"He did, actually," said Edwin.
"Did what?"
"Know it was dangerous," said Edwin, cradling his son, who was desperately trying to keep his eyes open, with diminishing success. "I told him myself one night, just before he left for Gravesend."
"Did you now?" said Caroline, a strange tone in her voice.
"Yes. We were playing cards, at the Winters. I can't recall how the topic came up, but I remembered all the statistics and stuff I got for you, because I found it appalling, to be honest, that it hasn't been made more public that you're effectively sentencing your child to death if you hand feed it. I'm trying to get the House to take some action over it, in fact. Anyway, I thought I'd mention it to Richard. It was a pretty noisy party, though. I expect he didn't hear me properly, or forgot."
"Yes, maybe he did," said Caroline. "I'm sure you're right." She leaned across and rang the bell for the nurse to come and take Freddie to bed. "I assume you can be present on Sunday, then? Only the most tedious and superficial people will be there, guaranteed. And the firebrand and Anthony, of course."
"And us," said Edwin. "And if you tell Beth I said she's a firebrand, I won't be responsible for the consequences."
"I'm sure you won't," said Caroline. "Don't worry, I'll spare no expense on your funeral."
* * *
Late June, 1745
"Mhic an Diabhal! I still canna believe it," said Alex, half to himself. "Why would he do such a thing? Has he turned traitor?"
The fact that Alex was breaking his golden rule of always remaining in character when he was dressed as Sir Anthony was a measure of how disturbed he had been by Murray of Broughton's letter, received today. In it Murray had said that the letter which he had entrusted to the Earl of Traquair four months ago, stating that the clans were unanimously against any rising in Britain without French support, had never been delivered to Prince Charles. He could be planning anything, assuming the clans would rise for him when they had no intention of doing so.
"Do you really think Traquair has turned traitor?" asked Beth.
"I dinna ken," said Alex moodily. "But what other reason could he have for holding on to Murray's letter for four months before returning it to him? If he couldna find anyone to deliver it as he says, he should have tellt us long since. Maybe he wants Charles to fail."
"Or maybe he thinks that if Charles waits for French support there will never be a rising," Beth suggested.
"Aye, possibly, but it's no' up to him to decide for us, or to keep information from his prince, either, the bastard."
"Still, at least the letter's on its way now, isn't it?" said Beth, trying to reassure Alex, although she was worried too. She looked out of the carriage window. They were close to Kew now; within a few minutes they would be entering the driveway of the White House. "Murray said Glengarry's taking it to Charles in person."
"Aye, I just hope it gets there this time, that's all." He sighed.
"Why shouldn't it? You don't suspect Glengarry, do you?" Beth asked.
"No, I'm just worried, that's all. And angry."
"Well, you'll have to stop being angry, and stop being Alex too," she said softly. "We're there." The coach rattled to a halt and Duncan jumped down to open the door.
Alex closed his eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths.
"Christ, I hate this. I'm sick of it," he muttered, and then he straightened and stepped down from the carriage, and at once became Sir Anthony Peters, only his dark blue eyes retaining a vestige of his distaste for the role.
"Now Murdo, you will carry our trunk up to the room the footman shows you to," he said, fussily arranging his lace and smoothing his wig. "And you must take the greatest care that you keep it upright. It would be an absolute calamity if our clothes were to become creased!"
This time they had been warned that the lavish dinner and card party was to be preceded by a game of rounders in the garden, and the Peters had dressed accordingly, but taking a leaf from Helen's book, had brought along a change of clothes this time.
Prince Frederick and most of the other guests were already assembled on the lawn, where he had been explaining the rules of the game they were about to play and allocating them to teams.
Sir Anthony scanned the group, then drew Beth to one side.
"You see the two small boys?" he said softly.
She looked. Standing by the prince, arm in arm, were two little boys, aged around seven and five, dressed in miniature versions of adult costume; breeches and stockings, tiny embroidered brocade waistcoats and frockcoats. They even sported miniature powdered wigs.
"They're his two eldest sons, George and Edward. You must remember they're princes. Also George is a little backward. He can't read or write, and he clings to his brother all the time. Edward's odd too."
Beth was about to ask in what way, but then Frederick had seen them and was beckoning them over.
"Ah! Sir Anthony and Lady Elizabeth! So glad you could come! Hopefully we'll see more of you now that my father has departed on his annual jaunt to Hanover. Are you familiar with the game of rounders?"
"I am, Your Highness, although it is some time since I've played," said Sir Anthony, leading his wife across the grass. "But my wife, alas, has never even seen the game before."
"No matter," said the prince, waving his hand dismissively. "We are not playing too strictly by the rules today. You will learn as you go along. Now, Sir Anthony, if you would care to field this time, and Lady Elizabeth can join the batting side."
Sir Anthony trotted obediently off, disappearing to a distant part of the field, where several other brightly-dressed figures were dotted about at intervals. Beth could see Percy and the arrogant David, and surely that could not be Lord Daniel over by the tree? She strained her eyes to see, and then was distracted by a hand pulling at her skirt. She looked down.
"Papa says I must take care of you, and explain things," said Prince George from the level of her waist. "It's really easy though. When it's your turn to bat, Papa will throw the ball to you and you must hit it as hard as you can, and then run round those posts." He pointed to four posts set in the grass at intervals of about fifteen strides to form a large square. "We sometimes have five or six posts, but today we only have four. If you watch the others, you will see how it is done."
He led her across to where a line of people displaying various degrees of lack of enthusiasm were waiting to bat. Prince Edward trailed silently along in their wake, looking around him at the players.
"Are you going to play as well, Your Highness?" Beth asked.
"Oh, yes," the little boy beamed. "Edward and I both play. It is one of our favourite games."
"I prefer cricket," said Prince Edward. "But it has a lot of rules and isn't any good for people who don't really want to play."
Beth looked down at the top of the boy's head in surprise. Before she could think of a suitable response to this remark Prince George was talking again.
"Now, you see, the Lady Helen is going to bat." He lowered his voice. "Watch her, because she isn't very good and you can learn from her."
Beth grinned. The boy might be backward in academic matters, but he was clearly on the ball when it came to sport, and people. She watched as Helen took her place and gripped the bat. Prince Frederick waited until she was ready, and threw the ball. She swung the bat lazily and missed. Earl Francis, standing a few yards behind her, caught the ball and threw it back to Frederick.
"You can miss twice," explained George, "But on the third time you must run, whether you hit the ball or not. She doesn't hold the bat firmly enough, see."
"She doesn't look at the ball. She looks at the men instead," put in Prince Edward in his piping voice, which carried some distance. Helen frowned. Beth laughed.
"Edward!" whispered George. "Remember what Papa said."
Presumably Papa had tried to teach the remarkably astute five-year-old the rudiments of diplomacy, and had failed.
Philippa, a few places in front of Beth, turned round and grinned a greeting.
"Hello again. Not played before?"
"No," said Beth. "But I have good tutors here, I think."
Prince George glowed. Prince Edward looked distractedly around the field, seeming unable to concentrate on anything for more than a couple of seconds. Most of the men had taken their coats off and rolled their shirt sleeves up, and he proceeded to do the same.
"Damn good game. Better than digging. Got the right dress on, too." Philippa had obviously borrowed the blue and white striped muslin dress off someone who was of normal height. Tall as she was, the dress was too short for her, and the consequent display of neat ankles was not lost on the men. She followed Beth's gaze downwards.
"Practical," she said. "Intend to win. Bloody Percy, David and Daniel on the other side. And Papa. Obligatory to win."