good reason,” muttered Alan, remembering the conversation he had had with the prince five days ago.
He had been summoned to London without warning, ordered to wait upon the regent at Carlton House. And wait he had, thought Alan bitterly. Prinny kept him kicking up his heels in a gaudy parlor for two hours before a liveried footman appeared and indicated that he should follow. Alan had to slow his athletic stride to keep from bumping into the man as they traversed the corridors and antechambers of the huge house, passing knots of curious courtiers and numbers of busy servants. Alan found the place like a giant anthill, teeming with creatures who had certain specified functions and did not seem to see any farther than three inches before their eyes.
Finally, they had passed through a pair of carved and gilded double doors and into a large reception parlor that at first seemed to him crowded with people. At one end stood a loose group of ten or fifteen men dressed in the height of fashion and talking desultorily with one another. A servant with a tray wound among them offering wine. In the center of the chamber was a small circle of what appeared to be government officials. Most of them carried sheaves of papers, and all of them looked impatient. At the far end was a huge desk with a few armchairs scattered around it. Two young men sat at the corners of the desk bent over pen and paper, busily recording the pronouncements of the man occupying the main chair, and the center of attention.
Alan’s eyes followed all the others toward George Augustus Frederick, Prince Regent of England and Ireland due to his father the king’s distressing illness, and found little trace of the handsome, laughing youth of an early portrait he had once seen. The prince was fat. His high starched neckcloth hid several extra chins. His extremely fashionable clothes couldn’t disguise his girth. He didn’t look very happy either, Alan thought. Of course, with workmen smashing power looms around the country and people marching in the streets of London to express their disgust of the ruler’s treatment of his wife, he had little to be happy about.
Receiving a signal, Alan walked down the long room and made his bow before the controversial man who ruled his country.
“Langford’s youngest, eh?” the prince said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The prince waved a pudgy, beringed hand. “No need to be formal. Your father’s a friend of mine, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Alan.
“That’s why I sent for you. Sit down, sit down.”
A servant appeared at his elbow with a tray, and Alan accepted a glass of wine that he did not want.
“Never see you about London,” the prince commented, sipping his own wine with obvious relish.
“No, sir. I visit very rarely.”
“Not like your brothers, eh?”
“No, sir.” When his host seemed to be waiting for more, Alan added, “As a sixth son, I have felt able to go my own way.”
“Sixth.” The prince shook his head, then eyed his visitor with surprising shrewdness. “Up at Oxford, are you? Studying new inventions and the like?”
“I am a man of science, sir, a fellow of Balliol College.”
“Right, right.” The prince rubbed his hands together. “Just what I need. I take it you haven’t heard about my little…problem?”
Alan had heard of a variety of problems, from the vilifications of the Whigs to scandals involving various women to rumors of unattractive physical ailments.
“The ghost,” prompted the prince.
Alan simply stared at him.
“Glad to see the story hasn’t spread outside London,” was the response to his bewildered look. “It’s embarrassing. A dashed nuisance, too.”
“Did you say ‘ghost,’ sir?” Alan asked.
“Bess Harding,” came the morose reply. “The actress?” Seeing Alan’s blank look, he added, “She was one of the great ladies of the stage. Gorgeous creature. Why, ten years ago, we…” He cleared his throat. “Never mind that. The thing is, Bess, er, died three weeks ago, and now she’s haunting Carlton House!”
“Haunting,” Alan repeated carefully.
“It’s outrageous,” complained the prince. “We were good friends. No reason for this at all.” He looked at Alan as if for confirmation, and Alan found himself too bemused even to nod. “Makes it look as if I had something to do with her death, don’t you see?” the prince elaborated.
When Alan remained uncomprehending, the regent added, “She killed herself.” His voice and look grew briefly solemn. “Terrible thing. Took a razor to her wrists. I’ve never been more shocked. But it had nothing to do with