Mayhem in Bath Read Online Free PDF Page A

river’s edge, where the tower of the abbey rose in medieval splendor. Row upon row of handsome golden stone houses graced the steep slopes, and as the carriage rattled into the elegant cobbled streets, the oil lamps were already being lit.
    Huddled amid the luggage. Bodkin was still in a boggart rage. He was wedged between a trunk and a portmanteau, and was very glad of his thick fur because the autumn evening had grown cold. All the way from Horditall, he had dwelt hard and long about how to exact revenge upon Hordwell and Lord Benjamin; indeed those gentlemen’s ears should have ignited as he imagined all kinds of dire punishment. Oh, they were going to rue the day they took his beloved Nutmeg away!
    It should have been a simple matter to drive up to Royal Crescent from the edge of the town, past Marlborough Buildings, but that route was closed because of work on the road, so Jeffries had to continue into the center in order to approach the crescent from the other side. Dominic’s hapless coachman was in better spirits now, for at the fateful signpost east of Horditall, he had been able to point out to Dominic that it had indeed been tampered with. There was no need to wonder who might do such a thing, for a certain farmer’s eagerly outstretched palm was all the evidence required.
    Dominic observed Bath’s fine streets and squares, and noticed the preponderance of sedan chairs and bath chairs, as well as gathering groups of torchbearers—universally known as linkboys— whose task it was to light the way through the darkness. Next he became aware of a great number of uniforms. Foremost among these he recognized those of his former hussar regiment, the Duke of York’s Own Light Dragoons, which he’d quit on his father’s sudden death two years ago. What was afoot? he wondered. A review of some sort? A stir of interest crept over him as he hoped the entire regiment was in the vicinity, because if so, he’d be able to call on many of his old friends.
    As the carriage progressed through Bath, he had to concede that in spite of his great reluctance to be here at all, the resort was very handsome indeed. But, oh, how much better he would feel if he were in London now, with Georgiana in his arms, his ring on her finger. No woman would ever compare with her. Still, when it came to his marriage bed, he could always imagine it was Georgiana he had between the sheets.
    His fingers drummed on the window ledge as the carriage swung around Queen Square, where an obelisk graced the railed central garden. Please let his sojourn here be brief, he thought, his fingers pausing a moment as Jeffries maneuvered the team north out of the square toward the Circus. Passing the junction with George Street, he noticed the premises of the renowned pastry cook, Wilhelm Zuder. The illuminated windows displayed a magnificent selection of pastries, cakes, fudge, bonbons, jellies, preserves, honey, and all manner of other sweet delicacies. A queue of ladies, gentlemen, maids, and footmen was waiting at the oak counter, and the portion of the premises that had been turned into a teashop was so crowded that not a single seat was to be had. Bodkin had also seen the pastry cook’s. He feasted boggart eyes upon the treasure hoard of sweet temptation, and his conscience became nonexistent as he resolved to pay Zuder’s a clandestine visit later that night. It was his birthday, and he was going to sample everything on the premises without paying a penny!
    The shop fell away behind as the carriage climbed up to the Circus, a fine ring of town houses intersected by three streets, one of which. Brock Street, led directly to the eastern end of Royal Crescent. At last the matchless sweep of Bath’s most desirable address came into view. It was a truly superb sight in the final moments of daylight, a masterpiece of thirty town houses situated above sloping common land with an uninterrupted view across the Avon valley.
    As Jeffries drew the carriage to a