Tam would have felt considerably more ill at ease had he known that after he was presumed to be safely asleep and under guard, the prince, when sober enough, summoned Townsend to give a report on the progress of his investigations.
Not only was the Stuart Sapphire under investigation but so too was Tam Eildor. Townsend had to confess that he was baffled. Eildor was a man of mystery and he was having him ‘looked into’ by some law officers in Edinburgh.
‘This may take a little time, Highness, and in case he turns out to be an impostor and a spy, in league with assassins against the prince’s person—’
He left the words unsaid. A pause for dark thoughts regarding the scheming Princess of Wales in Carlton House. ‘In Your Royal Highness’s best interests, it would be advisable to keep Mr Eildor here. Keep a sharp eye upon him.’
Chapter Fifteen
Ever since the intrusion of gruesome murder into his life, the Prince Regent’s nights at Mrs Fitzherbert’s side had been filled with gnawing terror. Unable to understand why the dead marchioness had not yet been discovered, Henry’s attempts at consolation, by pointing out that the embankment was off the main road, failed to soothe him.
His thoughts were morbid in the extreme. He dreamt once that he was King of England. Years had passed, her skeleton discovered, the dreadful truth and the shocking scandal revealed and made public.
He had almost given up all hope of an early resolution of that arranged carriage accident, which was meant to remove all association with her death from the Pavilion and, guilt from himself. He was unable to concentrate on the urgent details of refurbishment of the royal bedroom, preferring to put the place out of his mind, even though he knew that to continue sleeping at Steine House would soon invite curiosity and unwelcome comment.
Then, almost a week after the marchioness’s murder, Henry rushed in flourishing the Brighton Herald. There was rarely anything more exciting than local news concerning the trials of the fishing trade, or some foreign official arriving at the Pavilion. Today however the sensational headline leapt out at them as Henry read:
GRUESOME DISCOVERY.
NAKED CORPSE OF WOMAN
NEAR LEWES ROAD.
Late last night a Lewes man out shooting rabbits was alerted by the excited behaviour of his dog. Upon inspection he found to his horror the naked corpse of a female down an embankment near the Lewes Road. Scattered pieces of a wrecked vehicle in the vicinity, including its wheels, indicated that the dead woman travelling alone was the victim of a strange carriage accident.
The law officers were immediately informed and concluded that the carriage had been attacked by highwaymen, the horses stolen and the vehicle pushed down the embankment. The unfortunate female passenger, who has not yet been identified, was apparently killed in the accident. Her body was then stripped naked, all her clothes and valuable possessions removed by the highwaymen. According to the physician who made the examination, the woman had been dead for several days, her body at the foot of an embankment hidden by shrubbery from passers-by on the main road.
The law officers are anxious to receive information regarding any female missing from her home who fits the following description: aged between twenty-five and thirty-five, fair in complexion and very well-nourished.
The prince held up his hand. ‘Ah, a truly gruesome discovery,’ he said sadly. His accompanying sigh was not of outrage but of blessed relief. It had all turned out exactly as he had hoped it would. Laying the newspaper aside he smiled at Henry. ‘And now we must continue with the business in hand.’
If Henry was taken aback by his father’s reaction, he kept it to himself. There were many questions to which he would have liked answers, but as far as the prince was concerned, this was now an unfortunate incident which had befallen some unknown woman, the circumstances of which would be explained in due course to everyone’s satisfaction. Once the body in the town mortuary was identified as the missing marchioness, and laid to rest in the family vault at Creeve, the danger would be over, the case closed.
Although there was nothing to link the ‘gruesome discovery’ with the Pavilion, the unsavoury details of the carriage accident, in which he had been an unwilling participant, Henry would not readily forget, nor could he share the prince’s dismissal of the unpleasant details. There were still hazards ahead which his father chose to ignore, thought Henry, whose nerves were not of the same royal steel nor his conscience so easily placated.
When Tam read the newspaper later that day, his first reaction was also curiosity, as to how the prince would react to this gruesome discovery and, looking further afield to the senstional news when her identity inevitably became known, how he would avoid connecting this fearful incident to the woman who had been his mistress and had been murdered in his bed.
Tam was particularly interested in the fact that she had been found stripped naked. Any mention of a fur cloak and a string of pearls – the murder weapon – had been omitted from the newspaper article and one could only conclude that in this instance ‘finders were keepers’ and the unnamed man out shooting rabbits who had made the gruesome discovery, had recognised that the pearls and fur cloak were valuable and their disappearance could be listed alongside the missing horses and blamed on the highwaymen.
The mention of highwaymen interested Tam. Had the law officers thought of that themselves or had someone put the words into their mouths? And as it was unlikely the cloak and pearls would be claimed, had the man with the dog considered this a just reward for the shock to his nervous system? Doubtless he would console himself that the sale of the pearls would keep himself and his family, if he possessed one, in comfort for the rest of their days.
Tam sighed, awaiting the next stage in the drama. How long before Creeve House was alerted and the absence of the marchioness, whose lifestyle was eccentric to say the least, was noted, questioned by her husband and found significant?
Of more urgency for Tam was planning his own disappearance from the year 1811 before someone did it for him permanently, such as the sinister stalker whom Townsend pretended not to notice. In such circumstances the missing pearls and fur cloak ceased to be of importance, one mystery that he would not be obliged to solve. At the moment he had more than enough with a murderer to track down as well as being on hand to assist Townsend’s daily attempts to locate the Stuart Sapphire.
And the intentions of the stalker that only he could see were the least of Tam’s worries. He was also being stalked by the very visible and determined presences of Beau Brummell and Princess Charlotte.
On every occasion when he managed to give Townsend the slip, if the Bow Street officer was commanded to attend the Prince Regent, and for a brief half-hour he was relishing the freedom of walking in the warm sunny gardens, it seemed that either Brummell or the Princess had been lying in wait and was hastening towards him.
‘Ah, Mr Eildor,’ Brummell waved an airy hand in his direction. ‘That promised luncheon. If you would have the goodness to spare me an hour of your precious time, I am most interested in hearing more of your life in Edinburgh. Are you by any chance acquainted with Sir Walter Scott, or the painter Allan Ramsay? He has begged me to sit for a portrait. Unfortunately I have had to refuse the honour, since the journey to Scotland is so fatiguing and their weather is dreadful – quite dreadful. As for their roads,’ he added, rolling his eyes heavenward. ‘And regrettably Mr Ramsay has been quite unable to see me in London—’
And so it went on while Tam realised that he was being quizzed and interrogated. It did not take much imagination to realise that beyond the bonhomie he had made a dangerous enemy in Beau Brummell.
A happier encounter was with Mrs Fitzherbert. Tam had returned exhausted from another wearisome day with Townsend roaring at suspicious persons in the seamier lanes of Brighton in his totally ineffectual pursuit of the missing sapphire. By now Tam realised that everyone, including the thief if he had not already left for London, would be on the alert.
Pleading a headache,
hoping Townsend, who suffered from sore feet at the end of the day, would not insist on accompanying him, he escaped to the promenade, and was enjoying a brisk walk with a welcome sea breeze cooling a particularly hot, late afternoon.
He was hailed by a carriage. Mrs Fitzherbert leaned out. ‘Mr Eildor, how fast you do walk, sir. Ah, that is youth for you! I thought we should never catch up with you,’ and indicating the seat opposite beside her maid, ‘Would you care to join us?’
Her radiant smile was irresistible. After conventional greetings regarding his well-being, she said: ‘I wonder, did you receive my note, an invitation to a picnic on Friday, if you are free.’
Tam shook his head, he had never received any communication from Mrs Fitzherbert or anyone else.
She sighed. ‘Mr Brummell was on his way to the Pavilion to visit George and he promised to deliver it.’
Tam gave a non-committal nod and again she glanced at him wryly. ‘I am afraid it must have slipped Mr Brummell’s mind or, more to the point, Mr Eildor, I fear that anyone who is favoured in any degree by the prince is a creature to be envied, despised and brought down by Mr Brummell.’
Remembering a conversation she had had with Brummell on the day she had first met Tam Eildor, she said sadly: ‘He believes quite wrongfully and not, I fear, very intelligently that this bringing down the ladder of some favoured person will enable him to climb a rung higher and reinstate himself in George’s regard.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘It is quite pointless. He should be aware of that by now, after all these years. He must have seen many who held favour come and go. And once they go, alas, it is forever,’ she added, thinking in particular of the trail of royal mistresses and the miracle by which she herself had survived.
They reached the Steine, and as they parted, Mrs Fitzherbert felt sure that Brummell had been wrong, his speculations about the young man were based on spite and jealousy. She had an instinctive feeling that Tam Eildor was honest, unusual rather than sinister and very different from the men of his age she encountered in court society.
Slightly foreign somehow but quite unlike any young men she had met during her travels in Europe, she felt that he was to be trusted, that his word, once given, would not be broken. Certainly he did not seem at all like the dangerous Jacobite spy, the informer from the Princess of Wales’ household, that Brummell suspected.
If only she could be sure, could rely on her instincts. And if only dear George was not involved or at risk.
Townsend could not deny Tam the invitation from Mrs Fitzherbert, but he had hastened to tell the prince, who merely smiled and said: ‘Mrs Fitzherbert is on our side. She is my wife, after all, and knows where her devotion and loyalty lie. Besides which, Townsend, she is no fool. I trust her judgement. Have always done so and always will.’
The prince was remembering that Maria was puzzled by Tam Eildor and although she could see no ill in him, she too had confessed when closely questioned that he might not be all he pretended to be. But she was sure this had an innocent explanation.
The prince decided not to share these confidences with Townsend. He had enough to do without wasting time investigating Tam Eildor, who would soon be leaving them, one way or another, he decided grimly. Just as soon as the marchioness’s body was safely laid to rest.
Most difficult of all Tam’s problems was Princess Charlotte and how to evade her, especially as the warm weather continued unbroken and, eager to be free of the claustrophobic interior of the Pavilion, she seemed to frequent the gardens each day with a yearning for fresh air equal to his own.
Observing him from a distance, she would shriek and wave in a most unroyal unladylike way and, lifting her skirts, rush panting to his side.
Tam stood transfixed at this onslaught. He could hardly pretend not to see her, turn his back and take to his heels, quickly launching himself in the opposite direction. Instead, he must stand his ground, wait, bow, and smile.
The princess’s conversation did not vary, nor her lingering grasp of his hand. ‘It is so good to see you,’ and with a sigh, ‘I think of you already as my dear and devoted friend, Mr Eildor.’
(Where had she got that idea, Tam wondered.)
‘You are so understanding and it grieves me deeply to know that your time with us is so short, fleeting every day, and we have still so much unsaid between us. So much to learn about one another.’
One morning, skimming through the largely local gossip in the Brighton Herald, he came across one item of personal interest:
‘As mentioned in an earlier edition, Mr Tam Eildor, an Edinburgh lawyer and passenger on the Royal Stuart, has been identified as the sole survivor of the wreck which took all other lives.’
The princess mentioned that she had seen it. ‘The newspaper is of course circulated each day in the library. Many visitors have read it and the Master of Ceremonies is very keen that you should come and honour us with an account of your ordeal on the Royal Stuart.’
Not if I can avoid it, thought Tam, still smiling bravely as on each occasion she presumed a little more, brazenly clinging to his arm and smiling closely into his face, her head touching his own.
Out of the corner of his eye, trying not to wince at her warm breath on his cheek, Tam observed the scandalised countenance of Lady de Clifford and prayed that this behaviour would not reach the ears or the eyes of her father.
That, he realised, would give the Prince Regent an excellent excuse to dispose of Tam Eildor legitimately, on a treasonable charge that he had tried to seduce a royal princess, the next Queen of England.
Chapter Sixteen
In Creeve House, Sir Joseph was reading the newspaper and decided that his dear Sarah would be very interested as she had a somewhat ghoulish taste in such matters, an unfortunate trait in a well-bred lady, but considering the circumstances from which he had rescued her, quite understandable.
Laying aside the newspaper and stretching out his hand for the brandy bottle, his greatest comfort these days, he realised that he had not seen Sarah for several days, a not unusual occurrence, for it was their agreement since the birth of Timothy, their only son and heir to Creeve, that his beautiful young wife should be free to live her own life, as was the custom she had quickly observed among other married couples in their stratum of society.
Sir Joseph could not but reluctantly agree, after all he had little choice in the matter. Sarah was his third wife and he had had little luck breeding sons with the other two. The first, chosen by the former marquis, his father, when he was seventeen, was the sixth and last unmarried daughter of an earl. Older than himself and very plain, it was no love match and, preferring horses to men, she had died in a riding accident on the hunting field.
He had no better luck with the second, his own choice this time, a wealthy young widow with a town house in London and an estate some forty miles away. After several miscarriages she had died in the attempt to produce a daughter, premature, and no bigger than a skinned rabbit.
Sir Joseph had tried to hide his disappointment through the years but she had survived, to plague him and his third wife, the voluptuous Sarah Flint whom he met at a London meeting of the Hellfire Club.
Growing old and desperate by now, he realised that even after two marriages, although he knew how one performed to beget children, which in his case was a fumble in the dark under the bedclothes, he was just learning about the more wicked goings-on with a whore, the acts that she could perform for a man, which could take his breath away.
And Sir Joseph developed a new emotion. Jealousy. He could not bear to think of Sarah being intimate, as was her job, with other men in the club. He wanted her all to himself and so he asked, nay, begged her to marry him. Since there were men younger, certainly more handsome than himself in the club, he was surprised and delirious when she accepted.
It wasn’t until he got her home to Creeve and unwrapped the parcel that he discovered that Sarah was going to be difficult baggage. He had seen her role as the begetter of sons,
but he found that favours had to be paid for. After Timothy’s birth, he realised there were to be no more children. Sarah had done her duty and the sensual woman who had teased him in their pre-marriage days was soon little more exciting in his bed, which she rarely graced these days, than his first two wives had been.
Sir Joseph sighed, made excuses and never gave up hope, despite the fact that it was obvious to others that all was not well in Creeve. Sarah soon lost interest in baby Timothy and after the wet nurse’s duties were at an end, abandoned him to tutors.
As for the unwanted daughter, Sarah could not abide “That Girl” as she called her, and her presence became an embarrassment to them both, since Sir Joseph did not dare raise a word in her defence in Sarah’s hearing. He had to admit that he had been greatly relieved when “That Girl” took off for London to stay with her grandmother a month ago.
Refilling his brandy glass, he rang for his valet to ask Lady Sarah to attend him. The valet trudged off and returned to say that Lady Sarah was not at home.
Sir Joseph was considerably ruffled by this, her usual response when she did not wish to be disturbed. After a little insistence and confusion, the valet led him to understand that her ladyship was truly not at home. She was not to be found in the house.
Sir Joseph, the mildest of men, was now feeling aggrieved, since Sarah had not been present at the Masque a few days ago, the event that had been her idea in the first place and which she had carefully planned. But he knew better than to tax her with this omission, since her punishments by withdrawing all favours so reluctantly given could be severe and painful indeed to his pride.
He sighed wearily and dragged himself out of his chair. A hastily penned note was the usual procedure if she was to be absent from Creeve, not out of duty or consideration, but at his insistence. And so he went up to her room which was at the other end of the corridor to his own. Risking her displeasure by opening the door, he was surprised to see her maid Simone sewing by the window.
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