Page 34 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“W hat makes you think he was stealing?” Victoria asked.

The idea left Victoria shocked. But as the possibility settled into her mind, she found also that she was not surprised.

She had been convinced for some time that Sir John was paying Dr. William Maton to be his talebearer and possibly his spy. This talk of a gentleman arriving with an offer of a pension for the family in return for their silence seemed to cement that conclusion.

A man willing to sell lies for money might well turn to outright theft.

“I’d been suspicious for some time,” Dr. Gerald said.

“I knew he had mountains of debt. My mother had been very upset about it.

So upset that my brothers and I—well, you must believe me when I say nothing less than the possibility of ruin could have united the three of us enough to go speak with our father and find out how he meant to extricate himself, and us, from his troubles.

“However, when we did, he told us not to worry. He said that he knew his affairs had gotten out of control, and promised solemnly that all would shortly be put to rights. And for a time it seemed he was telling the truth. Julius said that he had begun to pay down the bills, and that when tradesmen came to the door, they were no longer being sent away empty-handed. So, I was hopeful. That was, I think, a month before he died.”

Dr. Gerald paused. He was gathering himself, forcing down anger, disappointment, and grief so he could speak plainly.

“Then father died so suddenly, and we looked into his account books, or, I should say, Julius looked. But it was Marcus who told me Julius found some strange entries in his ledgers.” Marcus is the middle brother.

“There were large amounts of money, one hundred pounds and more, that had no obvious source. None of us could understand it. They weren’t gambling wins.

He marked those differently. That was when Marcus raised the possibility our father had been stealing. Then you came here and . . .”

Victoria nodded. He assumed that was what she wished to talk about. Which brought them to what might be the most important question. Unfortunately, there was no easy or diplomatic way to ask it.

“Do you know what caused your father’s death?”

For one moment, Victoria thought the man in front of her was going to cry.

“My brother said his heart must have stopped. I only saw his body briefly.” His words were thick, harsh, and bitter. “If there was a wound or a blow of some sort, I saw no sign. So I suppose in the end, it truly was his heart. But as to what caused it to stop—” He closed his mouth.

Victoria watched him for a moment—watched the way his gaze shifted, the way his whole demeanor hardened.

“You may say anything,” she told him. “I will respect your every confidence, as I am trusting you to respect mine.”

I am not just a young woman you need to protect, and I am not a patient you need to humor , she thought toward him. I am someone quite different, and you know it.

But which way would that difference push him?

“We know so little. Physicians,” he said bitterly. “We spout our Latin and our Greek and talk so gravely about humors and heartbeats, bleeding and cupping and scarring, and we know nothing . Sometimes I swear the oldest country midwife knows more about the secrets of the human body than we do.”

Victoria let Dr. Gerald have this moment with his anger. She understood what it was to have knowledge withheld and to be helpless because of it. Sometimes the only remedy was to shout at whoever was nearest.

“When my father was brought home, when I heard about this mysterious pension that would be distributed in return for silence, the first thing I thought was that he had been murdered.”

Victoria’s mind went utterly blank. Certainly, she had whispered the word to herself as she mulled over what she might find. Now that it was spoken aloud, however, she felt startled and coldly frightened. It was a moment before she herself could speak.

“But if he was killed, if there was no wound or blow, how could it have been done?”

Dr. Gerald deflated, and Victoria regretted her question. It was heartless. She was speaking of his father, after all. She, of all people, should have some understanding of how much that loss could hurt.

But she did not apologize. She needed his answer.

“He cannot have been choked,” said Dr. Gerald slowly. “There would have been a bruise. He might have been smothered.” He stopped. “Or poisoned.”

“Dr. Clarke said he had been suffering from a stomach ailment.”

If Dr. Gerald had looked uncertain a moment before, now he appeared truly shaken.

“My mother mentioned he had not been well, but she did not say—” He stared blankly at his desktop.

“My father and I didn’t speak often. I .

. . disagreed with how he conducted his affairs, and we quarreled.

” He pulled a handkerchief from out of his pocket and wiped at his face.

“There was a case once . . . I consulted on it for a friend of mine. A man with a stomach ailment that would not yield to any treatment. He could keep nothing at all down. He began to experience seizures . . . In the end it transpired that his daughter was mixing arsenic with the sugar she put in his coffee, several spoonfuls a day, morning and evening.”

Victoria must have looked a bit green around the gills, because Dr. Gerald instantly apologized. “I’m sorry. I should not say such things in front of . . . in front of any patient.”

“There is no need for apology. After all, I am the one who asked the question.”

Dr. Gerald spread his hands. “But even if my father was poisoned, what could I do? There is no definite way to differentiate between a stomach illness and poison. There’s a man named Marsh who is said to be working on a way to test for the presence of arsenic in a solution, but he has published no results yet .

. .” He let his hands fall into his lap.

“And my family, they would never agree to a coroner’s inquest. Especially now.

” He lifted his gaze to her. “What should I do?”

Years later Victoria would remember this moment.

This was the first time someone had openly appealed to her for help because she was Her Royal Highness, Princess Alexandrina Victoria, heir to the throne.

Even though Dr. Gerald could plainly see she was a young girl, he believed there must be something she could do.

Because she was the princess. His princess. Because she would be his queen.

She felt elated. She felt terrified. She could not fail to rise to this occasion, but she did not know what to do.

All at once she found herself thinking a thing that would never have occurred to her under normal circumstances.

What would Mama do?

Victoria raised her chin. “You may leave the matter with me. I will make the necessary inquiries and determine what can be done.”

For a minute, she thought he’d laugh at her. That was also something Mother would do.

But he did not. If anything, he seemed truly relieved. “Thank you . . . miss. I—” He wiped his face again and his hands. “Well, thank you.”

“I will send word as soon as I am able,” she said. This seemed a safe promise.

“If . . . if I should learn anything that might be relevant, how may I send word?”

Victoria found herself at a loss. It was very unlikely she could arrange to come here again.

It was as much by luck as by planning that she had been able to come at all.

And Dr. Gerald could not write to her. Even if his letter made it through the layers of palace clerks and secretaries to get to her, Mama opened all her correspondence first. Mama and Sir John.

Susan coughed, startling them both.

“If I may,” she said. “Perhaps a letter taken to the post office, to be left until called for?”

“Addressed to V. Kent,” said Victoria. “Yes. That will answer very well.” At least it sounded as if it would. “Thank you for your time and your confidence.” She stood, which caused him also to stand.

“Miss,” he said. “What is happening here? What did my father do?”

“I am trying to find it out.” She paused. “Your mother, I think, mentioned your father was planning on writing a memoir?”

“He has always said he would.”

“But had he begun? Have you seen the manuscript?”

“I believe that he had started, but no, I never saw it.” He tapped the desk a moment, considering. “He kept a journal, however, and notes on his prominent cases and so forth.”

“Do you think you might be able to look at his papers? To see if there are hints of new trouble or anything of the kind?”

“I should think so. Julius will have kept all that. I can offer to help go through them.”

“Excellent. You can then write and tell me what you find. Thank you.” She extended her hand, and he, a little startled, took her fingertips and bowed carefully over them.

* * *

“That was an excellent suggestion, Susan,” said Victoria as soon as the two of them once again settled in the carriage. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Contradictory emotions warred on Susan’s face. She looked pleased at the compliment but also angry at the fact of being pleased. Victoria had seen this before. There were people who were very determined not to be persuaded by rank and courtesy.

“I’m sure I must appear very foolish not to know anything about . . . post offices,” she said.

“Not at all, ma’am. The toffs, that is, the quality, I mean—”

“We sad creatures who mope about above stairs?”

Susan had now turned beet red.

Victoria laughed and then pressed her hand. “Oh! I shouldn’t tease you. I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Susan’s high color subsided. “What I meant to say is that if you’ve never had to do a thing, you can’t be expected to know how it works, can you?”

“Just so,” said Victoria. “But thank you, anyway.” Susan dropped her gaze and mumbled something. Victoria sat back and let her breathe.

The carriage rattled and jolted its way across the cobbles. Mr. Saddler, she observed, had a deft and patient hand with their underfed and clearly dispirited horse. She idly wondered if she might convince Saddler to purchase the poor creature. Surely it deserved a better life than it had now.

“Ma’am?” said Susan hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“What was said in there”—she flicked one finger vaguely toward the passing street—“about the doctor being murdered. . . was that true?”

“I don’t know. It may be.”

Susan was no longer blushing. In fact, she no longer had any color to her cheeks at all.

“Are you quite well?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Susan said weakly. “Don’t like doctors that much and all the talk . . . Why would anyone want to murder Dr. Maton? I mean, Dr. Maton’s father?”

“I don’t know,” said Victoria. “But that is exactly what we must find out.”