Chapter Twenty-Two
On reaching London, Jack visited Bascombe and told him what had occurred in Manchester and what he’d learned from Renard. “When Butterstone returned to our shores with the intention of informing the French ambassador about the French being behind the assassination plot, he signed his own death warrant.”
Jack explained how Caindale, realizing Butterstone was in danger, had hoped that by helping the Frenchman gain access to the information he sought, the matter would be at an end.
“Naive of him,” Bascombe said. “His lordship is culpable and should be in prison, but we’d be hard-pressed to bring charges against a lord of the realm. It would only draw attention to the matter. Let’s put the affair to rest. It shall remain between us. No sense in upsetting our Gallic neighbors, let them deal with the matter of Bonaparte’s demise if they wish to pursue it. Our involvement will die with Butterstone. After all, the success of any venture can only be measured by its results. The murderer is dead and neatly dispensed with.” He indicated his approval with a nod. “Well done. I’ll have the guard removed from Caindale’s house.”
“The Marquis de Montholon still lives,” Jack said with a trace of bitterness. He disliked leaving a stone unturned. “No doubt enjoying his handsome legacy from Bonaparte.”
A smile touched Bascombe’s lips. He shook his head. “Diplomacy is like a race horse, Jack. A good jockey must know how to fall with the least possible damage.”
At home, his butler informed him a Mr. Welby had called and wished to see him. Jack sent a servant with a note to the London Gazette to inform Welby that he’d found nothing of interest. And, as he was about to leave London and would be away for some months, he would be of no help to them should they wish to pursue what seemed likely to be a waste of their time.
Jack spent the next few days in his library reading documents about how to turn flax into linseed oil and how glass was manufactured. He was now confident he could ask some pertinent questions when he visited his businesses.
Harry’s note advised him he and Erina had returned to London. They were putting up at Sir Ambrose’s mansion in Berkley Square and would depart for France on the following day.
That evening, Jack went to White’s with Harry to celebrate his marriage along with Grant, Tim, and Miles. Amid the laughter, chatter, and clink of glassware, they dined together in the club dining room, enjoying an excellent meal of seafood soup and a tasty roast leg of lamb, minted in a pastry crust, washed down with an admirable vintage.
Jack sat back, amused, as did Grant, while Tim, always up for a lark, roasted Harry, while Miles joined in. Later, in the games room, they played hazard.
Harry glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s been splendid seeing you fellows again.” He tossed down his cards. “Can’t seem to concentrate. How much do I owe?” He drew out his wallet. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t make a long night of it. Erina is alone in a strange house and we leave for France in the morning.”
Tim raised an auburn eyebrow. “Plenty of hours left to bed your wife, Harry.”
Harry chuckled and shook his head.
“The least you can do is stay for a round or two more.” Miles blue eyes turned devilish as he called for another bottle. “We wish to raise our glasses to you and your bride.”
“You have already toasted me many times and with several glasses too many,” Harry protested.
“Nonsense. One or two more. Then we shall let you go,” Miles said silkily.
An hour later, Harry was fast getting foxed, as were Miles and Tim. There followed a good deal of laughter and ribald jokes. Jack considered it wise for someone to keep a clear head, as Grant, who seldom over imbibed, had left them.
Finally, Harry pushed back his chair. “I’m off, fellows. It’s been fun,” he said with a foolish grin. He made his way unsteadily to the door.
They all followed him out into the street.
“Allow us to escort you home,” Tim offered, as they stood on the pavement.
“What?” Harry’s eyes widened. “No need. I know the way.”
The fresh night air made Harry stagger. “Don’ leave me with these two,” he pleaded to Jack. “Don’t trust ’em.”
Jack chuckled. “Here’s a hackney. I’ll ride home with you.”
“Dash it! Harry said indignantly, falling onto the squab as Jack climbed in beside him. He attempted to straighten his clothes, but only made things worse. “Seem to have lost my hat.”
Jack picked it up off the floor and held it out.
“There it is. The devils must have kept topping up my glass when my back was turned.”
“I daresay my time will come and so will theirs, Harry,” Jack said with a grin. “Remember that.”
“Ah,” Harry said with a lopsided smile. “Yes. I’ll get ’em.”
~~~
Erina hadn’t been able to sleep. Sir Ambrose’s house was so big and ancient it creaked abominably and sounded as if someone walked backward and forward outside the door. This time there definitely were footsteps in the corridor. She frowned. It didn’t sound like Harry. She knew his firm tread. The door opened. She clutched the bedcover to her chest. Open mouthed, she watched as Harry staggered into the room in an appalling state of dishevelment. “Harry!”
“Sorry, Erina. Sorry, my love,” he murmured with a lamentable shake of his head which almost made him lose his balance. His cravat was hanging limply, and his coat slid off one shoulder. He seemed to have lost a glove.
She leaped out of bed and hurried over to him. “What has happened? Were you robbed?”
“No. Fellows had a bit of fun with me. Bashelor dinner an all.”
“Harry! You are drunk!” In all the time she’d known him she’d never seen him drink more than a glass or two of wine.
“Good thing I paced myself. Only half-sprung.” Harry sat on a chair and tried to pull off his shoes. He managed one then gave up and stood, dragging off his coat and almost falling again. “That Tim is a sneaky devil,” he said heatedly, stripping it off and throwing the garment down. “Can’t trust Miles as far as you could throw him, either.”
“Keep still.” She pulled off his cravat as he tried to kiss her. Missing her mouth, he kissed her nose instead. He smelled strongly of port. “Sorry, my love,” he said again. “But I’ll get ’em.”
He fell back onto the bed.
“Well, I hope it’s not during our honeymoon,” Erina said. “It seems you’ve got the worst of it this time.” She realized Harry was snoring.
Erina slipped off his other shoe. She undid the buttons on his trousers and pulled them down while he continued to snore. Drawing the covers over him she gazed at his sleeping face, so boyish in repose. “Oh Harry,” she laughed. “And you always so immaculate. The rascals!”
She climbed into bed beside him. “You’ll have such a headache in the morning. And we sail for France on the tide! I wonder if it’s your head I’ll be holding over the rail?” Giggling, she snuggled into his warmth and closed her eyes.