“Molyneux!” Tam announced.
“He give me the English guineas in advance and I have sketches tied up with string ready for him the day Signore Vesey he go up to London. But Nico not speak to him again.”
Alec turned away from several realistic and thus unflattering portraits of what appeared to be minor members of the nobility and local Somerset gentry. No doubt still here at the painter’s studio and not adorning the revered space above their respective owner’s marble mantles because the sitters had refused to face up to the truth. “The gentleman did not return to collect the sketches he had purchased?”
Nico shook his head. “No. He come but he wait on far side of street. I see when I outside instructing men how to put most important canvas for exhibition onto cart. When we go in to get other canvases I have other troubles. The Signora dell’aristocrazia she is here with her frightened maid and she very angry as usual. She complain. She always complain, but Signore Vesey he refuse to alter her portrait.” The Italian grinned showing gaps in his otherwise clean white teeth. “Signore Vesey he say likeness flattering enough. Signore Vesey he stubborn but right. She want her money returned; she pay half commission now, half on finish. We get half and spend it as always. Nico he only understand one word in five of her ranting so I pretend ignorance as usual. It is best with women like that. Especially with one holding a knife.”
“Knife?”
“Si, Monsignore. She take it from workbench and wave it around like a mad woman. Her maid very scared of her with the knife. She stay back. I understand. Only natural she worried. The Signora dell’aristocrazia very, very angry. She furious. I think maybe she close to having pain of the heart.”
“So if the gentleman did not take the sketches, who did? This lady?” Alec asked with infinite patience, an eye on Tam who was unconsciously flexing his fingers in irritation.
“I see from window that the man he still waiting but he not come inside. I not blame him, what with the Signora dell’aristocrazia making so much trouble and noise,” he replied as he went over to the workbench. “She pick up bundle that belong to the man, thrust at maid and walk out just like that! And still holding the knife! As if she had paid for sketches! Si. It is true, I tell you! I follow but stay well back because she still have knife and still very angry. She take them and I never see her again. Very strange. Now you please wait, Monsignore, and Nico he give you something for your great troubles on his behalf.”
“The canvas that was already strapped on the cart, was anyone with it while you were dealing with this Signora dell’aristocrazia?”
“No, Monsignore. The two men loading the cart were ordered by the angry Signora dell’aristocrazia to come up to the studio as witnesses,” Nico said in Italian. “Witnesses to what I ask you when it was her crazy behavior that was very bad. And of course the men they were scared of her with the knife and what she might do with it that they waited here for many minutes before I come fetch them to return downstairs to the cart. Me I do not blame them.”
“And the canvas of Mrs. Bourdon and her daughter? Was it still safely strapped on the cart?”
Nico shrugged and stuck out his bottom lip. “What can I say? My eyes they stay on the knife held by Signora dell’aristocrazia.”
“The name of this Signora dell’aristocrazia?” Alec asked.
“Yes, yes, I show you, but first I have something for you…” Nico returned holding the sketch Alec had admired, now rolled up and tied with a white ribbon. He made a quaint little bow, and said in halting English, a glance to make certain Tam was watching and listening, “You please accept, Monsignore. From Nico. It small token but Nico he very grateful you send away tiresome bailiff.” When Alec took the parchment he clapped his hands and quickly went over to the framed canvases leaning against the wall. With a bit of a struggle he extracted one from a group and propped it against the turned splat of a ribbonback chair. “This is she. The angry Signora dell’aristocrazia. Perhaps you think Signore Vesey cruel? But I tell you, she has a very ugly heart. Signore Vesey he merely paint it and show the world this. Si?”
Alec couldn’t agree more. The portrait was of Lady Rutherglen.
Leaving Talgarth Vesey’s studio, Tam wondered what his lordship was about when he stepped back to the edge of the pavement to better view the collection of townhouses and shops running the length of this section of Milsom Street. His master’s question completely threw him.
“How many red doors do you see, Tam?”
Tam screwed up his freckled nose and joined his master by the side of the road, back to the traffic of carriages and horses.
“Red doors? Two, sir.” He pointed. “This one belonging to the painter’s studio, although it can hardly be called red, can it? What with the amount of dirt and dust it looks more brown than red, but that door, the next one along, the one with the scaffolding covering the front, it’s a nice bright red, sir.”
Alec smiled and patted Tam’s shoulder before setting off up the street, the valet scrambling after him. “Yes, Tam, a nice bright new red.”
Alec and Tam walked the rest of Milsom Street towards the town center in silence, despite Alec’s desire to ask Tam about Mrs. Bourdon and Tam wanting to know the significance of a bright new red door. Instead, Alec politely inquired about Tam’s examination before the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. He knew of Sir Septimus Bott’s intention to have three wardens of the society inspect Tam’s place of work. While his uncle and his valet had started the journey to Bath in the comfort of Alec’s travelling coach he had elected to go on horseback to allow him a few extra hours to see to estate matters with his steward. Thus he had still been at home when the letter from the estimable Sir Septimus was delivered.
Sir Septimus’s note was long-winded and full of verbose rhetoric, informing him of the upcoming visit to No. 1 St. James’s Place, and outlining the society’s disapproval of Tam’s dual roles of valet and apothecary. Sir Septimus made it clear he would not entertain Tam’s admittance to the Society while he remained employed as an upper-servant in the house of a nobleman. An apothecary must devote all his energies to his chosen profession. And Tam still had one year of a seven-year apprenticeship to serve, regardless of the results of his examination.
The letter was a thinly veiled snub to Alec and designed to keep Tam in his place, for how could a youth who had lost his master in unpleasant circumstances (and thus his apprenticeship), and become a valet to put food in his mouth, ever hope to complete his apprenticeship without financial independence? But Sir Septimus’s letter was precisely the excuse Alec needed to ensure the boy returned to full-time study. He had already set events in motion by lodging the advertisement for a suitable gentleman’s gentleman. And in a civil reply to Sir Septimus, requested the name of a master apothecary willing to take on the added burden of an extra apprentice for the year Tam needed to complete his apprenticeship. All expenses to be met by Lord Halsey, naturally.
By the time Alec entered the elegant surroundings of Barr’s of Trim Street, he had managed to assuage Tam’s fears about the impending visit of Sir Septimus Bott’s cronies, and dismissed as fanciful the notion that there was any sinister intent behind the questions put to him by the examiners. He thought this as good a time as any to broach the subject of Tam returning to full-time study, and then Jeffries appeared as if from nowhere in hushed conversation with one of the hotel’s servants and the moment was lost.
Spying the po-faced Hadrian Jeffries, Tam’s silent anger was palpable.
Jeffries immediately shooed the servant away and stepped forward with a bow and helped Alec shrug out of his greatcoat, which he placed over an arm then took Alec’s leather riding gloves, not a flicker of recognition at Tam as he said tonelessly to Alec with a quick raking glance over his lordship’s travel-worn riding breeches and dusty jockeyboots,
“I managed to secure for your lordship’s sole use the hotel’s largest bath. It is being positioned as we speak.” And as Alec went up the stairs with a nod he followed close on his
master’s boot heels so that Tam was left with a view of the obsequious footman’s narrow back and perfect braid of hair tied off with a neat black silk bow. “And I ordered the bath to be drawn immediately. Would your lordship prefer to wear the Venetian Verde silk or the Midnight Blue velvet frockcoat to dine? Both compliment the cream silk waistcoat I have selected. And I think a cream silk riband w—”
“Whichever you prefer, Jeffries,” Alec interrupted mildly, thinking a long soak in hot scented water would be just the thing for his aching muscles after a restless night spent on a hard horsehair sofa, Selina curled up beside him for half the night; the other half spent listening to a very confused little girl who had woken sobbing for her mother and being soothed, not very successfully by Selina, her lady’s maid, or both. He smiled to himself. He did not envy Selina’s journey to Bath with her somnolent brother and frightened Sophie as travelling companions and no doubt he would hear all about it when she arrived at Barr’s. More than ever did the bath beckon. He sighed. “Let me know the moment the bath is made ready. I must first speak with Mr. Halsey. Thank you, Jeff—”
“Sir! My lord!” It was Tam and he had pushed past Jeffries on the landing to be at Alec’s shoulder. “That’s my job, not his, and I don’t—”
“Not a word,” Alec snapped and shot Jeffries a quick angry look when the footman let out an involuntary snort of disapproval that was instantly swallowed up, as was his supercilious smirk, his gaze lowered to his immaculately polished black leather shoes. “I remind you that this arrangement is temporary, Mr. Jeffries. If you hope to make more of it you had best make more of yourself. Go.”
The footman bowed, not a glance at Tam and with his gaze very much on the polished floorboards. He quietly stepped back and away as Alec turned to Tam, who had had the good sense to also shut his mouth and lower his eyes, though the fact he rocked on his heels, hands gripped behind his back was enough of a sign that he was finding it difficult to contain his anger.
“Don’t crush that wonderful sketch,” Alec said quietly. “I wish to show it to Mr. Halsey. Take yourself off to his rooms and I will join you both for afternoon tea directly.” At this invitation Tam visibly brightened but the boy still had a wary look and so he added with a half-smile, “We need to discuss your future in my household. Not leaving it, but where you belong within it. After dinner. Sir Charles?” he said with barely concealed surprise, turning from Tam to greet Sir Charles Weir who was coming up the wide staircase behind a hotel porter.
Sir Charles stopped on the stairs and glanced up, just two steps down from where Alec waited. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was at first startled to be addressed and then seeing who owned the deep measured voice he became guarded remembering their previous conversation at Alec’s London townhouse. He bowed politely. “My lord Halsey.”
“I was unaware the Russells were guests in this establishment,” Alec said with a friendly smile, a significant glance at the bouquet of fresh flowers Sir Charles held in his right hand, a profusion of purple and red sage, dahlias, meadow saffron and fuchsias, and which he hastily let drop to his side as if not wanting Alec to bear witness to his gift and yet knowing it was too late to do so. “The Lady Henrietta partial to the color purple?”
“No. Yes. I am not entirely sure, my lord,” Sir Charles muttered, clearing his throat. “The Russells always take a house in Queen Square.”
“Ah. I see…” Alec replied with a crooked smile. “Forgive my impertinence.”
Sir Charles waved a hand, self-composure returned. “No. No. It was only natural you would think… But you were at Drury Lane. You saw the declaration made by His Grace and Lord Russell.” He joined Alec on the landing. “Nothing has been said. There is no announcement but it was patently obvious what was meant by their open truce, and what, or should that be who, was going to be used to seal their political peace.”
“Surely if there has been no announcement…” Alec shrugged. “You know His Grace better than anyone… But I would not despair until the engagement is printed up in the newssheets.”
Sir Charles smiled and shook his head. “For a diplomat, you are woefully romantic.”
Alec pulled a face. “It is merely a matter of separating the private from the public. Surely even His Grace is capable of the distinction?”
Sir Charles held up a lace-ruffled hand.
“Please. It was a compliment. I did not say so with derision but with genuine goodwill. But as you say, I know His Grace better than anyone, and so you may believe me when I tell you he takes no action, makes no grand gesture in life, without careful deliberation. Every action has a reason. Every decision made with all possible outcomes thought through before it is taken.”
“The consummate politician. Yet, what a dull private life…”
Sir Charles was unsure if Alec was being derogatory or merely making an observation given the smile that accompanied the remark. A devilish handsome smile used to great diplomatic effect, Sir Charles thought with a twinge of envy. He sighed and made Alec a short bow, the large bouquet now resting along the length of his left arm, conscious the hotel porter still hovered, eyes cast to the floorboards but no doubt with ears wide open.
“You must excuse me, my lord,” he said politely, a glance at the hotel porter. “I must not keep my hostess waiting her afternoon tea.”
And with another short bow he waved the servant onwards down the passageway, Alec looking after him with a slight frown between his eyebrows, for Sir Charles had sighed heavily without knowing it, such was his preoccupation with his thoughts.
That sigh bothered Alec. It was as if his friend from schooldays had a great weight upon his shoulders that could not be lifted. He had meant what he said about the Lady Henrietta’s engagement to the Duke of Cleveley not being fixed and for Charles to maintain hope. Yet, it seemed Sir Charles had given up all hope; but so soon as to offer another flowers? Alec had not the heart to mention that nestled amongst the profusion of purple and dark red petals he had spied an inert bumblebee. He hoped, for Sir Charles’s sake, the insect was shaken loose and remained inert before presentation. A little warmth would wake it and cause his friend more trouble than the gesture of the bouquet was worth.
Sir Charles would have been greatly surprised that his friend was concerned for his welfare for no sooner had he turned his back on Alec Halsey than he set his mind to the task ahead of him. He knew it was the right course of action; indeed it was the only option open to him if he hoped to maintain any influence, political or otherwise, with the Duke of Clevely’s heir apparent.
Any second thoughts were vanquished when he was shown to the door of the Arch apartment, the largest and most sumptuously furnished suite of rooms on offer at this exclusive establishment that numbered Dukes, Marquesses, Earls and Foreign Princesses amongst its select clientele. And now occupied, thought Sir Charles as he forced himself not to grind his teeth but fix a polite smile, by a beautiful heartless harlot whose very existence threatened the downfall of them all.
“You’re late!” Plantagenet Halsey grumbled at Tam. But there was no heat or passion in his voice, only concern. “Got to worryin’ unnecessarily when Mrs. Bourdon arrived back here in a chair and you weren’t two steps behind her.” He glanced about as the door opened again and in walked his nephew. “But now I see who kept you. I expected to see you hours ago, my boy. But I should’ve realized that flame-haired termagant would keep you detained. How is she?” he asked, ignoring his nephew’s grin. “And how’s her weaklin’ brother?”
“Selina is well; her brother less so but fairing better, though far from being able to be left to his own devices. They should be in Bath by sunset. There was an incident.” Alec told them about Billy and Annie Rumble’s abduction of little Sophie, the death of Billy by a person or persons unknown but assumed to be the London gentleman who had promised Billy a few guineas to take Sophie from her home adding, “You will appreciate that it is best we not mention any of this to Mrs. Bourdon until she is reuni
ted with her daughter.”
“Egad! The poor woman would be beside herself. What d’you have there?”
The old man watched Alec unfurl Talgarth’s charcoal sketch of Miranda Bourdon on a table that had been set for afternoon tea with the hotel’s best silver and china. Alec placed a silver sugar bowl and a jam pot at opposite corners of the parchment to stop the paper curling in on itself.
“What do you think of her?” asked Alec.
The old man peered over his nephew’s shoulder. “It’s a creditable likeness.”
Alec’s laugh held a note of skepticism. “Creditable?”
The old man exchanged a look with Tam and smiled crookedly. “You ain’t seen her in the flesh, my boy.”
At the sideboard Alec poured coffee into three cups.
“Smitten, Uncle?”
“So will you be. I’ve been invited to dine with her, and you’ll come with me and judge her for yourself.”
When Tam hesitated to take the cup of coffee held out to him, Alec said kindly, “If you are to sit at my table, you must learn to accept with equanimity your new position within my household. Which means I may occasionally pour you out a cup of coffee.”
“But, sir—”
“As a young man of means you can no longer be my valet,” Alec stated, a glance exchanged with his uncle. “Mr. Blackwell bequeathed you a thousand pounds—”
“A thousand pounds?” Tam blurted out, the cup in his hand rattling on its saucer. He looked from Alec to the old man and back again. “Me, sir? A thousand pounds?”
“To complete your education, m’boy,” Plantagenet Halsey added, taking the cup of coffee Alec offered him. “And by my reckonin’, best use of a man’s blunt, too.”
“Just so, Uncle. And as a young man of means,” Alec continued smoothly, sipping at his coffee, “you, Tam, will have all the time you need to finish your apprenticeship while sitting at my table.”
“You should have the blunt, sir,” Tam suggested. “I owe it to you for all you’ve done for me; for the dispensary.”
Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) Page 23
