Page 9 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

T he rooms Victoria and Mama had been allotted on the first floor of the palace were a closed circle that began and ended at the stone stairs.

The space that was now the boudoir had once been Victoria’s nursery.

The moss-green paper that covered the walls had faded and thinned over the years.

The carpet had once been a shade of deep emerald but was now a nameless pond-water color.

The ceiling was stained with fireplace soot the way the windows were stained with dust. Only the furnishings were new and comfortable—the chairs, the chests of toys, the beds, a large one for Mama, a smaller one for Victoria, and two plain ones for Lehzen and Lady Flora.

Victoria might be sixteen years old, but Mama insisted her old dollhouse be kept out on its table. The white wooden boxes that held her dolls stood beside it.

Anyone who saw this room would think that Victoria still played with these toys.

They would also look at her little bed situated next to Mama’s great one and think she could not stand to sleep apart from her mother.

At least they would if no one bothered to mention it was Mama who dictated this arrangement.

No one did mention it. And an alarming number of people saw this room. Mama made sure of that.

Victoria sat cautiously on the edge of her bed. The pain was everywhere. Dash left his basket and came to sit on his haunches beside her. She started to pick him up but winced.

Lehzen picked Dash up and set him on Victoria’s lap. He immediately licked her face and wriggled down to make her skirts into a comfortable nest.

Lehzen sat beside them and took Victoria’s hand.

“What happened to you during your ride, ma’am?”

“Just what I said.”

They spoke softly, both of them angled so that they could see the door and be ready to close their mouths should the handle turn.

“Prince shied, and I fell,” Victoria told her. “And there was a dead man on the green.” Her voice turned pleading. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Your Highness would not lie to me,” said Lehzen. She spoke without artifice and without doubt. “But is it possible—”

Something inside of Victoria snapped. “I was not mistaken!” I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

It’s that my back hurts, and Sir John . .

. and Mama . . . “I saw what I saw. Why is it so impossible that there should be a dead man on the green? Why is everyone acting as if I said I saw—I don’t know what—pink elephants singing opera? ” An idea struck her. “Hornsby!”

“The groom?”

“Yes. I know what Sir John said, but that could very well be a lie. If you went to Hornsby and talked to him without Sir John to hear, he might have a different story.”

Lehzen opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Will you go, please, Lehzen?” said Victoria.

“It can’t do any harm, can it? If Hornsby didn’t see anything .

. .” She paused. She petted Dash’s silky back.

His presence soothed her and allowed her to think more clearly.

She needed to be calm now. “If he didn’t see anything, then, well, perhaps I did imagine it. ”

But I did not. Sir John lies. He may not have even gone to talk to Hornsby at all.

Lehzen blew out a long breath. “Very well. I will see if I can go speak with him as soon as I can get away.”

“Thank you, Lehzen.”

“Now, ma’am, you must lie down and rest. I will make a poultice for your back. It will keep the muscles from stiffening and make it easier for you to stand straight for the dinner tonight.”

“I don’t think I can manage the dinner,” murmured Victoria. Shame filled her, and fear.

“I’m afraid you must. If you try to beg off, your mother will say you invented this story of seeing a dead man to get out of your duties. And Sir John . . .”

Lehzen did not finish. She did not have to. They both knew what he would say. He had already said it.

It is the taint of her father’s blood.

Victoria let herself be undressed and lay down on her bed. Lehzen unlaced her corset and shift to bare her back. Dash was absolutely forbidden to be on the bed, but he stretched out on the floor beside her and rolled over onto his back so she could lay her hand on his warm belly.

Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. She made herself picture the grassy slope, the gray sky, the rippling curtains of rain.

Made herself remember how she pulled back the reins to slow Prince, how she felt his gait falter.

She remembered that she struggled to keep her seat, to guide her horse, to look ahead for holes, for stones, and other hazards.

She remembered the world turning over. The pain and the stars. She remembered twisting around to try to sit up.

It was then she saw the black figure crumpled on the ground.

It was unmistakably a man. It was not a hillock.

It was not a shadow. She saw the man’s head, saw the blue-gray skin through the disheveled, thinning hair.

Saw the hand flung out at an unnatural angle.

Saw the way the whole body seemed deflated.

I saw it. I did see it.

Except she now also saw a mound of dirt and a pile of gray stones stained green with lichen. Involuntarily, she imagined how they might lie close to each other, creating the illusion of a prostrate man.

Sir John said it could be. So, her treacherous mind now wondered how it might be, and tried to construct it. And the more she thought about it, the clearer the construction became. The memory—the true memory—began to blur, like the view beyond the dirty windows.

I must think of something else. I must not deceive myself because Sir John has lied. But . . . could he be right? If Hornsby didn’t see anything—No. Sir John was not there. I was. I saw it. She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed.

Lehzen was humming and moving about the room. A warm towel, thickly plastered with herbs and goose grease, was laid on her aching back. Victoria, exhausted and lulled by the warmth and Lehzen’s familiar, secure presence, felt the world begin to slip away.

I did see it. Him. I did.

She kept repeating this to herself as darkness dragged her down into sleep.