When Gods Die

As he drew nearer, he could hear Portland complaining about the cost of Vauxhall’s famous ham, sliced so thin that some claimed one could read a newspaper through it. “Look at this,” he said, hefting a sliver of ham on his fork. “A shilling’s worth of sliced ham weighs an ounce here. Which means the proprietors are selling this stuff for sixteen shillings a pound. Now, if you figure a thirty-pound ham can be bought for ten shillings, they’re making twenty-four pounds on every ham.”

Lady Portland laughed and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do give over, Portland. You sound like a merchant in his counting house. When one is out for pleasure, what signifies a few shillings one way or the other?” She smiled at Sebastian as he approached. “Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Sebastian, sketching the ladies a bow. He turned to Lady Audley. “How does your collie bitch?”

A soft smile touched her lips and shone in her eyes. “Well, thank you. She’s the proud mother of six fine pups.”

“Varden does not accompany you tonight?”

He caught the quickest of exchanged glances between mother and daughter before Lady Portland said laughingly, “I’m afraid there aren’t many young men who would choose to make one of a party with their mother and sister, when there are livelier amusements to be had.”

It was true, of course. When men of the Chevalier’s set came to Vauxhall, it was typically to dance beneath the stars with courtesans and steal kisses and more in the dark, secluded alleys of the gardens. But while that might explain the Chevalier’s absence, it did nothing to explain the look Sebastian had intercepted between Lady Audley and the Chevalier’s half sister, Lady Portland.

“Do you go to the Prince’s fete tomorrow night?” asked Lady Audley, drawing his attention.

“Of course,” said Sebastian. “But with two thousand guests expected, I must admit I am tempted to outrage all notions of propriety and simply walk, rather than risk spending an hour or more caught up in a snarl of carriages.”

“Perhaps we should do the same,” said Lady Portland with another laugh.

“Perhaps we’ll start a fashion,” said Sebastian, withdrawing with a bow just as the whizzing bang of another rocket split the night with fire.

Chapter 51

Catching a scull from Vauxhall’s quay, Sebastian directed the boatman toward the steps near the Westminster Bridge, then settled on the thinly cushioned thwart with his long legs thrust out in front and his arms crossed at his chest.

The night lay heavy and dark around them, the thick cloud cover holding in the day’s muggy heat while hiding the light of both moon and stars. He kept thinking about the woman who had handed Portland that note. What if there had been no mysterious woman in green? What if Portland’s part in the evening’s charade had been less accidental? Less innocent?

A faint breeze skimmed across the prow, carrying with it the sounds of men’s laughter. Looking up, Sebastian saw a livery company barge, its lights reflecting in the dark waters of the Thames as it swept past. He could feel the scull rocking gently with the barge’s passing, hear its wake slap against the scull’s sides, the sound mingling with the gentle splash of his boatman’s oars.

In the pale light thrown by the scull’s lantern, Sebastian studied the man at the oars. He had a thick shock of dark, almost black hair tucked beneath a beaten felt cap, his broad-featured face weathered and toughened by years of sun and wind and rain. With every thrust of his oars the cords in his thick neck bulged, the muscles of his shoulders and arms straining the worn fustian of his coat. But his movements were slow, almost laconic. Sebastian was about to lean forward and tell the man to put his back into it when he caught the faint slap of another set of oars coming up fast behind them.

Sebastian glanced again at his boatman’s closed, lined face. There was something about his posture, something watchful, even anxious, that gave Sebastian pause. It was as if the man were waiting for something. Someone.

The sound of the second set of oars drew nearer. In itself, that was in no way unusual. The river was full of wherries transporting passengers from one bank to the other. Given his boatman’s slow progress, a more energetic oarsman could easily overtake them. And yet…

Shifting his weight, Sebastian threw a quick glance over one shoulder. He saw the prow of a dinghy appear out of the gloom, its hull painted black, its oarsman a dark shadow. A man with less acute hearing and eyesight would have remained oblivious to its presence. Deliberately, Sebastian turned his back on the approaching boat.