Page 33 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

I n the end, slipping the net took far more people, and far more time, than Victoria would have liked.

Indeed, it took several days to arrange matters properly.

And then two more after that for a frustrating rainy spell to let up sufficiently to allow Mama (and the system) to agree it was acceptable for Victoria to take a carriage ride through the village.

Sir John, Mama, and the system permitted these on occasion for the same reason they permitted the crowds to gather at the palace gates: they believed it was good for people to see Victoria and be reminded that she was their future queen.

Dull routine had never seemed to gnaw so painfully at her patience—standing still to be dressed; sitting still to have her hair done; reading; writing; sitting to dinner; listening; writing; reading; walking in the garden; parading before the ladies and their lords, reciting pleasant, approved answers to their questions, and then standing in silence while Mama extolled and lamented.

Fancywork, drawing, sitting to dinner.

Being put to bed and rising in the morning to begin it all again.

She had heard nothing from Aunt Sophia. Several times she had sent Lehzen to her with a smuggled note. Each time word came back that her aunt was not feeling well. It was a summer cold, Victoria was told. Nothing to worry anyone, but she was choosing to stay in bed.

But all these messages came from Uncle Sussex.

What is he doing? Is he trying to keep me from her? Why would he do such a thing?

Yet more questions she did not know the answers to.

At last, the sun shone, and Sir John was away to meet with the master of the horse about the baggage carts needed for the September tour, while Mama was meeting with the household chef about the next dinner.

So, it was for Lehzen to remind Lady Flora that it was time for the day’s drive.

“If you’re ready, ma’am?” Lehzen said to Victoria. “Miss Conroy?”

Lehzen held her hand as they went down the stone stairs, as required. Jane followed behind, and Dash scampered beside her.

As they all emerged into the sunny courtyard, Victoria wasn’t sure if she wanted to skip or simply be sick. Perhaps both. There was so much that could go wrong. Lehzen had made that very plain as soon as Victoria had told her she wanted to go speak with Gerald Maton.

“Who would drive you? Any of the grooms might talk,” Lehzen had said.

“Then you must find those who won’t.”

Victoria had apologized later for her imperious tone.

“It is not safe,” Lehzen had said. “Let me go instead.”

“No. I will do this myself.”

“Why?”

“To discover if I can.”

“Again, ma’am, why?”

Victoria met her gaze directly. “Because there may come some other time when I have to.”

Lehzen had turned away.

The open carriage waited in the yard. According to a note Lehzen had left in Wordsworth’s poems, their driver was Arthur Saddler. Saddler was the head groom and had taken Hornsby’s dismissal personally.

Because of this, and because it runs afoul of Sir John’s plans, he has agreed to help and not ask too many questions.

The outriders, presumably chosen by Saddler, took their places, and Saddler himself climbed onto the box. He touched up the horses. The usual cluster of onlookers were shooed back by the footmen so they could open the gates, and Saddler drove them smoothly through.

It was the same when they reached the village proper. The onlookers cheered. Hats were tossed in the air, and ladies curtsied deeply. Victoria waved, and the crowd waved enthusiastically in return.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” called Saddler from the driver’s box.

“What is it?” answered Lehzen.

“The off horse has come up lame. There’s a livery stable in the next street. If we stop there, we can change him out, and one of the boys can walk him back.”

“Very well,” agreed Lehzen.

Despite the sun, Jane looked pale. Victoria itched to ask if she was sure her woman would be waiting, as promised.

“You’ll need a maid,” Jane had pointed this out. “You’re still a gently bred young woman, no matter what bonnet you’re wearing. You can’t be out alone. It would look very odd. People would remember you, and you don’t want that.”

Jane was right. Victoria did not want her to be, but some facts were inescapable. A young woman driving alone would draw attention.

“Who then? Lehzen must stay with the carriage, and I cannot ask anyone of the palace staff.”

“I might know someone. She’s in need of work, and, well, she has no particular love for my family.”

The livery sprawled between two brick warehouses—a rutted dirt yard populated by a series of wooden sheds.

The air was thick with barnyard smells. Men led horses to and fro.

Men stood around horses. Men bent to examine horses’ hooves and reached up to feel their withers.

Men shouted. Horses neighed and whickered.

It was a managed and energetic chaos, and Victoria loved it on sight.

A brown-skinned man with a fringe of tightly curled hair outlining his bald scalp hurried up to the carriage.

He and Saddler conferred for a moment, and then Saddler drove them around to a corner of the yard enclosed by a high wooden fence.

Saddler drove them through the gate, which was then closed behind them.

The little space was filled with carriage bodies with missing wheels, broken traces, loose doors. All manner of bits and pieces for their repair had been neatly stacked against the fence.

In the middle of it all stood a petite young woman with a gaunt, freckled face. She wore a drab coat and bonnet. Beside her stood Hornsby, looking as cross and pinched as ever.

Jane looked ready to melt with relief.

“Quickly now,” said Lehzen.

Victoria and Jane were helped down from the carriage. Dash put his forepaws on the rail and watched this new game with great interest and much wagging of his tail.

“This is Susan,” said Jane, introducing Victoria to the young woman.

Victoria beamed. “Thank you for your help, Susan. And you, as well, Hornsby.” She touched his hand. “I’m sorry for what happened, and I will not forget this.” She smiled a little. “And I am truly sorry about ‘Pinch-face.’”

“All forgotten, ma’am.” Hornsby bowed stiffly. Victoria decided to pretend that was true.

With silent efficiency, Lehzen swapped the bonnets, coats, and gloves, so that now Victoria wore Jane’s and Jane wore Victoria’s.

By the time this was done, Saddler and Hornsby had brought a second carriage into the little yard.

This one was battered and in need of polish and was pulled by a dispirited chestnut mare who looked more than ready to be put out to pasture.

Saddler and Hornsby also swapped coats, so that Hornsby wore Saddler’s scarlet livery with its gold braid, and Saddler wore Hornsby’s dusty buff and drooping black hat.

Saddler helped Victoria and then Susan into the drab carriage. Now Dash began barking, anguished to see that he was being left behind. Victoria ran to hug and soothe him, but he whined in his distress.

In the end, all she could do was hand him to Lehzen, who, thankfully, was familiar with his ways. Keeping wriggling Dash firmly in the crook of one arm, Lehzen laid her hand on Saddler’s arm. She murmured something. Saddler choked hard and then bowed.

He closed the door, climbed up on the box, and drove out the gate and the yard and turned into the street.

“What did she say?” called Victoria.

“That if I let anything happen to you, she’d have my guts for garters and then turn what was left of me over to the duchess.”

Victoria laughed, and when the new maid, Susan, stared at her in open surprise, she laughed again. But no one admonished her, and no one asked her what people would think.

In fact, no one said a single word.

* * *

Dr. Gerald Maton’s surgery was a fine brick house with a gleaming brass plate on the door.

A page in neat livery let them in, and a footman accepted the card Susan laid on his tray.

While he took the card into the doctor, Susan took Victoria’s bonnet and coat.

The footman returned to show her into the consulting room.

Susan followed, as calm and quiet as if she’d been waiting on Victoria for years.

Gerald Maton sat behind a broad desk with papers and books heaped untidily across its surface. Victoria wondered if he would recognize her from the condolence call she had paid his family.

A heartbeat later, she had her answer. The youngest Dr. Maton looked up as she entered, and his smile of welcome faded away into a blank stare of shock.

In the next second, he shot to his feet.

“Your . . .”

“Miss Kent,” Victoria said quickly. “I am Miss Kent.”

“I don’t understand, ma’—”

“Miss Kent,” said Victoria firmly.

“Miss?” he said weakly.

“Yes.” Victoria took the chair that had been set in front of the desk. “Please sit down.”

He did so, but he did not cease to stare. Another girl of sixteen might have been disconcerted by such scrutiny from a man at least twice her age. But Victoria was perfectly accustomed to the company of older men, and to being examined by them either openly or with sneaking sideways glances.

“I can only apologize for this highly irregular situation,” she told him. “And I must beg for your discretion.”

“I, but, that is . . . ma—miss,” he sputtered. “Please. What is happening?”

“I am here in the hope I can persuade you to speak with me about your father’s death.”

The effect was immediate. Gerald Maton’s mouth snapped shut. His cheeks colored, but it was not from shame or bashfulness. It was from that same anger that she had seen in his mother’s parlor.

But he still struggled to find words. Victoria felt impatience building.

“If it will aid matters, you may ask me anything you wish first,” she said.

“How is it you came to have my father’s spectacles?”

Victoria nodded. The package she had passed him at the vigil had indeed been a sketch of his father, just as she had told Mama. But that sketch had been wrapped around the ruined spectacles, and she had written on it, You may expect a visit from me .

“They were found on the palace green, where he himself was found,” Victoria told him now.

He slumped back in his chair, as if he no longer had the strength to hold himself upright. Victoria tried to be patient with this man, whom she had already begun referring to as Dr. Gerald in her private thoughts.

“Why did your family say your father died at home in his bed?”

Dr. Gerald’s hands gripped the air, as if he was looking for something to tear apart.

“He was brought home to us in a cart,” he said finally.

“I was not there when it happened. I was summoned by one of the servants. When I arrived, he had been laid out on his bed but not yet washed. I saw . . . I saw he was covered in mud and soaked with rain. My mother and oldest brother had locked themselves in his consulting room. When they came out, I demanded to know what had happened.” Dr. Gerald stopped.

His hands clenched again. Victoria waited, her face calm but her heart hammering.

“They would not say a word about what had really happened. The only reason I know anything at all is because I asked one of the footmen.”

“What did he say?”

“First, he begged me not to tell anyone he’d spoken to me, because my brother and my mother had threatened to sack anyone who spoke about how my father’s body had been brought home. It was only when I swore I’d take him into my own household that he agreed to tell me anything at all.”

Victoria nodded.

“He said that before they had sent for me, my mother and brother spent half an hour in private with a gentleman who did not give his name. It was when he left that they ordered silence and secrecy.” Dr. Gerald looked at his hands on the desktop, clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white.

“The gentleman apparently spoke of a pension owing to my father that would only be paid upon condition that the . . . correct story was given out.”

“How did they—your mother and brother—explain the necessity of this . . . story?”

Dr. Gerald snorted. “They said we must keep up appearances, that any rumors of irregularities—I believe that was the word my brother chose—would damage his ability to absorb and maintain my father’s private practice.”

“What did this gentleman look like?”

He shook his head. “I did not think to ask.”

Victoria was silent for a moment. The case clock in the corner ticked insistently. She did not have much time. But there was one more question she very much wanted the answer to.

“Did you ever hear your father speak about the Princess Sophia?”

“Was she a patient of his?”

Victoria considered. “I don’t know. Possibly. She said . . . that he was a good friend when she needed one.” She did not tell him the other thing her aunt had said. He did not behave as expected, not as he had or as I thought.

Dr. Gerald contemplated the consulting room past Victoria’s shoulder. What memories did he see there?

“I think you will have to ask Her Highness,” he said slowly. “My father did discuss his cases—more than he should have perhaps—but he was always careful to refrain from using names. He might say, ‘I know a lady,’ or ‘A certain gentleman in my care.’”

Dr. Gerald looked away. Victoria swallowed the spasm of anger.

She did not have time for proprieties or hesitations.

But neither did she have time to shout. Instead, she made herself small, made her eyes wide.

Made her voice soft. I am helpless, and I need you.

“I am sorry that I must intrude so callously on your grief. But I . . . I can only beg you, if you know anything that might shed light on this matter, that you will tell me.” She reached her hand out and touched the back of his lightly, briefly. “Please.”

Something she had not seen before overtook Dr. Gerald then. Something beyond his anger and his confusion. It was grief, and it was bone-deep shame, and it robbed him of the dignity he had so far maintained.

His hands clenched empty air again. “Ma—Miss. Was my father going to be dismissed?”

This startled her. “I had not heard that. Why would you think it?”

“My father owed so much money . . . ,” Dr. Gerald whispered. Victoria had to lean forward to hear him. “He could not pay, but he would not stop . . . I was afraid . . .” He swallowed. “I was afraid he’d begun to embezzle from the medical household. To steal from you.”