The Stuart Sapphire

by Alanna Knight

  Lord Percy was carried upstairs and laid down in a bedroom, with Dr Brooke in attendance and Henry hovering anxiously at his side.

  Tam, still in a state of shock at the enormity of the whole incident and his own narrow escape from death, lingered in the corridor outside, staring out of the window and hoping for a glimpse of Gemma, hoping to satisfy the urgent necessity of picking up those loose ends of what had happened to her when she was taken aboard the smugglers’ boat and he was hit on the head and left in the water to die.

  After what seemed like a considerable time, the doctor emerged and shook his head. ‘I fear there is nothing more to be done. The bullet lodged too close to the brain to be extracted. We must prepare ourselves for the worst. He will not survive the day.’

  Dr Brooke was followed by Henry, who joined Tam at the window. He looked close to tears. ‘He is dying, and he wants a priest. Roman Catholic, you know, born and baptised, somewhat lapsed in recent years. Kept it dark, wouldn’t do for a groom of the bedchamber to be Catholic, not after all that fuss about Mrs Fitzherbert and HRH. People remember.’

  Pausing, he added, ‘Percy wants to see you, Mr Eildor.’

  Tam was mystified as Henry added: ‘Has something to say to us both.’

  Tam followed him into the room. Even with the curtains drawn, it was obvious that Percy was near death, his bandaged head on the now bloodied pillow unmoving.

  Perhaps they were too late and he was already dead. Henry thought the same. Drawing a sharp breath and with a frantic glance at Tam, he leaned over the bed.

  ‘We’re here, Percy.’

  His eyelids stirred. ‘The priest? Is he with you?’ he whispered.

  ‘He is on his way. Mr Eildor is here, as you asked.’

  The eyes opened wide, stared up at the ceiling. ‘Good. Have to confess, need a priest.’

  ‘He’s coming, Percy. Be here very soon.’

  An exhausted sigh. ‘Good – get him to hurry. Not much time.’ And groping for Henry’s hand: ‘You are my old friend, Henry. Have to tell someone – is Mr Eildor still there? Good – want him to hear this as well. Need a witness.’

  He paused, weak and still for a moment then drawing a deep breath that seemed to rattle through his whole being, he said in a clear voice:

  ‘I have committed a mortal sin, Henry. I killed Lady Sarah Creeve that night.’

  Henry shook his head and exchanged a startled glance with Tam. And grasping Percy’s hand, he said softly: ‘You didn’t, old chap, you’re imagining things.’

  ‘No, this is the truth, Henry, as I shall soon stand before my Maker. I killed her. I didn’t mean to, but she led me on, you know. I wanted her from the day we first met and she hinted that she loved me too. That night when HRH was watching the shipwreck, I knew she was in his bed next door to us.’

  A faint smile touched his ashen face. ‘Such a perfect opportunity. Remember, Henry, I left you watching the ship going down and went back. She was lying there smiling, waiting for me but when – when we – started – I got nervous, bed curtains drawn. Couldn’t see for sure, but thought I heard someone else, moving about in the room. She pushed me away, called me a fumbling idiot, said I was useless as a lover. I tried to – to make her—’

  Another pause. ‘But she wasn’t having any. She tried to get up, away from me. I got angry, I seized her by those damned pearls, pulled her back on to the bed. I was beyond reason, I would have her, whether she wanted me or not. Then I realised I had tight hold of the pearls and she wasn’t breathing any more. I had strangled her. It has been terrible, terrible – living with this nightmare.’

  As he said the words, the priest arrived to administer the last rites. Henry stayed, still holding Percy’s hand, and Tam left them to wait outside. To wait for what? he wondered.

  The marchioness’s murder which had troubled the Prince Regent so deeply had been solved at last, her killer one of his own devoted grooms.

  There still remained the theft of the Stuart Sapphire. It seemed unlikely that Percy had stolen that. But his dying words had thrown new light on it. Whoever he heard in the bedroom moving about had undoubtedly also known of the marchioness’s weakness for jewels and, having in all probability seen her wearing the sapphire that evening, had taken the opportunity when the prince was absent to steal it.

  Tam had no great satisfaction in knowing that he had been right all along and that Townsend’s wearisome interminable interrogations in the sleazy dark corners of Brighton had been a waste of time. The theft had been committed by someone inside the Pavilion, someone close to the Prince.

  He looked out of the window and was rewarded by the sight of Gemma, in a green velvet riding coat, throwing a ball to Timothy’s new puppy in the garden below. He must speak to her. Only she had the knowledge to help him retrace his steps back to the hulks and make his exit from Regency Brighton.

  Once she shaded her eyes, looked up towards the window where he lifted a hand in greeting, but she did not see him after all. He was considering dashing down to see her, when someone signalled from inside the house and she disappeared.

  She was so beautiful, Gemma was life itself, he thought, turning to look at the bedroom door closed fast on its scene of tragic, unnecessary death. And as he counted the minutes, he knew that not many men in this world could owe their lives to the flight of an angry insect. Had it not chosen to fly at his face that instant in the wood, he and not Percy would have been lying dead. And he remembered, as if in some nightmare, seeing Townsend over and over calmly shooting the stalker, whose name and secret business only Townsend knew.

  Perhaps Townsend did not fully realise that Tam, lying against the tree’s trunk with the breath knocked out of him, had heard what had passed between them. But he also realised that his knowledge and witness were dangerous indeed and, now that he knew too much to live, he must be very wary about turning his back on the Bow Street officer.

  The door opened and Henry came out and sat with him on the windowsill. He said nothing, just shook his head sadly, close to tears. Below them the sunshine in the garden had hardened and grown cold. Gemma and the puppy had disappeared, their place taken by heavy, grey mist. In the distance the ornamental lake looked dark and forbidding, as if biding its time for yet another tragedy.

  ‘He was my friend,’ said Henry. ‘All these years we have been together serving the prince and yet I realise I hardly knew him at all.’

  He sighed. ‘I hoped he would be best man at my wedding, now he doesn’t even know that I am in love and have found the girl of my dreams.’

  (And my dreams too, thought Tam.)

  ‘Instead of going back to Brighton to my father full of joyous expectations, it will be to tell him this grave news and send someone down to Surrey. Percy’s wife and children will have to be informed, arrangements made for his – him to be buried in the family vault.’

  He put his hands to his face and sobbed. ‘Dear God, it is terrible, unbelievable that just a few moments before we had been talking. What cause had a madman with a gun to kill Percy, a stranger to him? Townsend believes he killed Simone too. Why on earth should such a thing happen?’

  Tam could have told him the truth – that Percy had been killed by mistake – but that would only have made his grief even harder to bear. He said: ‘Percy’s wife – she will be heartbroken.’

  Henry sighed. ‘Not for long, I fear. There was no real love there. An arranged marriage when they were both young. There are children but Percy was never faithful. They had their own lives to lead; it is the way of this world we live in. But poor Percy, I felt, was always searching for someone to love who would love him in return.’

  Again he sighed. ‘That way of life is not for me, never has been. I have waited a long time and I will be faithful to my beloved, and no other, until I die.’

  That will make a change from your royal father, that is something you did not inherit from him, Tam was tempted to say, but he did not want to hear all about Henry’s love for Gemma, and inste
ad he asked:

  ‘Was all that true – back there? Did you have any idea what happened that night when Lady Sarah died?’

  ‘I only know that when we went into the attics to view your ship sinking, Percy only stayed a couple of minutes, said he was feeling unwell, his stomach was troubling him, said he must go urgently to what he called the house of easement. When I went back downstairs again, about half an hour later, he was in bed. I remember he asked me if it was all over. I said yes and was he feeling better now. He said he was, yes, but he hadn’t felt like watching a ship go down.’

  Henry paused, shook his head sadly. ‘Poor old Percy. He must have been in an agony of remorse and terror of what he had done.’

  ‘And yet when the marchioness was discovered, you never suspected him.’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘Never in a thousand years would I or anyone else have ever suspected Percy. He never had any luck with women, always, it seemed, infatuated with someone who didn’t want him.’

  ‘Did you know he felt like that about the marchioness?’

  He frowned. ‘When I think about it now, he did seem rather taken with her – but so did most men. They were easy targets; she was that kind of woman, always flaunting herself. I must say, the last thought in my mind would be his poaching on the prince’s preserves, as one might say. Certainly his behaviour has been a bit erratic lately, about Simone, who like her mistress must have rejected him. But I still can’t believe that he killed Sarah, even by accident.’

  He stopped, looked at Tam earnestly and said: ‘Promise, I beg you – promise you won’t tell anyone else, Mr Eildor.’

  ‘You have my word upon it, sir.’

  ‘Not even Townsend,’ Henry insisted.

  Tam said firmly, ‘Not even Townsend,’ wondering how much the Bow Street officer was already in the Prince Regent’s confidence. ‘What good would it do to blacken Lord Percy’s name when he is dead and cannot defend himself?’

  Henry smiled sadly. ‘You are a good man, Tam Eildor, a very good man and I feel privileged to have known you and to shake you by the hand.’

  They shook hands solemnly and Henry said: ‘My father will have to be told the truth, of course. He will be sad about Percy but no doubt relieved in a way that Sarah’s killer has been found.’

  And the truth laid to rest, silenced permanently by death, thought Tam grimly, as Henry continued: ‘That was a terrible morning when we found her, the worst in my whole life – until now. Poor Percy went away to vomit and I thought it was just the sight of a dead woman that had upset him.’

  They were interrupted as the priest left the room and Dr Brooke appeared with Sir Joseph to have a word with Henry.

  Tam went downstairs, feeling a need for fresh air. As he stood undecided at the front door, wondering if those pleasant gardens were any longer a safe haven to wander in, a man, obviously a stranger, came up the steps and said:

  ‘Excuse me, sir, I have urgent business with Sir Joseph.’

  ‘If you ring the bell—’ But the footman was already there. The man bowed, looked at Tam intently and disappeared inside the house, leaving Tam with a curious feeling that he had met him, or someone very like him, recently. However, before he could pursue the idea, Henry joined him once more and they were approached by Townsend who had been at the stables.

  Putting aside his pipe, he was ready with condolences for Henry on the loss of a dear friend. Tam listened unmoving and thought how Townsend would have reacted had the fatal accident befallen himself, as was intended. And how very difficult it would have been to trace any family of the late Mr Tam Eildor in Edinburgh or elsewhere.

  Turning to Tam, Townsend said: ‘All the arrangements have been made and we need not delay ourselves any longer. I have asked the coachman to bring the carriage round, if you are ready to leave.’

  ‘I have much to do,’ said Henry. ‘HRH must be told as soon as possible and the sad news broken to Percy’s family.’

  And regarding the approaching carriage: ‘Might I accompany you back to Brighton, if that is convenient, and you have room for two extra passengers?’ He indicated Gemma who had emerged from the front door, a footman at her heels carrying a small trunk.

  ‘Lady Gemma is also going to Brighton on a short visit. She is to be the guest of HRH,’ he beamed proudly, ‘and will be staying with Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  Gemma smiled kindly at Henry as he handed her into the carriage. They took the seats opposite Townsend and Tam, whom she greeted with a smile and a polite nod, before devoting her attention to staring out of the window.

  It promised to be a silent journey, no one in the mood for polite conversation. Henry occasionally darted fond glances at Gemma which were not returned with much enthusiasm.

  She was remembering her parting conversation with her father. He had been quite frank that unless she decided to take Lord Henry Fitzgeorge she would not be welcome back at Creeve. He would, however, give her an allowance to go to London and remain there with her grandmother, indicating that whatever arrangements she made for her future were no longer any concern of his.

  In a state of shock at the enormity of this statement, Gemma realised that she was being politely disowned, abandoned by her father. Then he added that if, however, she made a favourable decision, the one of which he so heartily approved, she would be most welcome to return to the family home. She would then be married from Creeve, all past bitterness forgotten.

  As for Tam, aware of the preoccupied expression which made her face even lovelier, he knew only delight at her unexpected presence. Unlikely ever to set foot in Lewes again, the possibility that they would be able to meet again in Brighton was more than he could ever have hoped for.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They were within a mile of Brighton when a fallen tree across the road blocked their path. The coachman took a circuitous way which emerged near the promenade.

  As Tam wondered what lay in store at the Pavilion, Henry said to Gemma: ‘Steine House lies over yonder, an excellent opportunity to meet Mrs Fitzherbert. She is my dear friend.’

  Gemma smiled wanly and as they reached the house, Mrs Fitzherbert appeared on the steps in outdoor attire. Seeing Henry in the carriage, she smiled radiantly and, as he stepped out, she embraced him fondly and kissed his cheek.

  Drawing her aside and indicating Gemma, there followed an urgent whispered conversation, since he had had no opportunity to ask her if it was convenient for Gemma to stay. A moment’s hesitation and he received the answer he needed. The prince was sleeping in the Pavilion again.

  Handing Gemma down from the carriage, Tam caught a glimpse of Mrs Fitzherbert’s curious expression, delighted as they were introduced and Gemma curtseyed prettily.

  ‘Lady Gemma, Henry’s friends are always most welcome in my home,’ she said.

  A cautious response and most diplomatic, Tam thought, and as their carriage was about to move on, he was suddenly noticed.

  ‘Mr Eildor – how very nice to see you again. Will you not join us?’

  And to Henry: ‘My outing was quite unimportant, my dear, a mere breath of sea air – and I should like very much to take this opportunity of receiving Mr Eildor’s company before he leaves,’ she added with one of her radiant smiles.

  With such a warm invitation Tam could hardly refuse to descend from the carriage and kiss the hand she offered. Not only would he enjoy meeting her again but he was curious to see how she received Lady Gemma, this guest thrust upon her without the least warning.

  ‘You may drive on, coachman,’ she said.

  Townsend, a silent witness to this charming encounter, was obviously dismissed as a servant travelling with them. Feeling slighted he leaned forward and said stiffly:

  ‘Madam, if you will please excuse Mr Eildor on this occasion. He and I have urgent business at the Pavilion which will not wait.’

  Nodding to Tam, Henry replied: ‘I will join you shortly.’ His expression was grave, with all laughter gone, as he remembered his own urgent b
usiness, to report the death of his friend.

  Mrs Fitzherbert smiled at Tam. ‘Remember your promise to me, Mr Eildor.’

  Assuring her of his intention to do so, Tam hoped this was one promise he would be able to keep as he returned to the carriage and watched her with a hand tucked into Henry’s arm going indoors once more.

  There was something about that little scene that remained with him. It struck a note of intimacy and it suddenly occurred to him to wonder if Lord Henry was in fact one of those children who she had said so wistfully ‘could never be acknowledged’.

  The Pavilion loomed ahead, its splendour more transient-seeming than ever, after the harsh reality of the two days at Creeve. As the carriage dropped them at the entrance to the guest apartments, Townsend said:

  ‘I have matters to discuss with HRH and then we will resume our investigation.’ This was not quite the excuse he had given to Mrs Fitzherbert, Tam thought resentfully, but merely a ruse to keep an eye on him since he was not to be included in that meeting with the prince.

  As for the investigation, since Townsend had left no stone unturned, what possible further venues could he have in mind? Tam would have been mightily interested to hear Townsend give the prince an account of the events at Creeve.

  Which version would the prince be told of Lord Percy’s death? At least any account would save Henry that heartrending and highly emotional task of breaking such tragic news.

  Again he was curious to know if Townsend had been told the truth about the marchioness’s murder, and that as all witnesses were to be eliminated, the death of Lord Percy was a plot that had failed, with Tam Eildor as the intended victim.

  As he walked towards his bedroom he hoped to have some time on his own, and was looking forward to the sight of clean linen spread out on the bed.

  It was not to be. He opened the door, and there, spread out on the bed, was Princess Charlotte.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here, Highness?’ In his anger he even forgot the customary manners, the bow and smile.