Maggie MacKeever by The Baroness of Bow Street Read Free Book Online Page B

delighted.”
    With an oath, Warwick moved forward. “Print one word of that , and I’ll not only see you in Newgate, I’ll see to it you hang!”
    “Oh, you’ll see me. And before you think!” Leda moved quickly toward the exit. Simpkin, crouched in the hallway, was not quick enough to escape the opening door.
    “Shame!” said Leda as the valet fingered his bruised forehead. “Have you forgotten that curiosity killed the cat? Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll find my own way to the door.”
    “Simpkin!” his master bellowed. On reluctant feet, the valet entered the room.
    Lord Warwick pulled forth a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “That unnatural female writes the most astonishing newspaper articles lamenting the increase in crimes of violence, the ineptitude of Bow Street, and the corruption of Parliament. Now she promises to write one about me. I’d like to see the entire newspaper world that stretches between Temple Bar and St. Paul’s decimated by a plague.”
    “Very good, your grace.” Simpkin wondered if he was meant to personally undertake this task.
    “You’re a fool, Simpkin!” said his master. “I wonder why I put up with you. If that woman ever gains entry to these rooms again, you’ll be dismissed, and without a reference, understand?” The valet nodded. “Very well, then, prepare my bath.”
    Simpkin set about this task with great efficiency, demonstrating his noiseless step and politeness of manner, his good temper and subservience, all the time trembling lest he rouse his master to further wrath. No question that he would slam the door in Leda Langtry’s face if she ever dared show it here again.
    Lord Warwick sat down at his desk, upon which perched an excellent bust of Cromwell, and reached for his port. As he filled a glass with the dark liquid, he reflected that Leda Langtry was said to have the temperament of a fighting cock.
    Her arrest on the charge of intention to traduce and vilify Prinny had caused widespread indignation and made the Regent even more unpopular. As if matters had not already been bad enough. The usual attacks on Prinny for his immoral character and his abominable treatment of the Princess of Wales had increased a hundredfold during the visit to London of the Allied Sovereigns. Relations between the Prince Regent and the Tsar of Russia had at best been strained, and the Tsar had not improved matters by waltzing energetically around Lady Chalmondely’s ballroom with Lady Jersey, one of the Prince’s earlier conquests, and Lady Bligh, whom the world knew he wished to make his next, while treating Lady Hertford, the current favorite, with a marked lack of interest. Now Prinny was drinking even more heavily than usual, and that was a prodigious amount indeed.
    Poor Simpkin, emptying hot water into a metal bath, dropped a can. Lord Warwick turned to glower at his valet, an exercise somewhat difficult to execute due to the high shirt collar that brushed his earlobes and framed his chin. “Another female you will not admit to these premises,” said Warwick severely, “is Lady Bligh. You do recall Lady Bligh, Simpkin?”
    “Yes, your grace.” The valet retrieved the can. An interesting interview that one had been, and of great interest to Lord Warwick’s spouse. A few more similarly enlightening encounters and Simpkin would be able to retire.
    “Your bath is ready, your grace.” Simpkin prepared to either help his master to disrobe or, if it seemed wiser, to flee. Lord Warwick emptied his glass and rose.
    There was yet another interview to be conducted that evening, and the anticipation of it was almost more than Warwick could bear. He unlocked a drawer of his desk and drew forth a sheaf of banknotes. This night would see him vindicated of a great many past slights. Even Prinny would be forced to admit the cleverness of a mind that had outthought the experts at Bow Street. But Warwick had learned to be cautious. Before he presented his conclusions to higher