Death on a Silver Tray Read Online Free Page B

Dawlish’s appearance. He was dressed in a black coat and breeches, as clerics are wont to do. In truth, I feel a gentleman clad in a black coat, in addition to the correct style of black breeches, gives the appearance of a magpie. Colors in a coat, so long as they are in good taste, are much to be preferred.
    These thoughts of what is fashionable in a coat and what is not, reminded me that I was curious to know the identity of the mysterious guest I had observed upon my arrival.
    Before Perry and Mr. Dawlish could cross the room to inspect the harp, I said, “One moment, Perry. Who is that man standing alone by the window?”
    I referred to a diminutive, golden-skinned man dressed in unusual, to say the least, garb. His single-breasted silk coat, the color of pineapples—not a color I can approve in a gentleman’s coat—buttoned all the way down the front, and possessed only a small collar which folded upward. A double row of gold embroidery lined the front of the coat, and his trousers sported the same embroidery down each leg. The garment was tied at the waist by a bright red sash.
    Lord Perry turned his gaze in the man’s direction. “That is Mr. Kiang, an emissary from the King of Siam. He has been in England almost a year and is reputed to be from one of the best families in Siam. We have not seen him in London for a while as he has been in Bath and Brighton. You must have been in the country at Belvoir or perhaps at Oatlands the last time he was in Town.”
    I raised one eyebrow. “I must give the name of his tailor to Grimaldi.”
    Lord Perry appeared puzzled for a moment. “Grimaldi? You mean the famous clown?”
    I drew in a deep breath. “Just so.”
    Comprehension dawned, and Lord Perry laughed. The rector merely looked perplexed. I moved away and procured a glass of wine.
    Abruptly a hush fell over the room, and all eyes turned toward the double doors to the drawing room. Ladies sank into the deepest of curtsies. Gentlemen bowed low.
    George Augustus Frederick, Prince of Wales and heir apparent to the throne of England, made his entrance. The tall, rather bulky man, known as the First Gentleman of
    Europe—a title I admit I covet—conversed easily with those present as he made his way through the crowd. He craved the admiration and affection of all, and in my opinion, his engaging manners made it simple for the public to overlook his extravagance and self-indulgent nature.
    A gruff voice at my elbow distracted me.
    “Prinny still sulking since his latest attempt at taking over the government failed? He has only to bide his time. The King is mad as a March hare. Our prince will get his regency yet.”
    “Lady Salisbury, I am delighted to see you,” I told her and meant it. She is a tiny but sturdy woman, with heavy black arched eyebrows accentuating her strong-willed face. I bowed over her hand. “I thought you would have removed to the country in preparation for the hunting season. How is it that the Diana of Hatfield is in Town?”
    “Hmpf! How indeed. James had some tiresome business to attend. Otherwise, we would both be home at Hatfield. This morning I was in Green Park, and the nip in the air made me long for the thrill of the chase.”
    I nodded in understanding, though I cannot personally tolerate the hunt. Only consider the inevitable mud which would be splashed on my topboots. Not to mention the early morning hour which leaves me with little time for a proper bath or the intricacies of The Dressing Hour. No, hunting is not an activity that can appeal to me. I believe I like it even less than the fox does.
    Nevertheless, I adore the company of the plain-speaking Marchioness of Salisbury. Long ago, she had been Prinny’s mistress, and now she rules the highest of fashionable assembly rooms, Almack’s.
    “Don’t think your clever tongue can divert me from the subject at hand, Brummell,” she scolded, a steely look in her eyes. “Prinny fumed through the spring and summer. Has it been