Page 65 of A Match of Misfortune

“You are?” Nash asked, befuddled.

“Yes indeed. Come in, come in.” He ushered Nash inside his office. It smelled of freshly smoked tobacco and appeared relatively normal at first glance. Until Nash noticed the portrait behind the desk portraying a bearded badger sitting upright like a man and wearing … a mourning coat? In fact, most of the framed portraits were of animals, and there was a small, stuffed deer with antlers on the surface of the cabinetry against the rear wall, in addition to a large hare and an equally large hen of some sort. Lord Blackstone moved around to the large wingback chair and gestured for Nash to sit.

Three chairs were placed in front of the desk, and Nash nearly selected the one closest to him before thinking better of the choice and shifting to the one across from Lord Blackstone. When he sat, the chair wobbled slightly. He took hold of the front, hoping to scoot it to a flatter spot on the floor, but before he could manage it, the back right side of the seat dropped, tumbling the chair and Nash along with it.

“Forgive me.” He hurried to his feet, taking hold of the chair to right it before noticing the back leg still lying on the floor. Blast! He had broken Lord Blackstone’s chair. Nash reached down and picked it up, offering it as evidence to his folly. “It seems I have broken your chair.”

Lord Blackstone gave a small chuckle. “No, I took the leg off. It was only propped beneath it.”

Nash glanced at the leg, confirming there was no splintered wood or broken pieces. “You took it off?”

Lord Blackstone nodded. “I was simply curious if the rumors regarding your bout of ill luck were true.”

Nash gawked at him, barely resisting the nettlesome desire to ask him which rumors he’d heard. If he hoped to get to Hyde Park while Cecily and the Rothsburgs were still there, he could not afford to meander lackadaisically through every topic of conversation presented him. “In truth, that is why I came today. My father said you are one of the most well-informed gentlemen in London, so I was hoping you may have heard news regarding my ship, the Dawn of India.”

“You mean other than the hearsay that it has run aground off the Cape Verde Islands?”

“So you have heard of it?”

“The islands? Of course. They are the home of a unique petrel—the Cape Verde petrel—which is endemic there. It is rare to find a species that is found only within a defined geographic location. Particularly mammals, not that Cape Verde has any of those. Some livestock was thought to be, but like the green vervet monkey and the black-tipped mongoose, they were brought in by early travelers and settlers.”

Nash gave a slow nod. “That is all … very fascinating. As for the ship … have you also heard anything of it?”

“Oh, forgive me. No, just the rumors. Nothing more.”

This was a waste of time. With a dip of his chin, Nash took a backward step. “Well, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Mr. Markham?” Lord Blackstone studied him. “If I am a man as well-informed as you have been told—and I assure you I am, as I have connections the Beau Monde could not dream of maintaining—does it not seem odd I would not have heard of something so significant as the wreck of an Indiaman? I was amongst the first to confirm the sinking of the Calcutta Star last fall.”

Nash took in his earnest expression, then pulled out one of the two remaining chairs, settling himself on it with caution. “And you have heard nothing of the Dawn of India?”

“Verifiable information? No. Not even a whisper.”

What was Nash to make of that? “A friend of mine and fellow merchant reported his contacts were able to confirm the wreck.”

“Most interesting. And what is this friend’s name?”

“Johnathan Steele of Steele Shipping & Co.”

“Oh, Thomas’s son. I don’t know much about him, but Thomas is a decent man. Far more tolerable than some of the other nabobs like Whetton and Furrow. Even Hartman has been tainted by his new wealth. Not that I have anything against nabobs, per se. My qualm comes not when people rise above their supposed stations but when they rise above the need for common decency towards others.”

If Lord Blackstone knew Whetton, Furrow, and Hartman, he was impressively connected. And his assessment of them was not off either. “I can understand that.”

“Have you noticed the mating rituals of birds, perchance?”

Again, Nash found himself staring at the man. “I can’t say I have taken much notice, no.”

“Next time you are about Town, I want you to watch the pigeons. When the males are attempting to attract a mate, they perform a courtship display.” To Nash’s utter amazement, Lord Blackstone stood and pushed out his chest. “They puff out their breast feathers, flair their tail feathers”—he placed his hands behind him and spread them wide— “and drag them on the ground, all the while walking in circles and cooing.”

It would do Nash no good to cause the man offense by laughing at his mimicry, so Nash pressed his lips together and set a fist over his mouth as though in contemplation. Thank heavens Lord Blackstone didn’t imitate the noise along with the movements, or Nash’s attempts would turn hopeless.

As abruptly as Lord Blackstone stood, he sat again, though excitement still glimmered in his eyes. “But here’s the best part. More often than not, while the male pigeon is parading about, trying to impress the female, she flies away, and he does not even notice.” With Lord Blackstone’s ensuing laughter, Nash felt it safe to give a polite chuckle. “The pigeon is so concerned with how he appears, yet he has failed to do the one thing he sought to accomplish—to actually impress any bird other than himself. It is the same with the nabobs. They try far too hard. Not all of them, mind you. But most.”

“I believe I shall never look at pigeons the same. Or nabobs, for that matter.” Since it was clear that Lord Blackstone had no knowledge of Nash’s ship, it was time to bid the man farewell. He did not deny Lord Blackstone was a man of information, of all varieties, but his oddities prevented Nash from feeling as though he could truly rely upon anything he’d presented. Which meant he was as partial to Johnathan’s offer now as he had been when he walked through the door of this peculiar place. Nash stood. “Thank you for your time, Lord Blackstone. If you’ll forgive me, I have⁠—”

“Do you wish for a tour of the club?” Lord Blackstone also stood, rounding his desk to join Nash. With how intensely he had to crane his neck, Nash felt like a giant. “It is my policy to wait until a gentleman is officially blackballed to extend an invitation, but with your streak of bad luck and the upcoming vote at White’s, it is only a matter of time until it is so. You might as well have a look around before you leave, to determine if the club would be a good fit.”

Was Lord Blackstone so certain Nash was to be blackballed? He supposed he likely was if his name had made the potential member list. Another disappointment. “I truly wish I had the time, but unfortunately I have promised a young lady that I’d meet her at Hyde Park.”