The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2)

by William Savage

  ‘It’s Monsewer Maccaroni, I declare!’ another cried in response. ‘That do strut round Piccadilly like a cockerel on a dunghill.’

  ‘Naw!’ came another voice. ‘That’s some parrot a sailor ‘as brought back from the Indies.’

  Predictably, the mob were delighted with the comparison of Foxe’s highly decorated clothes to parrot feathers. Now they exploded into cries of ‘Pretty Polly!’ and ‘Oo’s a pretty bird, then?’

  What silenced them was the appearance of Kitty from the coach. Many knew her from the stage and she was a great favourite. But that night …! From her tumbling auburn tresses to the dainty shoes in fine brocade that peeped from beneath her petticoat, she was a sight none could see and not fall silent. Her dressmaker had excelled herself in the use of the cloth Foxe had bought. Kitty’s dress, styled á la francaise, first clung to her body, then swung out from the waist to reveal a petticoat richly quilted and decorated with tiny bows and trinkets. Diamonds and emeralds glinted in her hair. About her pale and flawless neck hung a slim necklace of emeralds and gold. And from its lowest point, a single, egg-shaped emerald dropped down just far enough to nestle between the tops of her breasts. She was magnificent and she knew it.

  Now came her sister, Gracie. She too wore no hat, preferring to allow her rich, dark curls to be dressed into a towering mass, from which peeped pearls and tiny silver bows. Gracie’s dress was styled á la polonaise, with flounces and swags on the back and skirt. Around her throat was a choker of pearls with a diamond clasp, while groups of pearls were set over her petticoat and the bodice of her dress. Even her shoes revealed pearl-encrusted buckles. Her neck and shoulders gleamed as lustrous as her pearls, before each eye moved down to glimpse breasts fit to tempt a bishop into sin … which indeed they had, and more than once.

  ‘Gawd!’ came a shout from the crowd. ‘It’s that bootiful Queen ‘o Sheba what tempted Solomon!’ Nor was that comparison too far from the mark. There was something so rich and exotic about Gracie Catt that not a few seemed ready to bow or curtsy as she swept past them.

  Foxe had been steeling himself all day for the response he was likely to meet when he entered the hall with these two ladies beside him. For himself, he was supremely indifferent to the disapproval of the self-righteous. Yet he was determined his guests should not have their evening spoiled by the vicious remarks he knew some people in the city were capable of throwing out. He thought he could trust the mayor to maintain a politician’s calm appearance under pressure. Besides, the man owed him a great deal and would be unlikely to forget it. Alderman Halloran was another who could be relied upon. For the rest … well, he would see.

  He need not have worried, since fate was about to throw him such a gift as he could never have imagined. As his party neared the door – Brock bringing up the rear in glum silence – a familiar voice called out.

  ‘I say, Foxe. Nearly didn’t recognise you in all that finery. And who are these two veritable angels alongside you?’

  The Eighth Earl of Pentelow, accompanied by three other people, stood before them. From the look on his face, he had no idea who Foxe’s companions were and probably cared less. All he saw were two women of extraordinary beauty. Nothing else would matter.

  ‘My Lord.’ Foxe bowed elegantly. ‘May I present Miss Catt and her sister Miss Catherine Catt, and my good friend Captain Brock? Ladies, this is His Lordship, the Eighth Earl of Pentelow.’

  ‘You certainly may, Foxe. Damn me, ladies, you’re enough to take my breath away. Whatever are you doing with a dull stick like Foxe here? Come and join us. You too … er … Brock, of course.’

  Kitty and Gracie curtsied most gracefully, neither at all put out by His Lordship’s evident wish to look as closely at the necklines of their dresses as he could without falling over. Indeed, he was so intent on leering over the Catt sisters that Foxe had to rescue him from the grave impropriety of failing to introduce his own companions.

  ‘And your guests, My Lord?’

  ‘Ah … what? Oh, yes. May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Henfield. M’wife’s indisposed, y’know.’ From the look Lady Henfield – a tall, plain young woman with large eyes but no chest worth speaking of – gave the earl, there was little affection between them. ‘This is my cousin, Henry, Marquis of Chermouth, and his wife, Emma. Now, ladies. Let’s go inside and find you some refreshment.’ Then, in an aside to Foxe clearly designed for them all to hear, His Lordship added, ‘Never thought you had it in you, Foxe. Couple of amazing beauties like these. Quite made my evening.’

  Thus, now in a group of eight containing two peers of the realm, Foxe, Brock and the Catt sisters were swept inside. Gasps there were – though they could be taken as expressions of admiration – and shaken heads. Yet none would dare to offer the Earl of Pentelow and his party any insult. Least of all the mayor, who hurried over, bowing and simpering in the manner of any politician confronted by someone of far superior status. Nor Alderman Halloran. His whole mouth hung open for nearly a minute, before he recollected himself and hastened over as well. Both intended to bask in the celebrity of this party who were so much the centre of attention that even the orchestra lost the time of their music for a few bars.

  ‘I must say,’ Brock commented to Foxe later, ‘in your case the devil not only looks after ‘is own, he makes sure ‘e ‘as the best of everything.’

  ‘Enjoying yourself, Brock?’ Foxe said.

  ‘I am indeed. Didn’t think I would, mind. I likes Gracie well enough and she seems to like me, even though I’m far beneath her usual standard of companion. Kitty is a sweet little minx who no one could dislike. But that Lady Henfield … She’s quite a woman, believe me. May not look much, but she’s got a brain that’s as good as any two men. She’s ‘ad me laughing most of the evening. Wit? You’ve never ‘eard the like! Of course, she loathes her brother-in-law and says ‘e treats his wife badly. Always off gambling and chasing women. Still, that’s the aristocracy for you.’

  ‘I noticed she seemed to be spending a good deal of time in your company, Brock.’

  ‘Well … you were looking after your Catt women well enough, I thought. When you could prise the earl and his cousin off ‘em. I did ask Julia …um, Lady Henfield … whether we should make sure to spend time with Marchioness Chermouth. But she said the silly woman likes nothing better than to be a martyr to her husband’s wandering eye. It’s her only topic of conversation, seemingly.’

  ‘So what did you and Her Ladyship talk about, Brock?’

  ‘Ships and the sea, mostly. She asked me a heap of questions and seemed to have a real interest.’

  Foxe’s loud laughter affronted Brock.

  ‘What’s wrong wi’ that? I said she’s a bright one. Why shouldn’t she want to know about navigation and foreign parts and the like?’

  ‘No reason at all, Brock. Forgive me. Now, I suggest you hurry back to Her Ladyship … Julia, I believe you said. The evening is far from over and I doubt the earl will spare her a single thought. Here, take these glasses of champagne. Have you asked her to dance with you yet?’

  ‘Twice, if you must know. And she did. Said I moved most gracefully for a big man.’

  Now it was Foxe’s turn to berate himself inside his head. He fell too easily into seeing Brock as the blunt, simple man he pretended to be. To make it worse, he knew it was not true. Brock was probably at least as wealthy as many an alderman and far more successful in business matters.

  ‘So you do, Brock. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I count it the best proof of Lady Julia Henfield’s intelligence and perception that she has seen through your defences to what is beneath. Go to her! Go! Here comes the earl again and I must hasten to whisk one of the sisters onto the dance floor and away from his wandering hands. Ah, there is Kitty, safely talking to the mayor and his wife. I wager she will inveigle the mayor into dancing the moment she sees the earl approaching. Now where is Gracie?’

  Foxe never knew if the Earl of Pentelow discovered he had spent the evening
ogling an actress and the madam of a fashionable bordello. Nor if he cared. It was enough that the Catt sisters had enjoyed a fine evening of company. They had drawn more admiring looks and comments than any of the other women present, and done so without encountering snubs or rudenesses. Much would be said behind their backs, of course, but, all in all, he could feel well satisfied. And as for Brock and Lady Henfield …

  No, it had been a great success. And if that was due to the devil, as Brock suggested, Foxe would happily continue to be one of his own and enjoy it.

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