“She’d have been boasting of it if she were. What do you think of this idea of fixing the races, Auntie?”
“Your father was a gentleman, miss.”
“Then I fear he was a gentleman spy. It is odd, her eagerness to get to the Royal Pavilion. That would be an excellent place to pick up news.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Lovatt said doubtfully, “though I can easily enough believe it is the prince she wishes to pick up there. Thank God at least Harold didn’t marry her. She has an eye for Fairfield, you must have noticed.”
I laughed. “She is a bit long in the tooth for him.”
“And a bit broad in the beam.”
“I shall ask him this evening how he came to know Papa.”
“I am beginning to think we should drop this entire matter,” my aunt said. “Whatever it is, it’s over and done now.”
“Not really,” I said. “If it was Snoad at the bottom of it, as you think, then it might be still going on.”
It was unusual for Mrs. Lovatt to have overlooked this aspect of it, for in the usual way, she is awake on all suits. “We’ll march Snoad out of Gracefield as soon as we get home.”
I was aware of a strange reluctance. I remembered Snoad’s sadness when he spoke of my father, and his emotion when I had given him the watch. He had looked so very handsome in the moonlight.
.
.
.
Chapter Six
We did not see Bunny Smythe again until dinner-time. He sent a note to our room telling us he had hired a private parlor, and would meet us there.
“I ordered wine and was just having a gargle,” he said, rising to greet us when we entered. “More than ready for fork work after a busy day. Look forward to sinking a bicuspid into a piece of red meat.”
He had changed to evening attire, but there is not a jacket in all of Christendom that can make Bunny look elegant. Black, in particular, did not suit him. He had the uncanny faculty of attracting every mote of dust and hair and dirt in the air. His jacket looked for the world like a dust rag. He looks least bad in country jacket, buckskins, and top boots. In evening clothes, he looked like a hired mourner at a second-rate funeral.
As soon as we were seated and given a glass of wine to await our mutton, I said, “Did you have any luck finding Depew?”
“Not a sniff of him. He isn’t putting up at any of the regular hotels. Plenty of rooming houses, of course.”
“I don’t see Sir Chauncey putting up at a rooming house,” Mrs. Lovatt said.
“Might, if his visit is supposed to be a secret.”
We filled Bunny in on our doings during his absence. No mention was made of the possibility of Papa’s involvement in spying being anything but proper. “So this is where Mrs. Mobley has anchored herself,” he said.
“Do you know anything about Lord Fairfield?” I asked. Bunny made occasional darts to London during the Season, and had friends there from his school days, and his one term at Cambridge.
“Bit of a wild buck. Corinthian—baron. Heir to old Lord Albemarle’s title and estates. One in Hampshire, another up north somewhere. Marquess, the papa. Fairfield’ll be rich as Croesus one day. Meanwhile, he’s usually dipped. Bets on the horses.”
“Perhaps he also bets on the pigeon races,” I said. “I cannot think what else he would be doing with Papa.”
“Never heard of a Corinthian betting on pigeons,” Bunny said. “Though now you mention it, they do sometimes bet on pigs and dogs and what-not. Bet on anything, really. Thing to do, ask him tonight when he calls. You said he was calling?”
“Yes,” I replied, with a conscious smile.
“Flies too high for you, m’dear,” Bunny warned. “Regular dasher. Top o’ the trees. Higher.”
Far from depressing my intention, this only pushed Lord Fairfield closer to the sun, and increased my desire to attach him. The mutton arrived and was consumed with some pleasure. As we sipped our tea, I said, “I wonder what time Lord Fairfield will call. Perhaps we ought to go upstairs now. We would not want to keep him waiting.”
Mrs. Lovatt abetted me in this notion. We had often discussed the dearth of good partis at Hythe. We had no objection to a gambling man, so long as he could afford his pleasure, and Lord Fairfield obviously could count on his father to foot any little overdrafts he might accumulate.
After running upstairs with our dinner still in our throats, we waited a full hour for Fairfield’s tap at the door. When he came, he was thought well worth the wait. Unlike Bunny, he looked stunning in his evening clothes. They fit so well, they might have grown on him. The dramatic black outfit was enhanced by his white cravat, his high coloring, and the brilliancy of his blue eyes.
As he made his bows, I wondered which seat he would take. When he walked to the sofa and sat beside me, I felt flustered, and insensibly pleased.
“What was the matter you wished to discuss, Lord Fairfield?” I asked, after a few civilities had been exchanged.
“I share your late father’s fascination with pigeon racing,” he said, with a somewhat embarrassed look in Smythe’s direction. “Truth to tell, I have come a cropper racing my nags. Pigeons are cheaper. I have heard word along the grapevine that your father had a rare champion, a bird named Caesar, I believe. I do not wish to appear callous, but since your father’s demise, I wondered if you were planning to sell off his birds. I should like to make an offer on Caesar and Cleo, and perhaps some of the others.”
“So that is how you met Papa!” I exclaimed.
“Met him?” he asked in surprise.
“Mrs. Mobley mentioned she had seen you with him, right here at this hotel.”
He frowned a moment, then seemed to recall. “It is true, I did once approach him last winter. I introduced myself as a fellow racer, but he was rather busy at the time. We just exchanged cards. Your father said he would be in touch, but he never contacted me. I did not like to put myself forward with the country’s most renowned breeder.”
It seemed incredible that Lord Fairfield should be shy of putting himself forward anywhere, but I was flattered that he had so much respect for Papa. “I do plan to sell the whole roost,” I said, “but the pigeons are trained like homing pigeons, to return to Gracefield. What use would they be to you, milord?” I had not actually
promised
Snoad to keep the pigeons.
He hesitated a moment, then said, “For breeding. It seems a shame to let those two prodigies die out. I expect you will have any number of buyers after them. What price are you asking for them?”
“Snoad would be the one to give us the price. He runs the roost,” I explained.
“Snoad?” he asked, his brows raised in question.
“Snoad is the man who helped Papa train his birds. He is very knowledgeable, I believe. He used to be with the Duchess of Prescott, at Branksome Hall.”
“Trained with the Duchess of Prescott, you say? She certainly has a fine flock. Would it be convenient for me to visit you at Gracefield, after your return?”
“We would be very happy to see you, milord,” I said, and could not suppress a smile.
“Has Snoad been with you long?” he asked.
“For two years, more or less.”
“He will be leaving us immediately,” Mrs. Lovatt added.
“As soon as you disband your flock,” he said, nodding. “Naturally someone must be in charge of the birds until that time. It seems a great pity to lose out on all Mr. Hume’s work, does it not? Just when he had developed a new strain, too. Caesar’s offspring were to be named after your father, I believe? It must grieve you deeply to give them up, Miss Hume.”
I heard the echoes of Snoad in this speech, and wondered if I was doing the right thing to so heedlessly toss out my father’s work. “Yes, it is a pity,” I agreed, “but I know virtually nothing about raising pigeons, or training them.”
“Must Snoad leave you?” he asked. “He sounds the proper one to teach you.”
I felt guilty, and said vaguely, “Now that my father is gone, Snoad will not remain long.”
“I hope we can salvage Caesar and Cleo’s strain at least. You may rest assured the Hume strain will be well tended, if I am the fortunate breeder who obtains them.”
There was not a single doubt in my mind that Fairfield would be the purchaser. It was already darting through my mind that perhaps I ought to make him a gift of them.
Wine was poured, and the conversation turned to more general topics. Fairfield said he was not very familiar with Hythe, though he had driven through it on his way to Dover. “I have relatives in Dover,” he explained.
He mentioned Lympne Castle and Saltwood Castle, where Becket’s assassins met en route to Canterbury. Mrs. Lovatt recommended a few old churches he ought to visit, and when his glass was empty, Lord Fairfield rose to take his leave. I accompanied him to the door.
As we reached it, he paused a moment and asked, “When will you be back at Gracefield, ma’am?”
I was so eager for his visit that I said, “I expect we shall leave tomorrow.”
“Then I shall call the day after tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you again.” He took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to within an inch of his lips for a ritual kiss. “I wish it were to be sooner,” he added, smiling flirtatiously. I had never seen such beautiful blue eyes. A warmth invaded my cheeks at his manner.
“Can you recommend a good hotel in Hythe?” he continued. “I may wish to remain a few days.” His eyes spoke volumes, none of them having to do with pigeons.
“I hope you will stay with us, Lord Fairfield,” I said. It seemed the polite thing to do.
“You are very kind, ma’am. I will be honored.” He bowed and left.
I wished I could be alone for a moment to savor my little romance, but already Mrs. Lovatt was calling from the sofa corner. “What had he to say, Heather? It took him a long time to leave.”
“He was just inquiring where he could stay in Hythe.”
“You ought to have asked him to stay at Gracefield, ninny!” my aunt charged.
I had dreaded telling her, lest she think it too forward. “I did,” I replied. We exchanged a meaningful smile. Few words are necessary between ladies, where nabbing an eligible parti is concerned.
Smythe shook his head. “Told you, a bit of a dasher. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”
“This helps solve the question of Snoad,” Mrs. Lovatt said in satisfaction. “Fairfield will take whatever stock is worth anything, and we’ll release the rest of them.”
“I told him he might come the day after tomorrow, Auntie,” I said. “Do you think it too early?”
“Your notices will be in the journals tomorrow,” Bunny reminded us. I had forgotten all about them.
“We can have Soames forward any replies to Gracefield,” my aunt said. I took it for approval of any early departure. “I am ready to go now. We know what Harold was doing here. Visiting that vulgar hussy. And if he had his fingers into anything else, I don’t want to hear any more about it. It is over and done with. We shall leave tomorrow morning. I’m going to retire now. Don’t feel you must rush off, Mr. Smythe. You and Heather might want to order some tea later. I cannot take tea before retiring or I am awake all night.”
After she was gone, I said, “Perhaps we should remain longer. I feel there is more we could discover here, if we stayed another day.”
“She’s right. Leads have run out. Our best hope of learning more is to write to Depew and demand a full explanation. About that tea ...”
I summoned a servant. Fifteen minutes later, there was a tap at the door. The waiter entered, and behind him followed Sir Chauncey Depew.
Until the servant left, the conversation was of a harmless, social sort. As soon as the door closed behind the waiter, Depew leaned forward eagerly in his chair and said, “Did Fairfield visit you a short while ago, Miss Hume?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I’ve been watching him.”
“From where?” Smythe asked. “Spent the afternoon looking for you. Wasn’t registered at any of the hotels.”
“I am at the Norfolk. I use the name Mr. Martin when I am working on secret matters.”
“I knew it!” Smythe exclaimed. “They
are
the prince’s buttons.”
Depew glanced at his jacket and gave a tsk of dismay. “You are quick to have recognized them, Mr. Smythe. I should not have worn this jacket, but I spilt wine on the only other one I had with me. It is true, I am with the Horse Guards.”
“Why was you following Fairfield?” Smythe asked. I listened with my heart in my throat. If Fairfield was an enemy agent, I felt the world had ceased to make sense.
“He is under surveillance,” Depew answered cryptically. “I’m not accusing the man of anything, mind. I am just watching him.”
“What had he to do with my father’s death?” I asked.
“Perhaps nothing
.
That is precisely what I am trying to discover. I only know that he was here, at this hotel in Brighton, the evening your father was killed. He is usually short of funds, and might have decided to earn some blunt by giving the French a hand.”
“There must have been dozens of people here,” I pointed out. “Fairfield follows the pigeon races. That would explain his presence.”
“Do they race pigeons from Brighton?” Depew asked, frowning. Neither Smythe nor I actually knew this for a fact, so we said nothing. “Those dozens of others did not return later and ask specifically for this suite,” Depew continued.
“You think he was looking for something?” I asked.
“It is a possibility.”
“Why was Papa’s body spirited off to London? I know he had something to do with spying, so you need not hesitate to tell me on that account.”
“So you have figured that out,” he said with a worried look. “You are too clever by half! It is true, your father was handling a job for us.”
“I see.” Though my words were calm, I was delighted and vastly relieved to hear this piece of news.
“No need to go into details. I daresay you have an inkling as to what he was about. As he was a member of the pigeon fanciers’ club and went regularly to London on that business, we decided it would cause less curiosity if he simply let the family believe he was visiting London, but came to Brighton instead.”
“Would it not have been more convenient for him to work with you in London?” I asked.