Page 52 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

M ama was upstairs in her private sitting room when Jane got home. She sat at her untidy desk, with a pile of banknotes and coins in front of her.

Oh, yes , thought Jane wearily. It’s Thursday.

Mama would have been at her card luncheon.

It was the one social event she never failed to attend.

Liza had theorized she used it to supplement her pin money, and Liza might have been right.

Their languid mother was surprisingly good at cards.

However, considering how much artful feigning and sighing she practiced daily, perhaps it was not that surprising at all.

“Is it something important?” Mama asked as she made a note in her tiny account book. “As you can see, Jane, I’m very busy.” But she did pause and look up and see the state of her daughter’s dress.

“Again?” Mama groaned. “What on earth did you get into this time?”

“I’ve been sent home.”

“That much is obvious. Was it for wrestling ducks in the pond?” She gestured at Jane’s mud-spattered dress.

“I’ve quarreled with the princess. She says I’m not to come to the palace anymore.”

“I did try to warn you, Jane. That one does not forgive.”

Your son killed a man.

“I know.”

Your husband helped cover it up, and they together might have conspired in the death of another man.

Mama sighed. “Well, there’s nothing to be done now. You’d best go get changed.”

Do you know what they’ve done? Would you care if you did know? Would you help? Did you help?

“Have you . . . have you heard anything from Liza?”

“Mmm? Oh, yes. Did I not tell you? I had a letter just yesterday. It’s here somewhere.” She looked helplessly at the mass of unanswered correspondence spread out across her desk.

“What did she say?” asked Jane.

“As I recall, she says she’s having a marvelous time and that Miss Schumann has invited her to stay a week longer.

” Mama sighed. “Do you know this disagreement of yours may turn out to be a blessing, Jane. Without your sister, I have no help at all. I shall drown from all there is to do. So, I shall be counting on you.” Mama turned back to her winnings.

“Now, run along, there’s a good girl. We’ll talk at supper. ”

Jane did as she was told. She returned to her empty rooms and sat on the chaise and stared out the window. Slowly, awkwardly, with no one to see or to stop her, Jane began to cry.

The princess had said they couldn’t guess what had happened. They had to know. That they couldn’t panic until they knew. Jane’s fear had decided it was not willing to wait.

She was afraid for Ned, and she did not understand why.

She did not love her brother. At least, not with any of the perfect, unquestioning love she had been told a girl was supposed to feel for her brother.

She barely saw him anymore. And if he had done what they said, if he’d killed Dr. Maton, if he’d killed a man in a duel . . .

But if he had, and if anyone found out, Ned would die. He’d be hanged by the neck until dead. Father would let it happen, because if he lifted a finger, he might be implicated in Ned’s crimes.

No one would help Ned. Ned, who was as damaged as she was, as Liza was.

He was as confused, as lonely, as desperate to carve out some kind of life that their father did not control.

He’d given money to Susan when she’d needed it, and asked for nothing in return.

He’d told Jane he’d stand aside and let her fly if she found a way.

Ned would die, and it might not be her fault, but she’d be responsible. She couldn’t do it. She was not brave enough to live with the fact of having killed her brother. She did not hate him that much. She was saddened and sickened and sorry for him.

And Jane cried because it was not right. It would never be right.

But also because it was true.