I was still hungry after my frugal breakfast, and the pleasant sight of a coffee-house tempted me in to take a second meal. Afterwards, I sauntered back through snow-laden streets and courts to the Strand. It was not long before I became aware that I was being followed.
In Maiden-lane, I paused by the stage-entrance to the Adelphi Theatre to light up a cigar. Out of the tail of my eye, I saw my pursuer stop a few paces behind, and quickly look into the window of a butcher’s shop. I threw down the cigar, and walked calmly towards the hooded figure.
‘Good morning, Mademoiselle Buisson.’
‘Mon Dieu, how extraordinary!’ she exclaimed. ‘To meet you here! My, my!’
I smiled and offered her my arm. ‘You seem to have been out in the snow for a considerable time,’ I said, looking down at the soaking hem of her skirt.
‘Perhaps I have,’ she smiled. ‘I have been looking for someone.’
‘And have you found them?’
‘Why yes, Mr—Glapthorn. I think perhaps I have.’
In the Norfolk Hotel, Strand, we called for coffee, and she threw back the hood of her cloak and removed her snow-dusted bonnet.
‘I do not think we need continue to pretend,’ I said. ‘I believe your friend will have informed you concerning recent events.’
‘She is no friend of mine any more,’ she replied, shaking out her blonde curls. ‘I consider her to be – well, I do not wish to say what I consider her to be. We were once the closest of companions, you know, but now I hate her for what she has done to you.’
She gave me a look of quiet significance.
‘It was just a pleasant game at first, and I was happy to help her play it, though of course much was kept from me. But as I began to understand how things were with you, and that you truly loved her, then I told her that she must put a stop to it; but she would not. And when Mr Daunt joined us in Paris—’
‘In Paris?’
‘Yes. I am sorry.’
‘It does not signify. Go on.’
‘When Mr Daunt came to join us, my heart began to break for you, knowing that you would be thinking of her constantly, and believing that she was thinking of you. That cruel note that she made me write to you was the last straw. I tried to warn you, did I not? But I think by then that you were past all warning.’
‘I am grateful to you for your kind feelings towards me, Mademoiselle. But I do not think Miss Carteret could help herself. I do not and cannot defend her – not in the least – nor can I ever absolve her for deceiving me; but I understand what drove her to treat me as she did.’
‘Do you?’
‘Why, yes. It was that most potent, and most plausible, of motives: love. Oh yes, I understand her very well.’
‘Then I consider you to be most generous. Do you not wish to punish her?’
‘Not at all. How can I blame her for being a slave to love? Love makes slaves of us all.’
‘So you blame no one for what has happened to you, Mr Glapthorn?’
‘Perhaps you should call me by the name I was given at birth.’ She gave a little nod of understanding.
‘Very well, Mr Glyver. Is no one to blame for the loss of what was rightfully yours?’
‘Oh yes,’ I replied. ‘Someone is to blame. But not her.’
‘You still love her, of course,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had hoped—’.
‘Hoped?’
‘It really does not matter. Of what interest can my hopes possibly have for you? Eh bien, this is what I wished to say to you, my dear Mr Dark Horse. You may think this matter is over; that, having stolen your life, your adversary is content. But he is not content. I have overheard something that gives me great concern, and which should give you concern also. He has taken grave exception – very grave exception – to what has happened to his associates, and for which he blames you. I do not know, of course, whether he is right to do so; it is enough for me to know that he does; and this being so, I urge you – as a friend – to take note. He is not a man to make idle threats, as you must know. In a word, he thinks you pose a danger to him, and this he will not tolerate.’
‘You have heard him threaten me, then?’
‘I have heard enough to make me walk through the snow for this past hour to speak to you. And now I have done my duty, Mr Edward Glyver, who was once dear Mr Glapthorn, and now I must go.’
She rose to leave, but I held out my hand to stop her. ‘Does she ever speak of me?’ I asked. ‘To you?’
‘We do not enjoy the familiarity we once did,’ she replied, and I saw and heard the regret that she felt. ‘But I believe that you have left a mark on her heart, though it pleases her to deny it. I hope that is of some comfort to you. And so good-bye, Mr Edward Glyver. You may kiss my hand, if you please.’
‘With the greatest of pleasure, Mademoiselle.’
I was back in Temple-street by half past nine to make my final preparations, happy in the now confirmed knowledge that my enemy wished me dead. It would make what I was soon to do so much easier.
On with my wig – courtesy of Messrs Careless & Sons, theatrical costumiers of Finch-lane, Cornhill – and a pair of wire-framed spectacles. A decent but shabby suit, with a capacious inside pocket, completed the ensemble. Into the pocket went the knife, wrapped in a piece of cloth, that I had purloined from the Wellington. I was ready.
I proceeded first to the Adelphi Theatre, where I purchased a ticket for the evening’s performance: this I then gave to my spy, William Blunt, who was to take my seat at the performance in order to provide me with an alibi. Near Stanhope Gate in Hyde-park, a little across from Lord Tansor’s house in Park-lane, I next located the place I had identified a few days earlier as being suitable for concealing a bag containing my best clothes. At last, as instructed by Mrs Venables, I presented myself to Mr Cranshaw at ten sharp with my recommendation from that lady.
I was soon directed to a small bare-boarded room where I was to don my livery and powder my hair – or, rather, my wig. ‘Powder,’ boomed Mr Cranshaw loftily, ‘is insisted upon by his Lordship.’ After I had wet the wig with water, I rubbed soap into it, and then combed through the wet mass before applying the powder with the puff provided. Then on with the livery: a stiff, white shirt; white stockings and silver-buckled pumps; blue plush knee breeches; a claret-coloured swallow-tailed coat, with silver buttons and matching waistcoat. Once powdered and liveried, I went along to the servants’ hall to be instructed, with the other temporary footmen, by Mr Cranshaw. Then I went quietly about the place, as if engaged on some errand or other, getting clear in my head the disposition of the below-stairs passages and rooms. The rest of the day was spent in undertaking various tedious duties – carrying chairs and flower arrangements into the dining-room, memorizing the order of dishes in case we were called upon to assist in bringing them up, rouging* silver, familiarizing ourselves with the guest-list and seating-order (there were to be some forty persons at table); and so on until darkness began to fall, the curtains were drawn, and the candles and lamps were lit.
Lord Tansor appeared at six o’clock to assure himself that all was in order. Our little army of menials lined up in the vestibule and bowed as he passed. But of course he paid no heed to me. I was but a liveried servant.
At seven o’clock, I presented myself for carriage duty, taking up my station by the front door with two other footmen.