"This has been a terrible night. To think someone here at the Pavilion would wish the Prince of Wales harm. It is beyond all reason," Mrs. Fitzherbert said, indignation in every word.
"If it were not for Sir Simon, I would be the one dead," the Prince reiterated, groaning. Mrs. Fitzherbert glanced at him sympathetically and patted his hand.
Here was my cue. "Doctor Pitcairn, I cannot help but admire the rapid way you concluded Sir Simon had been poisoned. How did you do it?"
Doctor Pitcairn released the Prince's hand. "Your pulse is returning to normal, your Royal Highness." The respected doctor looked at me then gathered instruments into his bag. "As to the poison, in my opinion, it was Prussic acid. A distinct odor of bitter almonds, combined with the blueness of Sir Simon's mouth and the speed with which the death occurred, leaves me in no doubt."
So much for a heart seizure. Or an accident.
"Oh, do stop speaking of it," the Prince cried. "What shall I do now that there is a killer at the Pavilion? How can I leave my room? How shall I eat without Sir Simon testing my food?"
Mrs. Fitzherbert dipped a lace handkerchief in a bowl of water and tenderly stroked Prinny's brow.
Freddie looked at me. In a low voice, she said, "George, what can be done? Will the Prince be safe here?"
"He has enough guards. He can appoint one of them to be food-taster," I responded. "I barely know Bow Street's Jack Townsend, but--"
"What are you saying, Brummell?" the Prince demanded. "Do you know something? After all, it was your friend Petersham's snuff which caused all this."
Everyone in the room was suddenly very still.
Suspicion fell on Petersham, just as I had feared it would.
"Sir," I said earnestly, "I know for a certainty that Lord Petersham could have had nothing to do with this. He and I have been friends for years. He is simply not capable, nor would he have reason to harm you. He is your friend as well as mine."
The Prince sat in his bed looking as miserable as a child with a putrid throat kept indoors on a fine day. "Friend or no, it was his snuff box and his snuff. I don't know whom to trust. These past days have made me doubt my own judgement. I don't know if even Jack Townsend's skills will be enough to get to the bottom of this."
Freddie stood beside me, looking up at me with her china-blue eyes. You may call me silly, but I believed she was waiting for me to offer my help. Indeed, I felt she expected it of me.
I confess, I was feeling a bit puffed up with my own consequence after having recently solved another case of murder. The process had not been easy, but perhaps I could do it again.
And there was Petersham to think of.
I cleared my throat. "Sir, I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that I shall find out what is going on. I shall do everything in my power to uncover the killer."
Freddie gazed at me approvingly.
The Prince's tears ceased, and he fixed me with an unwavering glare. "No matter who he is?"
"No matter who he is," I promised.
Considering what happened in the ensuing days, I have to wonder if standing in front of a fire-breathing dragon might not have been a better course of action.