The Stuart Sapphire Page 12

  Chapter Fourteen

  As they walked towards the gate of the gardens leading to the Promenade, Townsend was considering this young Edinburgh lawyer, his shrewd gaze born of many years of experience where his judgement of a person had tipped the delicate balance between life and death.

  It was Townsend’s proud boast to his colleagues that he could sum up a man’s character within ten minutes of his company. He would never claim, however, even to himself, that his assessments of a man’s standing in society were always accurate. Sometimes, regretfully, they fell far short of the mark and on such occasions the innocent went down with the guilty.

  He continued to smile warily at Tam. Now, this young cove was unlikely to fit into the bracket of bawd or pickpocket. Indeed, there were several categories of criminal he could cross without hesitation off his mental list but what about a confidence trickster? Had he lured HRH, who alas was no fine judge of character, into trusting him? That remained a possibility.

  A very presentable young man but deuced difficult to slot into any category. In all his years in London, where he had encountered every sort and condition of men and women in every stratum of society, Townsend had never met a person like this one before. Quite extraordinary eyes. Some ancient Highland strain perhaps?

  He sighed. HRH had taken to him, right from that first meeting. However, HRH was always one for the novelty of an interesting newcomer. But they were mostly female, Townsend decided wryly.

  As the conversation rattled innocently back and forth between them about weather and the splendid gardens, Townsend was reminded that HRH was particularly partial to Scotland, well aware of his hero worship of the former Stuart kings that the Hanoverians had ousted.

  In truth, he found this character quirk quite remarkable. Especially with regard to the bosom friendship of the prince’s early years with his uncle, the notorious Duke of Cumberland, better known and despised as ‘Butcher’ Cumberland, even in France where many Highlanders and their families had sought refuge after the rout of Prince Charles Edward Stuart at Culloden in 1746. Cumberland, not content with the slaughter of the Clans on the battlefield and the English victory, had shown no mercy to any survivors. His policy was to annihilate the Highlands, wreaking vengeance on any who had supported the Jacobite cause.

  The Stuarts had not been lucky, and one of the prince’s favourite jewels, proudly displayed each day on his many uniforms, was the saltire worn by Charles I at his execution. Even for a man from whom extremes of sentiment had long been extinguished, this did seem not only like poor taste, but also suggested tempting fate.

  Townsend was aware that the rather formal conversation had drifted into silence. ‘Ah, Mr Eildor,’ he said in a lion-like roar that was in keeping with his physical appearance. ‘Now tell me about yourself. How came you to be so far from home?’

  This was the second such command Tam had had within the last half-hour, the moment of untruth he dreaded. A blackbird scuttled across his path with a warning cry. Was it a signal to be heeded? In his experience lies, however white, innocent or face-saving, still had an unhappy habit of weaving themselves into a web, a positive maze in which both entrance and exit are hopelessly confused, and from which only Ariadne’s thread might offer release.

  ‘Did I say so-and-so or was it this-and-that?’ To be an accomplished liar required an excellent memory.

  And while keeping to his sole-survivor story was going to be hard enough, without furnishing any details of being a passenger on the Royal Stuart, a true explanation of how he reached Brighton in 1811 from planet Earth in 2250 would probably immediately get him clapped into Bedlam. A raving lunatic in that human circus to be viewed as entertainment, something the whole family could enjoy on Sunday afternoon outings.

  Realising he must tread warily indeed, he gave the usual response, which he was almost beginning to believe himself, but vague enough to allow for frequent changes. Legal business in Plymouth and then to London to sort out a family claim for a certain rich Scottish laird.

  ‘Indeed!’ Townsend interrupted, the gleam in his eye demanding more details.

  But Tam shook his head, indicating that his rich client must remain nameless. ‘Discretion, sir, a matter of discretion. You understand?’

  ‘I do. I do indeed,’ was the reply as Townsend, dragged away by royal command from a particularly gruesome multiple murder investigation in London, remembered a recent stunning tale of indiscretion in high society that in lesser mortals would have made their hair stand on end and put a friseur out of business for a fortnight.

  Townsend’s questions regarding Edinburgh were acute and knowledgeable, considering that he had never been there; as an avid reader, his information came entirely from books. Even in their short acquaintance, Tam realised that it would be a serious mistake to underestimate John Townsend as the brain inside that leonine head was continually in operation, observing and assimilating information, then carefully pigeonholing even the smallest detail for future use.

  Tam was correct in his assessment, for behind the bluff geniality there were shrewd questions and calculations from which Townsend hoped to learn a lot more about Tam than Tam was anxious to reveal. True, he accepted the prosperous Edinburgh lawyer travelling to England on behalf of a rich Scottish laird but his curiosity about the Royal Stuart was more dangerous, especially as Tam had never been to sea.

  However, the tale of seasickness and being confined to his cabin was received with sympathetic groans, but Tam was alarmed to discover that among his many youthful experiences, Townsend had served for a short while on a man o’war.

  And then, of course, there was that invented business with the privateer pressing all the crew on to their ship. That was a mistake. As a law officer this was of considerable interest to Townsend who wanted all the details so that he could investigate further and put their apprehension into immediate operation.

  A privateer! He had not heard of any such working so close to the south-east coast. Quite extraordinary. As a law officer it was his duty to be always vigilant for any criminal activities.

  ‘One must always be on the sharp lookout!’ This remark left Tam feeling sardonically that if Townsend were any sharper, he might be in danger of cutting himself with lethal effect, and he was quick to take advantage of a change of subject as a runaway carriage alerted a sudden rush of onlookers.

  He sighed with relief as the Royal Stuart hazard was safely put aside for the moment. Long before John Townsend’s investigations regarding privateers revealed some glaring inaccuracies in Tam Eildor’s dramatic story, and aware that such matters might take several weeks or months, he hoped that this particular mission, which was proving very tricky indeed, would soon be over and he would be safely back in his own time.

  As they reached the Promenade, more dangerous waters loomed ahead for Tam than the innocent waves of the afternoon tide.

  ‘This piece of royal jewellery that has been stolen. Very impressive and very important.’ He rested an earnest gaze on Tam. ‘You being from Scotland will be fully aware of its history, of course, regarding HRH’s forthcoming coronation.’ A pause and a shake of that leonine head. ‘Bearing in mind – and we all must bear in mind – the condition of His Majesty’s health, and the daily reports are grim indeed, I imagine that event will be sooner rather than later.’

  Giving Tam a moment to digest these solemn details, he got to the main point of discussion. ‘I take it that you are in HRH’s confidence and that you are fully informed of the circumstances surrounding its disappearance.’

  Tam nodded, hoping for something between suitably vague yet at the same time knowledgeable, while Townsend stopped, frowning at the sea as if it might leap up and also reveal some dark secrets, and then turned again to Tam.

  ‘Interesting that the thief chose the time when HRH was absent watching the shipwreck to steal into his apartments. Very astute indeed, considering that others would also be suitably diverted by such a drama.’

  A pause for comment;
there was none.

  Townsend seemed disappointed. ‘We would seem to be dealing with a carefully planned operation. My suspicions are that the thief has long been awaiting such an opportunity, and is well aware of HRH’s daily routine in intimate detail. What think you of that?’

  Tam shrugged. ‘He could hardly have anticipated the shipwreck.’

  ‘We see that, we see that. There must have been several occasions each day most carefully mapped when HRH was to be absent, but this was the perfect opportunity. Couldn’t be better. Very convenient, very convenient indeed. Shrewd minds at work, Mr Eildor. Has all the marks of a political intrigue – I imagine that has already occurred to you. The Princess of Wales is well-known as a dangerous intriguer.’

  Tam wondered anxiously how much Townsend knew and how much, if anything, the prince had confided in him regarding the marchioness’s presence in his bed at the time of the robbery. His heart beat a little faster when, in what might have been a singular piece of mind-reading, Townsend continued:

  ‘I have another reason for this visit. My nephew Peter is in the employ of the Marquis of Creeve at Lewes and I am always delighted at the opportunity of seeing the lad. Especially since His Grace and I have become quite acquainted over the years. We have shared many a glass of port over a game of chess together and I have been privileged to be invited to the annual shoot over at the estate.’

  He could not keep this boastful allusion out of his lion’s roar. ‘I have been helpful in tracking down malefactors in His Grace’s household. Even saw justice done and made an example of a couple of them by a hanging,’ he said with considerable satisfaction. ‘A splendid gentleman. Friend of HRH, of course, who introduced us. Lovely young second wife. Bit of a scamp, just between us,’ he added with a suggestive wink, which Tam ignored with a change of subject by asking politely where Townsend was taking him.

  ‘The first place to look for HRH’s missing jewel, Mr Eildor, is in the very dregs of this fine city.’ And pausing to gesture towards the Pavilion, ‘Twenty-five years since its establishment and already a thriving den of iniquity clings to those splendid walls.

  ‘Mark my words, Mr Eildor, it’s a thing of nature, wherever there is royalty, you get a thriving underworld, royal palaces attract them like a dog attracts fleas. They are the Devil’s answer to every criminal and wrong-doer in the vicinity. News of their spoils and success spreads like wildfire and lures their fellow rogues down from London who have failed in their evil ways and are looking for a more hopeful and lucrative future.’

  Turning from the refreshing sea breeze of the promenade, he looked back towards the town. ‘And so let us set forth. We will begin with the obvious places, inns and fence houses and then the flash houses.’

  Pausing, he winked at Tam, giving his arm a friendly squeeze. ‘Flash houses, Mr Eildor, for your information, are also brothels. Brothels, sir,’ he added with a note of gleeful relish, and as they walked briskly across North Street, with Townsend whistling under his breath, hands behind his back, the gleam in his eye suggested to Tam a more lascivious side of his character.

  In the lanes where Tam had been so frustrated earlier, the Bow Street officer was obviously a well-known figure, but one whose presence, Tam decided, must have ensured the rapid disappearance behind closed doors of many of the criminal fraternity.

  He was amazed by Townsend’s methods of enquiring after lost or stolen property. His interrogation of shopkeepers involved no subtlety of any kind. He did not beat about the bush with overtures of politeness but leaned across the counters in a threatening manner, roaring out a question about their recent acquisitions of stolen jewellery.

  Needless to say this approach had no success and Tam realised that Townsend’s manner would reap no more than a brisk denial, whether innocent or guilty. Something else he found blatantly intimidating was that the unpleasant interrogation was quite specific regarding fine pearls and, in lesser establishments, fur cloaks.

  How did Townsend know such details? It suggested that he must be in the prince’s confidence regarding the murder.

  Tam had a sixth sense of being in danger and, with the promised purse containing only a few coins which doomed any hope of travel, he realised that being almost penniless ensured that he was trapped.

  His unease increased as on more than one occasion he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure walking on the other side of the road. Tam had an instinct that he or both he and Townsend were being followed.

  Their stalker was not a very good actor, nor did he dive swiftly enough back into the shadows to stop Tam’s quick glimpse of a tall, heavily built man, not very fast on his feet, who had the look of a prize-fighter.

  When he mentioned this, Townsend’s eyes widened. Turning slowly, he stared blankly across the road and with one of his rare hearty laughs, murmured that Tam must be imagining things. Tam was not consoled; he wondered if Townsend was speaking the truth. As each day passed he became increasingly uneasy about the reason why he was being included in these expeditions where he had no voice and merely remained a background figure during Townsend’s haranguing.

  As his presence seemed quite unnecessary to Townsend’s investigations, he realised there be must be some other reason for it, since the prince and the Bow Street officer were a formidable team. The sinister fact for Tam was that, according to the prince, he was only required until Townsend arrived to take over the investigation and then he would be free to leave Brighton.

  It suggested that the stalker, whose presence he supposedly imagined, might have instructions to keep a sharp eye on the mythical Edinburgh lawyer. Townsend liked frequent stops for refreshment, for a pot of ale and a pie, and in the area of Ship Street, chose the inn where Tam had earlier seen the convict lad Jem and where the landlord had misunderstood Tam’s urgency in arranging a meeting.

  Now he had another reason for concern. On constant lookout for Jem, he feared that if they came face to face, and Jem was forced to recognise him, some kind of explanation would be exceedingly difficult, especially as Tam did not doubt from seeing Townsend’s threatening attitude towards reluctant and doubtless innocent shopkeepers, that he would cling to any incriminating theory against Tam with the tenacity of a terrier with a rat.

  In the Old Ship he was relieved that the landlord was absent and Townsend’s order was taken by a slatternly wench, who nevertheless attracted a lascivious leer and a passing slap at her backside. This was taken in good part, presumably acceptable behaviour from a good customer who also happened to be a law officer.

  Meanwhile, in less sinister circumstances, Tam would have relished his enforced stay and the return each evening to the Pavilion’s exceedingly comfortable guest house. Overlooking the gardens, with a handsome room of his own next door to Townsend, with servants to look after their comfort, they were provided with a splendid supper.

  The reason for Tam’s change of venue was that the prince was eager to begin refurbishment of the royal bedroom – understandably, in Tam’s opinion. He also saw that this arrangement admirably suited the prince’s plan to keep him in a comfortable prison under Townsend’s sharp eye until a final decision concerning his fate was reached.

  If, after supper, he decided to take a walk in the fresh air, Townsend insisted on accompanying him and Tam was beginning to know the meaning of “being in a cleft stick”. Allowed little time alone, he once heard a noise outside his bedroom door during the night, and on looking outside it was to confront an armed guard sitting in the corridor.

  Mentioning this casually to Townsend, he received a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘Why, sir, we are important guests and HRH is most considerate in seeing that we are well protected and taken care of.’

  Still a penniless guest of the prince, Tam observed Townsend dig into his own purse for any expenses needed during their investigations into the seamier side of Brighton life, which necessitated frequent sojourns for food and drink, accompanied by further bizarre speculations from Townsend on the probabl
e fate of the Stuart Sapphire.

  For some reason, it evidently pleased the prince to keep his shipwrecked survivor alive. Aware of his danger in being the one person, apart from Lords Henry and Percy, who knew too much about the circumstances regarding the murdered marchioness, Tam was fairly certain that he had not been intended to survive the carriage accident, and that the convenient joint disposal of her body and his would have admirably suited the prince’s earnest desires.

  Daily Tam was in no doubt that his survival was but a temporary measure, since it was obvious that Townsend was now managing the investigation himself. It seemed likely that unless Tam was able to produce some special ability to track down the Stuart Sapphire by means of his alleged profession, he would be speedily eliminated.

  He was certain one attempt had already been made and only a swift leap on to the path had saved him from a horseman galloping haphazardly down the lane.

  Passers-by had screamed but, as he reached safety, Townsend seemed completely unmoved.

  ‘You saw that!’ said Tam. ‘The man deliberately tried to run me down.’

  Townsend shook his head and smiled wryly. ‘Mr Eildor, you are imagining things again. Anyone can see how easily accidents can happen. The thoroughfares are so narrow and crowded – and I am afraid these young blades with their fast horses are extremely indifferent to pedestrians.’

  Tam realised there was as little point in arguing about the murderous horseman as there had been about the stalker whom Townsend dismissed as a figment of his imagination. And this attempt first failed, should he meet with another accident, Tam was sure Townsend would not be involved.

  The role of assassin would lie with the stalker and Tam had a feeling that he was going to need all his wits about him to stay alive and some ingenuity to escape from Brighton. Escape into yet another hazard. How to find his way back to the convict hulk anchored somewhere along the south-east coast and back to his own time.