The Stuart Sapphire

by Alanna Knight

  ‘You are quite sure, Henry, that the man who killed Percy is not the one we are looking for?’ the Prince said hopefully.

  Townsend had been a little too rash in executing the fellow. Had he been kept alive a confession might have been obtained before his hanging.

  ‘I am certain sure, Sire.’

  The prince looked at him and Henry knew that he must be told the truth however distressing.

  ‘Percy confessed – before he died.’ Pausing, Henry took a deep breath. ‘He confessed that he had in fact killed Lady Sarah.’

  The Prince’s eyes widened in shock and he sat down hurriedly.

  ‘He – WHAT!’

  ‘He strangled Lady Sarah with her pearls – it was an accident—’

  ‘An accident! How could such a thing be an accident?’

  This was going to be very difficult indeed. And embarrassing. ‘I am afraid, Sire, that in your absence – that night, Lady Sarah – er, led him on—’

  He paused, waiting uneasily for his father’s reaction.

  ‘Led him on – did she now? Now there’s a thing.’

  Henry suppressed a sigh of relief. At least he did not have to spell that out.

  The prince gestured impatiently. ‘And did he also confess to taking the sapphire?’

  ‘No, Sire, he did not.’

  The prince shrugged. ‘A pity.’ And with a wry smile, ‘Percy and Lady Sarah, eh? We would never have guessed that Percy had it in him, Henry. Poaching on the royal preserves, was he? By heaven, he could have been most severely punished, most severely.’

  ‘He was punished, Sire.’ And in as few words as possible Henry related all that Percy had confessed, including without graphic details Percy’s suspicions that someone else had entered the bedroom.

  The prince’s head jerked upwards. ‘Ah, our jewel thief no doubt. How unfortunate that Percy was so occupied at that moment. He might have intercepted the villain and that would have saved us – and Townsend – a great deal of trouble and time.’

  Pausing, he sighed deeply. ‘So we have a murder solved but we are no nearer to finding the stolen sapphire.’ Another sigh. ‘Who else was present?’

  ‘Only myself and Mr Eildor. The priest came later.’

  ‘Mr Eildor, eh?’

  ‘Percy wished to have a witness, Sire. He trusted Mr Eildor.’

  The prince looked grim. Townsend was right. Although he knew nothing of Percy’s deathbed confession and had been a singular failure in recovering the sapphire, the Bow Street officer was right about Eildor. The man knew far too much, more than was good for his survival. He would have to go.

  He looked at Henry and said lightly, as if making a joke of it: ‘We suspect that our present difficulties might have been solved this very instant if – if the stalker had killed Mr Eildor instead of Percy. Is that not so?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘How so, Sire?’

  ‘Surely that is obvious, Henry. Why, it would save us having to recommend several unpleasant measures.’

  Henry stared at him, there was no mistaking those grim words. ‘You intend, Sire—’ He could not finish it as a lot of things became clear at that moment. Tam Eildor was to be the next victim and Townsend would put a gun to his head in the same manner as he had despatched Percy’s unknown assassin.

  And the thought came unbidden, suddenly spoken aloud. ‘Was it Eildor and not Percy who should have died, Sire?’

  The prince evaded his gaze, stared out of the window. ‘We believe that was the intention. Might as well be straight with you, Henry. The so-called stalker, we have reason to believe, was one of Townsend’s own men. Came from London with him to keep an eye on things.’

  Henry took a backward step. ‘Sire, that is dreadful, dreadful.’

  And as he thought of his dying friend, he also remembered the carriage accident to dispose of the body of his father’s mistress. The four guards disguised as highwaymen had been his own idea but he had not intended Eildor’s death.

  ‘Sire, could he not go to London as you promised him?’ he pleaded.

  The prince smiled thinly. He raised one eyebrow. ‘You are very tender-hearted, Henry, about enemies of the state.’

  ‘Have you proof of that, Sire?’ Henry demanded sternly.

  The prince shrugged. ‘A matter of time before Brummell’s enquiries in Edinburgh reveal something to Eildor’s discredit, or Townsend’s independent enquiries reveal him as a spy.’

  ‘A spy! Never – I refuse to believe such a thing,’ said Henry indignantly.

  The prince smiled indulgently and wagged a teasing finger at his son. ‘As I have said, you are very soft-hearted these days, Henry. We are surprised at you. But love is surely to blame; first love, especially, does that to a young man sometimes.’

  Henry wondered if that sudden shadow across his father’s face was a recollection of how he had threatened suicide when Mrs Fitzherbert refused to marry him. Emotional blackmail, which had succeeded.

  ‘Makes him think that all’s well with the world and that everyone in it is his friend. But it does not do for rulers of great kingdoms to be tender-hearted. We cannot afford such luxuries if we are to keep the people happy and keep our heads firmly upon our shoulders.’

  And giving this a moment to sink in, watching Henry’s expressionless face, he said, ‘Mr Eildor is a danger to the state, to England and to ourself – can you not see that, my dear lad?’ he added patiently. ‘If he were allowed to talk, the scandal regarding, er, what happened here that night, could be exceedingly unpleasant for many innocent parties involved.’

  He frowned, considering his brother Frederick’s reactions to the knowledge that George was his mistress’s secret lover. Worse by far, his own lack of popularity with the parents who despised him.

  Suppressing a shudder, he went on: ‘This knowledge could be exceeding dangerous in the wrong hands, it might well overthrow us and, indeed, unseat the whole government.’

  As Henry continued to shake his head obstinately over Eildor’s fate, his father sighed and patted his hand. ‘Indeed, it is as well for England, dear lad, oft as we have regretted it, that we cannot acknowledge you as our own son, and heir to the throne.’

  Not at all put out by these remarks, having been in silent agreement with that decision for most of his life now, Henry begged to be excused and went in search of Gemma.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Walking towards Steine House, Henry knew that he was also at a crossroads in his life. Much had happened since Tam Eildor’s arrival and the events of the past two days had made him aware that he no longer wished to stay as one of the grooms of the royal bedchamber.

  The prince’s almost casual dismissal of Percy’s death and the necessity of finding a replacement for their years of friendship, he realised, was the final straw.

  In a few years his father would be King and Henry knew that the amoral, extravagant life in the Pavilion replaced by Buckingham House was not for him either.

  His meeting with Gemma had changed his outlook on life dramatically. He had outgrown life at Court and, after a long wait, for the first time in his life he believed he had found a love that could last forever, instead of the frantic couplings that went on in the Pavilion and in the society in which he lived.

  He needed a wife.

  He found Gemma and Maria Fitzherbert cosily seated by the window deep in conversation. They looked completely at ease, like old friends who had met regularly through the years.

  Gemma looked up at Henry shyly. ‘I have a lot to tell you,’ she said.

  ‘You have made up your mind,’ he said eagerly.

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘Not yet, Henry. Do please give me time.’ She gave a helpless look in Maria’s direction who smiled:

  ‘There is much to consider, Henry.’

  In answer he said: ‘Then pray tell her, I am quite a good fellow.’

  Gemma laughed. ‘No need. She has been singing your praises,’ and quickly changing the subject, ‘What is t
his you have to tell me?’

  ‘Shall I leave?’ Maria rose to her feet.

  ‘No, stay. It concerns you too,’ said Henry, touching her arms and smiling at her tenderly. ‘But I trust this will help Gemma make her decision.’ Drawing a deep breath, he said: ‘I have decided to leave Court. I have held my position for more than twelve years and with Percy gone, and the necessity of sharing my tasks with a newly appointed stranger, I feel it is time I had a place of my own.’

  Pausing, he looked at Maria. ‘As you know, I have a small estate in West Sussex given to me by the prince on my 25th birthday. An apology, I suppose, that he could never acknowledge me.’

  Gemma intercepted a deep and understanding glance between the two as he turned to her and taking her hand he said: ‘I wish to live there as a country squire. I have a fancy to try my hand at dabbling in local politics, perhaps giving my tenants a model village.’

  ‘Bravo,’ whispered Maria. ‘A very wise choice. You were never meant to be a courtier, Henry dear. Always too honest.’

  He bowed and turned again to Gemma. ‘What do you say?’

  Gemma smiled. ‘I think it’s a wise decision too.’

  Again he bowed. ‘All I ask of fate is a loving wife to share my new life with me,’ he said gently.

  She looked at him intently. ‘Once you said you would do anything, anything if I would marry you.’

  His eyes were full of hope as he whispered. ‘You have my word.’

  She frowned. ‘This may seem a rather odd request. But I know someone whose life is in terrible danger—’

  ‘You wish me to break the law,’ he said sternly.

  ‘No, there is no law for this particular person, just people who want him dead.’ She paused. ‘People, alas, known to us.’

  He looked uncertain, then she said: ‘Henry, will you help Mr Eildor to get safely away from here? There is very little time.’

  He stared at her. ‘How did you know? I have just realised, talking to – to the prince, that he is in mortal danger.’

  Gemma did not ask the obvious. How the prince could not intervene.

  ‘There is a way,’ said Maria. ‘I have a planned excursion, in a few hours, a moonlight picnic to meet friends at a little cove along the coast. We can take Mr Eildor with us, no one will be surprised at that, and put him on the coach for London. By the time he is missed, he will be safe and can make his own arrangements to return to Scotland.’

  All three agreed that this was an excellent plan, the best that they could think of at short notice. But Gemma, who knew the true facts of Tam’s desperate and quite unique situation, realised that only the fact of being close to the sea might make Tam’s emergency exit possible.

  Henry decided that he should go in search of Tam immediately and tell him of their plan. In sight of the Pavilion, deep in thought, he heard his name called and saw Townsend heading rapidly in his direction, accompanied by a stranger he was eager to introduce as Mr Watkins, a Brighton resident.

  ‘Tell his lordship your story, sir.’

  Mr Watkins bowed. A modest grocer, he was rendered rather tongue-tied at having to address a member of the royal court at the Pavilion. His tale, confused with ‘ers’ and ‘ums’, was likely to take some time, and as Townsend was not a patient man, he interrupted several times to speed him on.

  Then, exasperated, he pushed Mr Watkins aside. ‘Excuse me, sir, if you will,’ and to Lord Henry: ‘It is like this, sir. Mr Watkins claims that he stopped a carriage on the Lewes road the other night. He was misinformed by his friends after a somewhat hilarious evening and had taken what he believed was a short cut back to Brighton—’

  Henry listened horrified, all too familiar with the carriage involved.

  ‘Mr Watkins reported this to Sir Joseph and was sent to me to investigate the facts. There is as you know a substantial reward involved.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Henry vaguely. ‘Then do not let me delay you.’

  Townsend looked at him slyly. ‘Just thought you might be interested, connections with Sir Joseph and so forth.’

  All of which suggested to Henry that Townsend was in full possession of the facts of the carriage accident and knew that he was also personally involved. Townsend continued: ‘HRH might also care to know of this matter, being a close friend of His Grace and very keen to see justice done. However, he is dining and cannot be disturbed. I thought that in the circumstances your lordship might care to report to him—’

  Henry waited no longer. Murmuring reassurances which he did not mean, excusing himself he went in search of Tam. His room in the guest apartments was empty and borrowed clothes on the bed suggested that he had already left.

  Hastily he retraced his steps to Steine House and to the footman said:

  ‘Mr Eildor? Is he here?’

  He was informed that Mr Eildor had arrived only five minutes ago and was at present in the small parlour waiting to be received by Madam.

  ‘I do not need to be announced,’ said Henry and crossing the hall he found Tam staring out of the window. ‘Thank God, I got here in time.’ And closing the door: ‘We are in a pretty fix, Mr Eildor. I have just met a Mr Watkins from Brighton—’

  And proceeding to relate Mr Watkins’ experience on the Lewes Road, he gave Tam a despairing glance. ‘The worst is to come. Mr Watkins claims that he also recognised you as the gentleman he met on the steps of Creeve House when he was about to call on Sir Joseph and claim his reward.’

  Pausing for breath, he said wryly, ‘Thankfully he did not also recognise the coachman muffled up to the eyes as the man who was now listening to his story. But he also recalled that there was a lady inside the carriage. She was very silent, her eyes closed, very pale and ill-looking. She ignored his excuses for interrupting her journey and was asleep or, as he now realised – dead!’

  This was bad news indeed, a piece of ill luck. ‘How did Sir Joseph receive this information?’ Tam asked.

  ‘Very seriously. Gave him half the reward on account, sent him off to find Mr Townsend with instructions to begin an investigation. He then told Mr Watkins that he would receive the remainder of the reward once his story was proved and led to the arrest of Her Grace’s killer. Mr Watkins, advised to act upon these instructions, was told that Mr Townsend was in the employ of HRH and most likely to be found at the Pavilion. Which is where they were both heading when I met them.’

  He put a hand on Tam’s arm. ‘Mr Eildor, you have been recognised. Before long Townsend will be on your heels, tracking you down. It would be most unwise for you to linger here. We are in terrible danger.’

  Tam smiled. ‘Not you, sir. There is no way I would ever divulge the coachman’s identity. You have my word on that.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘My concern is for you. You must leave this place immediately, with us in Mrs Fitz’s carriage. Do not on any account return to the guest apartments. That was the first place I looked for you and no doubt Townsend will be lying in wait.’

  Tam had delayed only long enough to change into the shirt and breeches he had been wearing when he landed on the hulks. Over them he threw the borrowed cloak which he would discard, along with the borrowed shoes.

  Henry said: ‘You must stay here until we are ready to leave. You will be quite safe and should Townsend come in search of you, the servants will have instructions to keep him at bay. Fortunately HRH will be in no condition to interview Townsend, or anyone else for that matter, until tomorrow morning,’ he added wryly.

  An angry Townsend was soon to learn the truth of Henry’s words. Frustrated by his attempts to find Tam, who was no longer in the guest apartments, although his clothes suggested that he was not far away, he thought for a moment and felt it imperative that the prince be told the latest developments involving the carriage accident. At the Pavilion he was informed that the prince was dining with important guests and had given orders that on no account whatsoever was he to be interrupted.

  As Townsend tried in vain to stress the importance, it
was even more maddening to hear the prince’s loud guffaws. Swearing under his breath, he decided to take the law into his own hands, as he had done so many times in his life and with great success.

  Summoning two of the personal bodyguards who knew him, he informed them that there was a wanted man in the Pavilion whose immediate arrest was of vital importance to HRH. They regarded him with suspicion, shook their heads and said they took their orders only from the Prince Regent himself.

  Townsend thereupon assured them that the criminal was a thief that HRH was most anxious should not escape, adding a promise that should anything at all go wrong, and HRH decided that he had overstepped the mark, then he would take full personal blame. However, if they succeeded in capturing the criminal, then he would also make certain that they were well rewarded.

  To his chagrin they remained unimpressed. Who was this man – a mere Bow Street officer – to order them about?

  Mr Watkins, patiently waiting and trembling considerably in an anteroom, was summarily dismissed, armed only with promises of the rest of that reward in due course.

  Townsend watched him go regretfully.

  What an opportunity missed! If only he had been allowed to bring him face to face with Tam Eildor, to be brought before the prince and dramatically presented as the man in the carriage, whose identity would be made public after he was safely behind bars as the Marchioness of Creeve’s murderer.

  What a sensation. What a personal triumph!

  Of course, Townsend was aware that the prince knew that it wasn’t true. But a scapegoat had to be found. Perhaps Eildor should be allowed to escape from his prison and get shot trying to evade the law, thus silenced forever.

  It did Townsend’s temper no good at all as he marched out of the Pavilion to hear sounds of music and merriment issuing from the dining room.

  The Prince Regent had excellent reason for merriment as he gazed across the vast dining table at his important guests. His adviser on paintings and furniture had newly returned from France armed with negotiations for a Rembrandt to add to the royal collection.