Royal Revels (23 page)

She glanced at the clock. “If I move swiftly it will. I’ll want cash, not a check.”

“Of course. Would you mind telling me where you hid the things?”

“I would mind very much, milord.”

“I may be a poor loser, but for an experienced winner, you do it with a poor grace, madame.”

“Fie, you men are all alike. Complaints, complaints! I shall be more agreeable when you bring me the stack of unmarked bills. I don’t want the denomination too large, yet not too small, or it will be an unwieldy packet. I leave it to your discretion, Belami.”

“My discretion can always be counted on. I believe that terminates this delightful discussion,” he said, arising.

“I can’t tell you when I’ve enjoyed a little cose more. I look forward to seeing you soon,” she replied, remaining seated.

“Remember,” he said, lifting a finger, “the silverplate as well as the locket and all the boudoir accoutrements.”

“I’m not a welsher, Belami!”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with a real gentleman,” he said, and bowed himself out, to the tinkling sound of her laughter.

It was twelve o’clock. His next appointment was not till one-thirty with Smythe. He went to the hotel to see Pronto, who was pacing around the common room.

“I did what you told me,” Pronto said, advancing to meet his friend.

A look of wild fear possessed Belami’s face. “What have you done, Pronto?”

“Nothing. You told me not to do nothing and I did it. I’ve just been waiting here to hear from you.”

“Good, here’s what I want you to do. I want to use your room this afternoon at two o’clock. Shortly before that time, I want you to lure Deirdre up to it.”

Pronto stared in disbelief for a long minute. “You’re sick. That’s what it is,” he said in a weak voice.

“No, no, I have a plan. You call and take Deirdre out for a drive. Charney will make her go to distract her mind from last night. You make an emergency stop at the inn and get her in here.”

“But I can’t ask her up to my room!” Pronto objected.

“When you see my carriage arrive, draw her attention to it. She’ll want to disappear and you can suggest she run upstairs to your room.”

“Do I go with her?”

“No, you stay below—tell her you’ll get rid of me, but in fact you must dart off here to the common room. If, by any chance, Smythe shows up, you must at all cost remove him.”

“How? He’s bigger than me.”

“Tell him any story you like, but don’t let him upstairs.”

“Where are they all now?”

“At Stack’s place, up toward Devil’s Dyke, if my plan is going as it should. Gilham is retrieving her crockery, Smythe is rooting out evidence that he isn’t Prinney’s son, and the others are probably packing up the carriage for a quick getaway. They won’t want to be here when Mrs. Fitzherbert arrives. They’ll be gloating over having cleared six thousand pounds,” Belami said, gloating himself at having outwitted them.

“I see by your smirk that you think you’ve sewed this one up right and tight, but I might just point out, Dick, six thousand pounds is a lot of blunt.”

“It’s costing the prince one thousand. In my opinion, it’s a fair price for his dalliance with Lady Gilham.”

“Who’s putting up the other five thousand?”

“I am lending it to the cause. It will be returned shortly if all goes well.”

“And if it don’t? If Gilham outsmarts you again...”

“We won’t think of that—yet. I need a clear head,” Belami said, but the possibility niggled at the back of his mind.

“Care to give me the details?” Pronto asked, his blue eyes popping with curiosity.

Belami was happy to oblige as it gave him the opportunity to go over it again himself, double-checking for flaws. “It’s a regular maze,” Pronto said at the end of the discourse. “I can see a dozen Places it might go wrong.”

“It won’t go wrong,” Belami said calmly. “Greed blinds them to any little implausibilities inherent in it. Not that there are many. I think I’ve covered everything.”

“Did you cover Deirdre’s engagement ring?”

“I beg your pardon?” Belami asked, frowning.

“Diamond ring. Gilham snaffled it down her bodice last night during the confusion. Caught her out of the corner of my eye. Forgot to mention it.”

“Did she, by God? I’ve been so occupied I didn’t give it a moment’s notice. But it’s no problem. I shall get it back as well. I’m very glad you told me, Pronto. That will make excellent fodder to show Deirdre how much I love her. The
pièce of résistance,
you might say.”

“Seems to me it ain’t a piece de resistance you want. You’ve got more than enough of that. What you need’s a piece of forgiveness.”

“You’re right, of course,” Belami agreed blandly.

“Glad to straighten you out. Wouldn’t want you to be making a fool of yourself in front of the others again,” Pronto said generously.

“Quite. Shall we order a beefsteak? I omitted breakfast in my morning rush and don’t foresee the likelihood of having any luncheon.”

Pronto had by no means missed breakfast, but he was easily convinced to have a one-pound bite of beefsteak, with a little helping of pan-fried potatoes, and a few eggs to wash it down. When their meal was finished, Belami returned to Marine Parade to await the arrival of George Smythe.

Chapter Fifteen

At one-thirty on the dot, the front knocker on Marine Parade sounded and Mr. Smythe was shown in, wearing an expression of eager excitement.

“Upon my word, Belami, you could have knocked me over with a feather!” he exclaimed, tossing a folder of documents on the sofa table at which Belami sat. “I got rooting around in that dusty old box my papa left me and what do you suppose I found?”

“A birth certificate?” Belami asked, arching a brow in well-simulated surprise as he reached for the folder.

“Exactly! There are some other parish papers there as well—copies of baptismal certificates and so on. I can’t tell you how shocked I was!”

“No need to try, George. I can well imagine.”

“Well, you can’t, for it’s really quite a disgraceful background. My father was a convicted felon. Imagine how shocked the Prince Regent would be to learn it. Must he know?”

“What else did you learn? Something to mitigate the stain, I hope?” Belami asked.

“He was legally married to my mother, so at least I am not a bastard as I feared. I brought the wedding certificate as well. This one,” he said, pulling the proper paper forth for Belami’s perusal.

“‘Millicent Champers and George Smith,’” Belami read, frowning. “The spelling is slightly different, yet it is substantially the same name. Was Alex Smythe, your adoptive father, some relation?”

“It doesn’t say so in black and white, but I assume they were related—cousins, perhaps. Alex obviously led me to believe I was the illegitimate son of some highborn gentleman to prevent me from learning this,” he added.

“Very likely, and the birth certificate? Ah, here we are,” Belami said, drawing forth a yellowed paper. He politely omitted to compare the dates aloud, which indicated that the marriage had taken place four months before the birth. The location was not Ottery or just north of it, but Exeter, some miles away. What happened, he deduced, was that the impoverished son of Millicent Champers lived close enough to Ottery at some time—perhaps worked there—to learn the story of Alex Smythe and his adopted son and borrowed the identity when he turned “gentleman.”

“I don’t see the adoption papers here, George,” he mentioned, sorting through the folder.

“Did I forget to bring them? How stupid of me!” George exclaimed.

“It is no matter. These will be more than enough. It must be some consolation to you to know for certain who you are after all these years.”

“It is, in a way. I could wish my father hadn’t been a criminal, of course, but Alex kept it from me, so I never grew up with any sense of shame or any proclivity for such a life myself.”

“That was well done of him. May I keep these papers for the present? Just long enough to convince the prince’s advisers of your true paternity. There will be no need to relay the details to His Highness.”

“I must have them back.”

“Of course. I’ll drop them off at the inn this afternoon.”

“And my money—the thousand pounds?” George asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“Count it, if you wish,” Belami said, tossing George the bag of golden coins. Smythe shook out a handful, bit one, hefted the bag, and considered the time involved in counting.

“That won’t be necessary,” he decided, arising from his seat.

“Good, then I’ll go to the Pavilion at once and speak to Colonel McMahon. He’ll release the other funds for Lady— Madame X.” Smythe bit his lips to hide the exultant smile that wanted to burst forth. “Where will you go now, George?”

“I believe I’ll go and say good-bye to a few friends. I shan’t want to be around to embarrass the Prince when Mrs. Fitzherbert lands in town,” he said, already hastening toward the door.

There seemed to be no danger that he would intrude on Lady Gilham’s transaction at the inn. He didn’t want to reveal any association between them. Belami set Réal to follow him all the same and heard with satisfaction that Smythe had been met by Stack in his whisky, and the pair of them had gone up toward Stack’s place. Belami donned his hat and cape, and took up the initialed case containing the five thousand pounds from the bank.

While Belami had been dealing with Smythe, Pronto went to call at the little cottage behind the Castle Inn and was greeted by a mutinous Miss Gower, who had not the least desire to face the world while her wounds were still fresh.

“Nonsense, the very thing for you,” the duchess decreed, eyeing Mr. Pilgrim with a dangerous eye. He was no replacement for Lord Belami to be sure, but he would do to look like an escort till something better could be found. “You can take my book back to Donaldson’s and get me a new one. I haven’t taken a look at
Orphan of the Rhine
for an age, or
Midnight Bell
will do.”

She pulled the bell cord and sent a servant off for her book. “Why are you wearing that dowdy old round bonnet, Deirdre? Put on the new one you got in London last week. Mr. Pilgrim will be ashamed to be seen with you.”

“Devil bit of it. She looks fine to me,” Pronto said.

“Oh, ho, do I sniff a little partiality here?” the duchess joked good-naturedly.

“Eh? Oh, yes, by Jove, I am very fond of round bonnets.” Pronto harbored no notion of being less than gallant as he spoke.

“Run along,” the duchess said when the book arrived. She was bored with him already and more bored with her niece, who had done nothing but mope from the minute they got home from the Red Herring last night.

“It’s a dandy day for a drive,” Pronto pointed out as they left the house. “Pity we must waste it at the library.”

“That won’t take long,” she said with absolutely no interest whatsoever. What did it matter where she went? Her life was effectively over. She must go through the motions of living, but her heart had shriveled to dust within her. How could dust be so heavy? She felt the weight in her chest, a painful weight.

“I might pick up another book myself. Great stuff, this reading, but scary. Did you know Brutus was bothered by ghosts? Yessir, a great scary ghost used to pop in at his doorway at night and threaten him that his days was numbered. Drove the poor fellow loony. He got so sick and tired of it he plunged himself onto his dagger to have done with it. Your aunt would like that book, but I ain’t finished with it myself yet.”

She sighed and smiled wanly, knowing he was trying to entertain her. She only perked up when they drove past the Royal Pavilion. Her eyes scanned the grounds for a sign of Belami’s stylish carriage.

“He ain’t there,” Pronto informed her.

“Has the prince left? We didn’t hear it,” she said, daring him to say that she had been looking for anyone else.

“No, he’s still here, but Dick ain’t going to see him. He’s very busy.”

“With Lady Gilham, no doubt,” she said in a bored voice.

“With all kinds of people. What time is it?”

“A quarter to two. Why do you ask? The library is open all afternoon.”

“I just remembered I have to meet a fellow at the Old Ship at ten to two.”

“Not Belami?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“Of course not. It’s my man of business. I’ve run short, and he’s brought me down some blunt from London. Won’t take a minute.”

“I’ll wait in the carriage,” she said, completely uninterested.

“Suit yourself.”

At ten to two they pulled up in front of the Old Ship. Pronto sneaked a look at his notebook, to be sure he had the time right. Deirdre must be in his room in five minutes. He had to move fast. He tore into the inn as if the hounds of hell were after him and came puffing out thirty seconds later.

“Deuce take it, he ain’t here yet. There’s nothing to do but to wait for him,” he said crossly. “You’d better come in. You’ll catch your death of cold out here.”

“I have my fur-lined cape on,” she said.

“It may take hours. You’d best come in,” he insisted.

“Hours? In that case, I’ll go on home,” she answered, most unhelpfully.

“Heh, heh, just a manner of speaking. Not actually hours. Come along and we’ll have a cup of cocoa. You like cocoa,” he reminded her. “Just like old times. Come along.” He half pulled her from the carriage and hustled her into the inn.

“My aunt won’t approve of this,” she said, looking around the lobby at the motley assembly of patrons. “We’d better take a private parlor, Pronto.”

A private parlor wouldn’t do at all, but he passed the few minutes till Belami’s arrival in pretending to look into it, signaling to a servant and peering down the hall to see what was available. Suddenly he felt Deirdre stiffen beside him, then sharp tugging at his sleeve. He looked to the door and saw Belami had just entered.

“No private parlor to be had,” he told her merrily, aware of a great sense of relief.

“Oh, what shall I do? I can’t see him! He’ll make a fuss of some sort. Pronto, help me!” she implored.

He slid his room key into her hand. “Take a nip up to number nine,” he said. “My room. I’ll stay here and get rid of him.”