“I see it differently.” Victoria’s lips compressed into a thin line. She looked from one to the other of them. “I will tolerate no secrets. Do you understand? Neither will I tolerate vicious gossip about members of my family.”
“But Lorne has been seen!” Louise burst out. “It’s past rumors and gossip now.” She stepped closer to Stephen, the better to support his argument. “If Scotland Yard is investigating a sex ring, this business of the rent boys being brought into the clubs, it’s only a matter of time before the newspapers catch on, if they haven’t already. Then it will be all over London. All over the country, Mama.”
“Don’t you shout at me,” Victoria warned.
Louise threw up her hands in defeat. “I’m not shouting. I’m trying to reason with you. Lorne will always be Lorne. We can caution him, but he will not change. And you shouldn’t blame the messenger”—she waved a hand at Byrne—“for bringing bad news. He’s just doing his job.”
“I will do as I please. Until my death I am queen, my girl. On the day the Prince of Wales takes the throne, you may petition him as you wish. Until then—” She whisked her hand through the air, leaving the rest of her thought unsaid. There was to be no further argument. “Good-bye, Mr. Byrne. Your services are no longer needed. You may return to your own country.”
Louise’s mouth fell open. Her heart plummeted to her feet. She peered up from beneath eyelashes already damp with rising tears at her Raven. Not her mother’s Raven. Hers. This was the man who had captured her heart. Who would too soon leave her. Would she never again see him?
She closed her eyes, unable to watch him go.
When Louise heard no retreating footsteps, she slowly opened her eyes and looked out through her misery. Miraculously, Stephen Byrne still stood there, straight and strong, his black eyes clear and solemn. He didn’t look as if he were aware he’d just been canned, sacked, dismissed . . . given the royal boot.
When he spoke, his voice sounded to her as calm as a country brook. “Ma’am, there is another issue. It is my duty to report this to you before I leave my post, as it pertains to your personal safety.”
“Then you may deliver your report to Mr. Brown or the captain of my guard.” Victoria leaned back in her chair, folded her plump hands across her lap, and fixed a stony gaze on him.
Byrne still didn’t move toward the door, but his dark regard shifted momentarily to Louise before returning to her mother. “Under your orders, ma’am, I have continued my investigation of the Fenian threat.”
“I say, leave me now, sir!”
“And it appears danger is imminent. The opera murders were a mistake. The intended victim was Mr. Disraeli, and the aim to cause you distress, as he is one of your favorites and you his supporter.”
Victoria’s eyes flashed her fury. “You’ve told me all of this before.” She shifted in her chair, and a shadow of pain crossed her face as she readjusted her foot on its cushion.
“Yes, but we’ve now discovered the identity of the man responsible for ordering Disraeli’s murder, as well as for bringing the rats into the palace and leaving the threatening letter. He is Mr. Philip Rhodes, your prime minister’s secretary—and secretly an officer in the Fenian army.”
Louise reached out with the intention of grasping Byrne’s arm, but her mother’s sharp eyes stopped her hand midair. “Has Mr. Rhodes been arrested?”
“He has disappeared.”
“Good riddance then.” Victoria smiled, as if that solved everything.
“But not forever, I fear. I searched his room and found he’d vacated it but left behind evidence that a large quantity of black powder had been stored there. Since it has been moved from its hiding place, and with the Accession Day celebrations just one day away, I worry this means an attack is imminent.”
“And you, too, would have me change my mind about the parade and ceremony?”
“I would, ma’am.”
Louise saw a flicker of fear in her mother’s eyes, but then her features screwed into their customary mask of obstinacy. “Mr. Brown has been informed of these theories of yours?”
“He has, ma’am.”
“And your commander in my Secret Service has also been informed?”
“Yes, and we have alerted Scotland Yard. Reinforcements from the army have been sent to search the parade route, Westminster Abbey as well. But we cannot guarantee your safety. I respectfully beg you to stay where you are safe—here at Buckingham.”
Louise held her breath, hopeful that Byrne’s argument for caution would have more effect on her mother than her own pleas. She counted her heartbeats in the ensuing silence: one, two, three . . .
The queen blinked up at Byrne. “On the contrary. I’d say all is in good hands now, with so many precautions taken.” Her lips turned up in a satisfied smile. “My men will keep me perfectly safe.”
Louise let her eyes drift shut in resignation. They were at the mercy of bomb-wielding lunatics. And Victoria, with her twisted iron will, seemed intent on making their nefarious work all the easier for them. Brown had already informed her of the route.
Rather than proceed the short distance directly from the palace to Westminster Abbey, no more than a ten-minute carriage ride, she had insisted on a wider loop through the city. They would drive along Vauxhall Street, across the bridge, then circling round to recross the Thames River on Westminster Bridge, thereby taking in a variety of elite and poor sections of the city, to see and be seen by more of her subjects.
A moment later, Louise became conscious that Byrne was speaking again.
“I request one favor before I leave England,” he said in that deep, tranquil voice that resonated with her soul.
Victoria merely looked at him, offering no encouragement for him to continue.
Byrne said, “I would like to remain long enough to see to your family’s safety this one last time. Please allow me to accompany you tomorrow on the way to the church.”
Louise got the sense that he wanted to turn and look at her, that he was trying to say something personal to her. But he refrained from making eye contact.
“We thank you for your service,” Victoria said. “We wish to not see you again, Mr. Byrne. Have a safe voyage home.”
And that, thought Louise with a sinking heart, is that.
Forty-nine
“Stop, Louise. Stop!”
Louise knew it was Stephen, but she couldn’t bear to face him. Her mother had humiliated the man, tossed him out of the palace and her daughter’s life. Furthermore, she’d acknowledged their affair—if not in so many words, at least by her dismissal of Byrne and elevation of Lorne to provincial governor. Victoria had more than enough spies within her court and staff to have had people watching Louise. Did her mother even know about their night in the servants’ quarters?
Why hadn’t she been more careful?
Because, Louise thought, I’m in love. And when you were in love you were blind to all else but that one person who meant everything to you.
Now nothing mattered.
Stephen would return to America. They wouldn’t even share a few precious weeks together before she and Lorne left for Canada. There was no possibility of Stephen remaining in London, disgraced as he was, unable to work at his profession. The Secret Service couldn’t keep him on after the queen’s dismissal. Scotland Yard certainly wouldn’t hire him and risk her displeasure. No member of Parliament, or even the minor nobility, would think of using him for private security for fear of turning Victoria against them.
Her heart broken, Louise ignored Stephen’s shouts and ran the length of the Queen’s Gallery, until her breath caught and ached inside her chest, like a bone lodged halfway down her throat. What must the man think of her? What could she possibly say to him now that her mother had mortified him and ruined his career?