The Stuart Sapphire Read online

  Such grovelling was ridiculous. ‘Please, sir, be so good as to take a seat here, and we will talk about this.’

  Bounding to his feet like an exuberant puppy he bounced on to the sofa beside her, groping for the hand she had quickly thrust out of sight beneath her shawl.

  This did not put him off either, not in the least. He began babbling that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. Truly, he had never met anyone quite like her. And he had fallen deeply in love at first sight. If she did not, nay, could not ever return his love, then he was lost forever—.

  Gemma halted this mid-stream. ‘Pray, Lord Henry, I do beseech you – be calm.’

  ‘Calm!’ he stared at her wide-eyed as if he had never heard the word before and she had suggested something gross and indecent.

  ‘Yes, calm. It takes two people to make a marriage and two people to consent in the first place. At least, it does in my opinion. I do not adhere to the belief that girls should obey their parents’ wishes and marry whoever is chosen for them.’ Gemma said this with some feeling, remembering the old widower who had been her stepmother’s lover.

  Henry said nothing. He looked at her, clearly amazed at this speech, his eyes suddenly rather like a devoted spaniel begging a treat.

  Gemma took advantage of the pause – anything was better than the grovelling. ‘May I point out, sir, that we hardly know one another. We are mere acquaintances—’

  ‘Our fathers are known to one another—’ he began.

  ‘That is not enough for me. We are the parties concerned, strangers to each other, and any talk of marriage between us is quite ridiculous.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ He left her side, down on his knees before her again. ‘Do not, I pray, say that. Is there no hope? You who are so lovely, so gentle, do you wish to break my heart?’

  She looked at him pityingly. ‘Please, Lord Henry, please do not kneel. That is quite ridiculous and very unbecoming to a gentleman.’

  He was back beside her in an instant.

  ‘You talk of hearts, well, my heart is also of some consequence for it rules my future life and happiness,’ she said.

  ‘I can promise you happiness – such happiness!’ he cried. ‘Never doubt that.’

  Ignoring that promise, Gemma went on: ‘I would need to know you a great deal better before I would be comfortable in deciding to spend the rest of my life with you.’

  ‘So there is hope!’ he said snatching at straws in the absence of that hand so carefully withheld.

  Gemma smiled. ‘I can only give you the answer to that when we are better acquainted,’ she repeated.

  ‘May I then ask your father’s permission to take you back to Brighton with me, suitably chaperoned, of course, to meet HRH, who I imagine you know is my true father,’ he added shyly.

  Gemma smiled. ‘Who could doubt it, sir? The resemblance is very strong.’

  It was Henry’s turn to smile. It had been easier than he expected to persuade her to return with him. It also fitted in very well with Gemma’s plans – Brighton meant the possibility of seeing Tam Eildor again.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for your invitation. I will be honoured to accept.’

  So saying, she gave him her hand. He squeezed it and said: ‘I will make the necessary arrangements. Perhaps you would care to stay with Mrs Maria Fitzherbert, as it would not be quite proper to stay in the Pavilion.’

  As he said the words, he had visions of the lewd goings-on there, of his father’s lascivious behaviour and, in particular, the dark remembrance of the very recent fate of one royal whore who was her stepmother.

  ‘If that will not be too inconvenient,’ said Gemma.

  ‘It will be splendid, perfectly splendid. And will you please call me Henry – all my friends do.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tam caught up with Townsend, realising he should have stayed and heard Gemma’s story, in particular how she had escaped from the smugglers who had tried to kill him and how she had arrived in Brighton, still disguised as the convict boy Jem. That omission was his own fault. The idea of her marrying Lord Henry had upset him – he did not dare to put a name to why – and he had left her rather more abruptly than was polite.

  Townsend was apologising for the delay. Nephew Rob had remembered all sorts of family matters for discussion.

  Tam murmured a reply, but he wasn’t really listening, realising that the conclusion of Gemma’s story would also involve him in an explanation of how he had travelled from the year 2250 to land on the deck of a convict ship in August 1811. How could he expect her, or anyone else for that matter, to understand?

  ‘There’s still a lot untold, and likely to remain so,’ Townsend was saying. Tam stared at him but realised he was referring to the mysterious death of Simone. ‘But as we are never likely to know the true circumstances,’ Townsend went on, ‘we might as well get back to Brighton as soon as possible. We still have a jewel thief to track down, remember.’

  As they approached the house, Tam guessed that the ending of Gemma’s story would remain untold. Her adventures over, she was back in her own home again, and it was unlikely that he would ever return to Lewes, or see her again. He had a feeling that his time-quest was also drawing to its close and not as successfully as he would have wished. There were too many loose ends.

  He would probably never find out who had murdered the marchioness and stolen the Stuart Sapphire, but his imminent departure from Brighton was timely, since he was disobeying all his own rules by becoming emotionally involved with the characters of history. He recognised all the symptoms. He was not only in danger of losing his own life but also of falling in love with a girl who had been dead for more than four hundred years.

  Sir Joseph was waiting for them. Tam listened as Townsend shook his head sadly and confirmed that they were no further forward with their investigations and had drawn a blank with the outside staff too.

  Tam looked at him. Surely he had not missed the significance of the gamekeeper, he thought, as Townsend handed Sir Joseph the note that had been left for him by the maid the night before she died.

  Sir Joseph scanned it briefly, thrust it back to Townsend and agreed with Tam’s own conclusion that it could hardly be regarded as evidence that she had been murdered.

  He shook his head. ‘That could have meant anything. The woman was quite naturally very distressed and she said to me that as her services were no longer needed in Creeve, perhaps she should move back to London. She may have hoped that you might be able to put her in touch with the right sort of people, Townsend.’

  Pausing for a moment, he added: ‘I suggest you call a halt to your enquiries which are very unsettling for the servants, and let us all get back to normal as quickly as possible.’

  Tam wondered if there had already been complaints from some of the senior members of staff, who had emerged aggrieved and antagonised by the Bow Street officer’s questioning methods, as Sir Joseph added: ‘The housekeeper has an address for Simone’s relatives in this country who will do the necessary, so we can now dismiss the unhappy business as a tragic accident.’

  And even if it wasn’t, Sir Joseph thought to himself, he no longer cared in the least. He wanted no more scandal, there was a stigma about violent death that families found hard to live down and his beloved Sarah’s bizarre and horrible death was more than enough for Creeve to bear. A stain that would remain in people’s minds and gossip for a very long time.

  He now had a more valid and pressing reason for wishing the Bow Street officer and the Edinburgh lawyer off the premises. The possibility, nay, certainty that his daughter would be persuaded to marry Lord Henry. The royal connection made it of vital importance that the residents of Creeve House should bear careful scrutiny in the Prince Regent’s eyes, and that murders and accidental drownings be forgotten as soon as possible.

  He was already regretting having offered a reward for information concerning the carriage accident and wondered if it could be withdrawn from the newspaper.
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  As Tam and Townsend prepared to leave, arrangements were confirmed for their journey back to Brighton. Their carriage from the royal stables was now housed in the Creeve stable block. Walking once more in that direction, Tam realised that the distant summerhouse would also be remembered as the scene of his last parting with Gemma.

  Townsend had been very thoughtful and silent since leaving the house, walking swiftly in the lead with his head down and hands behind his back in that characteristic pose.

  Tam, who was sensitive to atmosphere and remarkably intuitive, felt certain there was something urgent troubling him which he was not prepared to share.

  Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Peters – you remember, the gamekeeper!’

  Tam looked at him. Had he seen rather too late the significance of the gamekeeper discovering Simone’s body floating in the lake?

  ‘Met him earlier on my way back from the stables,’ said Townsend. ‘He promised me a brace of grouse for HRH. Must collect them.’

  If this seemed quaint to Tam, who felt that the prince’s larder was always groaning with food, his table overstocked at every meal, to Townsend it was apparently a nice gesture, as he changed direction and plunged through the little wood that led to the gamekeeper’s cottage.

  Footfalls through the undergrowth, a shout, and Lord Percy emerged.

  He was furious. ‘Sir Joseph has just told me that the two of you are leaving. That you, Townsend, have decided against any further enquiries into Simone’s death – I cannot believe – I cannot believe,’ he added, thumping his fists together in an agitated manner, ‘that both of you would treat her death in this totally uncaring manner.’

  Townsend began to protest, but Percy cut him short. ‘It is obvious to me and it must be so to you if you have the slightest intelligence in your head, that someone killed her. Someone in Creeve.’

  Tam wondered if Percy was right and as the gamekeeper was his own personal choice as prime suspect whether it was a good idea for them to meet. He glanced at Townsend who obviously had no intention of mentioning Simone’s note which would have been exceedingly inflammatory to Percy, the proverbial red rag to a bull. Tam observed uneasily that Percy was so enraged, almost completely unhinged by the maid’s death, he might well take the law into his own hands.

  The gamekeeper was just emerging from his cottage with a gun and his two dogs as they reached the gate. He greeted them cheerfully and, darting inside, came out again flourishing the promised brace of grouse.

  Lord Percy hung back, breathing deeply. Townsend was about to introduce them when Peters said coldly:

  ‘We have met.’

  The two men glared at each other and bowed stiffly. No love lost there either, thought Tam, wondering what earlier encounters had brought that about. Peters accompanied them, chatting to Townsend as they headed in the direction of the stables, and left them at a fork in the path, heading towards open fields.

  ‘Checking my snares, see if I’ve caught anything,’ he said saluting them cheerfully.

  As they walked on through the wood on the narrow path, which was rough underfoot, Percy, in the lead, turned occasionally to shout over his shoulder and revile Townsend about going back to Brighton when he had work tracking down a killer here in Creeve.

  Percy was like a hound with a rabbit, Tam thought, he just wouldn’t let go.

  Townsend refused to argue any more, he said smoothly that he realised how Lord Percy felt and while he was completely in sympathy with his natural distress, Lord Percy must understand that the Bow Street officer was not his own master. He was answerable to the highest authority in the land.

  ‘I beg to point out, sir, that the search for the Stuart Sapphire is the very reason for my presence in Brighton and I was called away, most reluctantly, from investigating a particularly important and gruesome murder case in London to obey HRH’s command.’

  Tam noted that there was no mention of Mr Eildor’s journey to London similarly being cut short. And then he remembered grimly that he was dispensable and, walking between the two men, a few steps ahead of Townsend, he had the uncomfortable feeling that there was someone else there, following them.

  The faint crack of a branch underfoot, a bush that moved when there was no wind, a frightened cry as a disturbed bird took up into the air.

  Danger, danger, his instinct alerted him. And then it was worse. Suddenly they were surrounded by an army of buzzing insects, feeding on the corpse of a long-dead rabbit underfoot and bitterly resentful of this human intrusion to their grisly feast.

  One of them flung itself angrily into Tam’s face.

  As he jerked his head aside, the shot rang out.

  A cry and, in front of him, Percy fell to the ground, a deep, dark red rose of blood on his head.

  Tam leapt back, past Townsend who stood still, his mouth open like one paralysed, and headed in the direction of the pistol shot, moving with his usual swiftness, his feet hardly seeming to touch the ground.

  Seconds later he had the fleeing assassin in his grip and stared into the terrified face of the Brighton stalker.

  The man was burly, built like a prize-fighter, but no match for Tam’s litheness and speed. As he tried to escape that relentless hold, the pistol fell to the ground. Both tried to retrieve it and the man, using his extra weight, shouldered Tam off balance and hurled him against a tree.

  As Tam slithered down against the tree trunk, Townsend appeared. One glance took in the scene.

  ‘Tell him who I am, for Christ’s sake,’ shouted the stalker. ‘Tell the silly bugger I’m one of you.’

  At that, Townsend calmly bent down, picked up the double-barrelled pistol, took aim straight at the stalker’s head. The man screamed: ‘You bloody devil, Townsend – you—’ and was silenced by bloody death.

  Townsend paused, calmly turned and regarded Tam lying against the tree trunk. It seemed to Tam that there was a moment’s indecision. Perhaps this was to be his death scene too. Then, calmly pocketing the pistol, Townsend held out a hand to help Tam to his feet.

  ‘Not hurt, are you? Good. Saved us a hanging. Let’s see to Lord Percy.’

  They raced back along the narrow path where Percy lay still on the ground, bleeding heavily from his head wound. As Townsend bent over him Tam watched horrified and sickened by the scene before him and the execution he had just witnessed.

  It was now perfectly obvious that the stalker had been one of the Bow Street men brought secretly to Brighton, perhaps to protect his master by remaining invisible, or to follow and annihilate Tam Eildor. Today in the wood, Tam had been the target and a buzzing angry insect deprived of its feast had saved his life, for the bullet that hit Percy in the back of the head was meant for him, of that he had not the slightest doubt.

  Henry rushed towards them. ‘What’s happened? I heard shots – anyone hurt?’

  He saw their grave faces and Percy lying bleeding on the ground. With a groan, he bent over his friend. ‘An accident – oh God, we must get him back to the house.’

  There were other voices. The gamekeeper appeared, said he had also heard pistol shots, seen smoke arising from the wood. The shots had also been heard by two of the estate workers, and as Townsend and Henry carried Percy into the summerhouse where Tam dragged down some of the drapery to staunch that terrible flow of blood, one of the men was sent up to the house to summon Dr Brooke.

  It seemed like hours before the doctor appeared. He had been leaving Sir Joseph after his almost daily visit. Now he was panting along the path by the lake, followed by two footmen bearing an improvised stretcher to take the unconscious Lord Percy back up to the house.

  Tam was still in a state of shock and could hardly bear to look at John Townsend, who was saying to Sir Joseph:

  ‘Apparently there was a stalker,’ and looking at Tam, he bowed. ‘Mr Eildor, whose eyes are younger and sharper than mine, thought he spotted the man yesterday at her ladyship’s funeral. I wish I had seen him too.’

  ‘And who was
this man?’ demanded Sir Joseph.

  Townsend shook his head sadly. ‘We have no idea, sir. Never will now. Possibly a madman of some sort, lurking about. Perhaps someone with a grudge against Lord Percy.’

  A shrug and he continued: ‘It seems quite likely now that Lord Percy was right after all and that he did push the maid into the lake. Perhaps she rejected his advances.’

  And spreading his hands wide: ‘But who knows the tangled thoughts in a madman’s mind? Anyway, sir, there’s nothing more to fear from him, you can sleep easily in your beds. He’s dead now, back there in the wood. Shot him myself,’ he added proudly, ‘with his own pistol. Trying to escape. Saved the law a hanging and we saw justice done.’

  Did we indeed? thought Tam, standing mute listening to this pack of lies, chillingly aware that the plan to kill him had failed. Had it been successful, Townsend would have chased a little way after the stalker but would never have caught him.

  An unfortunate accident, Mr Eildor killed, is how it would have been reported. And he wondered how that piece of news would have been received by the Prince Regent. Probably with another shrug of the royal shoulders, content that, apart from Henry, who was entirely trustworthy as became a son, the last of those who were a peril to his future, since they knew the real facts regarding the death of the marchioness and the bungled carriage accident, had had their mouths effectively closed forever.

  Perhaps there would even be a whisper: ‘Well done, Townsend, well done.’

  Tam realised that the count was growing almost daily. There had been three failed attempts on his life. There would undoubtedly be another.

  And it was increasingly obvious that he must use all his wits and ingenuity to escape from Brighton and back to his own time before an attempt on his life was successful.

  Chapter Twenty-Three