The Bloodied Cravat (7 page)

And if he were indeed involved with the robberies and stumbled upon that letter ….

I returned to the house, but Freddie was no longer in the library. Instead, I found her seated on the sofa in the drawing room. As usual, several dogs lounged about the room. One was in human shape: Victor Tallarico.

For once I was grateful for Ulga’s presence. She knitted away in her favourite chair keeping an eye on the two.

The Italian perched on one knee in front of Freddie. His palm was outstretched, a piece of white velvet draped across it.

“Signor Tallarico, they are lovely,” Freddie cried, unfolding the velvet to reveal its contents. “But you should not have brought me such a costly gift.”

“Ah, but they must belong to you. Once I saw them at Christie’s auction house, I could not help but think how your maid could arrange them in your hair. Perhaps, if one might be permitted to hope, a style which would show your
bella
neck to advantage.”

“Thank you,” Freddie responded and smiled, accepting the Italian’s offering with pleasure.

I felt a surge of annoyance. Tallarico’s persistence in flirting with Freddie made me wish I could pack him and his pink waistcoats up and put them on a boat back to Italy. Or at least point him in the direction of a matron eager to indulge his propensity for dalliance.

Tallarico rose from his kneeling position to sit next to Freddie. “Will you not call me Victor? I long to hear my name on your lips.”

“Your Royal Highness,” I interrupted in a strong voice, unwilling to let the Lothario say another word.

The two looked up at me as I entered the room; Tallarico with annoyance, and Freddie with ... could that be a flash of guilt on her face?

“George! Let me show you what Signor Tallarico has given me for my birthday,” Freddie said, rising from the sofa. We met in the middle of the room. Tallarico stood frustrated by the sofa. Freddie held out her hand so I could see the gift. “Are they not charming?”

I looked down at a pair of matching antique hair ornaments, made of solid jet. The tops of the baubles were fashioned into cubes of jet decorated with gold inlay. Each ornament was about four or five inches in length, the jet narrowing from the cube and finally forming a sharp-looking point at the end.

“Pretty trinkets,” I said. “Grecian?”

Tallarico strolled over, grinning. “Roman. Most difficult to find a matched pair in a condition
perfetto
. But the Royal Duchess is worth the effort.”

“I thought the exact same thing when I had a dress made of Brussels lace for her Royal Highness last autumn,” I said.

I could have kicked myself the moment the words were out of my mouth. Freddie studied the antique trinkets with intense concentration. Tallarico looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. The Italian would be sure to know that a Brussels lace dress would be worth much more than hair ornaments. He would be bound to speculate as to the exact nature of my relationship with Freddie.

 I know what you are thinking, that it was indiscreet of me to boast of my extravagance. What excuse can I offer? None, really. Tallarico’s scorn of my birthday gift to Freddie of the spaniel still rankled.

I broke the awkward silence. “If you will excuse us, Tallarico, I have something I wish to discuss with the Royal Duchess. In private.”

The Italian bowed low over Freddie’s hand, kissing the air an inch above it. “You must promise to save me two dances this evening, your Royal Highness, else my misery will be so great, I shall impale myself on my dress sword.” He grinned at her.

Freddie laughed softly. “You give me no choice, then. I cannot allow you to do yourself an injury. Your request is granted.”

Impatiently, I marched over to the double doors and ushered the smug Italian outside the room. He spoke to me in a low voice, a strong measure of mischief in his brown eyes. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

I snapped the door shut in his face.

Freddie placed the hair ornaments down on one of the marble pedestals next to a bust of a dog named Trumpet. Before she could remark upon my indiscretion regarding the dress, I said, “I have news of your pearls.”

“What happened?” she asked, her attention diverted.

“I followed Lord Kendrick to where he and Lady Ariana were engaged in an argument by your dog cemetery. His lordship knew all along that his cousin must have taken the pearls. Evidently, Lady Ariana is in the habit of stealing things, though she claims not to remember what she has done afterward.”

“How terrible! Ulga, did you hear that? Lady Ariana does have the pearls,” Freddie said.

Ulga grunted. “I have never in all my years of service to your family lost anything.”

“Oh, I know that, Ulga. Pray, do not give it another thought.” Freddie took my arm and led me to the sofa. “Let us sit down and decide what to do now.”

We seated ourselves, and I spoke. “Lord Kendrick will see the pearls returned to you, of that I am sure. Even so, he is an ugly fellow, Freddie, and I don’t just refer to his physical appearance. He was rough with his cousin, he grabbed her chin, and spoke to her harshly. He even threatened to have her committed to a lunatic asylum if she continued to take things that do not belong to her.”

“Heavens! I will not have such a man at Oatlands.”

“I truly regret not learning what information Lord Kendrick might have about the highwayman, but—”

“About the highwayman?” Freddie interrupted. “You think the marquess knows something?”

My brows came together. “It is just a feeling I have. When you told him you wanted to question him regarding thievery, why did his thoughts leap to the highwayman instead of his cousin if she makes it a practice to steal? One would think her behaviour would be the first thing to spring to his mind.”

“That is odd, I suppose. George, much as I would like to help Squire Oxberry identify the highwayman, we cannot allow Lord Kendrick to remain here hoping he will let some clue fall.”

But then Freddie did not know about the missing letter.

“Regretfully, I agree. I do think it best if we ask him to leave in the morning and take Lady Ariana with him. It grows too late to do so today. It is almost time to dress for dinner. Besides which, I would not put it above Lord Kendrick to cause a scene, and I shall not have that on your birthday.”

Freddie’s face reflected contrition. “Oh, dear, George, I should have known better than to invite Lord Kendrick. I refused to listen to neighbourhood gossip though, feeling it churlish to hold a party and not invite him.”

“What gossip?”

Agitated, Freddie rose and began to slowly pace. I stood at once.

“The previous Marquess was not a kind man. True, he offered his niece, Lady Ariana, a home about nine years ago, but that was because of some ghastly rumours that were circling about her father, the old marquess’s brother. The previous marquess wanted to stop the gossip at any cost. His brother was a widower living with his daughter, Lady Ariana, in Bath. I—I do not know quite how to say this, George. The gossip was that the man—the man had been using Lady Ariana in some abominable ways.”

I put my hand on Freddie’s arm, noticing she was trembling. “You do not have to say any more. Unfortunately, I comprehend your meaning.”

Freddie nodded. “At first, when the old marquess brought the girl to live with him I thought it an act of kindness on his part. But, over time when he did nothing for the girl, ignoring her existence in his household, I came to realize he merely took her from his brother—who died a few years ago, by the way—to squelch the rumours.”

“Family honour, eh?”

“Such as it were. Also, the old marquess was very tight-fisted with his money. He was single-minded and could think of nothing but getting the most out of his land.”

“That is strange. His son does not seem the type interested in crop rotation.”

“Oh, no, not the new marquess. His elder brother, who would have been marquess had he lived, was the one like his father. Maynard was his father’s pride and joy, sharing as he did the old marquess’s love of money and the land. Connell, as a second son, was left to find a way for himself in the world. His father gave him a miserly allowance and refused even to buy him a commission in the army.”

Ah, I thought, and it was not unheard of for a younger son, eager for money, to take to the roads and rob coaches. Though, in my mind’s eye, I had trouble picturing Lord Kendrick possessing the courage to carry out such acts. However, he could have an accomplice. To Freddie I asked, “How did the heir—Maynard, did you say?—die?”

“Yes, Maynard. A terrible tragedy. He was struck by lightning while riding out in the fields. The old Marquess was literally destroyed by his son’s death. He died himself of an apparent apoplexy less than a week later. That is how Connell came into the title about a year ago.”

Coincidentally about the same time the robberies had all but ceased. That fit. Now that Connell had the title and money, his need to continue the robberies would have ended.

“A small man with a small mind not up to the responsibilities of being a peer of the realm,” I mused. How lucky for Lord Kendrick, long kept on a tight allowance, to unexpectedly find himself a wealthy marquess.

We fell silent for a moment, until Freddie said, “Perhaps I should not have told you all that, George. Repeating country gossip, or any gossip, is not normally my nature.”

“I know that,” I assured her. “This is different.”

“And, oh, great heavens, George, I promised to introduce Lord Kendrick to the Duke of Derehurst and his daughter. How can I do so now in good conscience knowing Lord Kendrick to be a man without honour?”

“In a manner that lets the duke know you are merely performing the introductions out of a sense of duty as hostess.”

“I expect that will have to be the way. I have no time to do otherwise.”

“It will turn out all right, Freddie. Telling Lord Kendrick he is no longer welcome here—and believe me, I shall be at your side when you do so—can wait until tomorrow. As I said, we do not wish to spoil your birthday celebrations today.”

Freddie retired to her room, leaving me to ponder what the Marquess of Kendrick would do when thrown out on his ear. His early departure was bound to cause repercussions among the guests. He would blame Lady Ariana for their banishment from Oatlands and his lost opportunity to court a duke’s daughter. I hoped this would not cause Lord Kendrick to follow through on his threat to have the girl thrown into a madhouse.

What about Cecily Cranworth? Would she be forced by her brother to wed the aging Squire because she failed to wring a proposal from Lord Kendrick?

Whatever the outcome, I had a feeling it would not be good.

I did not know then just how bad it could be.

The ivory-painted square ballroom, seldom used at Oatlands, on this special evening blazed with candlelight. Old Dawe, bless him, had perhaps been overzealous in his desire to pay tribute to his beloved mistress on her birthday. Additional crystal chandeliers had been brought into the room, making the ivory walls glow and the numerous large, gilt-framed mirrors sparkle and glitter with light faceted by the crystals.

Colourful flowers perfumed one’s senses, their number abundant as Freddie had endeavoured to bring nature indoors. The transition between nature and the indoors flowed smoothly, because the ballroom was on the ground floor. Four sets of double glass doors were open to the night air.

Mellifluous tones filled my ears with the music from the quartet of musicians hired. The chatter of guests, whose number had swelled to close to one hundred, competed with the notes written by Bach. A royal guest arrived while we were enjoying drinks before dinner.

The Prince of Wales, son of King George III, brother-in-law to Freddie, and one of my closest friends, descended upon us with a group of his cronies to wish Freddie the joys of the day. He presented her with a diamond and sapphire bracelet during the lavish dinner we spent above two hours savouring.

The deep blue gems reminded me of a certain pair of accusing eyes. I made sure a servant took a plate upstairs to Chakkri. Lobster patties, his favourite and mine, had nestled among the delicacies. I imagined the cat pacing and muttering to himself until his dinner arrived. You know how particular the feline is about his food. He is even more discriminating than the Prince.

As for the Prince’s decision to attend, I could only admire him for it.
Someone
had to represent the Royal Family on this occasion since the Duke of York chose to absent himself.

The Prince also showed a sensitivity to feeling that I approved when he left his “wife,” Mrs. Fitzherbert, in London. While a good influence over Prinny, Mrs. Fitzherbert’s true status can only be questioned, since the Prince married Caroline of Brunswick eleven years ago. As a whole, the Royal Family does not acknowledge Mrs. Fitzherbert. To have brought her to Oatlands would have put Freddie in an uncomfortable position.

In the ballroom with the assistance of Old Dawe, I presided over a table laden with a large bowl of a specially made liqueur. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I might interrupt the festivities for one moment.”

Silence fell across the room. Guests moved closer to where I stood and waited expectantly. I smiled at Freddie and gestured for her to join me. She was a vision of regal beauty in the lace dress I had given her. I could hardly take my gaze from her. Yet, every time I did look at her, the situation regarding the missing letter niggled at the back of my brain, worrying me. I was beginning to feel like I was trapped at the bottom of a hill with a tremendous rock perched somewhere above me, ready to roll down the grass and crush me. Repeatedly, I had to push the matter of the letter from my thoughts.

Freddie at my side, I spoke. “Earlier today I began the preparation of a liqueur I formulated especially in the Royal Duchess’s honour. Tonight we shall drink to her.”

A murmur of expectation ran around the room. The Prince of Wales cleared his throat. “I say, Brummell, you’ve never made a particular concoction for me. I find I’m quite out of sorts with you.”