Elizabeth Kidd (16 page)

“I recall now that you were friends.” Drummond said, eyeing his companion consideringly. Their dinner was brought in just then, and after the rack of lamb had been served with a professional flourish and the waiter had departed, Drummond went on, “I also recall from our conversation the last time we met that you share our passionate poet’s sentiments about the Parthenon marbles.”

Kedrington smiled. “Who is quizzing whom here, John? I thought you expected me to attempt to oil Parliamentary secrets out of you.”

“An anticipatory defensive thrust, my dear Duncan.”

Kedrington’s smile was less forced now. Drummond had drunk most of the claret, and was already less able to defend himself than he thought. He set about to enjoy his roast lamb.

Both gentlemen concentrated on their food with a minimum of conversation until the table was cleared and cheese and port were introduced. Drummond took a generous swallow of the wine, remarked on the fine quality of the club’s cellars, and said, “I suppose you want to know what’s been said in the House lately about the marbles.”

“I know what’s been said in public,” Kedrington said, carefully paring an Edam cheese. “I wonder what’s been discussed behind closed doors.”

Drummond shrugged. “The deed being done, no one cares to worry the subject any longer—save those friends of Elgin’s who are fighting a rear-guard action for his rights.”

“He is to be a trustee of the museum, is he not?”

“A mere sinecure. There is no money attached to it to relieve his debts. His friends are looking to secure him some kind of pension for his foreign service, since the fruits of his travels have netted him so little.”

“But nothing has been said about the marbles themselves?”

“I doubt half the members have seen them. Artistic sensitivity is not an outstanding characteristic of the nobility of England.”

“You have it.”

Drummond smiled. He was not of the nobility, but he appreciated his companion insinuating that his tastes were. “Perhaps, but I am the first to admit I am most interested in works that have high intrinsic value. Their subject matter and particularly their symbolic value mean little to me unless I can get a good price for them at auction.”

Kedrington studied his companion, wondering if he was perhaps too eager to make this point. It was difficult to tell. Drummond was too practiced a politician, and his expression revealed nothing beyond a slight roseate hue from the quantities of wine he had drunk.

“Speaking of matters artistic reminds me to ask you again the name of the artist who painted those sketches of the marbles you showed us,” Kedrington said offhandedly, then added with no qualms about doing so, “My wife thinks she would like to commission one or two for our drawing room.”

“The boy’s name is Dimitri Metaxis,” Drummond said, “but I haven’t seen him since he delivered the last one.”

“Still in town, do you suppose?”

“Very likely. Try some of the cheaper hotels—although I paid him enough to enable him to let private rooms.”

Since Sir John seemed to find nothing amiss in these enquiries, Kedrington did not pursue them and thus risk Drummond’s suspicion. He took a last lingering sip of his port and decided to save his other questions for another time.

“I think I would like a smoke and a walk to clear all that wine out of my head,” he said. “Then I may look in on Brooks’s. Do you care to join me, John?”

“Only as far as the smoke,” Sir John replied, rising with Kedrington. “I get rude stares at Brooks’s.”

“I cannot imagine that so ephemeral an insult would have any effect on you.”

“It does not, but I only provoke them when I wish to annoy someone, and tonight—thanks to you, dear boy—I am in too mellow a mood to wish to annoy anyone. Even Fenton.”

Lord Fenton was a prominent member of White’s and a well-known rival of Sir John Drummond, although he sat in the Lords, not the Commons. Kedrington knew the earl only slightly but was well aware that he considered himself a necessary gadfly, to keep politicians he opposed on the straight and narrow path.

“I expect you could throw him a leveler merely by being civil to him,” Kedrington said, as they left the club and strolled off down the street. He offered Drummond one of his Spanish cigarillos, which was accepted, and presently the gentlemen turned on King Street in the direction of St. James’s Square, which they circumnavigated slowly while finishing their smokes.

“You should quiz Fenton about the marbles, you know,” Drummond said, when they were on the point of parting company. “He is firmly in the repatriation camp—the only man in town who still supports Hugh Hammersley’s views on returning the so-called bribe paid to Elgin as well as the marbles themselves.”

“Hammersley’s amendment to the bill of purchase was laughed out of the house.”

“No one laughs at Fenton. He is too quick to avenge any perceived slight.”

Leaving Kedrington with this thought, Drummond flagged down a hackney coach and departed. The viscount stood on the pavement for a moment longer in a meditative mood, then made up his mind and turned back in the direction they had come. He would look in on Brooks’s after all and keep his ears open.

* * * *

It was with a discouraging sense of having widened the possibilities rather than narrowed them that Kedrington returned home at a late hour. He had consumed no more wine and had consequently had a run of luck at the gaming tables, but his talk with Lord Fenton had been less profitable. Fenton, it turned out, was a fanatic on the subject of the marbles, having once spent six months in Athens as a minor embassy official and now imagining he shared the feelings of the Greeks toward their national treasure. His diatribe on the subject had shed a great deal of heat but little light, and Kedrington had parted from him with the sensation that anyone, even the heavy-handed Fenton, could be behind the mysterious disappearance of two of the sculptures.

On that subject, however, he had heard not a whisper. If anyone had any knowledge of it, he was not a member of Brooks’s.

A light tap on his dressing room door as he removed his coat was followed by his wife, in a whisper of silk robes and light perfume. She rose on her toes to kiss him.

“You do smell nastily of smoke,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Have you been drinking as well? What a debaucher you are.”

“I have been as sober as a lord.”

“You mean, a judge.”

“No, I mean the upper classes have been maligned about their drinking habits. The judiciary, on the other hand….”

“Do stop talking nonsense. What have you been doing that you could not come home for dinner?”

“I told Trotter not to expect me.”

“Which intrigues me all the more. You
planned
to go on a debauche tonight.”

Kedrington took off his boots, with his wife’s help, and then reached into his pockets to withdraw a wad of banknotes.

“Here—buy yourself something.”

“You’ve been gaming as well?” Antonia sat down on the edge of his bed to count the money. Kedrington sat down on the other side and pulled her toward him.

“Only in the spirit of inquiry. Besides, I won.”

“So I see. You must have been sober.”

“The point is, no one else was.”

“Is that lesson of the day?”

“Play your cards close to the vest and buy drinks all around. Talk less and listen more. I had dinner with Sir John Drummond, by the way.”

“Ah! I knew you suspected him in this affair.”

They both knew which affair she referred to and wasted no time in confirming it.

“
You
suspected him. But I cannot say I have ruled him out. He admits quite freely to having employed Dimitri Metaxis, although I believe him when he says he has had no further contact with him. There is also Lord Fenton and his cronies.”

“A conspiracy!”

He laughed. “A possibility, although I cannot see Fenton involving himself in anything so sordid. He is a wily fox, despite his bluster.”

“Dearest….”

“Yes, my life?”

“Who
is
Lord Fenton?”

He told her, briefly and could almost see the mental note she made to consult his Aunt Julia about it. He hoped she would. Julia welcomed her company, and she loved an intrigue.

“Do you want to know what I did today?”

“Tell me.”

She did, and he listened with interest to her observations about Arthur Melville and sat up when she arrived at Dimitri Metaxis.

“Grillon’s! Good heavens, I should have thought myself to make inquiries at all the likely hotels. It even occurred to Sir John before it did to me.”

“You cannot be expected to think of everything, dearest. That is why you have me.”

“To supply me with ideas? I assure you, my love, I have all sorts of ideas.”

“About me?” she asked, snuggling a little closer. He kissed her nose.

“About you,” he whispered into her ear. “Would you like to hear some of them?”

“Yes, please.”

And so he told her.

Chapter 14

Claiming neglect on her husband’s part, Lady Kedrington cajoled him into escorting her to the theater the following night to see Edmund Kean in
Macbeth
.

“You need not employ your feminine wiles on me,” he told her, “although I am delighted when you do. I am rather fond of the Scottish play, if for no other reason than that it is comparatively short.”

“Unless, of course, Mr. Kean repeats his best speeches twice, which Charlotte Overton tells me he occasionally does.”

Kedrington promised not to applaud, in order not to encourage London’s most celebrated Thespian to reiterate himself. “Was this jaunt Lady Overton’s idea, by any chance?”

“Yes, why?”

“I have always suspected her of harboring a secret urge to tread the boards.”

“No, how can you think so? She is respectability enshrined.”

“Have you never had a secret desire to do something that would outrage your family? Oh, no, I beg your pardon— I forgot that you were fond of splashing about in public fountains and such in your youth.”

Antonia rapped her fan on his sleeve. “You promised not to bring that up, and yet you continually do. I should have insisted on having your promise written into the marriage vows. Besides, that was before I met you.”

They had descended to the front hall in anticipation of meeting their neighbors, Sir William and Lady Overton, to set out for Drury Lane. Antonia was wearing a new gown with contrasting bodice and skirt, the latter white, with gold spangles around the hem and the former gold, with a low-cut back, which she turned to display to her husband.

“Very fashionable, I’m sure,” he said, contemplating the graceful curve of his wife’s spine, “but you will forgive me if I stand behind you—to keep the breeze off, that is.”

“I shall carry a shawl,” she said saucily, arranging this nearly transparent garment over her shoulders. “Anyway, I want you where I can see you, for you look particularly handsome tonight.”

“Thank you, my love,” he said, bowing and, Antonia thought, preening a little. Really, he
was
the most handsome man she knew, even if he looked like a brigand at times and a tulip of the
ton
at others. His black hair and startlingly light eyes always disconcerted one—or at least, Antonia—when one began to take them for granted.

Sir William and his wife were announced just then, and Charlotte was instantly captivated by Antonia’s gown and exclaimed delightedly over it. She was some twenty years older than Antonia, but they were friends because Lady Overton had a remarkably youthful outlook on life. She was always interested in the latest mode, even though her own stout figure precluded her wearing anything but the simplest cuts and most conservative colors, and she kept abreast of changing fashions in every other aspect of London life as well. She was a fount of information on any such subject, particularly when it came to the opera and dramatic presentations.

Indeed, when they were seated in their box a short time later waiting for the play to begin, she confirmed that as a girl, she had indeed longed for a theatrical career.

“Naturally, my mama was horrified and promptly sent me to an extremely reputable academy for young ladies to have proper behavior drilled into me. The head of the school assured Mama that I would learn only the accepted classics in addition to deportment and watercoloring, which would have been discouraging in the extreme.”

Antonia agreed, saying she had been fortunate to have an adventurous father and a clever governess.

“Fortunately,” Lady Overton went on, “I had one mistress who slipped me copies of Molière’s and Shakespeare’s plays, and another who taught me popular tunes on the pianoforte. Poor Mama never found out, but my schoolmates and I had jolly times acting out all the parts and accompanying ourselves with music.”

Amused, Antonia said, “You are fortunate, then, that Sir William is not of the same mind as your mama.”

“Oh, no, for I should not have married him had that been the case. But he says a season’s box at all the theaters is a small price to pay for a happy wife and a comfortable life.”

The first act began then, and Antonia saw that Lady Overton’s interest was not only in attending the theater but in actually attending to what was happening on stage. During the first interval, indeed, she demonstrated a deep knowledge of the play and an appreciation of Mr. Kean’s performance which impressed Antonia. She glanced back at her husband and found him listening with interest as well.

During the second interval, the gentlemen went out to procure refreshments for the ladies, and Lady Overton took up another topic.

“You have not yet been blessed with children, Antonia dear, I know, so I will not bore you with the exploits of my own, but I received a letter from my youngest daughter today, and I am bursting to tell someone that I am shortly to be a grandmother!”

“Why…how wonderful for you, Charlotte.” Antonia, not expecting this subject to arise, made an effort nonetheless to share her companion’s joy. “Is this your first—that is, your other children are not married?”

“Two of them are—I have three, you know—but my oldest boy has been married only a few months, so Anna is the first to be blessed.”