The lady sniffed in disgust as she plucked a glass of champagne from the tray. “But that is hours away. I declare the French do things far better. When we were in Paris, they served canapés throughout the evening, and they were quite delicious little bites. Such an elegant idea,” she added mournfully as she and her party made their way towards the ballroom.
Alfie, having already given all his glasses away, trotted back down the stairs to refill. He kept his eyes open, wondering if Silas Mourney’s men were already here too, and if he would recognise them if they were. Worse, would they recognise him?
Hurrying back up the stairs with a fresh tray, Alfie slid through the crowds, trying to avoid giving too many glasses away whilst he took stock. He remembered the general layout of the house, and that Lord Jefferson’s study was on the first floor along with all the main rooms. A silken rope had been hooked over the staircase, making it clear this part of the house was off limits for guests. But there were still the servants' stairs. As he had not been an honoured guest when he completed his transaction for the diamonds, this was how he had been taken to his lordship’s study. The question was if there was securityin place with so many new servants in the house. It would be foolish if there were not.
Alfie completed three more trips up and down the stairs, refilling his tray as an endless parade of guests seemed to fill the ballroom to bursting. Lady Jefferson would be thrilled with the turnout.
On his next trip down the servants' stairs, Alfie was passed by a footman on the way up. He was an older fellow, his hair greying, and he nodded wearily at Alfie. “It’s like bleedin’ Bedlam up there. My back is killing me already.”
Alfie returned a sympathetic smile. “Mad, ain’t it? Them nobs know how to enjoy themselves.”
“Reckon so. If you want a word of advice, lad, mind out for the lady in the puce gown. I hear she pinches.”
Alfie grinned as he carried on down the stairs. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my arse out of her reach.”
Five minutes later, and he was back in the entrance hall with guests still arriving by the dozen.
“I hear we are to have fireworks at midnight,” said one excited young lady while Alfie moved among the milling crowd and they made their way towards the ballroom.
Fireworks? Alfie’s ears pricked up at the information. Well, that was the perfect distraction, for even the servants would try to get a look at them if they could. Did Silas know about the fireworks, though, and would he be thinking the same thing?
Alfie continued moving among the guests, delivering drinks and listening in on conversations. He learned that Lady Jefferson was indeed wearing the ruby set her husband had gifted her, which was a relief. It would have been galling to havegone through all this and then discover she was wearing the bloody diamonds.
The evening wore on until Alfie’s feet ached and his nerves wore thin. There was nothing worse than waiting to do a job. Once it was underway, he would be calm and in control but waiting drove him distracted. Having given away his last glass once more, Alfie hurried back down the stairs and was about to enter the room to refill when a new arrival caught his eye. The fellow stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a crate of wine.
“More champagne?” the man to whom Alfie had gifted a bottle of brandy queried, looking at the delivery man in surprise. “But it was all delivered yesterday.”
“Nah, my boss discovered you was a crate short. Honest fellow, my boss, so he sent me around quick sharp like, to make sure all was as it ought to be. Didn’t want you running out on such an important evening.”
Alfie’s blood ran cold as he recognised Tommy Greaves, one of Silas’ men. A nasty piece of work, Tommy was known as Grievous Greaves. He always carried a knife and was not shy about using it. Hell and the devil, this was just a ruse to get Tommy into the house. Likely he already had a confederate lurking somewhere.
Glancing up at the kitchen clock, Alfie saw it was a quarter to midnight. There was no time to lose. He did not doubt now that Silas intended to act at midnight, and Alfie needed to get there before him.
En route to Lady Jefferson’s Ball, Mayfair, London, 19th ofJanuary 1816
“I feel perfectly ludicrous,” Hawkney grumbled, not for the first time that day. “I have never in my life turned up to a party to which I was not invited.”
“Oh, stow it,” Aubrey said, irritable now as his own nerves were strained to breaking point. “You know very well that they’ll fall over themselves with delight at your appearance. Besides which, Iwasinvited, and I brought you as my guest.”
It was far later than Aubrey had hoped, but the duke had been unmovable upon the need to change into appropriate attire instead of arriving in all their travel dust, which would certainly have raised eyebrows. As sensible as Aubrey knew this was, the delay had still infuriated him, and he’d been envisioning horrifying scenes of Alfie getting himself murdered by Silas’ men with every second that passed.
“Will you at least tell me why we are here now? I am well aware it is something nefarious, so you may as well give me the entire dreadful story,” Hawk insisted as his carriage drew them closer to Lord Jefferson’s house in Mayfair. Though it was only a few streets away from the duke’s own townhouse, his grace had refused to turn up on foot, though Aubrey felt certain it would have been faster.
“No. The less you know, the better. Just keep it in mind that I might be helping Alfie Marwick escape, but it’s just as likely to be his sister, Alice.”
Hawkney stared at him in alarm, as well he might.
“Just follow my lead,” Aubrey told him stubbornly, earning himself a sigh of impatience.
The moment the carriage stopped, Aubrey leapt down, leaving the duke to follow him to the front door.
As expected, the duke was engulfed seconds later by Lord and Lady Jefferson, delighted at the arrival of such an illustrious guest. Aubrey mentally promised to repay his cousin for the debt he owed, as Hawkney sent him a frosty look before he was borne off into the ballroom. Being only the duke’s cousin, Aubrey was allowed to linger in the hallway where he scrutinised the comings and goings of the footmen, knowing from what Lill had told him that this was how Alfie intended to infiltrate the house.
Taking a glass from one such, Aubrey remained, pretending to gaze up at an especially ugly portrait of one of Jefferson’s ancestors with apparent fascination.
“Evening, Seymour. Didn’t expect to see you in town. Thought you was rusticating with your family.”
With an inward groan, Aubrey looked around and smiled at Mr Fortesque, a harmless but inquisitive young man whom he knew through friends. “Good evening, and yes, I have been. I’m only in town for a day or two. I accompanied Hawkney as he had business here.”
