Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (10 page)

ara stared at the blank piece of paper and wondered for the umpteenth time what life in Australia would be like. As a course of action, running away held far more appeal than taking on the might of the British Empire. With a sigh, she took up the silver pen and dipped the tip in the bottle of ink. In the centre of the paper, she wrote in a flowing script:

Lady Lyons requests an urgent audience with Her Majesty.

Underneath she added the phrase Nate whispered in her ear.

Death has reared himself a throne in a strange city lying alone.

A shudder ran through her frame. With Nate in the Tower facing execution, his fate depended on their queen. There were echoes in the words that drilled through her core. Trying to shake off the chill of premonition, she folded the slip of paper and addressed it to the queen’s secretary. She held a stick of black wax to the flame of the small candle sitting on the corner of her desk. She watched the stick melt and drip on to the letter’s surface before pressing down the Lyons seal, a dragon with wings outstretched and claws extended.

She had no idea if the missive would work, and added “spy for Victoria” to the growing list of things she didn’t know about Nate.

I woke up yesterday single, and today I’m married to an agent in the Tower for treason.

With a heavy sigh, she left the office and found Miguel pacing in the entranceway. He seized on the slim letter, eager to have something to do, even if it was only playing postman. Everyone in the house toiled under the weight of nothing to do, the men unused to inertia in the face of trouble.

“Take the courier’s route into the palace. If Nate has any connection there, use it to get to the secretary.”

He nodded, confirming Cara’s suspicion he knew how to slip in and out of the palace for his master. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promised, as he dove down the passageway to the back of the house and the stables.

“And I’ll wait,” Cara said to the empty entranceway.
Time for a brandy and a bath.

Full dark dropped fast with the onset of autumn. Cara picked at dinner before abandoning her attempts to eat. The knot in her stomach refused to go away and left no room for food. Then she spent an hour staring at the same page in her book, sleep too elusive before Miguel burst into the parlour.

“Well?” She rose on seeing him, discarding the book, anxious to hear if he was successful.

He gave her a broad smile. “I couldn’t gain access to her secretary. But he eventually left his office for his dinner and I managed to corner him on his way to the lavatory.”

Cara gave a quick laugh. A fast thinker, Miguel took advantage of an opening. He reached a hand into his jacket and pulled a small letter from the pocket close to his heart. He handed over the tiny envelope bearing the imperial seal in scarlet wax.

Her gaze flicked from Miguel to the envelope before she tore it open.

The scant message comprised only two words:
Tomorrow. 11am.

“I’m off to see the queen,” she whispered. “I should probably leave my pistols behind.”

The skilled Madame Levett provided another stunning outfit for Cara, this one a deep green silk that offset her auburn hair and matched the flecks in her hazel eyes. At first glance, the jacket cut appeared modest enough for visiting the queen. Except the cut moulded her torso so exactly, it appeared to be painted over her flesh. With an asymmetrical military cut up the front, black frogging embellished the small upright collar and wide cuffs. The skirt hugged her hips before dropping to the ground in luxuriant folds to form a fan-shaped train behind. The black frogging marched around the wide hem of the skirt. A small green tricorn perched on her head to complete the look.

Jackson lounged against the carriage, a slow grin spreading over his face on seeing her ensemble. “I’m liking these outfits. They don’t leave you anywhere handy to hide those pesky pistols.”

Cara smiled. On her first meeting with Jackson, she shot a hole in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t get too cocky, these skirts are so long, I could be hiding a cannon under all this fabric.” She gave him a wink as she picked up the hem and stepped into the carriage. His laughter bounced as he jumped up next to the driver.

A combination of regular foot soldiers and a special exoskeleton unit guarded Buckingham Palace. The metal monsters were slower moving, pacing back and forth like caged grizzly bears, enormous guns more like small cannons clutched in their metal claws. Squat metal boxes, holding hundreds of rounds of ammunition, were strapped to their backs and ready to feed their weapons. The belt ran from the magazine over a shoulder clip to keep it in place and down to the gun. The smaller foot soldiers were a faster counterpoint, weaving between their slower comrades.

Cara alighted at the main gate to have her appointment verified at the guard house. Soldiers escorted her across the expanse of open parade ground. On one side loomed a metal monster, the other a red clad soldier, both keeping pace with her all the way to the steps of the Palace. There, a house guard took up supervising her visit. He led her through the main doors, along a winding corridor, up a staircase, and down another corridor. Cara wanted to stop and gawk. She had never been to the palace before, and found the bustling interior fascinating. So many people on determined courses, her endless curiosity raised its head and wanted to follow them, to see where they went and what they were doing.

Her guard set a cracking pace, heedless of her long skirts. She was thankful for the silken fabric that swirled around her legs, without hindering her movement. After nearly ten minutes of navigating the rabbit warren of corridors, he stopped at a set of double doors and ushered her into an outer chamber occupied by Victoria’s private secretary.

The little man arched his eyebrows at her and shot his gaze to the large carriage clock ticking loudly on the corner of his desk. He gave an audible
tsk
in between the clock’s beat; she was one minute late.

The guard gave a small bow and closed the doors behind him, leaving her to her fate.

“Come, come,” the secretary said, ushering her toward the next set of doors. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Wide metal stripes banded the panels and Cara wondered what they were expected to withstand. He pushed the heavy wood inwards, revealing the queen’s inner sanctum.

The British monarch stood at the large window, her back to Cara. A sheet of paper dangled from her limp fingers. The secretary gave an almost imperceptible polite cough and announced her.

“The Lady Nathaniel Lyons, ma’am.”

His gaze flicked to Cara and she got the distinct impression he was telling her she was on her own. He scuttled backward, never turning his back to the queen as he left the room and pulled the doors closed in front of him. They gave a soft
thud
as they met in the middle, leaving Cara alone with the ruler of the British Empire.

Cara dropped into a deep curtsey and waited for a signal that she could rise. Silence yawned between them, but she didn’t dare raise her head to see if the queen had noticed her. She stared at her hands holding her skirts and the wide band encircling one finger. She wanted to fidget with the delicate piece of jewellery or toss it hard enough at her
husband
to embed it in his forehead.

“You have been Nathaniel’s wife for three years.” A statement, not a question, letting Cara know her claim to the constable of the Tower had been verified back to the original source documents.

She took the comment as the signal she had been waiting for and stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You were married at a time you were not in London.” Victoria turned from the window to study Cara.

Someone has done some digging.

“Correct, ma’am, I was in America at the time.”

“When did you learn of the arrangement your father made to marry you to Lord Lyons?”

Cara risked meeting the queen’s gaze. Sharp blue eyes regarded her. The monarch had the stare of a falcon, keen and seeking, the sort of intense gaze that could spot a mouse hiding in the grass while soaring on an air current high in the sky. It would be foolhardy to attempt to deceive her majesty. “I found out fairly recently, ma’am.”

The queen gave a bark of laughter. “That sounds like Nathaniel.”

The queen was diminutive in stature, but not in presence. The aura of power emanated from her. She had ruled from the age of eighteen and she knew the extent of her reach. She had a way of looking at you that made it quite clear she was the perfect height, and everyone else around her was over tall. Her girth grew with each passing year and with the birth of each subsequent child. Now approaching her middle years, time stole her youthful beauty and figure. But nothing could diminish the predatory eyes that saw all, or the keen intellect that aided the expansion of the British Empire beyond the reach, or dreams, of any previous monarch.

She cast her eye over Cara’s unconventional dress. The queen favoured wide skirts and crinolines, an unfortunate combination on a short, round frame. It wasn’t the visual similarity to a plum duff that caught Cara’s attention. Now she had a chance to examine Victoria, it was the gold necklace around the monarch’s neck that stole her breath.

Distinctly Egyptian in origin, the heavy collar sat on her shoulders like a mayoral chain, dipping down to an ornate centre piece. Two large lapis lazuli scarabs, easily the size of field mice, perched on the collar at each shoulder as though whispering secrets into the ear of the wearer. Tight hieroglyphics covered each large gold link of the necklace, which fanned out at the bottom to hold the centrepiece. There, gleaming like a madman’s stare, sat a Horus eye, carved from an enormous ruby and surrounded by swirls of obsidian.

Fireworks went off in the back of Cara’s brain as her eyes fixed on the necklace. She recognised it. Her father devoted pages to the necklace in his secret notebooks. The ancient tome,
Magycks of the Gods
, detailed only three known Egyptian artifacts; Cleopatra’s arm band, Nefertiti’s Heart―responsible for the slight hiccup in her heartbeat―and lastly, Hatshepsut’s Collar. Which meant this was no ordinary piece of jewellery; it was an item of power and Nate’s problem just got exponentially worse.

“That’s an unusual necklace, ma’am.” She broke protocol, speaking before the queen addressed her. She risked broaching the subject, desperate to know if the queen had any inkling about the piece she wore so casually about her neck while her brain dashed around trying to remember what rumours were attached to the necklace.

A plump hand raised and short fingers stroked a scarab resting on her shoulder. “Yes, it was gifted to us by Napoleon the third. We were recently reminded of it by a loyal subject.”

“Do you wear it often?” A klaxon rang long and hard in Cara’s mind and she had to mentally tell it to pipe down, so she could concentrate.

The falcon’s gaze turned hard on the mouse before it. “We are not here to discuss jewellery, Lady Lyons, except for the rope necklace your husband will soon wear.”

Threads splintered in Cara’s mind and she tried to pull them all back together. There were strands in this story she could not afford to let go. Her gut instinct told her they were interwoven, she just couldn’t see the pattern yet. She needed time to step back and see the overall effect, but time was something they were fast running out of.