Page 17 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

J ane and Liza were both woken at half seven by a flustered Betty. “Your father sent word from the palace, Miss Jane. He wants you ready to go by nine o’clock. He’s going to come fetch you himself.”

“Himself?” Liza peered out from under her covers. “Why would he do that?”

“He didn’t say, at least not to me. Up you come, miss.” Betty drew back Jane’s covers.

Liza studied Jane as if she were some complete stranger plopped in the middle of the boudoir. “Well, it looks as though you’re going to have an interesting day.”

Jane said nothing. She was afraid her voice might shake.

Liza groaned and kicked her way out of her bed. “Let’s see that face.”

Jane obediently turned toward her. Liza prodded at her bruised cheek. “Much better. We can risk a little powder to damp down the bruise, and you’ll be just fine.”

“You just don’t want Father changing his mind and dragging you off to the palace instead,” muttered Jane.

“Clever girl. Now, stand there.” Liza hauled Jane out of the bed and shoved her into position in front of the long mirror. “And let’s see what can be done.”

With Betty’s help, Liza did Jane up in pale green silk with an acceptable amount of puff to the sleeve and an acceptably tight waist. Then she selected a pair of not entirely impractical green slippers.

“Keep her boots hidden, Betty,” warned Liza. “Otherwise, she might be tempted to go gallivanting off again.” Jane pulled a face at her sister.

“I’ll have the pink reticule today, Betty,” she said.

“But, miss, it won’t go with the rest.”

“I’ll have it, anyway.”

Betty looked to Liza, who rolled her eyes. “Oh, let her have her way. I’m hungry, and if she fusses, we won’t get downstairs until everything’s gone stone cold.”

Jane had the distinct feeling that what Liza really wanted was extra time to quiz her on what was happening inside the palace, but if that was her aim, she was doomed to disappointment. When the sisters reached the breakfast room, they found it already occupied by their older brother, Ned.

Generally speaking, Ned looked like a younger version of Father—dark, curling hair, blue eyes, and pale Irish complexion.

But something had been lost in the translation.

The looks that on Father combined to create charm and authority seemed mismatched on Ned.

His brow was too high, and his nose too long.

His hands dangled awkwardly at the end of his thin arms, and his legs had no calves.

Liza called him Matchsticks, and Jane had to admit it was an apt name.

Their brother had gone to school and on the grand tour. There he had accomplished nothing as far as Jane could tell and had come back. He’d gone into the army as a lieutenant and come back. Then he’d gone to Brussels as a ministerial attaché and come back.

Now he was a determined presence at local social events and had a large circle of acquaintances. Every so often, Father called him into the study, and they talked, or probably Father talked. Then Ned would go away for some days or weeks and come back, and all would go on as before.

“You’re up early, Ned.” Liza helped herself to a fillet of sole from the sideboard.

“Don’t I know it.” There were circles under Ned’s bloodshot eyes, and the dark, viscous concoction in front of him was like nothing to be found among the platters and chafing dishes Mrs. Pullet had set up on the sideboard.

“So what brings about this extraordinary behavior?” Liza drew herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him.

“Walters and I are going to look at a horse he has his eye on.”

“For buying or betting?” inquired Liza.

“Both, probably.” Ned held his nose and downed half of the potion in his glass.

Father believed that a man should keep a generous table, and Mother complied, or rather, Mother ordered the housekeeper, Mrs. Pullet, to order Cook to comply.

It was an area in which Jane was unambiguously grateful to her father.

Breakfast was the only meal she had at home where she could eat what she liked without Mother sighing over her unladylike appetite.

This morning, however, Jane looked at the array of eggs, kedgeree, fish, kidneys, and mutton chops, and her stomach roiled.

She sat down at the table and took some toast from the rack.

Her brother looked down at his potion, grimaced, and took another swallow.

Jane thought about how Susan was no longer part of the household, how not one of them knew where she might be or what might happen to her next without a reference or firm prospects, and how that was his doing.

“Susan’s been dismissed, Ned,” said Jane.

“I’d noticed. I told Mother she shouldn’t have done it, not over something so small, but you know how Mother gets.” He looked green around the gills, but he still drank off the second half of the beverage. “Get me some coffee, won’t you?”

“That’s all you did?” asked Jane.

“Leave it, Jane,” said Liza. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What else should I have done?” Seeing no one was going to obey his orders, Ned got to his feet and slouched to the coffee urn. “What are you even talking about?”

“As if you don’t know,” muttered Jane.

“As it happens, I have no idea.”

Jane forced herself to swallow her toast. She couldn’t look at Ned just now, so she turned to her sister. “Liza. That book Aunt Cathleen sent you, with the etchings of the countryside in County Clare . . . Do you know where it is?”

“What do you want with that thing?” Liza’s question was unusually sharp. Clearly, it was beginning to dawn on her that something had shifted in Jane’s manner, and she did not trust it.

Jane suppressed a shiver and took another bite of toast to cover her discomfort. “The princess is reading Irish history,” Jane mumbled. “I thought she might be interested in seeing it.”

“An excellent thought.”

Father stood at the room’s threshold. Liza, Ned, and Jane all stood up, just as they had been taught to do as children. He ignored them. Or, rather, he ignored Ned and Liza.

“Are you ready to go, Jane?”

“I thought—” she began, but he was already frowning. “Yes, of course.” She hadn’t even had time to finish her toast, but of course she could not keep Father waiting.

Liza fetched Aunt Cathleen’s book while Betty bundled Jane into coat and bonnet. And handed her the pink reticule. Jane bit her lip hard to keep from showing the relief she felt.

The carriage was waiting. Jane was glad to be driven today, although it meant being closeted with Father. The morning was already warm and damp. With the sun shining through the haze, the day promised to be hot and close.

Papa drew back the curtains and gave orders for the coachman to walk on.

Jane folded her gloved hands over her book and did her best to keep her eyes fastened on them.

She tried not to look at the reticule on the seat beside her.

She’d had no chance to look inside to see if the spectacles were still in there.

Betty or another maid, perhaps Meg, might have gone through her bag, looking for crumpled handkerchiefs or dirty gloves in need of laundering.

They might have seen the strange object with its muddy ribbon and removed it.

Jane knew Father was watching her. She felt it in the way her skin prickled under her cuffs and in the way her jaw burned.

Oddly, she thought about the princess then and the way she could shout her disapproval to the world. The princess did not look for a fight. She demanded one.

Why am I thinking about that now?

“There is something you need to know, Jane. A story you will hear today.”

Jane was jolted out of her thoughts. Her gaze—guilty, frightened—flickered to her bag lying on the seat beside her and then widened in horror, in case Father had noticed.

But he had turned away from her to contemplate the world outside the window.

“The man that the princess saw yesterday when she fell off her horse was a gardener who had died on his way home.”

But you said there was no corpse. You said it was her imagination yesterday. Why is it not her imagination today?

“Oh.” Jane concentrated on keeping the slump of disappointment out of her shoulders. She thought she’d been clever. She thought she’d found out something that would actually put the lie to one of Father’s stories. But as usual, he remained one step ahead.

“There will surely be rumors spread about what happened during your ride yesterday and about the identity of the corpse, which, by the way, has been returned to the family,” said Father.

“It will be your duty to help contradict any such stories you hear and supply the true facts. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you will tell me anything the princess has to say about the matter. Anything and everything.”

“Yes, sir.” Saying those words was easy as breathing. Which was a good thing, because disappointment had swamped her thoughts. Had a more thoughtful response been required, Jane was not sure she could have supplied it.

“Now, let me see that book.”

Jane handed it over. Father turned over the pages, leaving her a moment to sit with the knowledge that she was, in fact, useless and foolish.

A gardener. An accident. That was all. And Father knew, and the princess knew. She had thought for a moment that just once, she had a secret of her own that she could use for . . . something. Anything.

“This was a very good thought,” he said, indicating the book. “You should do more little things like this. The princess loves such attentions.”

The princess did not. The princess saw straight through them. But Jane had wanted some excuse to sit with her, so they could talk without being overheard.

“It is important you stay close to her today,” Father continued. “She must not be left alone.”

“She is never alone.” That was the point of the Kensington system. Or one of its points.

He handed the book back, and as he did, he finally looked at her. “I will also need you to pay special attention to the duchess today.”

“The . . . the duchess?”

Father nodded. “This business with the dead man has her grace jumping at shadows. I must know if her fears are driving her to any . . . rash decisions. Like saying she wants to cancel next month’s tour, to keep the princess safe at home.”

“But you will be there?” You are always there.

“As much as I can, but I also need to speak with the Kensington board and the clerk of accounts. Just to head off any of those rumors.” He leaned forward and took both her hands.

“I need you today, Jane,” he said softly. “I am trusting you.”

Jane’s breath stopped. Her father pressed her hands and leaned back.

“I know how painful it is for us to have to constantly dance attendance on . . . the family, without the fullness of our rank and connections being acknowledged. And I know you have been made impatient by this state of affairs. I understand that. I feel it keenly. But I ask you to be my eyes and ears today.” He chuckled. “More so than usual, that is.”

Jane sat in a state of utter bewilderment. What is this? What’s happening?

Father was asking for her help. He couldn’t possibly mean it. Father did not ask her things. He ordered. He demanded. He insisted. She stared at her own hands, which he’d pressed with affection just a moment before. Her cheeks burned with a flood of confusion and embarrassment.

And something else. There was an odd thrill inside her. “I need you today, Jane,” he said. “I am trusting you.”

Part of her believed him, or at least wanted to. Because if he trusted her, if he needed her, it might mean that somewhere, somehow, in the depths of his heart, he did, in fact, love her.

Jane felt her mouth flutter into a tiny smile.

“I . . . I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, Jane. I know it.” He was smiling at her now, and that smile shone in his blue eyes. Her father was looking on her with approval. With admiration even.

And despite every other disappointment, despite the whispers from the fog in the back of her mind, Jane wanted to stay in this place of warmth and light.

It is not love , murmured those treacherous voices. Not really. But another part of her found she did not care.

Do not trust him. Everything he’s giving you now, he’ll take it away again. You know he will.

Except this once, she had the means to keep his regard. All she had to do was open her mouth and tell him what she knew, what she’d found and kept.

“Father?”

“Yes, Jane?”

Her throat tightened. She swallowed, and the movement in her throat made her jaw ache where his blow had landed.

Perhaps this was what determined all the things that happened next. Jane would never know what imp or presentiment took hold of her in that single moment.

“Nothing,” she said, and she turned her face away.