A Grand Design Part 21

Oh, the thought was tempting. "Wales. I might."

"Don't suppose you'd have need of a valet there." Harris p.r.o.nounced it "vale-it," and Tregaron nearly smiled.

"I don't, as it happens, but I'm sure my estate manager could find something healthy for you to do- when you weren't in school."

"School?" the boy's eyes widened in comical horror. "You'd make me go to school?"

"I suppose you believe you have nothing left to learn about life, puppy."

The little fellow puffed out his narrow chest. "I've learned plenty in all me years 'ere."

"Ah, and there have been so many." Tregaron tapped the boy's cap brim. "Don't tell me you enjoy what you do."

Harris pondered this question for a minute, then shrugged. "Never asked for me work, that's for certain. But it's me lot in life. Just thought I'd ask about the valet bit."

"Politely, too. Well, you know where to find me should you decide to accept my aid."

"The s.h.i.+lling's more 'n enough, guv. Now, I keep trying to 'elp you . . ."

"Oh, I appreciate the thought, Harris, but I daresay I'll go on much as I have, on my own."

The sweep grunted. "Dim as dusk, I say."

Tregaron pondered his dimness. No, he decided firmly, he was not stupid. Not in the least. He merely went through life acting as he saw fit to keep from being banged about too much. Of course, fate seemed to take perverse pleasure in tipping everything off-balance occasionally.

"Ah, Harris. Isn't life a poke in the posterior with a sharp stick?"

"I don't know that I have ever looked at it precisely that way, old trout, but if you say so."

Tregaron turned to find Julius Rome at his side. There was no sign of the boy. "Where did he go?"

"Who?"

"The sweep. We were discussing Life."

Rome's dark brows rose, but all he said was, "I did not see a sweep, but they are such flitting little shadows." Then, after a moment, "I might be a bit out of line here, but you look like h.e.l.l."

"Do I? Fancy that."

"Trouble, thy name is Buchanan. Am I right?"

"You are out of line," Tregaron muttered, but without much rancor.

"Frequently. I say, would you care for some snuff?"

Tregaron rarely touched the stuff, but now seemed as good a time as any to indulge. "I wouldn't mind." He waited for the younger man to pull out a box. "Oh, I haven't any with me. But I was just on my way to Friburg and Treyer's. Care to come along?"

"I was on my way into a large bottle of brandy," Tregaron countered. "Care to come along?"

To his credit, Rome did not look at his watch, although his hand strayed toward his waistcoat pocket. "As it happens, I haven't eaten. Why don't you join me at my club for a bit of breakfast."

'I am something of a persona non grata in St. James's, you know."

"Are you? Hardly a tragedy. Half of the members at White's on any given day are quite dead. No one notices because the line between rigor mortis and deadly dullness is rather fine in the Tory ranks."

Tregaron felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Still-"

"Waiters," Rome announced, as if that solved everything. "Food like ambrosia from the heavens."

"I have little experience with the heavens."

"Yes, well, the rest of the place is rather less divine. This way, my friend."

Tregaron allowed himself to be led down Piccadilly.

"Now," Rome said as they went, "I thought you might be interested in a very interesting bit of gossip I heard recently . . ."

Chapter 15.

Tregaron quit his rooms after dark that evening. He'd chosen the finest-or at least the most ridiculously expensive-items from among his mostly unworn Schwarz and n.o.ble wardrobe. With old shoes. The shoes were perfectly acceptable-looking, buffed to as much of a s.h.i.+ne as one could coax from ten-year-old leather, the silver buckles polished to brilliance. He possessed newer pairs to choose from, certainly fancier pairs. He wanted to be dressed for the occasion; he had no idea how far he was going to have to wander to get to the occasion. Comfort was crucial.

He had barely stepped out of the Albany's grand front circle when a small figure launched itself directly into his path. Thinking it was Harris, Tregaron instinctively reached for a coin, ready to hand it over with a brusque apology for being in too much of a hurry to chat. But the face below the too-large cap was unfamiliar.

"Be ye Lord Treedragon?"

"Probably," Tregaron replied, one eye scanning the street for an empty hackney.

"Eh?"

"Tregaron. Yes."

"Then this is for you." The boy handed over a folded, creased, and slightly grimy paper. Then waited expectantly.

Tregaron gave him the s.h.i.+lling. "Who-" he demanded, but as soon as the coin was in hand, the boy scuttled off into the shadows.

Less curious than harried, Tregaron scanned the missive as he flagged down a hack. After giving his destination and climbing inside, he read it again. He'd seen it correctly the first time.

You have been warned.

"Well, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," he muttered. He didn't have time for this little game. He had life matters to attend, and when a man had life matters to attend, he wanted to attend them immediately, effectively, and without distraction.

There was a bit of a traffic snarl at Oxford Street, courtesy of one rustic wagon and one flashy phaeton that were both halted right in the middle of the road. From what Tregaron could tell, when impatience had him leaning out the window, a coalman was giving a loud piece of his mind and looking ready to employ his fists on a younger man who was futilely trying to capture his loose, starched-into-rigidity collar with one hand and keep the padding from escaping his torn coat shoulder with the other. Irate drivers yelled from their vehicles; the pedestrian crowd seemed to be having a jolly time just watching the spectacle.

Tregaron thumped a fist against the window frame. Had he wanted to visit a circus, he would b.l.o.o.d.y well have gone to Astley's.

"Drive on!" he commanded the driver. "No, wait."

Grumbling to himself, he climbed from the hack and pushed his way into the crowd. He reached the center just in time to see the coalman twine one very large fist in the younger man's wilted cravat and lift him until he was standing only on the very tips of his toes.

"Gentlemen." Tregaron nodded pleasantly to the grim-faced coalman. "Sir. Reynolds."

Charles Reynolds's face paled slightly, quite a feat considering that he was being throttled.

"Tregaron," he croaked.

"You seem to be in a bit of a fix. Whatever did you do?"

"Ain't done nothing," was the strangled reply. "This oaf-" Reynolds, never an attractive specimen, grew positively bug-eyed when his foe tightened his grip and gave him a good shake.

"It would appear your worthy opponent disagrees," Tregaron offered. He turned to the other man.

"Is there damage, sir?"

The coalman, sensing an unexpected bit of support, jerked his free thumb toward his rough wagon.

"Came around the bend like a blind stirk. Made me wrench a wheel, he did, and m'beast lost a shoe.

That"-now he gestured with his ma.s.sive jaw at the ridiculously sprung phaeton-"ought to be tipped into the Thames!"

Tregaron nodded. "I quite agree."

"With this little rat tied to it!"

"I can quite see your point. How much?"

The man didn't even pretend to misunderstand. "A guinea'd do it."

"A guinea?" Reynolds sputtered. "For that piece of worm-eaten-" He squeaked as he found himself being lifted quite off his feet.

"Tsk, tsk. I should be more polite if I were you," Tregaron advised. "After all, you're the blind stirk in the scenario." He leaned in and quietly said, "Pay the man." At Reynolds's m.u.f.fled croak, he turned

back to the coalman. "Perhaps you ought to put him down so he can see to matters."

Reynolds would have gone all the way down onto his well-rounded posterior had Tregaron not managed to grasp the back of his coat collar. "Can't pay," he gasped.

"Whyever not."

"I haven't got a guinea."

"Oh, good Lord." Tregaron rolled his eyes. The coalman took a menacing step forward. They were not all that far from the Thames, really-less than a mile. "I really don't know why I should care ..."

Tregaron released Reynolds, who managed to stay on his feet even if he did list somewhat to starboard. Then, reaching yet again into his pocket, he located the required coin. "For you, sir," he said, handing it to the coalman, who was soon stomping off to his battered wagon.

Perceiving that there would be no further entertainment, the crowd dissipated. Tregaron turned back to Reynolds, who was actually trying to restore some order to his appearance-a vain and utterly futile act.

"Go home," Tregaron muttered.

Reynolds, when he finally looked up, had the surprising grace to look ever so slightly abashed. "I must thank-"

"Don't. Just go home." When the man made his shaky way toward the phaeton's step, Tregaron snapped, "At a walk!"

He left Reynolds to negotiate his way up into the silly vehicle. He was very nearly back to his ownback when he had a thought. Spinning on his heel, he returned to the phaeton's side. "As it happens, Ihave use for you. I want you to deliver two messages. The first, and I trust"-he made very certainReynolds was going to be cooperative- "you will phrase it more gently than I am about to, is to yourdear mama and involves the not small matter of her flapping tongue ..."

Minutes later, he was back on his way. It took little time to reach Binney Street. He was out and heading up the steps to the Buchanan house before the carriage had rolled to a complete stop. He pounded on the door, then again, harder, when there was no quick answer. It seemed an eternity before a little maid finally appeared. He walked right past her, into the foyer.

"Sir!" she protested, but without much force. He was twice her size.

"Don't worry," he tossed grimly over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time. "I won't steal anything."

He threw open the doors to one parlor, the dining room, and the back hallway-all small, a bitshabby, and quite empty-before happening on a snug little chamber where he found the Buchananbrothers comfortably settled at a wobbly table, port bottle and backgammon board between them.

"My lord." The larger brother rose unsteadily to his feet, b.u.mping the table in the process and sending bottle and board sliding to the rear.

"Lord Tregaron." The smaller used the table to help himself up, sending bottle and board right back to their original positions.

The two men were clearly one good sheet to the wind if not more. "Gentlemen," Tregaron said, "please, sit." He did not want to take any chances with either of them going face first onto the hard floor. "I am here to see Catherine."