Ryan - The Sartorialist

The Sartorialist

I REMEMBER first setting eyes on Toby as clearly as though it were yesterday. I was attending a ball thrown by the then-Prince George, to celebrate his ascension to prince regent. Of course, as he threw balls for everything, I hardly realized that this was the cause. The lavish decorations bored me, since I had become so used to seeing them. Nor did the men and women in attendance, on the whole, offer any great interest, as Id seen them all before, in different costume at different events. All the women in lavish gowns held no interest for me, and those men who clung to Foppery drew only a moments pity and barely a moments notice. The members of the Dandy club in attendance looked like they always did: copying me instead of taking on the style and adding something of their own to it. They were painfully boring, and I was, as a result, painfully bored.

What I did take notice of, though, was a young man in a military uniform who looked like he was trying to blend in with the aspidistras and doing a damned poor job of it at that, in his bright red fusiliers coat and shaggy blond hair that stuck out against the gilt and cream of the rest of the room.

Who is that lovely young man with the golden hair, George? I leaned over to ask our new Regent, in the possibly vain hope that he might know why there was a slightly grubby sergeant hanging around at his party.

Oh, you must mean Toby! George enthused after a moments consideration. Hes our precious little war hero. Poor boy seems a bit overwhelmed by all this.

Overwhelmed seemed rather like an understatement, given the rate at which he was swallowing down champagne.

A war hero? I asked as disinterestedly as I could. George, I knew, was prone to jealousy. There were times when I was barely allowed to speak to Alvanley for fear of drawing Prinnys scorn, and I suspected that the outwardly obvious admiration of a beautiful young man might upset him.

Oh yes. Hes been over in Spain, giving the French hell! He brought me back a French Eagle, you know. Touched by the hand of Bonaparte himself. George crowed with more pleasure than was decent, even at the death of a French standard-bearer.

Now, Id been a captain before I resigned my commission, but Id never been one for war. Soldiers, however, Id developed quite a fondness for. Something about the uniform, I suppose.

Very generous of him, Im sure, I replied at length. I didnt think for a moment that the young man had gone after an Eagle to present to the prince, but I knew better than to say so. As long as you remembered that Prinny dear was the center of the universe, it was easy to get on with him.

Hes wonderfully entertaining, too, George continued as though hed never stopped talking. Lovely thick accent. Welsh, I think. Good coincidence, that. Him Welsh and me the Prince of Wales, I mean. Dont you think so, George?

I thought youd decided to call me Beau, George. To save confusion, I prompted. Id always preferred the nickname, and getting him to agree to it in the first place had been like drawing blood from a stone. Beau Brummell, I thought, flowed better, and was certainly more pleasing to the eye on a calling card.

Yes, I think I did, didnt I? he agreed, much to my relief. How come you never brought me back an Eagle, Beau?

I retired from the service before the war with Napoleon broke out, George. Never killed a Frenchman in my life, I explained. I suspected he was goading me to prove myself as his friend, but like everything else with George, it was better to let him believe that favors were to be earned rather than ordered. It was a little like training a dog.

Oh, well, I suppose youre excused, then, George allowed cheerfully. Damned bad business, war, you know.

I do know. The people are starting to hate the war more than they fear Napoleon. Costing too much money, and the armys broke. The Jewish quarter will own it, soon enough, I suggested. A plan was beginning to form in my mind regarding Toby, and this was the first step in it.

Youre not wrong, you know, the prince agreed, now sounding a little deflated. Still, thisll perk them up.

You know what would perk them up a little more, George?

I suppose youre going to tell me?

Him. I nodded to Toby. Not as he is now; as you say, the poor boy does look overwhelmed. But hand him to me for a while, and let me tidy him up; then youll have the perfect thing to show off to the crowds. A genuine war hero to impress and amuse. Get the country back on our side.

For a moment, I could see that Prinny might just have pegged what I was really up to. The briefest flash of suspicion passed over his pudgy features, and I thought I was done for. But then, the most curious thing happened.

Is that truly within the scope of sartorial adviser?

I should say it is, George. If not me, then who? Who else could you trust to produce a delicate study of proper manners and grace out of the very rawest and most basic materials in one month?

Call it a fortnight, and youve got yourself a deal. Ill square it with his colonel for you.

Hed agreed. I fought to contain my pleasure at this response, but I felt rather like a cat with a bellyful of milk and a sunny spot to rest in. As tempted as I was to abandon my patron and head for my prize, the flash of suspicion still haunted me, so I hung back to smooth things over. It never hurt to make ones bread and butter feel wanted.

Anyone I know? I asked lazily, knowing that I could pick through the spoils of battle later.

Shouldnt think so. Irishman. Forgotten the fellows name, but hes one of Wellingtons favorites. Makes sense, their sort sticking together. Good lot, the Irish. Very warlike.

So Ive heard, I agreed for lack of anything more worthwhile to say. I drained my glass and set it down on the sideboard I was leaning against. I think I should go meet my new protg, dont you?

Right you are. Prinny nodded distractedly. I think its time for me to do the rounds, my boy. Dont suppose youd like to swap?

Im afraid people might yet tell us apart. Until next time, George. I bowed with a flourish and turned to head for my little golden soldier with barely a glance at the bloated, boring prince regent.

Toby was still trying to hide in a corner, and was amassing a collection of empty glasses beside him. To be safe, I grabbed another pair of full glasses from a passing tray and moved toward him as inconspicuously as I could. Pretty blue-gray eyes looked up at me from under shaggy, dirty blond hair that had obviously been hastily washed, but had no further care taken with it.

I hear youre a war hero, Toby. I smiled, a little excited at the chance to speak to such a gorgeous specimen of humanity. I suppose youre sick of people congratulating you, so I shant do it myself.

He took my offering of champagne eagerly, swallowing the contents of the glass in one long draught. I offered him my own glass as well, distracted by the display of a porcelain throat as he tipped his head back to swallow that one in short order.

Youre going to regret that tomorrow, I pointed out, then cursed myself for not having something more witty to say.

Toby simply shrugged and seemed not to notice that my comment had been entirely trite and distinctly unworthy of him. Where I might before have been contented to admire him from afar, like a Greek marble, now I was beginning to like him as a person, as well. All because hed already shown himself to be vastly less pretentious than my usual company.

I apologize for my rudeness in not introducing myself. George Brummell, but please, call me Beau so as not to confuse our gracious prince. I offered my hand and waited. After a moment, it was taken in an expectedly firm grip, bony fingers and rough skin making a delicious contrast with the well-kept skin of my own palms.