The enthusiasts moved into the ballroom for greater scope, but the occasional wild shot soon had the orchestra scattering for cover. They behaved like a gang of unruly schoolboys let loose at a fair, with His Highness egging everyone on to join in the madcap antics. He sobered somewhat when a footman took a bullet in the shoulder. As the servant was carried off His Highness turned to his friend Charles Fox. “We can’t continue like this. Good footmen are hard to get these days. After dinner well visit yourtir.”
Tony turned to Sherry. “What’s atir?”
“Its a shooting gallery. Haven’t you had training in the code duello? Wrote a damned good duel into m’last play, but damned if I can think of the title.”
Something made Tony look toward the entrance of the ballroom. The tall dark figure of Savage loomed in the doorway, a look of frozen contempt on his face for the juvenile antics he’d just witnessed. His eyes flicked over Tony, then dismissed him as if he were no more than a spoiled puppy.
As if Savage’s arrival was some sort of cue, dinner was announced and the assembly filed back into the dining room. Tony had never seen so much food consumed in her lifetime. Without realizing she was doing so, she began to count. There were four soups, then four fish courses, followed by thirty-six entrees. The menus were printed entirely in French. She had learned a smattering of the language from a tutor and read:
Coq au Vin Quatre grosses pieces pour le contre-flanc.
Les petites croustades de mauviettes an gratin.
Tony didn’t have a clue and wondered idly if it was a direct result of thediaboleèosshe’d imbibed. Claret and burgundy were considered too thin; sherry, hock, and port were served instead. As a result long before the meal was over some of the men had drunk themselves speechless and a footman loosened the ridiculously high neckcloths of those who had fallen beneath the table before they asphixiated themselves.
Frederick, the young Duke of York, toppled over dead drunk. His Highness, who was famous for his wit, glanced down at him with mock solemnity. “And there, according to our royal father, lies the hope of our family.”
As those who could still walk arose to make up a party to follow Charles James Fox, Tony asked Sherry, “Where is thistir?”
“It’s somewhere in the bowels beneath Fox’s gaming hell.”
“He runs a gambling house?” Tony asked surprised.
“By Satan, you’re a babe in arms. After we knock off a few rounds belowstairs, we’ll gamble till dawn.”
Tony felt her winnings inside her pockets. “Hellfire, I thought I’d save my money to wager in Newmarket.”
“Oh, we’re not going. Hadn’t you heard? His Highness sold his horses to that Indian fellow.”
Adam Savage observed everything that went on at Carlton House through narrowed eyes. He had cynically assessed and catalogued the lot of them as useless spendthrifts down to the last man. The floridly handsome Prince of Wales might have easy and engaging manners and be a patron of the arts, but he couldn’t see that his Whig friends used him. Savage knew the Regency Bill would not be signed, for George gave more time and attention to his tailor and bootmaker than the business of the realm.
Charles Fox was easily the most influential of the prince’s friends. He drank heavily and sat for days at a stretch at the gaming tables, usually in his own establishment. Wags said his charm came from his great-great grandfather, Charles II, but Savage knew he was both profligate and dissipated.
Richard Sheridan was dissolute. He and Edmund Burke often abused each other in the House of Commons, but they all pissed in the same pot and believed themselves the masters of England.
Savage was determined in his own small way to effect changes. They wouldn’t happen overnight, but with a genious like Pitt now running the government, England stood a better chance than it had in years of doing something to improve the lot of its common citizens. Granted, he would have to use the system of bribes and patronage that had been in place since the early Georgian reign, but if he was relentless enough, insistent enough, determined enough, and forceful enough, he could effect change.
It had been Fox, Sheridan, and Burke who had introduced a bill to deprive the East India Company of its powers and trading privileges. As a result the government fell and Pitt became chief minister. The fools did manage to have poor old Warren Hastings, the Governor of Bengal, impeached. They spoke witheringly of matters about which they knew nothing. Burke in particular was a hypocrite, for his family had made its money by dipping its fingers into the Indian pot of gold.
Suddenly Savage’s regard became fixed upon his young ward, Anthony Lamb. A lecherous-looking rake had his arm about the youth’s shoulders and a disquieting thought rose full blown in Savage’s mind. Instead of thrusting the thought away, he examined it carefully. Anthony was a beautiful youth with his long legs and dreamy green eyes. A succulent plum to be plucked by a profligate seducer.
The muscle in Savage’s jaw flexed into a lump of iron. Was this the reason for the lad’s disinterest in women? No, Tony was innocent, he’d not yet been tainted, but the sooner he was introduced to the addictive pleasures of female flesh, the better. He made a mental note to see to it himself before the week was out. As he moved down the room toward Tony, the group started to depart.
“Leaving so soon?” Savage asked lightly with a lifted eyebrow.
Tony got the impression she was being checked up on. Savage hadn’t bothered to disclose that he’d bought George’s thoroughbreds, so she said almost insolently. “We’re off to atir,if you must know. I’ve chosen my weapons as you suggested. My choice is pistols, hands down.”
Savage looked after the bucks thoughtfully. London stretched for ten miles along the Thames from Millbank to Blackwell. There were grog shops by the thousand and every denomination of bawdy house from the bagnios of Covent Garden to the padding cans of London’s underworld. Gaming hells were notorious, from respectable clubs like White’s and Watier’s to the Gamecock’s Spurs in the slums. But Savage guessed they would end up in Charles James Fox’s very own hell.
He waited until two in the morning before he strolled in and picked up the dice to play hazard. He found Tony, drunk as a lord, his pockets turned inside out. Savage tipped his top hat over his eyes, bade the occupants goodnight, and hauled young Lamb to his feet.
When Mr. Burke opened the front door of Curzon Street, the family servant thought it his duty to protest. Savage took the blame without a word. Before Mr. Burke got the door closed. Tony muttered. “Get the bucket.”
Chapter 18
Tony lounged in a chair before the fireplace in Half-Moon Street. Her mouth was very sulky as Savage ripped up one side of her and down the other.
“You haven’t the brains you were born with. How much did you lose?”