A Masquerade in the Moonlight(37)
Thomas looked in the direction of Dooley’s pointed finger, immediately seeing Harewood and Mappleton, and just as quickly dismissing them. There was a third gentleman standing with them, half a head taller than the tall Harewood, and he was speaking to them earnestly while they seemed to listen as if he was saying something of immeasurable importance. The man’s jaw, remarkably square and spare, was topped by a wide, thin-lipped mouth below a long, aquiline nose, and his dark eyes were framed by black slashing brows. The silver hair at his temples added nothing to his age, but only to his air of consequence. Dressed all in black, his snowy white neck cloth climbing halfway up his throat, the man had an air of leashed energy about him.
Death? No, not Death, Thomas decided, one side of his mouth lifting in a thoughtful smile. Danger.
“Give me the time, if you’d be so kind, Paddy,” Thomas said quietly. “Are we unfashionably early?”
Dooley pulled a huge pocket watch from his waistcoat and snapped it open. “Only by about twenty minutes, Tommie. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, although I believe Sir Ralph and his friends may have thought we’d be fashionably late. Come along. Now that we’re here, we wouldn’t wish to keep our host waiting.” Thomas snatched a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant—a bandy-legged little man who looked up at Thomas angrily then, seeing how far he had to tip back his head to do his looking, smiled nervously and blurted out, “Thank you, sir!” even before Thomas tossed him a coin.
Raising his voice about three notches, so that he would be heard over the din all around them, Thomas employed both hands to protectively clutch the knob of his cane against his chest and all but shouted, “Where do you suppose Sir Ralph to be, Paddy? Surely you misread our invitation—for whatever would civilized gentlemen do in a place like this? Good Lord, Paddy—that man’s bleeding! Terrible!”
“That’s a little too thick and rare, boyo,” Dooley whispered out of the corner of his mouth as Thomas noted with some satisfaction that the tall black-clad gentleman had already moved off, to stand looking into the ring at two combatants in the process of exchanging sloppy, ineffectual punches. “It would take the world’s worst looby to believe you were one what couldn’t handle his fives.”
“Never underestimate the thickheadedness of those who would believe you their inferiors, Paddy,” Thomas said softly, then stepped forward to extend his hand to Sir Ralph, who was approaching them from across the room, an undecipherable smile on his nondescript face. “Sir Ralph! A pleasure, I’m sure. How condescending of you to agree to meet with us.”
“As official representatives of your government, Mr. Donovan, Mr. Dooley, how could I refuse this interview?” Sir Ralph responded, his voice carrying over the din all around them. “Although I must warn you beforehand, my own government is adamant in refusing to assume any culpability in this business of English sailors called to serve their country.”
“Then I expect our business is already concluded.” Thomas’s grin was wide and unaffected. “Which does not mean we three cannot enjoy each other’s company on such a fine afternoon, does it, Sir Ralph?”
“Indeed, no. We are all civilized people, Mr. Donovan. In truth, my invitation for you and your friend to join Lord Mappleton and myself today was strictly social. We can’t always be speaking of business, now can we?”
Thomas nodded, considering the man’s words. “How very kind, Sir Ralph.”
“Thank you. Now, won’t you join Lord Mappleton and me as we watch the sparring going on just over here between Lord Ludworth and Baron Strath? It has so far proved to be an impressive display of the proper science of attack and defense.”
“Really? How interesting. I’m ashamed to admit I am not familiar with the science of the thing. Coming, Paddy?” Thomas asked as Sir Ralph headed back the way he had come.
“I shouldn’t. Not if I had a thimbleful of sense,” Dooley growled in an undertone, taking the cane Thomas held out to him. “The devil’s peeking out from between your two eyes, boyo, and no mistake. Remember—we’re here for a reason, and it has precious little to do with bashing anyone on the noggin. Although I wish I were five years younger and two stone lighter, so I might climb in the ring m’self.”
“Twenty years, at the least, and three stone, Paddy, but I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
Sir Ralph had walked ahead of Thomas and Paddy, and by the time they had caught up with him, Lord Mappleton was glaring at them through a quizzing glass stuck to his left eye. “What? What? I know they’re here, Ralph, for pity’s sake, for I can see them clear as day. You don’t have to remind me. I say, hello there, Donaldson. Awfully good to see you again. Sorry about the other night. Busy, you know. Dreadfully busy. Tonight the Royal Opera House. Miss Balfour has expressly insisted upon my attendance in Sir Gilbert’s box.” He shook his head and the quizzing glass became unstuck, falling to the middle of his chest, where it hung from a green, satin riband. “Busy, busy, busy.”