arms— No, he would not think of it.
How long had it been since he saw them in the window? Not an hour. For all he knew, half an hour could have passed. Less? Had it only seemed like more? Why had he not read his watch properly? He had no idea what time it was, even now.
He watched the duke summon one of the hackneys. He watched the pair climb in. He took note of the hackney’s badge number. He watched the coach drive away.
As soon as it began to move, he hastened to the stand, claimed another coach, and told the driver to follow the other vehicle.
Then he took out his watch and at last noted the time.
Chapter 16
A short time later, after one stop at an establishment in St. James’s Street, the hackney paused at the corner of Great Ryder and Duke Streets to discharge the Cossack trousers–wearing person. The vehicle then turned left into King Street, where it disgorged its remaining passenger.
Bottle in hand, the Duke of Ashmont stumbled from the coach into St. James’s Square and staggered toward the center of the square. There, in a fenced-in enclosure, in the middle of a pool of water, King William III sat upon his horse.
DeGriffith House stood in the northwest corner of the square. Ashmont positioned himself by the fence opposite King Street. He had his hat tipped at a drunken angle, so that the gaslights threw his face into shadow.
He took a swig from the bottle and began to sing, at the top of his voice:
“The Dey of Algiers, when afraid of his ears,
A messenger sent to the Court, sir,
As he knew in our state the women had weight,
He chose one well hung for the sport, sir.
He searched the Divan till he found out a man,
Whose ballocks were heavy and hairy,
And he lately came o’er from the Barbary shore,
As the great Plenipotentiary.
“When to England he came, with his prick in a flame,
He showed it his hostess on landing,
Who spread its renown thru all parts of the town,
As a pintle past all understanding.
So much there was said of its snout and its head,
That they called it the great Janissary,
Not a lady could sleep till she got a sly peep,
At the great Plenipotentiary.”
On this warm July night, windows of the houses facing the square were open. Figures came to the windows and paused there, looking down at him. He went on singing lustily.
Cassandra, meanwhile, had made her way to the house. She’d been able to slip in from the garden, thanks to her sister’s leaving one of the tall windows unlocked. That hurdle overcome, Cassandra hurried up the stairs, composing an excuse in case she was caught. It was an incoherent excuse, because, really, she had no acceptable one for being dressed in her brother’s clothes and sneaking out in the evening.
But she’d counted on Ashmont, and she knew he wouldn’t fail her.
All the household staff ought to be riveted to the front windows by now, or as near to them as they could get.
She dashed into her room, where her startled sister bolted up from a chair and dropped the book she’d been reading.
“Thank heaven,” Hyacinth said. “I was terrified that something had happened to you.”
“Something happened, assuredly,” Cassandra said. “Help me get out of these things and into a dressing gown, as quick as you can.”
As she was wrestling herself out of the coat, they heard from a distance the sound of a familiar voice singing. His voice carried splendidly.
“He’s done it,” Cassandra said.
“Done what? Who?”
“Ashmont. Creating a diversion. Oh, Juno, he can’t be singing what I think he’s singing.”
The clothes came off swiftly. Men’s clothes were so much simpler. Their lives, too. But then, they were simple creatures, by and large. She shed waistcoat, trousers, and shirt, then hastily threw on a nightgown, and over it her dressing gown.
“We must go look,” she said. “Everybody in the square is doing so, I’ll wager anything.” Mainly servants, she was reasonably certain. Their masters and mistresses would be out at this hour.
She went with Hyacinth to the drawing room, which overlooked St. James’s Square.
Below them, hat tilted low over his forehead and holding onto a lamppost with one hand and a bottle with the other, the Duke of Ashmont was singing at the top of his voice:
“The next to be kissed, on the Plenipo’s list,
Was a delicate Maiden of Honor,
She screamed at the sight of his prick, in a fright,
Tho’ she’d had the whole Palace upon her.
O Lord,