Page 21 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

S upper was over. Sir John had taken Jane home hours ago and was not expected to return.

There was no concert or special occasion tonight, so Victoria and Mama sat together in the larger sitting room.

Lehzen and Lady Flora occupied their places in the sitting room.

Lehzen sewed. Lady Flora played patience, drawing and laying down the cards without making a single sound.

Mama was writing letters, the scratching of her pen clearly audible in the silence.

Victoria was meant to be reading. But she stared at the page without seeing it.

“We must establish two things,” she’d said to Jane. “We must establish what happened to Dr. Maton before his death. And what was Dr. Maton’s full connection to Sir John?”

It seemed a logical place to start trying to unravel this strange riddle. But how could she find anything out? There were people who should know the answers, but how could she reach them?

Victoria closed her book. Dash, who had been curled up at her feet, raised his head and wriggled, asking with his whole body if they were going somewhere.

Mama did not look up. She did not even pause in her writing.

Mama must be writing to one of her relatives. Her face was relaxed, and her pen moved quickly. Mama always found it easiest to write in German. When she wrote in English, it was hard labor. Victoria had seen her close to tears as she sorted through her limited grammar to find the correct words.

Victoria stood and all but tiptoed over to Mama’s desk. Dash, amiable and vigilant, trotted beside her. She stopped at the corner of the desk and waited. She also read Mama’s words that sprawled unevenly across the creamy paper.

Dearest Brother Leopold (Mama had written):

As I write, you may be assured that I and Vickelchen are both in good health.

Reading letters without appearing to do so was an art, and Victoria had applied herself conscientiously to mastering it. She could read what Mama and Sir John and the rest of her attendants wrote from almost any orientation, including upside down.

You will by now have heard rumors that His Majesty is not well.

Victoria’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. What was this? Was the king ill? Why hadn’t Lehzen told her? She’d spoken to her friend Mrs. Wilson only recently. Surely, surely if the king were ill, she would have said something.

All such rumors are currently being contradicted by the palace, and we must take them at their word, as the queen has long since disdained to speak to me directly.

Victoria’s breath had gone short. Uncle can’t die! Not yet.

If he died before she turned eighteen, Mama would be appointed as regent. Parliament had made that decision years ago, and Mama and Sir John had made sure Victoria knew about it. Mama would rule in her name until she was eighteen.

Which meant Sir John would rule in her name.

Which meant Sir John would rule her.

It is also true that a dead man has been discovered on the grounds of the palace. Sir John says he is a gardener and that it means nothing. But I am sure he just means to soothe me. The closer our Victoria comes to her eighteenth birthday, the more desperate our enemies become.

“What is it, Victoria?” Mama dipped her pen into the ink and wiped its tip.

Which enemies? Victoria wanted to shout. What do you know about Dr. Maton?

But to ask this would be to admit she had been spying on her mother as she wrote.

“Mama, I was thinking we should visit Mrs. Maton,” she said.

“Who?”

Do not pretend you have forgotten. You are writing to Uncle Leopold about him! Victoria bit back hard on her anger. She would get nowhere if it showed.

“Mrs. Maton,” Victoria repeated. “Dr. Maton’s widow? I wish to condole with her regarding the loss of her husband.”

“Impossible. We will send a letter. Perhaps a small gift. That will be more than sufficient. Lady Flora can select something suitable. Lady Charlotte can deliver it.”

Victoria let herself be silent for a moment, as if considering this.

Mama wrote: I fear the coincidence of his appearance at such a time, and I fear also Sir John is not being entirely open with me. What does Baron Stockmar tell you? Send word by him, and him only.

Mama dipped her pen again. “Was there something else you wished to say, Victoria?”

“Mama—” Go carefully. “You have told me many times that appearances are of the utmost importance.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mama, as if Victoria had mentioned the importance of breathing.

Carefully. “And you have said I must cultivate the goodwill of all the people around me, and of the people in general. Isn’t that why we take our tours across the country? To show me and create sympathy with the people?”

Mama’s sigh was sharp. “And what has that to do with Mrs. Maton?”

Victoria tilted her head a little to one side.

“It is only that I was thinking how Dr. Maton served us for so many years. And served my father before that. Would it not look well for me to visit his family and thank them? Offer them some comfort in their time of mourning? It would be perfectly private, if you thought it best.” Of course it would.

“But if the Court Circular made mention of it, it would, I think, reflect credibly on, well, on all concerned.”

Mama frowned at her letter. “Well . . . a brief visit . . . if you are suitably attended, of course. Perhaps yes.” She pressed the blotter over the letter, which, frustratingly, hid it from view. “That is well thought of, Victoria. I will make the arrangements.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Victoria kissed her mother’s cheek, and Mama patted hers in return.

Victoria went to her own chair and brought out her sketchbook.

She opened to a fresh page and began to draw Mama.

She filled in her basic form and then began the tricky business of hands, of the folds in her skirt, the curl of her hair.

She worked quietly, drawing no attention to herself.

Mama worked at her letters. The ladies moved about the room, busy with their own little works.

What do you think Sir John is keeping from you? she asked silently as she drew. What are you afraid of? What do you know about Dr. Maton?

Was it possible Mama did not trust Sir John as much as it seemed?

Victoria stared at the page, her quick sketch, drawn almost without thought. Her hand had given Mama a frowning face and had spilled the ink across her desk.

It was a picture of discontent, a picture of someone trapped.

Is it possible? Victoria stared at the woman she had drawn. Are you trapped, Mama?

All at once, a vision rose up in front of her.

Victoria saw herself telling her mother the truth about Dr. Maton.

She saw Mama turning to Sir John and ordering him to leave—leave at once, leave for good.

She saw Mama wrapping her arms around her, sobbing, calling Victoria her dear girl, and promising everything would be different now.

Saw them moving together to her new home, learning how to be mother and daughter together, truly this time.

Victoria bowed her head and watched as a single tear splashed onto her sketch.