How he abhorred lateness, an offence to his sense of order.
An impatient Lupin was tied to a lamppost so with little else to do Miles checked once more his personal paraphernalia required for a day’s excursion to the fair: a Queen Anne box-lock pistol with folding bayonet, a dirk of some fifteen inches, double-edged blade with ribbed wooden grip and brass ferrule – in scabbard, of course – and a J. Rogers & Sons dagger knife in his boot.
In fact, he’d carried less when in the army but he was taking no–
“Coo-ee, my lord!”
He twisted to Mrs Tait waving from a two-horse-drawn yellow barouche, her daughter Juliet sitting beside her in a matching daffodil-hued pelisse. She made a beautiful portrait of young feminine decorum and future wifely elegance.
Doffing his hat, he returned a greeting before the driver of their barouche was forced to move along as a queue of the other invitees had formed behind the Taits.
Had they all decided together to be a quarter hour late? And not informed him.
“Ho, Miles! You’re early.”
With a shake of head, he turned to Dair mounted on a grey gelding, having ridden up from the direction of Park Lane.
“I wasontime,” he groused.
“Not in London. Quarter of an hourafterthe given time is on time. Half an hour is fashionably late and an hour is admirably reckless.”
Miles crossed his arms. “‘I owe all my success in life to having been always a quarter of an hour before my time.’”
“Well, if you have nothing better to do.”
“For hell’s sake, Cousin, I’m repeating Nelson. In service of the Crown, punctuality is essential. The merest hint of slackness could bring death to others relying on you.”
“But you’re in London now, Miles.” Dair sighed. “Moreover, being recklessly late and missing the fair might have been prudent.”
“What? How so?”
“Well, at a concert the other day, Mrs Tait happened upon–”
“Driver!” came a shriek. “Have you lanterns? And blankets? We’ve no wish to be forced to an inn for the night…”
Miles briefly closed his eyes. “Aunt Mildred and Jeremy.”
“… Damp sheets, bed bugs, slamming doors, dirty slippers, insolent porters, unwashed sailors, bucolic peasants and…”
“A Mozart concert, it was, and if it’s any consolation, Mrs Tait seems to regret tendering the invitation also, but she assumed that, it being your aunt and my own mother, we would welcome her inclusion.” Dair dismounted and clapped him on the back. “And speaking of invitations, I have one for you, Miles.”
“Not Mrs Harlow and her nymphs.”
“No, no, a little less highbrow, I’m afraid. An art exhibition. I’ve an invitation and am permitted one guest. Bound to be adequate nibbles but I won’t know anyone other than the friend who invited me so I thought you could repay my attendance at Mrs Tait’s dinner.”
Miles’ brow creased. “Not an exhibition of war paintings, is it?”
“No. The four-legged fraternity: horses and furry felines. Hosted by the Duke of Rothwell.”
Miles’ brow uncreased. “I need to speak with that duke as he’s patron of this Witness fellow.”
“Lud, Miles, you can’t harangue a duke at his own exhibition. Bad form.”
“Well give me one good reason to attend, then?”
“Other than repaying me, you mean…” But his cousin cast a sly grin. “It’s to be held at Chesterfield Gardens.”
Ah.
