Page 37 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“S peak with Dr. Clarke,” the princess had told her. “It will be the easiest to arrange and can do no harm.”

Lehzen felt an unaccustomed surge of impatience with her charge at this confident pronouncement. She felt an even stronger surge of impatience with herself in that she had not refused the task.

Because the princess was right. There was something going on. It was serious, and Sir John was doubtlessly involved. All the events surrounding Dr. Maton’s death pointed to it.

So. As soon as I can discover whom to trust with this information, I will put it into their hands , she promised herself.

Because this . . . thing, whatever it turned out to be, was driving the princess to a level of sneaking defiance even Lehzen had never seen from her before.

Secret letters. Secret meetings. A sense of power that was making her careless of her position and her person.

What would come next? There was no way to know.

But what Lehzen did know was that if she tried to steer her charge from this course without being able to suggest another one, the princess would shut her out entirely.

If Lehzen wanted to be able to protect her, she must, however reluctantly, continue to help her.

Which meant finding a way to speak privately with Dr. Clarke.

Having spent much of her adult life in the claustrophobic courts of Germany, Lehzen knew perfectly well how scarce true privacy was inside even the largest palace. But like all those who waited on the great families, she had learned how to scratch out small moments for herself.

So the next day she made sure she had a chance to sit at the worktable with Lady Charlotte.

“I’m having headaches,” she said softly. “And I need some privacy to speak with the doctor.”

When Lady Charlotte was in waiting, she lived in the palace, but not in the royal apartments.

She had her own little suite of rooms in the same wing.

She and Lehzen were not friends, exactly, and Lehzen was very careful about what she let that lady see, but Lady Charlotte was a good woman and sympathized with the fact that Lehzen had no place in Kensington she could call her own.

She readily agreed to loan Lehzen the use of her private apartment.

So it was that when Dr. Clarke answered her summons, Lehzen was sitting alone beside a table with a tea tray, for nothing could be done between the English without tea. She clutched her handkerchief in both hands, trying not to tie it, or herself, into knots.

Dr. Clarke made no remark about her demeanor or their surroundings. He simply set his bag down and bowed.

“How may I be of service, ma’am?”

“Won’t you please sit down?” answered Lehzen. The doctor bowed again and did so, although he refused the cup of tea she offered.

Lehzen took a deep breath. “You must forgive me, Dr. Clarke,” she said. “I am afraid I have asked you here under false pretenses.”

“There is no need to worry, ma’am. You would hardly be my first patient who was a trifle reticent regarding a medical question. If it helps, you may be assured of my absolute discretion.” He was looking at her with gentle sympathy.

My God! thought Lehzen suddenly. Does he think I’ve fallen pregnant?

She downed a gulp of tea to keep from laughing out loud. When she could speak again, she said, “I do thank you, Doctor, but my question, questions, they are not medical ones.”

“Then I’m afraid I do not understand.”

And how do I explain?

Lehzen took a deep breath. As she had many times before, she pushed her uncertainties aside. She had been given a task. She must complete it. She squeezed her handkerchief, as if it was a friend’s hand and she was seeking reassurance.

“I wished to speak to you about the late Dr. Maton.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Were you acquainted with him?”

“We were colleagues,” said Dr. Clarke. “We consulted on each other’s cases. Members of the medical household frequently do.”

The “medical household” was an association, not a place.

A select group of surgeons, physicians, and apothecaries would travel with the royal family to be on hand should the need arise.

When on duty, they lived in proximity to the palace but not inside it.

Naturally, they talked among themselves about their patients. Who else would they talk to?

“What was your opinion of Dr. Maton?”

“As a doctor, he was a sound practitioner in the conservative and traditional vein.”

A highly diplomatic answer, sir. It sounded like praise and yet did not commit him to a detailed opinion.

It also did not offer a clear conversational opening through which one might gain a wider assessment of Dr. Maton’s character or habits.

“Did you agree with his . . . method of proceeding?”

This was entirely the wrong question, and Lehzen knew it as soon as the words left her. Dr. Clarke’s entire demeanor snapped shut.

“Are you asking me to pronounce judgment on my late colleague’s practice and methods?”

Schei?e. “Dr. Clarke. The princess is much affected by the loss of Dr. Maton. She knows he attended her father, and that gives her a . . . a sentimental attachment. She is disquieted by having discovered him when he died alone and out of doors.”

“What?”

Lehzen feigned her surprise. “You did not know? When the princess fell from her horse, the horse had shied because they came across a dead man on the green. It was Dr. Maton.”

“No, I most certainly did not know!” cried Dr. Clarke. “Why was I not told of this?”

“It was not my decision, Doctor.”

Dr. Clarke jumped to his feet. He commenced pacing—to the window and to his bag and back again, his hands folded behind him. His speech was as quick and unnerved as his manner.

“I certainly would have recommended rest and quiet after such a shock. No wonder Her Highness was agitated!” He faced Lehzen again.

“She must be kept as quiet as possible. She must not be presented with any circumstances that could call the events back to her mind, or she will surely suffer the strongest relapse. She may even fall into hysteria!”

Lehzen bowed her head humbly before this assessment. “As you know, sir, it is difficult to persuade a naturally energetic young woman to rest quietly. If I could tell her I had answers to her questions, she would surely agree to sit and listen—”

“No.” He held up his hand to stop her. “I will speak to the duchess directly.”

“I beg you, sir, do not do so.”

Dr. Clarke drew himself up. He was now very much on his dignity, and Lehzen felt something close to panic nibbling at the back of her mind. “What exactly is the matter here, ma’am?”

Schei?e , she thought again. “Questions have been raised about Dr. Maton. About his conduct in the medical household.”

“This is why I am here? To spread gossip about my late colleague?” Dr. Clarke demanded. “You have much mistaken me, ma’am, if you believe I would do any such thing.”

“Please, Doctor . . .”

But he had already picked up his bag. “You may call me when you have a legitimate medical concern. Otherwise, I will bid you good day.” He did not bother to bow but simply strode out of the room, leaving Lehzen behind to curse fruitlessly in German.

Now what do I do?

Then, slowly, it occurred to Lehzen that she had been granted a wonderful opportunity.

She could lie.

She could tell the princess that Dr. Clarke had assured her there was nothing untoward regarding Dr. Maton’s career and conduct or, indeed, his death. His debts were of an ordinary kind, and his son Gerald had been over-worried, as a loving child could sometimes be.

She could say that Dr. Clarke and his other colleagues had warned Dr. Maton to take his indisposition more seriously and that he had brushed their warnings off. That he had been in the habit of taking long walks across the green. Ironically, she could say he had done so for the sake of his health.

The princess would believe her. After all, it was very like how her father had died.

Lehzen could end this dangerous quest in five minutes.

Lehzen pressed her hand over her eyes. She sat there for a long moment, confused thoughts swirling darkly through her mind.

How does one become a good queen? Victoria’s voice rose up from the depths of memory.

The princess was ten years old. It had been a worrisome day.

She had found a genealogy of English kings in her history book.

It was a new one. Lehzen knew because she had placed it there the day before.

The old king had just been laid to rest. It had been decided that it was time for the princess to know certain truths.

Victoria read the genealogy, one tiny finger tracing the lines that ran from name to name. She found herself, and she frowned.

“I am nearer to the throne than I thought,” she said.

Lehzen had long determined to treat this moment casually. It was simply another fact of the girl’s life—like how grown men bowed to her or how she must wear her tiara during formal occasions, even though it rubbed her forehead badly.

The princess seemed to take this new knowledge quietly enough. Indeed, during that day she seemed not only solemn but also sullen. Lehzen found herself wondering if Victoria was coming down with a fever.

Then the princess asked the question she had been brooding over.

“How does one become a good queen?”

Aware, as she must always be, of listening ears and speaking tongues, Lehzen answered, “One reads much, especially history. Queen Elizabeth, she was a great monarch and much loved by her people. One might study her example.”

The princess listened intently, her brows knitted together, as if by straining her body, she could hear better. She nodded rapidly. “Then that is what I will do. I will be good.”

And the princess turned back to her pencils and her puppy, and just like that, the moment passed. At least it did until later that night.

The duchess was still at dinner. Where the other ladies were, Lehzen could not recall. She had put the princess to bed and then sat beside her in the darkened room.

Victoria lay on her back, her face still pinched and serious even in sleep. Her dainty hand dangled over the side of the bed, as if she had just been petting her dog.

Gently, Lehzen lifted the girl’s hand and tucked it under her coverlet.

“Sweetness, you asked me, how does one become a good queen?” Lehzen whispered.

“This is what I would tell you if I could. I would tell you it means understanding that you are the prize and they all want you—all your uncles, as well as your mama, the men of Parliament and, most of all, Sir John Conroy.” She felt tears prick behind her eyes.

Cold crawled up the skin on her hands. “I would tell you that as queen, you must grow eyes in the back of your head.”

She touched the girl’s brow and the lace ruffle on her cap.

“You must always pay attention, and you must always be wary, because the one who wins you will win the throne. And they will never stop trying to win you. They do not care that you are a child, and they will not care when you are a woman. They do not care for the good of the nation, and God knows they do not care for your happiness. You cannot change this, because you were born who you are, and the choice to be otherwise is not one you have. So you must watch, little one, and you must find ways to fight.”

Find ways to fight. Lehzen felt herself looking from the present day back at her earnest, worried self in the shadowed past.

“And all that time you must remember that you are a symbol,” said that past self to the sleeping girl.

“And that you are an example. That the people look to you for comfort and certainty when it seems as though the world must fall apart around us all, and they have nothing to offer you in return. I will help. I will try, I promise. But in the end, the only one you will have is yourself, and I am sorry for that.”

Memory faded. The present returned. Lehzen knew she could not sit here drinking cold tea and feeling sorry for herself like some hausfrau when her man was away.

“I will help,” she had said. “I will try.”

With a sigh, Lehzen got to her feet. Her knees had begun creaking. It was too soon for that, but so much standing, so much walking across the hard floors . . . Well, it was no matter.

She had promised she would help the princess, had promised she would protect her, no matter what, or who, threatened her.

The problem was, she did not know how.