Charlotte felt the sun burn in her eyes. The huge house in front of them seemed to blur and go fuzzy in her vision. Ahead of her, Vespasia’s back was ruler-straight. Her head with its fashionable hat was as high and level as if she were sailing into a garden party as an honored guest.
They were met at the door by a butler whose white hair was scraped back from the high dome of his forehead as if he had run his hands through it almost hard enough to pull it out. He recognized Vespasia immediately.
“Good afternoon, Lady Vespasia,” he said, his voice shaking. “I am afraid Her Majesty is a little unwell today, and is not receiving any callers whatever. I’m so sorry we didn’t know in time to advise you. I would invite you in, but one of our housemaids has a fever that we would not wish anyone else to catch. I’m so sorry.”
“Most unpleasant for the poor girl,” Vespasia sympathized. “And for all the rest of you also. You are quite correct to take it seriously, of course. Fortunately I have brought Dr. Narraway with me and I’m sure he would be happy to see the girl and do whatever can be done for her. Sometimes a little tincture of quinine helps greatly. It might be wise for Her Majesty’s sake as well. It would be dreadful if she were to catch such a thing.”
The butler was lost for words. He drew in his breath, started to speak, and stopped again. The sweat stood out on his brow and his eyes blinked rapidly.
“I can see that you are distressed for her.” Vespasia spoke as reassuringly as she could, although her voice wavered a trifle also. “Perhaps in humanity, as well as wisdom, we should have Dr. Narraway look at her. If all your staff became infected you will be in a serious and most unpleasant situation.”
“Lady Vespasia, I cannot …”
Before he could finish, another, younger man appeared, also dressed as a servant. He was dark-haired, perhaps in his mid-thirties, and heavier set.
“Sir,” he said to the butler. “I think perhaps the lady is right. I just had word poor Mollie is getting worse. You’d better accept their offer and have them in.”
The butler looked at the man with loathing, but after one desperate glance at Vespasia, he surrendered.
“Thank you.” Vespasia stepped across the threshold; Charlotte and Narraway followed her.
The moment they were inside and the front door closed, it was apparent that they were prisoners. There were other men at the foot of the sweeping staircase and at the entrance to the kitchens and servants’ quarters.
“You didn’t have to do that!” the butler accused the other man.
“Oh, decidedly, we did,” the other contradicted. “They’d ’ave gone away knowing there was something wrong. Best we keep all this quiet. Don’t want the old lady upset.”
“No you don’t,” Vespasia agreed tartly. “If she has an attack and dies, you will be guilty not only of murder but of regicide. Do you imagine there is anywhere in the world that you could hide from that? Not that you would escape. We may have many ideas about the liberty or equality that we aspire to, even fight for, but no one will countenance the murder of the queen who has been on our throne longer than the lifetime of most of her subjects around the face of the earth. You would be torn apart, although I daresay that matters less to you than the complete discrediting of all your ideas.”
“Lady, keep a still tongue in yer head, or I’ll still it for yer. Whatever people feel about the queen, no one cares a jot if yer survive this or not,” the man said sharply. “Yer pushed yer way in here. Yer’ve no one but yerself to blame if it turns bad for yer.”
“This is …,” the butler began. Then, realizing he was only offering another hostage to fate, he bit off his words.
“Is anyone sick?” Vespasia inquired of no one in particular.
“No,” the butler admitted. “It’s what they told us to say.”
“Good. Then will you please conduct us to Her Majesty. If she is being held with the same courtesy that you are offering us, it might still be as well for Dr. Narraway to be close to her. You don’t want her to suffer any unnecessary ill effects. If she is not alive and well I imagine she will be of little use to you as a hostage.”
“How do I know ye’re a doctor?” the man said suspiciously, looking at Narraway.
“You don’t,” Narraway replied. “But what have you to lose? Do you think I mean her any harm?”
“What?”
“Do you think I mean her any harm?” Narraway repeated impatiently.
“Of course not! What kind of a stupid question is that?”
“The only kind that needs an answer. If I mean her no harm then it would be of less trouble to you to keep us all in the same room rather than use several. This is not so very large a house, for all its importance. I will at least keep her calm. Is that not in your interest?”
“What’s in that bag? Yer could have knives, even gas for all I know.”
“I am a physician, not a surgeon,” Narraway said tartly.
“Who’s she?” the man glanced at Charlotte.
“My nurse. Do you imagine I attend female patients without a chaperone?”
The man took the Gladstone bag from Narraway and opened it up. He saw only the few powders and potions they had bought from the apothecary in Southampton, all labeled. They had been careful, for precisely this reason, not to purchase anything that was an obvious weapon, not even small scissors for the cutting of bandages. Everything was exactly what it purported to be.
The man shut the bag again and turned toward his ally at the foot of the stairs. “Yer might as well take ’em up. We don’t want the old lady passing out on us.”
“Not yet, anyway,” the other man agreed. He jerked his hand toward the flight of stairs. “Come on, then. Yer wanted to meet Her Majesty—this is yer lucky day.”
It was the butler who conducted them up and then across the landing and knocked on the upstairs sitting room door. At the order from inside, he opened it and went in. A moment later he came out again. “Her Majesty will receive you, Lady Vespasia. You may go in.”
“Thank you,” Vespasia accepted, leading the way while Narraway and Charlotte followed a couple of steps behind her.
Victoria was seated in one of the comfortable, homely chairs in the well-used, very domestic living room. Only the height and ornate decoration of the ceiling reminded one that this was the home of the queen. She herself was a small, rather fat, elderly woman with a beaky nose and a very round face. Her hair was screwed back in an unflatteringly severe style. Her large eyes were pale and she was dressed entirely in black, which drained every shred of color from her skin. When she saw Vespasia for a second she blinked, and then she smiled.
“Vespasia. How very agreeable to see you. Come here!”
Vespasia went forward and dropped a graceful curtsy, her head slightly bowed, her back perfectly straight. “Your Majesty.”
“Who are these?” Victoria inquired, looking beyond Vespasia to Narraway and Charlotte. She lowered her voice only slightly. “Your maid, presumably. The man looks like a doctor. I didn’t send for a doctor. There’s nothing the matter with me. Every fool in this household is treating me as if I’m ill. I want to go for a walk in the garden, and I am being prevented. I am empress of a quarter of the world, and my own household won’t let me go for a walk in the garden!” Her voice was petulant. “Vespasia, come for a walk with me.” She made to rise to her feet, but she was too far back in the chair to do so without assistance, and rather too fat to do it with any grace.
“Ma’am, it would be better if you were to remain seated,” Vespasia said gently. “I am afraid I have some very harsh news to tell you …”
“Lady Vespasia!” Narraway warned.
“Be quiet, Victor,” Vespasia told him without turning her eyes away from the queen. “Her Majesty deserves to know the truth.”
“I demand to know it!” Victoria snapped. “What is going on?”