”
Danbury’s chin stuck out at a pugnacious angle. “My father was entrusted with the care of the throne and I intend to see it returned to those who have the right to claim it. I am not a thief.”
Marcus could not recall his Lordship embracing such a sentiment before, but he swallowed any urge to smile.
“So what do you propose?” Wellesley sat back in his seat with the air of one who has washed his hands of an affair and does not much care what is decided.
And here was the rub. What were they to do with the great monstrosity? Marcus exhaled through his nose. They ought to have chucked it into the Indian Ocean when they had the chance. Silence reigned as they considered the complexities of the case.
Miss Garrett cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I believe the most practical course of action would be generosity.” She looked to Marcus as if seeking support, but he had no notion what she meant. He shrugged minutely and shook his head.
She continued. “What I mean is, why not adapt Lord Wellesley’s idea of displaying it at the ball? We can announce that we are returning a great treasure to India. It could be presented as a gesture of friendship between England and the princely states, rather than as a wedge to divide them.”
“Yes.” Wellesley set to tapping his lip again. “I can see a number of advantages to the idea. Our intentions would be clear, so the rabble cannot be roused by fiery speeches and innuendo. They will be forced to steal the thing if they want to raise a pretender to the throne like Tippoo Sultan.”
“It would also make it seem we are unaware of the threat still posed by the French agent,” said Danbury.
Marcus smiled wickedly. “We can set a trap and lure the spy into trying to steal the throne. We will present him with an attractive time for an attempted theft. He will know where the throne is to be, and we can arrange to make it seem we are quite lax, and it is loosely guarded. We shall be able to set the stage rather than wait for our opponent to act. Well done, Miss Garrett.”
Miss Garrett flushed, her eyes gleaming almost as brightly as they had before the slave girl had died. It was good to see the anim
ation returning to her features. Like seeing Galatea come to life.
“Then it is settled. We have a week to prepare. I’ll keep a company guarding the throne at all times, in case they decide to strike sooner. I think it unlikely though. We will have the spy in a nice neat net, and when we’ve trussed him, I shall have the fun of feeding him to the sharks.” Wellesley stood. “Where is the throne now?”
“Aboard Legacy. We thought it best to consult you before trying to bring it ashore,” Marcus said.
“Just so. Well, we will have to make quite sure of its safety. Let me round up a few good men and a stout cart. I think I shall go with them. Will you be returning to your ship?”
“Yes, sir,” Danbury said.
“Good. Then I should like you to show me this remarkable throne. I want to know what all the fuss is about.”
“We would be happy to show you, sir, but there is one other matter.”
“Yes?” A note of impatience tinged his tone for the first time.
“We would like to be in on the planning and capture of the French agent,” Harting said.
Wellesley considered. “I suppose it’s fitting. You have strung them along this far. Taking away your victory would hardly be sporting.”
As they waited for the cart to be brought round and the men to assemble, Lord Wellesley seemed to become a different man. He was urbane and charming, certainly, but a well-mannered façade obscured the greater force of his personality.
“Have you made arrangements for lodging?”
“No, sir. Do you have any suggestions? We can always stay aboard Legacy if decent lodging is difficult to come by,” said Lord Danbury.
“I should be glad to have you stay at Government House. It is time we had a building that reflects England. It has been rather a project of mine. There are a few things yet to be completed, but for the most part construction is finished.”
“We should be delighted to stay. We were quite impressed with the architecture.”
“We shall be happy to have you. It is always a pleasure to catch up on the news from home. In fact, Miss…”
“Garrett,” said Danbury.
“Yes, I apologize, Miss Garrett. There is surely no need for you to return to the ship. I know a young lady who would enjoy meeting you. Mrs Adkins is a widow, but she has been a great help to me, acting as my hostess in my wife’s absence. She is always desirous of new and pleasant company.”
Marcus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. How dare Wellesley send Miss Garrett to fraternize with his mistress?
All innocence and goodwill, Miss Garrett smiled prettily. “I should be delighted to meet her, I’m sure.”
The blood trickled down the back of Marcus’s throat. He could not protest. He had known when manipulating Miss Garrett to his purpose that her virtue would be suspect. Before it had not seemed to matter when placed beside Pitt’s imperatives. But now…
Miss Garrett departed. A moment later the clerk announced the carriage and the gentlemen made good their departure. Wellesley did not speak again until they were seated in the carriage. “I don’t intend to be impertinent, but may I know how Miss Garrett came to join your expedition, and her role?”
Fighting the impulse to bristle, Anthony related the story.
“Ah, I see. And do you think her quite trustworthy? Did you confirm the source of her sudden affluence?”
Harting sprang to Miss Garrett’s defence. “Indeed, I helped her secure the small income which she now claims. In all things she has acted above reproach. I can vouch for her loyalty.”
Anthony regarded Harting. The man’s familiar tone bordered on the impudent. His attentions towards her had always been marked. Maybe if Anthony failed to produce employment for her, the man would press her into some sort of liaison. His nostrils flared at the notion. It could very well explain why Harting had been hounding him to know what provision he had made. Blood pulsed at his temples. The rogue was plotting his seductions.
“She is priceless and unique,” said Anthony. He regaled Wellesley with tales of Miss Garrett’s courage and compassion during their adventures.
“It sounds as if this young woman has uncommon good sense, which makes her rarer than I first thought. So which of you fine young bucks is bedding her?”
Anthony blinked. He could not speak, could not move. If he did he would surely throttle the Governor-General and be slapped behind bars. His glance found Harting’s and to his surprise found no gloating smirk resting there. Instead, Harting was flushed and breathing through his nostrils. His hands kneaded the knobbed head of his cane.
Perhaps Anthony had misjudged the man.
Silence reigned in the carriage for a long, long moment. “Come now, surely it would be foolish to let such an extraordinary feminine specimen escape you.” Lord Wellesley grinned mischievously. “Ah, well, here we are.”
Captain Campbell welcomed the Governor-General aboard with all the pomp and ceremony he could muster on short notice. The fanfare was mercifully curtailed by Wellesley’s eagerness to see the throne.
Deep in the hold, Anthony took a crowbar and removed several of the slats from the crate containing the throne. Wellesley himself removed some of the weeds that padded the crate and peered in. He motioned for the light to be brought closer. Gold and jewels glittered enticingly in the spare light of the oil lamp. Pulling his head from the opening, Wellesley cleared his throat.
“Hmm, yes, I see. Quite aside from its political value, this must be worth an astronomical sum.” He leaned back into the opening. “It seems to call to one, doesn’t it?”
CHAPTER 34
Lydia found Mrs Adkins plucking a melancholy air on a small mandolin.
A statuesque beauty, Mrs Adkins’ golden hair gave the appearance of luxurious length, even bound and dressed up off her neck. Her dress set off a graceful figure to perfection. The blue of the fabric, a few shades lighter than her eyes, made them look all the more vivid.
She inspected Lydia as if sizing up a rival—one she was confident of crushing in short order.
They circled each other in polite small talk.
“What has brought you to India?” asked Mrs Adkins at last.
Lydia picked her words with care. “I lost my cousin to a murderer, the same man who killed Lord Danbury’s father.”
“Oh my.” Mrs Adkins raised a dainty hand to her mouth. “How dreadful. I knew him in London. A very nice man I always thought. And you are his son’s… associate?”
Lydia nodded mutely.
“I suppose you have a chaperone.”
Lydia shook her head. “Character is best demonstrated when there is no watchful eye to force one to do right. I am no one’s courtesan.”
One of Mrs Adkins’ eyebrows shot up. “You must have done a great many interesting things.”
Lydia hesitated. Was this a veiled barb?
Mrs Adkins seemed to note Lydia’s consternation, and her cheeks coloured as well. “If I intend an insult, you shall be in no doubt about it.” A smile broke through at the absurdity of the threat. An instant later Lydia was laughing with her.
Lydia collected herself. “We seem to be sniping at one another for no good reason.”
Mrs Adkins reached for the glass at her elbow and sipped. “I am so accustomed to fending off supercilious busybodies I have begun to leap to the conclusion that every woman who arrives in Calcutta will try to take her pound of flesh from my person.”
Lydia swallowed. Dear heavens, she had been defending her own reputation when the entire time she was in the presence of Wellesley’s mistress.
“May I offer a bit of advice? The harridans around here can be… unkind.” Pain lurked deep in the lady’s eyes, and Lydia knew she was speaking from the heart of her experience. “Construct a small fiction. Say that one of the gentlemen is your guardian or some such. Your life will be easier.”
Lydia bit her lip. Perhaps such a tale would stave off the rumourmon
gers. But her conduct gave her no cause for embarrassment. Perhaps it was time to refuse to be embarrassed.
“Well, now that we are to be friends, perhaps you will tell me something of yourself.”
Lydia shared her story willingly since it seemed to distract Mrs Adkins.
“The little lost heiress!” Mrs Adkins clapped her hands delightedly at the conclusion of the tale.
“Hardly an heiress,” Lydia protested through her smile. “My parents were as poor as church mice and I never had a claim on my mother’s family.”
“Nonsense. I shall make up a lovely story for you. You have the beginnings of a very nice novel in your tale, but it must have a happy ending. I’ll have it no other way.”
Lydia could not help but laugh.
“Perhaps one of your gentlemen…”
The blood seemed to freeze in Lydia’s veins. She shied away from the insidious notion. Harbouring any such ridiculous hopes would only invite heartache. “It’s out of the question, I assure you.”
Mrs Adkins shrugged, apparently unperturbed by Lydia’s harshness. “And now you are in this very unique position—able to travel the world. If the proper misses of London society knew what they were missing—”
The tramp of booted feet sounded in the hall, and they paused in their conversation.
Lord Wellesley pushed through the door, followed closely by Danbury and Harting. “M’dear, you look in exceptionally good spirits. I thought Miss Garrett might be good company for you.”
“You were very right, sir. She is a charming young woman and I thank you for sending her to me.”
Wellesley patted her hand. “I have a few more guests for you. May I present the Earl of Danbury and the Honourable Marcus Harting.”
Both gentlemen bowed.
“I am charmed to meet you both. Lord Danbury, you have my sincere condolences on your father’s passing.”
“You are very kind. He is sorely missed.”
“I imagine so. He was one of the few who welcomed me in London, and I always appreciated his kind treatment. Please, won’t you sit? I’m sure you’re dreadfully thirsty after your exertions.” She rang for refreshments.
The Peacock Throne Page 24
