Page 61 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“M other?”

Jane stood on the threshold of the blue parlor. Mother sat on her sofa, a magazine spread out on her lap and a cup of tea cooling on the table beside her.

She didn’t even look up. “Jane? Good Lord, what is it this time? Another quarrel?” She turned a page.

“Mother . . . I’ve brought a guest home.”

“And what has that to do with me?”

“Good afternoon, Lady Conroy,” said the princess.

Mother looked up. Mother gaped. Jane realized it was one of the few times she’d ever seen her mother lose her countenance.

Mother rose and dropped into a curtsy. “Your Highness! Well, well. Such an honor!”

“Thank you.” Victoria walked into the room as if she owned it. Which, Jane supposed, she did in a way. “May we sit down?” she inquired rather pointedly.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Please.” Mother was glowering at Jane. Jane found she could not muster the strength to care. Victoria sat first, of course, and Jane took the chair beside hers.

“Let me ring for tea.” Mother moved to the bellpull.

“There is no need,” said Victoria. “I was hoping to speak with you in private.”

“With me!” Mother laid one long white hand on her bosom. Her gaze flickered to Jane.

Have you guessed yet? Jane wondered. Do you know what’s about to happen?

“Are you sure we should not wait for Sir John?” Mother was saying. “Surely whatever you have to say—”

Jane found she couldn’t stand any more. “Mother, we are here to talk about Dr. Maton.”

Mother drew back just a little, but her expression remained perfectly, politely bland.

“Lady Conroy,” said the princess, “Dr. Maton was killed. He was poisoned, possibly very slowly, over the course of several weeks.”

“Good heavens,” murmured Mother.

Do you know? Do you see it yet?

“It was your doing, Lady Conroy,” said the princess.

Jane did not know what reaction she expected to this blunt statement. She could not even fully believe that the words had been spoken out loud, that they reflected any possible version of reality.

Mother’s response was to arch her delicate brows. “I poisoned a man? Goodness, ma’am! I’m afraid such a thing would be far too much trouble for me.”

“But you did do it,” said Jane. “You poisoned his tea. Then you upset the tray and broke all the china so it could not be used again. You sent him away to die.” She swallowed.

“And you did it because otherwise he would have written in his memoir that you have been lying to Father all these years and letting him believe you are related to the Duke of Kent.”

“Unfortunately, he is not always careful with the little things,” Mother had said. “Small details, small men . . . He leaves them scattered about.”

“What an amusing story,” murmured Mother.

“But you should know, Jane, your father will not be very pleased when he learns you have been spinning such ridiculous fancies for Her Highness. I do apologize, ma’am,” she added to the princess.

“My daughter’s imagination seems to have become overwrought from your recent kind attentions—”

The princess did not let her get any further. “I notice, Lady Conroy, you do not ask where Betty is.”

“Betty?” Mother echoed.

The princess inclined her head. “Betty is on her way to Sheffield. She will collect her family and from there proceed to Leicestershire. A very bad time of year to have to travel, but there’s a living there for her brother.

A gift of the countess. While we visited her home on the tour, she mentioned the position had recently become open. ”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what that has to do with me. Other than the fact that this largesse has left me short yet another servant!”

“Betty overheard your last meeting with Dr. Maton,” said the princess. “She saw you break the tea set and go on to blame Susan for it. You were paying her for her silence, and to keep an eye on your daughters, just in case they said anything odd.”

“I see,” said Mother.

Jane had not known what she would feel at this time. She had not expected it to be so much heartbreak or so much silent rage. The blood drained from her face as she watched Mother sitting quite still and poised, calmly listening to the princess speak about her guilt.

Her beautiful, languid mother, who hated any sort of bother. She had poisoned a man. She had watched him walk out the door to die.

Mother sat, beautifully composed, her hands perfectly folded, her skirts spread out prettily around her, her dark curls falling across her sloping shoulders.

“Well,” Mother said, “I am certain that upon reflection, ma’am, you will see that this story is one best forgotten as quickly as possible. That is sure to be my husband’s view of the matter.”

Do you honestly think you can scare her by mentioning Father?

“I’m sorry, Lady Conroy,” said Victoria. “I cannot let this matter go.”

Mother laughed just a little. “But, ma’am, surely my daughter’s hysterics—”

The princess did not allow her to finish. “What would be best, Lady Conroy, would be for you to leave.”

“Leave?” echoed Mother.

“Sir John still has family in Ireland, I believe. In fact, he has a sister—Cathleen is her name, is it not? You can go to her. It can be said that you require a rest and are on an extended visit.”

“Ma’am, you will forgive me—”

“I will not,” said the princess. “It is only out of consideration for your daughters that I am here now, rather than informing my mother and your husband and the many, many others who would turn this matter into public business.”

“If you go to Sir John and tell him this fantastical story that I”—Mother laid her hand on her breast—“poisoned poor, drunken little Dr. Maton, he will never believe you. Either of you. And if Sir John does not believe you, the duchess will not believe you, and there’s an end to it.”

“I’m afraid not,” said the princess. “Because there are those who will believe this story.” She paused.

“Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say there are those who will find this story useful because they do not like Sir John. They do not like his influence over my mother, and they do not like his hold over me. These men will go to my uncle king and to the queen, who, as I am sure you know, lately indicated a wish to remove me from Sir John’s influence.

The utter ruin of his family reputation would be a very good excuse to do just that. ”

Mother laughed, a glittering sound like a breaking bell. “And this will happen on the word of two little girls!”

“But by then it will not be just two little girls,” said Jane. “You can take Ned with you. He’s getting himself in trouble here, and it really would be best if he was out of the country for a while.”

This was not how it should be. Jane should not be turning on her mother like this. It should not be her responsibility to say what was the right punishment for her crime. This was a question for courts, for magistrates, for the whole mechanism of public justice.

And yet Mother was right. She had pointed out what had been the sticking point all along. They were just girls, and all that vast, churning machinery of justice would not hear them. Not even when one of them stood poised to become the queen.

So this was what they could do.

“And who will run this house?” demanded Mother. “Who will see to the properties and care for your father and for you and your brother . . . ?”

“I will,” said Liza.

Mother twisted herself around, surprised to find Liza there at all. Jane certainly was. She had not even heard her sister enter. But, of course, Liza knew what was happening. They all knew exactly where to stand to hear what was being said in any room of the house.

Mother sighed and blinked at the ceiling for a long moment. Jane felt the seconds crawling across her skin. She had no notion what her mother would do. Or how the princess would respond.

Mother sighed once more.

“Oh, very well,” she said. “I suppose it’s for the best.”

“Excellent.” The princess’s declaration was firm and cold as ice. She stood. “I trust I will hear of your having sailed quite soon. Jane? We should be going.” She started for the door.

Jane followed, but then she hesitated. “Ma’am, I think . . . May I stay for a moment? I have some things . . .”

The princess touched her arm. “We’ll wait for you in the carriage.”

Jane nodded.

“I’ll show you out, ma’am,” said Liza promptly.

When the door closed, Jane turned. Mother had fallen back on the sofa. She stared up at the ceiling.

Jane wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. But all she could do was stand there, her hands hanging limp at her sides.

Mother closed her eyes. “Go away, Jane. I’m tired of this.”

Jane stared. Her jaw was open, and she could not seem to close it. She could not move any part of her. She just stared at her mother, stretched back on her sofa. A perfect picture of elegant ennui.

“I just want to know how keeping this . . . story about you being a royal bastard could possibly be worth a man’s life?”

“Oh, Jane, you must understand, your father is exposed to so many temptations. If I wanted to keep him with me, to keep his material support, it was necessary that I give him something no one else could. This was the simplest way to do that.”

All her life Jane had believed her mother to be a frail creature. That all she did or failed to do came from her bone-deep indolence. But now she saw there was so much more beneath her mother’s flawless skin than that pretty sloth. She wanted things easy, yes. She wanted things smooth and pleasant.

And she would move mountains or destroy lives to keep them so.

And when whole worlds collapsed, no one would know quite how it happened. Because it could not possibly be the doing of shallow, fainting Lady Conroy.

You sent him away to die.

Go away, Jane. I’m tired of this.

“Mother?” she whispered.

“Yes, Jane?”

“Was it Father who went to the Matons to offer them money to burn his papers?”

“Mmm? Lord! Have we not had enough of this? Yes, if you must know, it was. It seems Dr. Maton had a few little secrets that belonged to your father that he was not willing to give back.”

“What secrets?”

Mother smiled lazily at the ceiling. “Well, my dear, that is something for you and our little princess to find out for yourselves. Now, go away, Jane.” She sighed. “I am dreadfully tired, and it seems I shall shortly have a great deal of packing to do.”