Chapter 11
A Safe Bet.
It had been an appalling journey to town, and all Alfie wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet, preferably in front of a blazing fire with a glass of something warming. Fate had other things in mind, however.
“Your name ain’t on the list of footmen for the night,” the man at the kitchen door said, looking Alfie up and down suspiciously. “The others have been here over an hour.”
“I know it ain’t,” Alfie said, slipping a bottle of brandy partway from his coat pocket.
It was of excellent quality and the fellow’s eyebrows went up.
“Look, I only heard about the position a few hours ago, but I really need this job. I’m hoping if I do well, they might give me a chance, permanent like. Please, mate.”
The fellow looked around, his expression furtive, before holding his hand out. “Go on,” he said gruffly, as Alfie passed him the bottle. “You’d best hurry. Keith, that’s the butler, is about to give instructions and he don’t like latecomers.”
“Cheers, mate.” Alfie flashed a grin, genuinely grateful.
The fellow snorted, and Alfie hurried inside.
Hanging up his coat beside those already in place, he gave his outfit one last inspection and slipped in behind two rows of men as Keith gave them their duties and explained to them where they were expected to be and where was strictly off limits.
Alfie was on duty delivering champagne as he’d hoped, which gave him more freedom to move about, but he would be needed to help in the kitchens when the dinner began at one a.m. Alfie twitched anxiously, realising this would be his best time to act when everyone was so busy, yet it was later than he had hoped.
It gave Silas too much time to make his move.
The temptation to go straight up and get the job done at once was tempting, but experience had taught Alfie that the upper floors were still liable to be occupied.
Ladies dashing up to make adjustments to their hair or toilette were not uncommon.
Later in the evening was safer, not least because the staff would be weary by then and less likely to notice anything out of the ordinary.
Alfie followed as Keith led them to a room beside the cellar where tables had been set up and a footman was pouring out glasses of champagne. One by one the men each took up a silver tray, carefully balancing the full glasses upon it, and made their way up the stairs.
By the sound of it, the guests were already arriving, and Alfie followed the other men up the stairs.
The grand entrance hall was bustling as footmen relieved the guests of cloaks and hats and gloves.
Gorgeous shimmering silks in a myriad of colours rustled and an overpowering waft of perfumes battled for supremacy as Alfie entered the fray.
Overhead, the chandeliers sparkled, the heat from hundreds of candles making even this enormous room feel stuffy and close.
The chatter of excited guests echoed in the high-ceilinged hall as men and women dressed in their best made their way through the house to the ballroom.
“I’m surprised her ladyship chose to entertain so soon, she’s still so dreadfully fat,” observed one unkind woman, her haggard face overly painted.
Alfie offered her and her party a glass of champagne.
“If I were her, I’d have waited until I’d slimmed down.
My doctor has a wonderful lowering diet of vinegar and cabbage, and you drink the cabbage water afterwards, it’s most effective. Aren’t there any canapés?”
Alfie shook his head apologetically, as this question was aimed at him. “I do not believe so, Madame. There is a lavish supper to be served at one in the morning, however.”
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 security in 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 have gone 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 of January 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, I was invited, 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.