Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (42 page)

"Oh! And look on the other side of the drive, by the yellow
flowers—that sullen-looking creature in the green coat— that's Clem!
One of the men who kidnapped me! Oh, Mitchell!" She turned to clutch
his arm in dismay. "Whatever shall we—"

An impatient group pushed past. Mitchell winced and staggered.
A shout went up, and clinging to his arm, Charity saw a fine town
carriage of dark brown, trimmed with silver, the crest on the door very
familiar. "Vaille!'' she screamed, and pushing through the crowd, waved
desperately. "
Vaille.'"

A handsome, distinguished face appeared at the window. The
Duke of Vaille scanned the throng, but then his coach was past and
Charity's cries were swallowed up in the roar of acclaim as he was
recognized. Two splendidly mounted cavalrymen walked their horses
forward, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

Tears of frustration in her eyes, she stretched out her hands
appealingly. They reined up and one of the magnificent beings leaned
down from his Olympian heights. "Move along, ma'am," he said with firm
officiousness.

"Help me,'' she begged. ''My husband has a message for Prince
George, and—"

Shouts of laughter arose, the nearest people eyeing her with
delight.

"Oo's got
wot
?" asked a fat man with a
very red and perspiring face and a reek of gin.

"The gal's old man," explained a tall youth wearing an
atrocious red waistcoat. He pointed to Redmond, who was striving
unsteadily to make his way to Charity's side. "He's got a message fer
our Prinny," he said with a guffaw. "A very good friend he is, I'll lay
you odds. Whether he's got a hat or not!''

Another laugh was drawn from the crowd. "A lushy lad, was you
to ask me, General," said the fat man, nodding up at the amused
cavalryman.

"Listen to me," cried Charity, "please! If you will only—"

Angry shouts rang out somewhere along the line. The soldier
straightened in the saddle, wheeled his horse abruptly, and clattered
off with his comrade.

The attention of the group shifted. Redmond made his way at
last to slip an arm about Charity's waist, and she leaned against him,
tears of helplessness in her eyes. "Oh, Mitch! We are so
close
!
How awful if we're to be beaten by indifference… at this stage…"

The disturbance ahead had become a violent altercation. The
guardsmen rode their horses ruthlessly amongst the crowd on the
flagway. Shouts and screams arose. There was a splintering of glass,
and people began to run. Mitchell whipped his arm about Charity and
somehow forced a way back to a recessed shop door that suddenly opened.

The man about to exit carried a large bag, and a comrade
beside him ducked back inside as Mitchell turned towards them. The
first man with a quick movement held a glinting knife in his hand. "One
sound, my cove," he snarled, his eyes narrowed and deadly.

Mitchell glanced past him into a dim interior. A small
emporium by the look of it. He whispered, ''Two out—two in?"

The first man grinned; the knife disappeared. "Come on then,
mate," he answered softly.'' Good luck to yer. But you best be quick.
Our friends along the way'll be gone in a coupla winks!"

Mitchell took Charity's arm and said importantly,'' Goodnight,
Jenkins. See that merchandise is delivered before ten o'clock, there's
a good fellow."

The two thieves passed him with deferential bows, the first
man murmuring a laughing, "Garn!"

Mitchell closed the door behind them. A muffled squawking met
his ears. He glanced over the top of a counter and into the wide and
furious eyes of a gentleman with great white eyebrows and glaring brown
eyes, who was bound hand ana foot and gagged with a zephyr shawl.

"Good gracious!" gasped Charity. "Poor man! Let us—"

He drew her back. She looked at him enquiringly.

"Poor girl," he said, sighing. "How I drag you down! I believe
we are become what is known as Flash Prigs…

Ten minutes later, a neat gentleman's gentleman and an equally
neat lady's maid left the quiet premises and blended into the
good-natured crowd.

Holding her bandbox carefully, Charity said, "Mitchell, are
you quite sure that Mrs. Fitzherbert still uses her little house in the
Pavilion grounds?"

He was not at all sure that the Regent's ex-wife ever came
near her erstwhile home, but it was, he thought, the best chance they
had. "We shall soon find out," he said. "Now, we must walk around to
the tradesmen's entrance. This way, ma'am."

They hurried back the way they had come, pushing through the
crowd until at last they were able to get across the street, ducking
under the noses of an irate team of horses and the recipients of the
comments of an equally irate coachman. Approaching the side entrance,
however, they were again foiled, for several cavalrymen guarded that
gate and were supplemented by three individuals looking so grim and
burly that they were either Runners from Bow Street or Sanguinet's
people.

Mitchell drew Charity into the shadows, fretting as the
minutes crept past, wondering desperately how to bluff his way through.
And then a flurry of shots rang out from the direction of the front
entrance. The cavalrymen were away at the gallop, Sanguinet's men after
them, and the sole remaining guard busily occupied with a cart from
Gunter's. Mitchell seized Charity's arm; they walked swiftly to the far
side of the cart and were past and along the path in seconds.

"I wouldn't of asked you to come, sir," the footman explained
earnestly, walking downstairs beside the austere majesty of the butler,
" 'cept that the manservant's a strange sort of cove—more like a
gentleman than a valet, and the lady—"

"Exactly so," intervened the butler, his egg-shaped face
declining in a slight nod so that the light of the chandelier in the
entrance hall gleamed on his bald head. He walked ahead with sedate and
unhurried steps. The young woman appeared neat enough. But the man
affected too haughty an air, carrying his shoulders in so proud a way
that— But here the butler's eyes drifted to the shoes, and he was
aghast. One always judged by the shoes. Shoes should shine. Shabby they
might be; a little. Perhaps a trifle out of the fashion, even. But
shine they must. This man did not even wear shoes! The objects upon his
feet were riding boots—and those a mass of mud! The butler levelled a
disdainful glance at the unfortunate footman. "Gentleman, indeed!" he
murmured with derision. The footman flushed and hung back as the butler
descended the last three stairs, prepared to depress the pretensions of
this insolent "gentleman."

Reaching the ground floor, the butler lifted his eyes and
suffered a severe shock. The young woman looked completely worn out,
and she watched him with a sort of tense desperation. The man was
deathly pale, his handsome features haggard, his eyes red-rimmed, and
an ugly gash marring his high forehead disappeared into the tumbled
dark hair. But even as he stood there swaying a little unsteadily, his
head was drawn back with a faint but unmistakable arrogance, and the
tired grey eyes were amused as he said in a deep cultured voice, "Yes,
I'm afraid we present a frightfully odd appearance. I apologize for
coming to Mrs. Fitzherbert in such a way, but will you be so kind as to
tell her that we must see her at once?"

Taken aback by both tone and manner, the butler reacted
instinctively. "We are seldom here these days, and Mrs. Fitzherbert is
not at home, sir."

In a weary voice that was as cultured as that of her
companion, the girl wailed, "Oh, Mitchell! After all this!"

Charity sagged against Redmond as she spoke, and he gripped
her shoulders, the smile in his eyes replaced by a glare. "A chair for
my wife. At once! "he demanded crisply.

"Y-yes, sir," gasped out the butler, gesturing to his
subordinate.

A triumphant gleam crept into the footman's dark eyes. He'd
knowed them two was Quality the instant he'd seen 'em! Old grizzle-guts
had been set down proper by the young nob! Gloating, he raced to carry
over a straightbacked chair, then tore off in search of the brandy the
butler ordered.

His own miseries forgotten, Redmond dropped to one knee beside
Charity, took the glass the footman sped to hand him, and lifted it to
her pale lips. "Just a sip, my dear," he urged.

She sipped obediently, coughed, then blinked up at the three
anxious faces that watched her. "Good gracious," she said faintly, "I
am a silly. Whatever must you think of us, Gilford?"

"You know my name, ma'am? Alas, I do not recall…"

She said distractedly,''How odd that I should recollect that
at such a time. I believe Harland chanced to mention it to me, though
when—"

Gilford interjected eagerly, "Do you mean the Earl of Harland,
miss? Why, I served with his brother, Lord Moulton."

"I fancied you to be ex-military,'' said Redmond."India, was
it?"

"Aye, sir. And a more gallant officer never lived, if I may
say so."

'' You may. Though I fancy my brother not far behind him. I
must make you known to my wife. This is Mrs. Redmond. I am Mitchell
Redmond, and—"

"
Sir Harry's
brother? I'll be—
Forty-third, as I recall, sir? I well remember how grieved we all were
when he was listed missing. Oh my, oh my! And I keep you here in the
hall with your poor lady so distressed!''

"Why, we have come such a long way, you see," said Charity,
managing to conceal her rising hopes and continuing to look woebegone.

"We rode down from Scotland," said Redmond, and seeing the
butler's polite interest, went on, "We left Ayrshire on Saturday.''

"Cor!" gasped the footman.

Overlooking this lapse, the butler said, "Jackson, fetch
refreshments into the breakfast parlour at once. Mr. Redmond, if you
will just bring your wife this way, perhaps we can somehow be of
assistance to you…"

Redmond assisted Charity to her feet, then took the timepiece
from his pocket. Twenty-three minutes past nine…

The footman stood in stunned silence beside the door. Gilford,
his face almost as pale as Redmond's, stared blankly at the decanter of
wine on the table. "God in heaven!" he muttered. "It passes belief!"

"You have put your finger on it exactly,'' said Redmond with a
wry smile. "No one
will
believe us."

"I never could abide that there Claude Sanguinet," the footman
put in, stepping forward. "Slippery damned—"

"You forget yourself, Jackson," said the butler automatically.

"Oh no I don't, sir! Begging your pardon, I'm sure, but this
ain't something as I can stand aside and do nought! Mr. Redmond, I'm
your man! If I can help in any way. Any way at all!"

Redmond stood and put out his hand. "Thank you, Jackson," he
said, as the footman came eagerly to shake hands. "I wish to heaven you
could!"

"If only there was
some
way we could get
into the Pavilion," Charity muttered, wringing her hands as the clock
struck the half-hour.

Gilford bit his lip, sat down at the table beside Redmond,
causing his underling to gape with astonishment, and rested his mouth
against tight-gripped hands. Mitchell waited, praying his hopes had not
been in vain.

As if gathering his courage, Gilford closed his eyes a second,
then looked up resolutely. "You must know, sir, that Mrs. Fitzherbert
is the Regent's legal wife in the eyes of the Catholic Church. The only
lady he has ever been really happy with, if I dare make so bold as to
remark. When the King and all the ministers kept at him that the
marriage was unlawful and that he must wed Princess Caroline of
Brunswick, it fair broke his heart. But…" He shrugged wryly, "I've no
need to tell you what you already know. His extravagances brought about
his downfall. This house was one of 'em. And after they'd married him
to that woman he daren't come here any more. At least," he hesitated,
"not so any could see…"

"Then it
is
truth," exclaimed Redmond
exuberantly. "There
is
a tunnel!"

"Oh! How wonderful!" Her eyes bright with new hope, Charity
asked, "Where?"

Panicking, Gilford said, "Oh, my Lord! I gave my solemn oath…
if I am doing wrong…"

Seething with impatience, Redmond could not but respect the
man's integrity. He said quietly, "Mr. Gilford, upon the sacred memory
of the man I loved and honoured more than any other—my father—I do
swear that all I have told you here is God's truth."

Gilford gazed for a long moment into those unutterably weary,
yet steadfast grey eyes. Then he pushed back his chair and stood.
"Thank you, sir. This way…"

"I'm coming too," said Charity.

Jackson pulled back her chair. "And me!"

The passage was narrow but tall enough to enable Redmond to
stand erect. It was cold and clammy and shrouded with webs that
indicated a lack of recent use, but it was well built, and recalling
the distance from Mrs. Fitzherbert's little house to the Pavilion,
Redmond thought, "It must have cost a fortune!" He walked very rapidly,
so that Gilford, holding the lantern, was forced to trot to keep up.
Having outdistanced the two following, Redmond murmured, "Now, when we
reach the far end, Gilford, you must keep my wife back."

"You expect trouble, sir? Even inside the Pavilion? Surely,
they would not dare."

"We saw several of Monsieur Sanguinet's men outside. We know
some highly placed naval and military officers are in his pocket. I'd
not put anything past 'em! Tell me where we will come out."

"In the Prince's apartments, sir. There is a double wall with
a deep cupboard, and behind it, steps leading to this tunnel."

"And who else knows of it?"

"So far as I am aware, until tonight only the builders, and
they were sworn to secrecy, myself, and the, er, principals."

They hurried on, Redmond panting now and holding his arm
pressed against the sharp anguish that tore at his ribs with every
breath; the butler, his limp ever more pronounced; and Charity,
tottering along, dazed with exhaustion, the footman supporting her as
best he could.