After much consideration as to my wardrobe options, I went with an ensemble that no doubt would have made the Princess cry and abandon me as a lost cause. The brown trousers and loose shirt and waistcoat of a grubby little boy was paired easily with an oversized cap which I could stuff my hair into, and scuffed shoes. Granted, I was definitely no boy, but I also wasn't someone you'd give a second look. Admiring my transformation in the mirror, I added a swipe of muck from the box of used tea leaves I'd snuck from the kitchen, and I was ready.
The guards barely looked at me as I scurried out the back door, used to my bizarre comings and goings, but a maid batted me with a broom and told me to 'get away now' so I felt comfortable in my new form.
Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens was perhaps an hour's walk from Montagu House, but I took the back alleys so that I could run and make it in 30 minutes. By the time I got there it was dark, and I could navigate my way towards the glowing lights and music in the distance. I'd heard all the stories about the gardens, from the glamour and magic to the glittering underworld of debauchery and sedition that took place behind its gilt exterior. Somewhere in those gardens fortunes were being made, bargains being struck, and reputations ruined. It was not a place for respectable gentlefolk, not that that stopped any of them. The night had barely started and already there was shrieking laughter, jeering, chanting, and shouts from all corners, with people of all shapes and sizes staggering around drunk or slipping away into the seductive corners of the maze. Women around me glittered like insects, flitting in and out of the light of a thousand candles. Servants dressed in exotic outfits followed behind their employers, some carrying enormous fans, others large gilt trays of crystal glasses. An acrobat danced on top of a large striped ball, a man led a bear around a post, and a boy held a monkey on his shoulder and charged the rich to feed him bits of fruit. It was a world full of debauched pretence. Everything and everyone in there was fake.
'Got my note then, did ya, Miss Wentworth?'
I froze, shocked out of my reverie by the croaking voice at my hip. Turning, I saw Mother Quinn sat at the foot of a large tree bedecked in strings of glass jewels that glittered in the light. She had a table in front of her, laid out with beads and bracelets, pendants and pearls for passers by to admire. She smiled up and me conspiratorially, 'it's a good disguise, but I was looking out for you.'
'Mother Quinn,' I crouched down next to her and pulled my hat lower. 'Thank you for finding them so quickly.'
'I live to surprise. These two think they're totally invisible they do, but I know people in low places.' She smiled to herself and fiddled with a pile of string in her lap. 'They're meetin' a gent right about now, who I reckon you'll be interested in, what with him being a recent visitor to Montagu House an all.'
I rose and scanned the crowd, spotting the tall blond head of Paulette in a crowd under a heavily decorated pagoda about thirty metres away.
'Remember our deal, Miss Wentworth,' Mother Quinn said. 'I'll be calling in that debt any day now.'
I felt cold water seep through my veins, but I forced myself to keep walking, hearing her chuckles behind me. She unnerved me in a way no one had ever done before.
The pagoda was gently emptying by the time I arrived, with couples drifting away and groups hurrying over to a drinks tent that had just arrived. I grabbed a basket from a cart nearby and began picking up discarded papers and cigar butts that littered the ground, trying to keep as near to the shadows as possible. From my new location, I got a view of Paulette and Beresford from where they stood, as well as the gentleman sat in front of them, nursing a glass of claret.
My heart stopped dead still when I saw the rounded stomach, weak chin and fluffy, over-powdered wig of Lord Lynton. It was Sarah's husband.
I gripped the handle of my litter basket, my hands sweating, and tried to hide my face again. Lord Lynton was scowling up at Beresford and Paulette, his face turning blotchy with anger.
'Come on, Lynton, you were there. What did you see?' Beresford was using his classic earnest entreaty.
'That's Your Grace to you sonny boy,' Lord Lynton growled at him. 'You may be here for a job but don't forget who you're talking to.'
Paulette scoffed and glared at the crowds around him. I ducked my head and bent to pick up a broken glass. Beresford nodded sagely and lowered his voice. 'Of course, Your Grace, forgive me. I don't mean to disrespect you at all, but I do need to know what happened.'
'Nothing happened! We went to a card party, Somerset gave her the ultimatum about Princess Charlotte, she got enraged, stormed out and then came back in and set him packing. That's all.'
'What about the others, anyone you didn't recognise? What was the reception to her outburst like?'
'That bloody busybody Bruce woman huffed and puffed a bit, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. She's hardly a calm character is she? And besides, Beresford, what do you think was going to happen? My wife lives there, do you really think I wouldn't have heard if Princess Caroline had hired some huge Russian monster to guard her?'
'With respect, Your Grace, we're looking to the subtleties. We just need to know what's changed.'
A crack sounded from behind me and I whipped around, hand on the brim of my cap, but it was just an acrobat walking past, his face painted lurid colours. I watched him go, disappearing behind a drinks cart.
'Nothing's changed! Not as far as I can tell anyway.'
'Did anything else happen? Come on Lynton – Your Grace – we need to know every detail.' Beresford was starting to get irritated, and Paulette was skirting the platform of the pagoda, watching everyone around him. I hunched back behind a flower pot next to them, hoping that the shadows of the huge flowers would cover me. Even then I felt eyes upon me, but couldn't see anyone. I had a prickle on the back of my neck, as if someone was lying in wait to catch me the second I moved. I scanned around, but apart from Paulette's shoulder peeking out from the pagoda there was no one close by.
'I don't know!' Lord Lynton was gruff with anger now.
'Did the Duchess mention anything? After the Princess's outburst? Come on man she's your wife!'
'How dare you?! Who do you think you are, have some goddamn respect man!' Lynton rose and seized his coat. 'My wife is totally loyal to me, and had she seen or heard anything she would have mentioned it to me, as is her duty. Your duty, I might add, is to do your bloody job without causing a fuss. Good lord the arrogance of your sort astounds me it truly does. I've already had to silence Lord Ashgrove after his drunken moments, I don't need to school you on manners too.'
'What happened with Lord Ashgrove?' Beresford seemed totally unfazed by Lynton's derision and just leant forward, bright eyed and eager.
'He got drunk, that's what. Started blabbering about all the ruffians that the Prince has let into his service.' It seemed a rather pointed statement, and no doubt Beresford spotted it.
'What did he say?'
'Nothing of note, just enough to make it sound like the Prince is letting in clowns off the street to run his cabinet. Which, as some would argue, he is.'
Again, my neck prickled and I looked around from my spot behind the flower pot. There was no one. Not a single person was within 20 metres of me. I glanced up at the trees just in case, but apart from a couple of sleeping birds there was not one living being around. I was just paranoid. That was all.
'Who heard him?' Beresford grabbed Lynton's arm as he was about to go, causing the older man to turn in shock. 'Come on, Lynton, who heard him?!'
'Unhand me! It was just me, my wife and some frilly little thing from the Princess' household.'
'Did you get a name?'
'Miss Wentworth, I believe.'
My blood froze again. I has assumed he had forgotten my name, what with the drama of the day. Why hadn't the Princess given me a false surname?
'And she's part of the Princess' entourage?'
'A new addition. Honestly looked hardly clever enough to hold two thoughts in one place, let alone take notice of what Ashgrove said. Kept blabbering about the parties. Now, sirs, I am leaving. I'd say this has been a pleasure but we both know it's been nothing of the sort. The second your business is concluded, and you've vacated yourselves from London the better. Good night.' Lynton swept away, surprisingly agile for his rotund frame, leaving Beresford and Paulette alone in the pagoda.
They watched him go, their silhouettes throwing striking shadows over the corner I crouched in. Around me the noise of the garden babbled, with the odd shriek and laugh and clatter of glasses rising and breaking over me likes waves over a rock.
'You think this Wentworth girl is worth looking into?' Paulette glared after Lynton.
Beresford sounded curious, as if he was posing a philosophical question to a young child rather than engaging in treasonous plotting, 'possibly, but it's nothing we haven't dealt with before. One young woman is hardly something to worry about.'
'One woman is still one more person to throw a wrench into the mix, especially one apparently so close to the old woman.'
There was a chuckle, 'as per usual my friend you're the voice of reason. We'll keep an eye on it.'
I heard a chair scrape and the shadows moved, gathering their hats and heading for the exit of the Gardens. Stumbling over the flower pot, I followed them, ducking behind the occasional reveller or servant. Around me the party was still in full swing, and the late hour had added a certain thrill to the atmosphere. Beresford and Paulette swept through the sea with ease, the gap between us being cut through by people in various forms of sobriety. I dodged acrobat and aristocrat, countess and con-artist. Their evening was just getting started, as, apparently, was mine.
The two men turned out of the gates and hailed a passing hackney. I cast around for some way of following them. I couldn't hire another one, no driver would take a scuzzy little street urchin who looked like he could barely afford a stale loaf of bread when there were drunk dukes stumbling out of the gardens with pockets of cash and no power to get home. Besides, I'd be too conspicuous if I followed them in a cab. On foot would have to do.
Sighing, I pulled my hat down closer over my face and started in their direction, hoping to at least hear the address they gave the driver. But they were already climbing up into the cab and I hadn't got within ten metres of them before the driver clicked his tongue and they rolled off down the street. Breaking into a jog, I followed down the street, casting looks around in hopes of another option. My lungs started burning within minutes, and I cursed myself for getting soft in the weeks I'd been in London.
They made faster progress than I had expected, and the distance between us grew. Riders cut in between my quarry and I, and even a delivery cart turned behind the hackney and into a courtyard. I was forced to stop dead in my tracks as a carriage full of ruffled women rushed past in the direction of the Pleasure Gardens, and by the time they'd passed me, perfume and tickling laughter in pursuit, Beresford and Paulette were the other end of the street. I sped up, pushing myself into a sprint. They turned right and onto Vauxhall Bridge, heading across the river.
I dodged a couple of gentlemen on the pavement, brushing the sleeve of one. 'I say, watch where you're going!' He shouted after me. I ignored him and carried on, squinting into the dark after the cab. My heart thudded in my chest and I felt the blood thrumming in my temples and the metal on my tongue and the burn in my throat. It was no use: I was losing them.
Casting around desperately, I nearly cheered when I saw a passing hackney pause to let an attendant hop off the back platform and head back the way I'd come. The driver, presumably on his way home, waved over his head and carried on across the bridge. It wasn't the fastest mode of transport, but it might just have allowed me to cut some distance. Racing across the road I grabbed hold of the back platform as tightly as I dared and hopped on, hunched down on my heels so the driver wouldn't see me in his mirror. My thighs were screaming at me and I heaved to catch my breath. But the retreating South Bank was getting further into the distance, and it felt like flying. I peeked around the side of the cab and saw the hackney that was taking Beresford and Paulette away reach the end of the bridge and increase its speed straight on towards Belgravia. I smiled, the streets were widening now we had reached wealth territory, and my cab had answered in kind. My unsuspecting driver tapped his whip against the horse's harness and I felt a hitch as we sped up. I let my legs drop so I sat properly on the back platform, my feet swinging loose over the increasingly polished paving stones of Belgravia.
A minute or so later and I looked again, training my eye on the back of Beresford and Paulette's hackney. The driver was slowing, and it edged towards the right-hand side of the road. They were turning out of Belgravia, towards Buckingham House. My own cab listed leftwards, and, with a sinking of my heart, I hopped off the platform and headed after them. I had caught up significantly, and was perhaps only thirty metres or so behind as they carried on plane tree-lined avenues towards the glittering behemoth that was Buckingham House. Somewhere inside, I knew, the Mad King and Queen Charlotte lived.
Taking a gamble, I dashed down a shadowy side alley between a large townhouse and the washhouse behind it. I could glimpse the lights at the other end and, if I was right, would come out onto the main road just by the House, and hopefully right on Beresford's tail.
I sped up, vaulting over a water pail and dodging a dog tied to a gate post. I didn't see a pile of food scraps let on the floor and skidded, coming down onto my bad knee hard. I cried out, feeling the lumpy scar shift and twinge and a stab of pain fire up into my thigh. If I missed them, or if they had turned down another road, I was finished.
Scrambling to my feet I tried to ignore the fire of pain in my knee. I tucked my head to my chest and pushed onwards, coming out onto the pristine pavements that arched around Buckingham House and towards St. James' Park. The roads were nearly empty, with anyone living in this area either enjoying the revelries at Vauxhall Gardens, or tucked up in their beds. And there was Beresford and Paulette, turning away from Buckingham House and down the Mall, the road still spotless even after a busy day. I sprinted after them, taking advantage of the large plane trees that lined the avenue and cast long shadows easily dark enough to high a skinny little boy. My leg made for slower going than I wanted, and I could see my shadow running in a twisted, lilting way. I was perhaps twenty metres away when the cab slowed and eased towards the side of the road by a tall white gate. The lights of a glittering townhouse, of frankly ridiculous size, shone above it. I stopped and pressed myself close to the nearest tree, peeking out from behind it to watch as Beresford and Paulette got out, paid the driver and rapped several times on a small door inlaid into the wooden slats of the gate. After a moment it opened and the two men disappeared inside, and even from where I was hiding I could hear the heavy clank of a large lock being drawn behind them. The hackney rattled away down the Mall and I was suddenly alone in the darkness. My breath came in loud gasps after the excitement of the chase, and I could feel the tension all over me. So this is where they had gone to.
I backed up and tried to get a proper glimpse of the house behind the gate. It was huge, with several floors visible even from where I was standing, but there was no signifier as to who lived there. I needed to get higher. Looking around me, I assessed the distance between the closest bollard and the height of the lowest branch above me. I could just about do it, I thought, even as my knee spiked in protest. Taking some more space I broke into a sprint, hopped up onto the bollard and hurled myself towards the branch, catching it just barely. I wasn't nearly as fit as I had been in back home in Somerset, and my arms nearly gave, but I managed to heave myself up and climb up a few boughs to settle in a crook of the trunk. Between the large leaves, I could see clearly down over the gate and into the courtyard of the house beyond. Beresford and Paulette had paused to speak to some men standing stock still on either side of the main entrance. They were like statues, and strangely far apart from each other to be coincidental. They must be guards. I glanced up to the crest painted luridly above the door. I could hear my heart thudding in my chest, and not just from the chase and the climb. I recognised it. Everyone in the country would have recognised it. A crowned lion and unicorn flanked a large shield with alternate blue and red sections, extravagantly outlined in gold. Above it another crowned lion stood tall and a banner furled underneath with pristine gold writing Ich Dien. 'I serve.'
'Well, well, well,' I murmured to myself. 'Caroline was right after all.'
Beresford and Paulette were working for the Prince Regent.