The Stuart Sapphire (9 page)

‘Are you quite unhurt?’ He was aware that Henry had repeated the question, somewhat bemused that Mr Eildor
was still in one piece and had suffered so little damage in what Tam realised was intended to be recorded as a fatal carriage accident. The disposal of the marchioness – and himself, as a mysterious stranger who knew too much…

‘I am quite fit. And you—’

‘Just some rope burns, rather uncomfortable.’

‘But you are fit enough to walk back to Brighton?’ asked Tam.

At his side Henry chuckled. ‘A longish way, but there is no need for us to walk anywhere.’ And so saying, he withdrew a handsome timepiece from his pocket. Had the highwaymen troubled to search him, and relieve him of that, Tam thought, they would have reckoned they had earned a substantial reward for any night’s activity.

Holding it close to his face, Henry smiled.

‘There is just enough light for me to see the time – it is almost nine o’clock. And do you know,’ he added in tones of surprise, ‘the stagecoach that goes through Lewes to collect passengers for Brighton and the coastal towns, comes along the road here in ten minutes precisely. What an excellent piece of good fortune!’

And for Tam, that piece of information had a significant role to play in the night’s events. There was no way the driver could have missed seeing Henry tied to a sapling by the roadside in the twilight of a clear summer’s night. He decided not to share his thoughts with Henry after all, in common with the glimpse of a Dragoon’s uniform sleeve under a dark cloak.

Or the fact that the highwaymen had completely overlooked their life’s work and daily bread, of robbing frightened travellers on lonely roads.

Henry with his gold timepiece, the female passenger with fur cloak and pearls…

Unless they knew that she was dead already and robbery was not their commission.

As for himself, why had they omitted to strip him of any valuables he might be carrying, such as a sword or pistol, with which gentlemen frequently armed themselves against possible attention from highwaymen, especially if there were female passengers, wives and daughters, to protect?

It was not unknown for rich ladies to receive rough treatment and lewd handling if their persons did not yield expected items of jewellery. As a precaution many carried “bad purses”, containing some coins or perhaps a pair of earrings, to divert attention from more valuable items.

And as they waited for the appearance of the stagecoach, Tam realised the true nature of the false highwaymen’s attack.

He had been considered expendable, his death part of that prearranged plan. Henry’s astonishment at his survival seemed genuine. Percy certainly had a minor role. But was it the prince himself who had masterminded operations for his faithful Dragoons, alias four desperate highwaymen?

Tam and Henry alighted from the stagecoach on the Steine after a crowded, noisy, but mercifully short journey. Most of the male passengers – and some of the females too – were very drunk and noisy, genially passing round bottles and inclined to hilarity which neither Tam nor Henry were inclined to share. Especially as every one of them, thanks to close confinement for several hours on what had been a hot August day, smelt abominably.

While realising that his escape from almost certain death on the Lewes road a short while ago was nothing short of a miracle, Tam was now feeling the full effects of his bruises which stiffened up during the drive, and was thankful that he had sustained no serious injuries to his legs and arms. After the fetid atmosphere inside the coach, he was grateful to be able to breathe fresh air again.

The gentle evening breeze with its faint perfume from the Pavilion garden’s aromatic flowers and shrubs was welcome indeed, and as they walked towards the building, its windows shone with the brilliance of a hundred candles lighting their path. A full moon drifted lazily through the
clouds, and couples walked or dallied, the ladies’ white muslin gowns glowing moth-like in the darkness. Emanating from the rotunda strains of Handel played by the prince’s expert group of resident musicians contributed an element of romance, with the faint susurrus of the waves at high tide, silvered by moonlight, enhancing the scene.

The guards at the door saluted Henry, who, on the threshold, hesitated for the first time. Observing that he had kept his own counsel since leaving the coach, fully preoccupied with his own thoughts, Tam decided cynically that he might make a shrewd guess at what was troubling Henry.

A poor actor, he was doubtless nervously rehearsing which version of the abortive carriage ride to Lewes he was to present as most readily acceptable and believable to his royal father. As for Tam, he smiled to himself in the darkness. He was looking forward to being present at that particular interrogation.

It was not to be. As they climbed the stairs and approached the royal apartments with the Dragoon guards on duty along the corridor standing to attention and saluting smartly, Henry turned quickly to Tam and said:

‘I will not delay you further, Mr Eildor. You have had a very dangerous and painful experience and I am sure that you wish to adjourn to your apartment, to wash and refresh.’

This was not at all what Tam wished, in fact, he was bitterly disappointed but as no argument was possible, he acknowledged what was hopefully intended as a kindly, thoughtful gesture.

‘We will meet tomorrow morning, I trust,’ Henry continued, ‘before you resume your journey. Until then, I
will bid you goodnight. Rest well.’

With frustration added to his physical aches at this forced retiral from what promised to be a most interesting and illuminating interview, Tam went into his bedroom. Removing the dark clothes he had been wearing, now sadly in need of attention and repair after his fall down the embankment, he was pleased to see the silent footman bearing a ewer of warm water and fresh towels and even more gratified at the appearance of a jug of wine.

Pouring a large glass of what tasted like the best vintage from the royal cellar, for a moment he considered the nightshirt spread neatly on the bed. His bruises plagued him, he was exhausted, yawning, but he sternly resisted the temptation to lay his head on the soft pillows and close his eyes on the day.

With the faint hope that he might yet be summoned by the prince to give his own version of the encounter with the highwaymen, he dressed once more in the clothes he had been given on his arrival and consoled by a further glass of wine, he sat down on the bed to await events, deciding that bodily discomfort was easier to ignore than uneasiness of mind.

Over and again he returned to the intriguing question of what Henry was whispering to the prince concerning the carriage accident and the unexpected disposal of the marchioness’s body. But what troubled him most was whether or not the prince had been party to the plan.

He had not long to linger with his dismal thoughts, busy as rats trapped in a cage. A tap at the door announced a guard who looked in with the command:

‘Mr Eildor, I am to escort you to His Royal Highness’s apartments on the instant.’

Outside the royal bedroom, Percy sat alone, his glum expression showing his disappointment at being excluded from the interview within. His brief nod in Tam’s direction gave nothing away as the guard opened the door.

Henry was present and Tam observed that he too looked less than happy. He summoned a weak smile and, after a polite question regarding Tam’s recovery, he came to the point of the interview, and bowing to his father he said:

‘Perhaps you would be good enough to give an account of our journey to His Royal Highness—’

That one swift glance at the prince’s grim expression suggested to Tam that Henry’s return and his tale of the misadventures with the highwaymen had not been well received. Was that nervous gesture of dismissal of the subject one of guilt?

His suspicions however were wrong. In fact it was doubtful if the prince heard more than the first sentence of Henry’s account.

Tam had been summoned for quite a different reason.

There had been a second disaster.

It had been a terrible evening.

Since pressures of age-old daily domestic routine concerning bed linen, fires and so forth in the royal apartments could not be ignored indefinitely, the prince had forced himself to return to his bedroom and remove all traces of the marchioness’s presence.

That included the jewellery she had worn. The task filled him with distaste and loathing. To lay his hands on the glittering jewels in their untidy heap on the small table was to touch cold stones fouled by death.

Replacing them in their individual caskets, only one remained empty.

The box which contained the Stuart Sapphire, the marchioness’s favourite adornment, always her first choice for decoration before their lovemaking. With a shudder he remembered that only yesterday he had clasped the jewel held by a belt of diamonds about her slender waist.

He looked around, fell awkwardly on his knees and scrabbled under the bed. Perhaps the sapphire had slipped off unnoticed and rolled away when Mr Eildor helped him steady the table. It was not there and he sat back on his heels reeling in horror from the full significance of the missing jewel.

Eagerly he had awaited Henry’s return, dismissing the events of the journey in a casual manner that quite shocked the young man. Henry had expected praise, dramatic sighs. Instead it seemed as if the prince had already forgotten all about the murdered marchioness and that bizarre carriage ride to return her body to Lewes.

Or, as it transpired, its tumble down an embankment for someone else to make the gruesome discovery, at a safe distance from any association with her recent fatal visit to the Pavilion. Known to be eccentric in her habits, perhaps some member of the marquis’s staff would come up with a satisfactory explanation of why she was naked under her furs.

But that was no longer of the least concern or interest to the prince, and Henry found himself instead of receiving praise and adulation for his brilliant idea, being bombarded with questions about the missing jewel.

It was all very trying. Over and over he tried to listen politely, repeating no, he had not seen the Stuart Sapphire when he and Percy were preparing the marchioness for transport. She was wearing only her own pearls, and her cloak had no pockets, he pointed out tactfully.

Too late, the prince realised, it had never occurred to him that dreadful morning, with so many horrors on his mind, to check that no jewels were missing.

What about Mr Eildor? Was it possible that he stole it? Possible but hardly likely. Only someone who knew its value would have taken it. A thief would have taken one of the glittering diamonds. And again the prince groaned, tapping his fingers in an agitated rhythm on the arm of his chair.

What of Percy, he demanded. Was he to be trusted? Was that the answer?

Henry was shocked. ‘Percy is your most devoted and most loyal servant, Sire. Such a theft by him is beyond belief.’

‘Is it now?’ And the prince wagged his head sagely. ‘But there could be other issues at stake, political issues in the making that we know nothing about. When that is the case, even the most trusted servants are not beyond bribery, we can assure you.’

Pausing he sighed heavily. ‘Indeed, we might even stretch a point to include those nearest in blood,’ he added darkly at which Henry, outraged by a suspicion that the royal glance also included him in this vile category, felt dangerously near to tears.

But he was safe. The prince groaned, struggled up from his chair to pace the floor.

The Stuart Sapphire, the most valuable, the most precious of the royal jewels was missing. Already the thought was looming in the back of his mind, whoever stole it had also murdered the marchioness.

‘It has to be found. Has to,’ he said. ‘The future of England is imperilled. Don’t you see?’

Henry didn’t see. His feelings had been hurt and he
decided that the prince was indulging in a slight exaggeration and that the future of his own reputation would have struck a truer note.

Then he had another of his brainwaves.

Perhaps Providence had meant that Tam Eildor should not have been eliminated and that he should survive the disastrous accident on the Lewes road. Perhaps Providence in the unlikely shape of the Prince Regent intended him for higher things, this Edinburgh lawyer who was used to investigating criminal activities.

‘Sire, I have an idea,’ he said.

And so it was that Tam found himself listening to the story of the stolen jewel, which included the origins of the Stuart Sapphire from the Crown of Scotland. Part of King James the Sixth’s baggage when he became James I of England in 1603, Prince George would wear it when he was crowned King George IV.

An event, considering the condition of his poor mad father, that was hopefully not too distant, and the prince was already well-rehearsed in the bliss of that future scene, proudly seeing himself wearing the Stuart Sapphire, together with the diamond saltire worn by Charles I at his Scottish coronation in 1633, and inherited by his ill-fated great-grandson Bonnie Prince Charles Edward Stuart who wore it on his return to Britain from exile in 1745.

Both the Old Pretender, James II, and his son the Young Pretender had passed into history, the Jacobite cause lost forever on the battlefield of Culloden in 1746, leaving disappointed Scotsmen to murmur over their whisky and toast the King over the Water while the Stuart Sapphire passed into the hands of the last surviving son of James I.

Henry, Duke of York, styled by his supporters King
Henry IX, was not only a cardinal but unlike many of his saintly colleagues, Henry practised the morality he preached and thus childless, the Jacobite claim to the British throne perished with him in 1806. At the time of his death he was receiving a generous pension of £4,000 from the English Crown, and as a mark of gratitude King George was offered the Stuart Sapphire.

‘It has to be found – immediately! There is not a moment to lose!’ the prince ranted on while Tam listened patiently having decided, rather triumphantly, that he now had the vital clue as to why the marchioness was murdered. Logically it had to be for possession of this particular jewel, since diamonds, emeralds and rubies, more valuable in monetary terms, had been ignored.

With the reason for the crime, all Tam needed now was the killer’s identity. Logic immediately suggested someone inside the Pavilion, familiar with the prince’s intimate habits and his daily routine.

Would that hopefully narrow down the list of suspects? he wondered, as the prince continued: ‘I have already sent for John Townsend, our good friend and a marvellous thief-taker. He has been with the Bow Street Runners for thirty years and knows all the tricks of the trade. However, his arrival may take a day or two and we cannot afford to lose any time over this urgent matter.’

Pausing he looked at Tam intently. ‘As a lawyer we believe you to have some knowledge in the matter of criminal-taking.’

Before Tam could think of a suitable response, the prince added as an afterthought: ‘As you may require a certain amount of money to make matters more effective, we will provide you with suitable coinage. It is our wish in the absence of John Townsend and, until he arrives, that
you abandon your plans to continue your journey and remain here in Brighton. You may proceed with the investigation tomorrow morning.’

Tam bowed. For ‘wish’, he had already read ‘command’.