“The first order of business will be a bank deposit,” Savage said. “I’ve always used Lloyd’s for my overseas shipping transactions, but if you can get me a better rate at Barclay’s, I’ll leave it entirely to your discretion. But you’d better make an appointment after hours for me to deliver the chests of gold.”
Watson refrained from looking at Goldman. “Your gold is in sea chests?” he enquired.
“Yes, a dozen to be exact,” Savage replied.
“Approximately how much gold does each chest contain?” Watson asked politely.
“Approximately two lakhs.”
It took Watson a moment to calculate. It took Goldman less. A lakh was a hundred thousand. Indian Savage was worth two and a half million pounds in gold! The partners could not help looking at each other in awe. They bestowed a reverent moment of silence upon their most valued client before they resumed their business.
“I have a list here. Would you have your clerk provide me with some business addresses? I need a competent secretary, I need some sort of conveyance, and since people have done nothing but stare at me since I arrived, I believe I need a good tailor.”
Mr. Goldman took the list and had a private word with his clerk, telling him to include only the finest establishments.
“I’ve had a house built at Gravesend by William Wyatt. I deposited funds he could draw upon, but I fully expect he’ll be overbudget by now. I’ll direct all the bills for your scrutiny. My most pressing need is a London town house. I need it today, but I’ll give you until tomorrow. In the meantime, gentlemen, I am at the Savoy.”
“Mr. Savage, I can see you are a plain-spoken, practical man,” Goldman said. “Purchasing a house today is nigh impossible. Perhaps we could rent one if given a few days.”
“My friend Russell Lamb assured me you gentlemen were most accommodating,” Savage pointed out.
Mr. Watson had been wanting to broach the subject of his guardianship of the Lamb twins and saw his opportunity. “The late Lord Lamb’s town house is on Curzon Street. Since you are in charge of the family’s affairs, why not take advantage of it? The house is furnished and fully staffed. It will give us the time necessary to purchase a town house for you in a similarly convenient location.”
“Your suggestion has merit. It is the expedient solution. I have not yet had the pleasure of my wards’ aquaintance.”
Mr. Watson spoke in confidence. “They are very young and, having lived in the country all their lives, are quite unsophisticated, unlike the young devils about town. Young men these days are a scandal, I can tell you. Since you were here last, mores and morals have undergone some drastic changes, but Lord Anthony Lamb will give you no problems. He is a likable, amenable young man.”
Adam Savage gave him a quizzical look. “Why do I have the feeling there is more to this than meets the eye?”
Mr. Watson cleared his throat. “Well, sir, it is Lady Antonia. She came to see us after her father died, demanding to know how much money she was entitled to. When I assured her that her dowry money was in trust, she wanted to know if she could have it to live on. I informed her you were in control of her finances. She left in a bit of a huff, I’m afraid, and since then she’s fallen into the habit of buying whatever she fancies and having the bills sent here for you to deal with.”
“Let me see them,” Savage directed.
When they were produced he flipped through them, saw most of them were for dresses, petticoats, wrappers, and other feminine knicknacks that all told came to less than a hundred pounds. A couple of the expenses were for the tenant farms at Stoke.
“Settle these out of my account. Anthony receives his allowance quarterly, I believe? It’s so small, I don’t know how he manages. You had better double it. I’ll be visiting Stoke shortly when my most pressing business affairs allow me.” Savage stood. “Well, then, gentlemen, I’ll bid you good morning. You may reach me at the Curzon Street House.” Mr. Goldman handed him the list of addresses and firmly shook hands.
Since Temple Bar wasn’t far from the Savoy, he had walked. Now he contemplated taking a chair, but realized his long strides would get him about faster than any sedan chair on the crowded streets.
His thoughts dwelled for a moment on the Lamb twins. The girl sounded decidedly like her mother, and for that matter every others-female where money was concerned. The boy, however, sounded uncomplicated and likable. He hoped they could become friends.
As Savage strode along he became aware that he was receiving a great deal of attention, but as he began to notice the people on the London streets he did his own share of staring. By Satan, what had happened to men’s fashions? He was the only male on the streets who was not wearing a powdered wig. Most gentlemen seemed to be garbed in satin knee breeches, elaborately embroidered waistcoats, and high-necked shirts with flowing cravats. In Savage’s opinion they looked more suited to a ballroom than a London thoroughfare. Whatever had happened to sober broadcloth?
He saw one or two men in red, high-heeled shoes and wondered why on earth they were affecting women’s fashions. London had always had its share of queer individuals and eccentrics, but, Christ, every other man he passed looked effeminate and utterly ridiculous. An amazing number of young men painted their faces, wore earrings, and carried fans. Had the world gone mad while he’d been away in the Indies?
Two beaus lounged indolently outside a chocolate shop. One had butterflies embroidered across his waistcoat, while the other was a study in gold lace and full-skirted coat with a nosegay on his breast. Savage looked at him with contempt, while the beau held up his quizzing glass and shuddered at the foreign-looking giant with the long black hair.
Savage eventually dragged his eyes from the men and assessed the women. Earlier there had been only poorer women in striped dimity, but at midday fashionable ladies began to appear in gowns dripping with Valenciennes lace and towering powdered wigs decorated with flowers and birds. Most had a footman or other servant to carry their packages. Women had always effected exaggerated fashions, so Savage didn’t raise an eyebrow at the enormous straw leghorns they carried or the black patches that drew attention to a woman’s eyes or lips. However, when he saw a lady of high fashion with a black boy in her wake, carrying a chained monkey, he felt a rage within himself that such practices were not forbidden in, a supposedly civilized country.
Back at the Savoy, Savage penned a note to Lord Lamb informing him that he was back in England and asking his permission to make use of the Mayfair town house until he could acquire his own. It was merely a polite formality; he would have moved in long before the letter would be delivered to Stoke. He concluded the note by informing his ward that he would visit Lamb Hall the following week.
Fenton, the butler at Curzon Street, welcomed Mr. Savage with stiff formality, unbending a little when he realized he was a friend and neighbor of his mistress and late master from Ceylon. Fenton always asked himself how Mr. Burke would respond to any given circumstance and tried to act accordingly. The town house had a cook-housekeeper by the name of Mrs. Hogg and a young cockney maid called Dora. Both stationed themselves where they could view the odd trio from the Indies.
Dora whispered, “Coo, did ye see their fyces?”
Mrs. Hogg folded her lips in a distinct line of disapproval and muttered, “Heathens! I ’ate ’em!”
Dora, who was not unattractive in a rather cheeky way, stared her envy at the dusky girl in the exotic dress. Fenton showed Mr. Savage to the master bedchamber, but was at a loss regarding the other two. He noted the immaculate white and the turban with the ruby and thought perhaps John Bull was a visiting prince, and the lady his wife or concubine or whatever females were to Hindu princes. To be on the safe side, Fenton assigned them separate chambers and was relieved when Mr. Savage looked pleased and pressed a guinea into his hand.