Джорджетт Хейер - Regency Buck

“There you are, what did I tell you, guv’nor?” demanded Henry scornfully. “Him a prize-fighter! You’d have done better to let me handle the whole job. You’ll have that chicken-hearted shifter handing Jem Tyler over to a beak if you ain’t careful.”

Hinkson turned on him wrathfully, but upon the tiger saying at once: “Yes, you pop in a hit at me, and see what you get from my guv’nor!” a slow grin spread over his unprepossessing countenance, and with an apologetic look at the Earl he went on harnessing the horses to the tilbury. Henry cast a professional eye over the buckles, and watched with considerable interest his master and Hinkson hoist the inanimate form of Jem Tyler into the tilbury, and cover it with a rug.

Hinkson gathered up the reins and said gruffly: “I won’t fail you, my lord.”

“No, because if you did you’d lose a fatter purse than you’ve ever fought for, or ever will!” retorted Henry.

“And when all’s clear,” said Hinkson, settling himself on the box-seat, and addressing the tiger, “I shall come back into this yard and wring your skinny neck, my lad!” With which he jerked the reins, and drove out of the yard into the alley.

The Earl watched him go, and turned to look down at his tiger. “You know me, don’t you, Henry? One word of this on your tongue and it is I who will wring your neck, long before Hinkson has the chance of doing it. OS with you now!”

“And I’d let you, guv’nor, which is more than what I would that lump o’ lard!” replied Henry, unabashed.

An hour later Captain Audley went softly into the book-room and shut the door behind him. The Earl was writing at his desk, but he looked up and smiled faintly. Captain Audley glanced across at Peregrine’s still form. “Julian, are you quite sure—?”

“Perfectly.”

Captain Audley walked to the couch and bent over it. “It seems a damned shame,” he said, and straightened himself. “What have you done with the groom?”

“The groom,” said Worth, picking up a wafer and sealing his letter, “has been taken to a spot somewhere near Lancing, and shipped aboard a certain highly suspicious vessel bound for the West Indies. Whether he ever reaches his destination is extremely problematical, I imagine.”

“Good God, Worth, you can’t do that!”

“I have done it—or, rather, Hinkson has done it for me,” replied the Earl calmly.

“But Julian, the risk! What if Hinkson turns on you?”

“He won’t.”

“You’re mad!” Captain Audley exclaimed. “What should stop him?”

“You must think I choose my tools badly,” commented the Earl.

The Captain glanced towards Peregrine again. “I think you’re a damned cold-blooded devil,” he said.

“Possibly,” said Worth. “Nevertheless, I am sorry for the boy. But the date of his marriage being fixed was his death-warrant. He must be put out of the way, and really I think I have chosen quite as land a way of doing it as I could.”

“Yes, I know, and I see it had to be, but—well, I don’t like it, Julian, and there you have it! How I’m to face Judith Taverner with this on my conscience—”

“You can comfort yourself with the reflection that it is not on your conscience at all, but on mine,” interrupted the Earl.

“She is going to the Pavilion to-night,” said Captain Audley inconsequently.

“Yes, and so am I,” replied the Earl. “Do you go too, or do you propose to sit and mourn over Peregrine’s plight?”

“Oh, be quiet, Julian! I suppose I must go, but I tell you frankly I feel little better than a murderer!”

“In that case you would be wise to order dinner to be put forward,” recommended the Earl. “You will feel better when you have eaten and drunk.”

“How are you going to get him out of the house?” asked the Captain, looking towards the couch again.

“Very simply. Evans will come in by the back way and I shall give the boy over to him. He will do the rest.”

“Well, I hope to God it does not all fail!” said Captain Audley devoutly.

But no hitch occurred in the Earl’s plans. At eleven o’clock a plain coach drove unobtrusively into the alley, and a couple of sturdy-looking men got out, and softly entered the yard through the unlocked gate. No one was stirring above the stables, and the men made no sound as they went up the iron steps to the back door. It was opened to them by the Earl, who had changed his cloth coat and pale yellow pantaloons for knee-breeches, and a satin coat. He pointed silently to the book-room. Five minutes later he had seen Peregrine’s limp body, wrapped round in a frieze cloak, put into the coach, and had returned to the house, and locked the back door. Then he examined the set of his cravat in the mirror that hung in the hall, picked up his hat and gloves and walked out of the house, across the Steyne to the Pavilion.

Miss Taverner’s first visit to the Pavilion had soon been followed by others, for the Regent, while at Brighton, liked to hold informal parties in his summer-palace, and was always very easy of access, and affable to the humblest of his guests. It was not to be supposed that he should feel as much interest in Peregrine as in his sister, but even Peregrine had been invited to dine at the Pavilion once, and had gone there in a state of considerable awe, and returned home dazzled by the magnificence of the state apartments, and slightly fuddled by the Regent’s famous Diabolino brandy. He had tried to describe the Banqueting-room to his sister, but he had retained so confused an impression of it that he could only say that he had sat at an immensely long table, under a thirty-foot lustre, all glass pearls, and rubies, and tassels of brilliants, which hung from a dome painted like an eastern sky, with the foliage of a giant plantain tree spreading over it. He had thought no chains had been strong enough to hold such a lustre; he had not been able to take his eyes from it. For the rest he dimly remembered golden pillars, and silver chequer-work, huge Chinese paintings on a groundwork of inlaid pearl, mirrors flashing back the lights of the lustres, crimson draperies and chairs, and piers between the windows covered with fluted silks of pale blue. He had counted five rosewood sideboards, and four doors of rich japan-work. He had never been in such a room in his life. As for the entertainment he had had, nothing was ever like it! Such a very handsome dinner, with he dared not say how many wines to drink, and no less than a dozen sorts of snuff placed on the table as soon as the covers were removed!

The Regent did not invite ladies to his dinner-parties, because there was no hostess to receive them, but they flocked to his concerts, and his receptions. Mrs. Scattergood, remembering pleasant evenings spent at the Pavilion when Mrs. FitzHerbert received guests there, shook her head, and said: “Ah, poor soul! People may say what they please, but I shall always hold that she was his true wife. And so, I hear, does the Princess of Wales, though it is an odd thing for her to say, to be sure!”

“Yet you would have had me accept Clarence’s offer,” remarked Miss Taverner.

“No, indeed, I would not. That was nothing but a notion that just entered my head. These morganatic marriages are not at all the thing, though for my part I could never find it in me to blame Mrs. FitzHerbert for marrying the Prince. He was so extremely handsome! He is a little stout now, but I shall always think of him as I first saw him, in a pink satin coat sewn with pearls, and a complexion any female would have given her eyes to possess!”

“His complexion is very sallow now,” observed Miss Taverner. “I am afraid he has a sickly constitution.”

But although Mrs. Scattergood would allow that the Regent did not enjoy the best of health, she could not be brought to see that time and self-indulgence had coarsened his features. He was the fairy-prince of her girlhood, and she would listen to nothing said in his disparagement. Miss Taverner was sorry for it, since the frequent visits to the Pavilion were not entirely to her taste. The Regent was fifty years old, but he had an eye to a pretty woman, and although there was nothing in his manner to alarm her, Miss Taverner could not be at her ease with Him. Mrs. Scattergood, whose native shrewdness was overset by the distinguishing notice the Regent bestowed on her, spoke of his attitude to her charge as fatherly, and said that Judith should consider herself honoured by his kindness. She wondered that Judith should not care to go to the Pavilion, and reminded her that Royal invitations were tantamount to commands. So Miss Taverner allowed herself to be taken there two or three times a week, until the glories of the Gallery, and the Music Room, and the Saloon became so well known to her that they no longer seemed at all out of the common. She had the treat of hearing Viotti play the violin there, and Wiepart the harp; she had been present at a very select and convivial party, when the Regent, after listening to several glees, was prevailed upon to sing By the gaily flowing glass, for the edification of the company; she had been shown such objects of vertu as the tortoiseshell table in the Green Drawing-room, and the pagodas in the Saloon; and she had had the doubtful honour of receiving the advances of the Duke of Cumberland. She could not feel that the Pavilion held any further surprises for her, and when she set out with Mrs. Scattergood for Thursday’s party there, quite shocked that good lady by announcing that she had rather have been going to the ball at the Old Ship.

Upon their arrival at the Pavilion it was discovered that this was not to be one of the Regent’s musical gatherings, but a conversable evening spent in the Gallery and the over-heated Saloon. This was a big, round apartment, the centre of the suite on the eastern front of the building, surmounted by the inevitable cupola, and enlarged by two semi-circular recesses. Ruby and gold were the predominant colours, and several magnificent lustres, reflected in long pier-glasses, gave to the room an effulgence that was as remarkable as it was dazzling.

Miss Taverner looked about her to see whether any of her acquaintance were present, and had the satisfaction of observing Captain Audley in conversation with Lord Petersham, whom she had not known to be in Brighton. Captain Audley caught sight of her, and at once brought his companion over to her side. “Come now, Petersham, I insist on your showing it to Miss Taverner!” he said gaily, as Judith shook hands with his lordship. “I know she will be delighted with it. My dear Miss Taverner, this lucky fellow has got a new snuff-box, which is the prettiest I have seen these ten years!”

“Oh, Lord Petersham has all the prettiest snuff-boxes in his possession!” smiled Miss Taverner. “I have one to match each gown, but he has one for every day in the year. Do, pray, show me this new one, sir! Ah yes, it is charming indeed. Sevres, I think?”

“Yes,” acknowledged Petersham, in his gentle way. “It is a nice box for summer, but it would not do for winter wear, you know.”

“No,” said Miss Taverner seriously. “I believe you are right.”

“These niceties are beyond me,” complained the Captain. “I suppose I may as well go bury myself now you are got on to the subject of snuff together. You will be talking till midnight.”

“Oh no!” said his lordship. “To talk on any subject till midnight would be a great bore. But you put me in mind of something very important. Where is Worth? Has he put his name down for some of the Martinique snuff Fribourg and Treyer are importing?”

“He has not told me, but you may ask him yourself. He will be here later in the evening. Do not on any account look to the right, Miss Taverner! Monk Lewis is eagerly awaiting his opportunity to approach you, and once he succeeds in engaging your attention you will not be rid of him under half an hour. I never knew a man to talk so much!”

Mr. Lewis, however, the author of that celebrated novel Ambrosia, or the Monk, was not one to be easily baulked of his prey. He soon button-holed Miss Taverner, and proceeded to fulfil Captain Audley’s prediction until she was rescued from him by Sir John Lade, who came up to inquire whether she had a fancy to sell her bays. She had no such fancy, nor did she care for Sir John, who smelled of the stables, and used the language of his own grooms, but she was grateful to him for interrupting the flow of Mr. Lewis’s conversation, and treated his repeated offers to buy her horses with more patience than could have been expected of her.