The Bloodied Cravat (3 page)

However, Beau Brummell could not be seen in anything less than his usual immaculate grooming and flawlessly appropriate attire lest he be toppled from his invisible throne at the head of fashionable Society and flung back to the outside of nowhere. Which meant I needed my valet and my clothes.

Frowning, I paused when I reached Freddie’s sitting room door. I admitted to myself that it was not just Robinson’s skills in taking care of my person and clothing, valued as they are, that I cared about.

As unfashionable as it might be to think of one’s servants as anything other than invisible entities who looked after one’s needs, the truth is that, well, I have grown accustomed to having Robinson round my house. His moral character is just what it should be, he has a sharp eye for the cut of a coat, he is intelligent, and by God, I like the man.

Oh, by the way,
never
tell him I said these things, I beg you. He would only use my words against me in his never ending battle to send Chakkri back to Siam.

I raised my hand and knocked firmly on the sitting room door. Freddie would need to send men out to look for Robinson at once. My initial irritation with the valet’s absence had progressed to apprehension, especially now that night had come, leaving the countryside shrouded in darkness.

What fate had befallen Robinson?

Ulga’s scowling face met me at the door to Freddie’s private sitting room. She effectively blocked the portal. Her Prussian features reflected her usual feeling toward me: disapproval.

Which just goes to show you the woman has no taste.

I steeled myself. “Ulga, inquire of the Royal Duchess if she can spare a moment to speak with me.”

“Her Royal Highness is occupied at the moment,” Ulga informed me in a voice which still retained a Prussian accent.

“I shall wait.”

“Her Royal Highness vill be retiring for the evening soon.”

“I must speak with her before she does so. Kindly inform her I am here.” This last I said with my normal cool composure, but I said it through gritted teeth.

Ulga and I locked gazes. I would have preferred to lock her in a remote cottage and throw away the key.

“Her Royal Highness should not have a second guest in her private sitting room at this hour.”

Casually, I raised my pocketwatch and looked at the time: ten of the clock. Replacing the timepiece, I said, “Who is with her now?”

“Mr. Fishe.”

“Ah, well, we are safe then. Fishe is the jolly fellow who looks after the dogs’ needs. I, on the other hand, am a gentleman, and therefore the only one to be considered a ‘guest’ to the Royal Duchess.” Nothing she could say to that, the old dragon.

With a show of great aversion to doing so, Ulga turned from the doorway to apprise Freddie of my presence. To further annoy the Prussian behemoth, I followed her unbidden into the room.

“George,” Freddie said. “How glad I am to see you. I was about to send Ulga with a message for you to join me.”

I raised an eyebrow at the maid, who turned without looking at me and sat in the corner, busying herself with her knitting.

“You remember Fishe, do you not, George?” Freddie asked.

“Of course; how are you, Fishe?” I said.

Fishe is a man past fifty who is the only contender for Freddie’s dogs’ affection. He brushes them, bathes them, keeps them free of pests, nurses them through minor illnesses, makes sure they have heaps of toys and plenty to eat and drink. They love him with slavish devotion.

Fishe himself is one of Freddie’s “strays,” having been rescued by her from the workhouse. Unlike the well-fed dogs he takes care of, Fishe is skinny and bald, and one of his eyes is considerably larger than the other.

Fishe touched a place on his head where a forelock would have been had he any hair. “Happy to see you, Mr. Brummell, sir. But unhappy I am about Phanor.”

I racked my brain trying to remember which dog was Phanor, but failed. “What is wrong with Phanor?”

“I’m not rightly sure, sir. That’s why I’ve sent for Doctor Wendell.”

Freddie sat in a gold velvet chair, her hands clasped in her lap. “Doctor Curtis Wendell is our county physician, George. He is a good man who often looks after our animals as well as our people. We can rely on him to come to Phanor.”

“If it pleases your Royal Highness, I’ll just step along downstairs to the sickroom. I don’t like to leave Phanor for long,” Fishe said.

“Thank you, and please keep me advised of any developments. I shall visit Phanor before I retire for the evening.”

“Yes, your Royal Highness.”

Fishe bowed himself out of the room, and I seated myself in a chair near Freddie. I wondered if Doctor Wendell was the very same man that Miss Cecily Cranworth had been speaking about, the county doctor her brother deemed unsuitable for her.

But my thoughts quickly turned to Freddie’s distress over Phanor. “My princess,” I said, ignoring the exaggerated clunk as Ulga set down her bag of yarn on the table next to her, “forgive me for not remembering, but is Phanor very old?”

“Not so very old, George, just never in good health,” Freddie said sadly. “I am worried about him, as he is one of my favourites. Well, that is not precisely true, because I cannot name a favourite amongst my darling dogs. Perhaps if you will excuse me, dear, I shall go see Phanor—but no, you have come to tell me news of Robinson. Has he arrived? What delayed him?”

“Freddie, I am afraid he has not come yet. I believe it would be wise to send someone out looking for him.”

Her blue eyes rounded. “Of course we must! Goodness, what could have happened to him? We shall go at once and organise the stable hands to search down the London road.”

She rose and made as if to leave the room, but I stood and detained her by placing my hand on her arm. “No. You see to Phanor, and I shall enlist Old Dawe’s help in organising the men. I cannot like seeing you overset like this, and only came to ask permission for your men’s aid.”

She managed a weak smile. “You are so very kind to me, George. I daresay I do not know what I would do without you. The way you are able to anticipate my needs, to know my very thoughts, is always a source of wonder to me.”

I reached for her hand, raised it to my lips and pressed a warm kiss against her knuckles. “Go to Phanor then, and I shall—”

A commotion from the hallway interrupted us. Ulga rose from her chair with surprising speed for someone of her size and flung open the sitting room door.

The sight that met us threw my emotions into confusion and sent my eyebrows soaring to my hairline. Next to me, Freddie let out a gasp. No doubt it was one born of a mixture of despair and delight.

“Robinson! For the love of heaven!” Freddie exclaimed.

“Good evening, your Royal Highness,” Robinson said, entering the room with great dignity considering his shockingly disheveled appearance. He bowed low. Turning to me, he continued in a long suffering tone, “Here is the item you asked I bring to Oatlands, sir. What shall I do with it?”

I hesitated, my gaze taking in the valet’s demeanor, then I said, “Give it to me.”

Robinson sighed heavily, but obeyed.

Freddie’s eyes gleamed with excitement when she looked upon the contents of my arms, but her innate concern for a fellow human caused her to focus upon Robinson. “What has happened to you? Your clothes are torn and dusty, and—oh!—is that blood on your cuff?”

She left out the part about how Robinson’s blond hair, which he carefully combs into the fashionable Brutus style, was pushed back from his forehead and standing up like wheat in a field. Dirt smudged his left cheek, there was a small cut on his right cheek, and indeed, dried blood on his right cuff and his hand.

“Good God, man, where have you been? A pugilistic contest?” I asked, balancing the article I held in the cradle of my arm.

Robinson stood with his Martyr Expression firmly fixed in place. He spoke in a deceptively calm voice, the tone he employs when he has been tried to the maximum, survived the ordeal, and now wishes to convey the news of his heroism.

“A pugilistic contest?” he answered, his lip curled. “Certainly not, sir. I have only been following your directions to convey the Royal Duchess’s birthday gift here, along with our clothing for our stay at Oatlands. A few miles short of my destination, the coach I rode in was set upon by a highwayman.”

Robinson paused to savour the effect this statement had on us.

Indeed, Freddie’s jaw dropped, Ulga clutched her knitting to her chest, and I know my face reflected my shock. “A highwayman? In this part of the countryside?”

“Pray, forgive me. I had quite forgotten,” Freddie said. “There have indeed been similar incidents over the past two or three years, though only a few in the last year. The villains have never been apprehended. No one has ever been hurt, but people have lost money and jewels. I shall report this latest attack to Squire Oxberry, our local magistrate, first thing in the morning.”

“Fred—er, Duchess, why did you not inform me of this?” I asked Freddie, fear for her safety rising in me. “You may have been in danger.”

“Nonsense,” Freddie declared. “No one would dare try to rob the Duchess of York. Now, Robinson, pray continue. Ulga, pour him a glass of sherry. I am sure he would appreciate it.”

“Thank you, your Royal Highness,” Robinson said. “I was riding with Mr. Brummell’s and my valises and his gift to you, when, over the course of an hour, my coach fell a considerable distance behind Mr. Brummell’s. The number of coaches leaving London made it impossible for us to remain together. Later, a man crossing the road with a herd of cows was the cause of the first major detainment, then a farm cart spilled crates of chickens across our path, further impeding my progress.”

Robinson paused in the telling of his tale to accept a glass from Ulga. After taking a restorative sip, he resumed his tale. “Apart from those postponements, the coachman, more of a drunkard than a driver if my opinion were to be solicited, stopped at a hedge tavern for a glass of gin. I admonished him upon his return, but by that time, his state of inebriation enabled him to disregard my words without a second thought. He carried a bottle with him, which I have not the slightest doubt he drank from as he drove. A despicable practice employed by far too many coachmen.

“Perhaps half an hour later, the words ‘Stand and Deliver’ rang out. The coachman stopped the vehicle at once, and, if I may say with no small measure of scorn, attempted to get down from his seat, but instead proceeded to lose consciousness, ending up face first in the dirt of the road.”

Robinson looked at me. “You had given me the strictest of instructions to take care of the Royal Duchess’s birthday gift above all things, sir, and that is what I endeavoured to do. Because my hands were busy,” here, Robinson shot a look of sheer loathing at the contents of my arms, “the villain made away with as many of our valises as he could carry. Fortunately, he did not discover your mahogany dressing case, sir, and two valises remain. I would have fought the highwayman, but—”

“You could not as you saved that dear, dear little doggie,” Freddie cried out in admiration. She turned to me. “Oh, George, I am not being too presumptuous in asking if that precious, beautiful animal is to be mine, am I?”

I barely heard her words. My mind grappled with a single concern. And no, not the loss of my clothes.

The highwayman could not have taken the bag containing my blue velvet book, I told myself. He could not have. I would find the scrapbook safe within one of the valises that Robinson said had been spared, right where I myself had packed it.

“George?” Freddie said, looking at me inquiringly.

“Yes, Duchess,” I managed with less than my usual aplomb. I transferred the dog to her waiting arms. “I do hope you will be pleased with the little fellow. Happy Birthday a day early.”

Freddie’s lips curved into a smile. “How could I not be happy with him? Is he, indeed, the kind I think he is?”

“He is a spaniel of the King Charles breed,” I replied absently. “I purchased him from the Duke of Marlborough directly, travelling to Blenheim to pick him up only a few days ago.”

Freddie glowed with pleasure. “How I have longed for one of the Duke’s spaniels! Only look at these beautiful chestnut markings on such a pearly white background. Thank you so very much, dear. There could be no gift that would please me more.” She gently rubbed one of the dog’s reddish ears, looking into his trusting brown eyes lovingly.

For once, I could not experience the rush of satisfaction at pleasing Freddie. The need to get to the valises, to be certain the blue velvet book and its contents were safe gripped me. I felt it difficult to breathe normally.

“George, what is wrong?” Freddie asked me, taking her gaze from the dog in her arms. “Are you upset over the loss of your belongings? They were only clothes, clothes that can be replaced. Indeed, think of the pleasure you will take in designing new ones. The important thing is that Robinson is safe and so is this adorable dog.”

Robinson stood very straight. “If, sir, you feel I have somehow failed you—”

“Of course not, Robinson. You did just as you ought. Go now. I know you wish to make yourself presentable again. Er, did any of your clothes survive the attack?”

Pray God both remaining valises had
my
things in them. That way there was more of a chance that the blue velvet book—

“Yes, sir. One of the bags did contain my things, the other yours. I have placed that one in your room and shall unpack it after I have washed.”

I held up a hand. “No need. I shall do so myself.”

Robinson gazed at me in some reproach.

“Do not glare. I am only thinking of your welfare. I shall not require you tonight. Take care of yourself. Your hand looks as if it has been bleeding.”

Robinson cut a look at the dog who emitted a low growl. “The animal objected to being held back from the highwayman. The thing thought he would be able to fight the villain.”

“What a brave little soldier!” Freddie exclaimed. “He wanted to help defend you, Robinson, and got carried away. He must be sorry he bit you.”

“Yes, your Royal Highness,” Robinson said in a wooden voice, looking like
he
would growl at the dog at any moment.