Page 20 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“H ow did matters progress with the princess today?” Father asked Jane.

They sat in the stuffy carriage again, facing each other. This time, instead of gazing out the window, Father leaned forward, watching her with greedy expectation.

How do I do this? She’d known that Father would quiz her when they were alone, but she didn’t expect him to start the second the carriage door was closed. They hadn’t even reached the palace gates yet.

“She liked the book,” said Jane, to gain herself a little extra time.

“What else?”

She’d imagined all manner of answers. Now that Father was actually in front of her, all those ideas flew away.

Did the princess realize what a position she’d put Jane in?

Probably not. But what if she did? What if she knew full well she was effectively asking Jane to choose the princess’s hopes or her father’s?

Choose her trust or his.

Anger burned inside Jane, at them and at herself. After all, she’d started this mess when she walked out across the green. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she had no choice but to play the cards she had laid out for herself.

“Come, come, Jane, don’t sit there like a block.”

Jane lifted her eyes. She saw her father and thought of all the stories she’d heard him spin to get what he wanted.

She took a deep breath. “She knows you lied.”

Father frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The . . . the corpse on the green. He wasn’t a gardener. She knows it. She knows you lied to her.”

She expected him to deny it. She braced herself for his angry shout. But instead, he was silent, regarding her without seeing her. That felt worse somehow.

“Does she know who it was?” he asked finally.

Jane’s heart thudded hard. She had this single moment to decide whether she would turn over the next card. This one moment to decide what she would try to make him believe.

“Not yet,” Jane told him. “But she means to find out.”

Father smirked. “Has she said exactly how she means to do that?”

Just say it. He’ll take any hesitation as you being afraid of him. You are always afraid. You are poor, whey-faced, slowpoke Jane. And he knows that.

She watched her hands twisting together in her lap. “N-not exactly, but she seems very sure she can.”

“And that is entirely like her,” said Father. “She is a thoroughly spoilt young woman. Although I do not have to tell you that.” It was a mark of confidence in her—a shared secret, a shared contempt. Jane felt her cheeks heat up. “She constantly overestimates her own capabilities.”

Jane made herself turn up one corner of her mouth in a small smile.

“And what did you say to her about it? When she told you she meant to solve this troublesome riddle?”

Another heartbeat. Another decision. A flicker of power and possibility warming a place in her that had been cold for so long.

“Jane?” She did not look up to see his frown deepening, but she heard it clearly as he spoke her name. “What did you say to her?”

“You’ll be angry,” she whispered.

“I will be angrier if you do not answer me.”

Jane regarded her father, aware of a shriveling misery inside her. What am I doing? He’ll know I am not telling him everything, that I’m burying the lie inside the truths. He’ll see it instantly.

“I said I would help.”

“You did?”

Jane made herself nod the same way she had made herself smile.

Father laughed. It was a long, full-throated sound. It was real. Jane’s heart and breath stopped entirely.

“Oh, Jane! You clever girl!” Father beamed, and his smile was as genuine as his laugh.

“It’s perfect! It’s a game of ‘Let’s pretend,’ and it will keep her distracted and out of trouble.

And, when the time is right, I will be able to tell the board and .

. . others . . . what silliness she’s been engaged in and how my dutiful daughter has been trying so hard to keep her distractions from showing.

Yes, Jane.” He reached over and patted her hand. “You’ve done very well.”

“I . . . I’m trying, Father.”

“You’re succeeding.” He beamed. “And that means we will all succeed.”

How was it possible she was doing this? She was telling the truth and yet somehow transforming that truth into a complete lie. And Father believed. He believed, and he laughed.

“What is it now, Jane? There’s something you are not saying.”

Jane’s mind suddenly felt very crowded. She heard the princess saying, What was Dr. Maton’s full connection to Sir John ?

Don’t risk it. He’ll know. That voice gibbered. He’ll know. He’llknowhe’llknowhe’llknowhe’llknow!

“We heard today that Dr. Maton is dead.”

“Yes. I heard that, as well.” Father’s voice was bland, dismissive. “What of it?”

The only question that remains , said the princess from memory, the only lie that remains, is that the dead man was Dr. Maton . . . Why didn’t Sir John want anyone to know it was him ?

“I only thought . . .”

“What did you think?” Father’s habitual cold was creeping back into his voice. Jane knotted her fingers together.

“I thought you were friends with him. He’s been to dinner.

. .” A twist of guilt seized her. This was something she had not said to the princess.

Father frequently hosted dinners for the men of the Kensington board and other people in the princess’s household who could be useful to them. Dr. Maton had been among them.

All the goodwill she’d gained from Father drained away. She felt it as clearly as if it was water running from her cupped hands.

“Dr. Maton did his duty as a physician in the medical household,” he said. “And yes, he came to dine with us, along with other members of the Kensington board, all of whom are responsible for the princess’s welfare. You didn’t say that to the princess, did you?”

“No, Father.” But why shouldn’t I? She knows you talk to the men of the board.

“Who dines with us is of no concern to her, you understand that?”

“Yes, Father,” whispered Jane.

He reached out and patted her hand. “Good girl.”

He was not watching when Jane curled her hand into a fist.