‘Good, good,’ Aubrey said. He bounced on his toes and realised that he was excited. His hands twitched, eagerly.
Sommers glanced over his shoulder, then toward the window. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Fitzwilliam? His Highness won’t be long.’
‘I’ll stand,’ Aubrey said and had trouble smothering a laugh. What a time he was having! The way the light came in through the window, the sound of the motor traffic that echoed over the parade ground all made a delicious backdrop to his task.
A figure strode through the doorway. Aubrey’s hand went to the inner pocket of his jacket only to realise, to his disappointment, that it wasn’t the Prince.
‘Hello, old man,’ George said.
Before Aubrey could frame a reply, he had to disengage his finger from the trigger of the pistol. This took more attention that he thought. In the meantime, George was joined by someone else and Aubrey forgot everything in his astonishment.
‘Caroline. What are you doing here?’
Caroline stood next to George. Her hands were clenched tightly together. ‘Wrong question, Aubrey. You need to ask yourself what you’re doing here.’
Aubrey’s astonishment was whisked away and replaced by his consuming sense of purpose, the one he’d had since waking up. He grinned and once again his hand stole to the pistol in his pocket. ‘What a ridiculous question.’
‘Is it?’ Caroline demanded. ‘Think, Aubrey. Really think. Why have you come here at this hour? Why did you leave college so abruptly? Where have you been before you came here?’
Sommers coughed and looked significantly at Caroline. He was standing with his back against the wall, his arms folded on his chest, all friendliness gone. Aubrey would have been offended at this change, but he had other things to think about. ‘Sommers,’ he said. ‘Where’s Bertie?’
Sommers glanced at Caroline and George. ‘His Highness is on his way. Your friends have been chatting with me.’
The pistol was really a fine piece of work, Aubrey decided. Compact, neatly machined. He liked the grip, particularly, with its neat cross-hatching. ‘Sorry?’ he said, realising that Somers had finished speaking. ‘I missed that.’
Nodding, George strolled across the carpet, advancing on Aubrey. ‘Time to go, old man. You’re not yourself.’
This amused Aubrey. ‘Not myself? Then who am I?’
Caroline, too, made her way toward Aubrey, moving a little to his right. George’s broad shoulders blocked Aubrey’s view of her, which was disappointing, but other matters were crowding for his attention.
‘George was concerned about you,’ Caroline said and he swung his head in her direction. ‘He saw you leave college and he telephoned me immediately.’
‘Lost you for a while,’ George said, and Aubrey saw that his friend had moved to his left. He couldn’t see both of them at once. He had to turn his head from side to side and was momentarily distracted by Sommers’ scowling. ‘Caught you near the Mire after one of Maggie’s Crew told us where you were.’
‘Maggie’s Crew?’ Aubrey frowned. This wasn’t as much fun any more. Too many things to consider instead of the dreamy single-mindedness he’d enjoyed all morning.
‘We saw where you were headed,’ Caroline said. With a start, he saw that she was standing next to a large armchair, only a few feet away.
‘How did you do that?’ he asked.
‘You’re preoccupied,’ George said and Aubrey started again. George had crossed the open space and was standing an arm’s length away. ‘You’re having trouble focusing.’
‘No I’m not,’ he said automatically. ‘I’m totally focused.’
At that moment, the door opened. Prince Albert stood there looking both shocked and angry, his distress showing in the way he straightened his jacket, then his tie, then his jacket again, a quick flurry of controlled, precise movements. ‘Aubrey. What on earth is going on here?’
Rational thought abandoned Aubrey. His body went into action, independent of anything that he wanted, while a horrified, tiny voice screamed in horror, a cry only he could hear.
He flung back his jacket and wrenched the pistol from the inner pocket. Smoothly, he snapped off the safety catch and brought the firearm to bear on the heir to the throne. Finally, he felt whole and complete, his purpose fulfilled. A radiance filled the room. Prince Albert was outlined with an almost unbearably bright nimbus and shone like a beacon.
Aubrey almost sobbed out loud with joy as his finger tightened on the trigger.
George roared and tackled him, sending Aubrey reeling. It was momentary, for Aubrey caught himself and swivelled, his pistol-laden fist searching for the Prince in a room that was in uproar.
By then, Caroline had come close. In a flurry of silk and perfume, she caught his outstretched arm and clamped it to her side. Using both hands she seized his gun-fist, twisted just so, pressed right there and bent his wrist like that. Aubrey had never had red-hot iron spikes driven into his hand, but at that moment he would have preferred it as Caroline’s knowledge of pressure points went to work. He let loose a heartfelt howl of pain and, despite his best efforts, he dropped the pistol. Caroline kicked it away. Sommers was ready, scooped it up, broke it, and emptied the cartridges on the floor. Then he took out his own pistol and snapped off the safety catch.
Someone was snarling. Aubrey searched for the source before realising – with some surprise – that it came from him. Caroline let go, edging away warily. Aubrey’s arm hung limply at his side with bright points of pain throbbing away, little metal cymbals clashing in his temples, but it was unimportant. The pistol. He must have the pistol.
Strong arms seized him from behind in a full nelson. ‘Easy, old man,’ George growled in his ear.
Prince Albert approached, flanked by a grim Archie Sommers. ‘Aubrey,’ the Prince said, then he turned away, upset. ‘You were right,’ he said to Caroline. ‘I didn’t believe it when you said that Aubrey was coming to assassinate me, but you were right.’
Assassinate the Crown Prince? To Aubrey, it sounded like a fine idea, a natural and inevitable thing. If only he could get free from George’s grip, he was sure he could wrestle the pistol away from Sommers.
He struggled, then howled again when Sommers hurried Prince Albert away, shutting the door behind them. That was wrong, so wrong that Aubrey felt ill, his stomach a curdled mass inside him. He threw himself from side to side, but George held fast.
‘Steady, George,’ Caroline said.
Caroline drew aside Aubrey’s jacket. With her other hand, she held up a knife, right in front of Aubrey’s eyes. It was small, barely as long as her hand, with a handle of mother-of-pearl and a pointed blade that looked sharp enough to slice steel.
She caught his gaze and held it evenly. Her eyes were calm, grey and icily determined. ‘I can do this while you’re moving. But it’s probably better if you don’t.’
Aubrey went to answer, but the knife flashed before anything intelligible made its way to his lips.
He looked down. His shirt gaped. Caroline picked the last button from its thread and let it drop on the floor to join its mates.
The Beccaria Cage lay on Aubrey’s bare chest. He suddenly realised that it was heavy, pressing on his skin hard enough to leave a red mark. It seemed heavier. It was warm, too, but was that simply through contact with his skin?
The knife had disappeared from Caroline’s hand. She seized the Beccaria Cage and yanked.
The chain parted. Aubrey’s eyes flew open wide, then his head spun, the entire room shuddered, and all existence twisted, wrenched, swirled away.