Page 56 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

I n the end, Jane decided to tell Liza what was happening.

First, oddly, because Liza might laugh at her. She thought that if Liza scorned her fears about what Ned had done, she might find herself less worried about him.

Second, because she had to do something to bring Liza back to herself. Liza drifted around their rooms like an aimless ghost. Jane had expected her sister to fall quickly back into the old routines, but most days she could barely bring herself to walk down to the breakfast room.

“Were you in love with him?” Jane asked.

“I thought I was,” said Liza. “But I think I was in love with the idea that I was leaving, and I’ve managed to break my own heart over it. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“No,” said Jane. “Not a bit.”

But what decided the matter was that Jane desperately needed someone to talk to.

The princess had been gone three weeks, and although Jane had gone to the post office every day, no letter had arrived.

Victoria had been certain that between her and Lehzen, they would be able to smuggle something out, and by now, the postmistress, Mrs. Carey, was very used to looking for anything from Miss V. Kent. But nothing had come.

She’s just being watched , Jane told herself. She said it would be difficult. But that didn’t help.

So, Jane told Liza what was happening to her.

She brought up a tray with tea and a full sugar bowl and thick slices of bread and butter.

She closed the door to their sitting room, and when Liza had fixed her cup of tea, Jane told her all about Dr. Maton and the princess’s determination to find out what had happened.

Told her about the circumlocutions that had allowed the princess to speak to Gerald Maton, the mysterious “pension,” and the discovery that the family had burned his papers.

Jane told her the true reason Ned had given Susan money, about the duel and its consequences, about how she feared that Dr. Maton had been blackmailing Ned and perhaps Father, as well.

“Well,” said Liza when she’d finally finished. “You’ve been having a busy time.”

Jane giggled but quickly stopped herself. The sound was far too close to hysterics. “And now I’ve been left behind specifically to talk to Mr. Rea, but I don’t know how to do that. I can’t just turn up at the palace and ask to see him, and I can’t invite him to tea.”

In fact, she’d hoped to avoid the whole affair by retrieving the letters from Dr. Maton and Mr. Rea from Father’s desk.

Surely, she reasoned, there would be enough in those that she could put off talking with Mr. Rea until the princess returned.

But it seemed Ned had realized she might come back, and had spirited them away entirely.

“But why not invite Mr. Rea to tea?” asked Liza. “Make it on Thursday, when Mother is out. I’ll be in the house, so it will be perfectly proper, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t. “What if Ned sees him?”

There it was—the light in her sister’s eyes, the easy, confident self that had been missing since she returned.

“Don’t you worry, Jane. If it comes to it, I’ll take care of Ned.”

* * *

It did not “come to it.” Jane invited Mr. Rea for one o’clock.

By that time, Ned was out about his own business, whatever that might be.

It was Liza who met Mr. Rea at the door and ushered him into the blue parlor.

There Jane sat in the round-backed chair that was her post when presiding over Mother’s teapot on at-home days.

She had the tray ready, with the second-best cups and a plate of Cook’s finest shortbread.

Jane found that William Rea did not suit her idea of an accountant.

Accountants should be hunched, balding, pale, paunchy, ink-stained men with spectacles who carried fat, well-thumbed ledgers.

Mr. Rea was a tall, lean man. His black coat fitted him well, and his black cravat was neatly tied.

His dark hair was neatly styled, and his side-whiskers were closely trimmed.

His breeches showed the shapely legs of a man who led an active life, and the smooth assurance of his bow spoke of a comfort with parlor manners.

But this pleasant appearance was spoilt by his trick of walking with his head thrust forward and nodding at everyone and everything he saw.

It made him look both too vague and too sharp at the same time.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Rea,” said Jane as she indicated he should sit on Mother’s sofa.

“It was no trouble at all, ma’am. I’m honored that you asked for me. Honored.” He nodded several times and accepted the cup of tea she poured. He sipped politely and nodded again. “Now, tell me, how may I be of assistance to such a charming young woman?”

Mr. Rea smiled.

Jane was familiar with this sort of look.

Mr. Rea thought he could disarm her simply by being handsome and obliging.

He was unlucky in that there were lots of men in the palace who held similar beliefs about themselves, and even Sir John’s dreary daughter saw her fair share of flashing blue eyes and coy grins.

Jane took her time fixing her own cup of tea. As she did, she thought about Liza and the duchess and Mother. How would they speak to this man?

“Mr. Rea,” she said, “I asked you here specifically on business for Her Royal Highness.”

Mr. Rea drew his chin back in surprise. “Her . . . the Princess Victoria?”

Jane nodded.

Mr. Rea was silent for a minute, clearly torn between being flattered and being wary.

“Of course, I am glad to be of whatever use I can to Her Royal Highness,” he said. It was the correct answer, while at the same time it committed him to exactly nothing.

Jane folded her hands, surprised to find them so still.

She remembered the feeling of sitting in the princess’s carriage and how grand it was to be someone else entirely.

This was the same feeling. Sitting here, she was not Sir John’s dreary daughter and spy.

She was the princess’s friend and her trusted confidant.

She had planned this moment herself and was carrying it through.

For this one moment, she was finally fully Jane Conroy.

“You may have heard that the king has informed Parliament that the princess is to be given her own household.”

Mr. Rea’s expression turned owlish.

Father told you, didn’t he? And I imagine he said he would be nipping all that in the bud.

Jane stiffened her spine. She set her jaw. And then she lied.

“What you may not know is that the matter has already been settled between the duchess and the queen.”

That startled him.

Jane bit her tongue hard to keep from smiling.

“I tell you this in strictest confidence, Mr. Rea.” She waited while he nodded and nodded again.

“As soon as Her Royal Highness returns from her tour, the arrangements will begin. At that time, the princess will be making her own decisions about her household staff.”

She waited for Mr. Rea to make some remark. He remained silent.

“You’ll surely be familiar with the rumors that Her Royal Highness does not share her mother’s affection for my father.” Jane smiled. “Father says this is because she is a silly, stubborn girl.”

She could see that the accountant had heard exactly those words. Probably more than once.

“But it goes a little . . . further than stubbornness,” Jane went on. “And I can promise you absolutely that when the time comes, Her Royal Highness will be consulting her own inclinations, not Father’s. And she will most certainly remember anyone who was a friend to her.”

Jane watched as this idea sank slowly into Mr. Rea’s mind. She watched his gaze dart about the room.

What are you looking for? Answers? An escape?

Whatever it was, he apparently did not find it in the parlor, because Mr. Rea got abruptly to his feet. He paced over to the window, his head nodding in time with his footsteps, and stared out at the garden.

“Sir John has been my commanding officer and patron for years now,” he said.

Jane gritted her teeth to remind herself to keep silent and let Mr. Rea talk.

“He’s the reason I have this position at all. When he came into the duchess’s service, he wrote to me and told me that I should join him.”

And he’s made use of you ever since . It’s what he does.

“I cannot, I will not, betray his confidence.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” said Jane. Although it is interesting that, that is what you’re hearing. “What Her Royal Highness wants to know is about Dr. Maton.”

“Maton?” Mr. Rea turned, clearly surprised. “Sir John said he was taking care of the matter.”

Jane fought to keep her voice steady. “Then there’s no harm in the princess knowing what’s behind it, is there?

So that she does not mistakenly trust the wrong person in the future?

” Inspiration struck. “I’ve heard that Dr. Julius Maton may be in line for a position in the medical household, or perhaps Dr. Gerald Maton.

” This was another lie, but surely that did not matter at this point.

“If the princess needs to choose between them, she needs to know which one she can trust with her secrets.”

Mr. Rea smirked. “I wouldn’t trust any of Maton’s sons.”

“Really? Why not?”

Jane watched Mr. Rea consider. He’d already slipped. What would he do now? If he decided he needed to keep all the secrets and preserve his loyalty to Father, she was sunk. But if he decided it would be as well to ingratiate himself to the princess, even just a little, she would win.

Which is it? She clenched her hands together. Which way do you choose?

“Well, I tell you frankly, Miss Conroy, their father, William Maton, was an out-and-out scoundrel.”

It seemed to Jane then that the heavens opened and the angels sang. She hoped that Mr. Rea mistook her stunned expression for one of simple surprise.

“But . . . he was a part of the household for so long . . . ,” she murmured.

“And I warned Sir John many times over the years that he was not to be trusted,” Mr. Rea told her.

“Not only did he drink and gamble, but he was not above using private information to extort money to pay his debts. I knew all this, and even I was shocked when I heard about his latest, well, his last, scheme.”

“What was the scheme?”

Contempt twisted Mr. Rea’s mouth into a sneer. “You heard, perhaps, that Dr. Maton was writing a . . . memoir, I believe he called it?” Jane nodded. “Well, it seems that he was putting in all the secrets he’d been keeping about his patients and their households. All of them.”

“All?” Now Jane was shocked. All meant the duke, the duchess, Princess Sophia, the Duke of Sussex.

The princess.

“All,” repeated Mr. Rea. “That is, unless, they would pay him to keep them out. It seems he was making the rounds of all the affected households and informing his victims as to what it would cost to keep him from publishing their confidences.”

“But . . . he couldn’t possibly publish such a book. It wouldn’t be allowed. Someone would stop him.”

“In an earlier age perhaps,” said Mr. Rea. “But, alas, these are sadly degraded times we live in, and the press”—he waved vaguely toward the window—“may publish very much as it chooses. And scandal sells newspapers, and books.”

“I see.”

Liza had said he drank and talked too much. Gerald Maton had said he talked about his cases more than he should . . .

He’d been there when the Duke of Kent died. He’d taken care of the princess the whole time she was growing. He’d taken care of the duchess. He’d sat in on meetings of the Kensington Board. He’d had years’, decades’ even, worth of secrets he could threaten to publish about any and all of them.

Even about Father, if he chose to.

Dr. Maton had known that Father had been lying—to Parliament, to St. James’s, to anyone who would listen—about the princess’s health and the state of her mind, and that the duchess had been helping him.

What else does he know about the royals? About us ?

He had known about Ned, and the duel, of course, but what else?

Jane was suddenly very glad she was sitting down, because her knees were trembling.

Jane picked up her teacup and gulped the contents gracelessly. “Well. That is very helpful. Thank you, Mr. Rea. I will make sure that Her Highness knows how ready you were to help.”

“And your father . . .”

“Oh, this does not concern him,” she said, giving her best imitation of Liza’s breezy nonchalance. “I don’t see any reason to mention it at all.”

Mr. Rea smiled and bowed over her hand and took his polite leave with many more nods and many assurances that should the princess ever require anything further, he was, of course, entirely at her service.

He had not been gone half a minute before Liza came in. Jane grinned. Liza raised her brows.

“Did you hear?” Jane asked.

“What do you take me for?” Liza sat down and reached for the shortbread. “Of course I did.”

“What do you think?”

Liza flopped backward, assuming a pose very much like Mother’s and took a large bite of shortbread. “I think that the next thing we must do is work out how we’re getting to Ramsgate.”