Nero's Fiddle (34 page)

The other guests cast glances in their directions, the prince unable to keep his voice low.

“Of course, little minds with nothing else to occupy them, sir,” she murmured. She took one fist and unfurled his fingers, trying to calm his ire. “You will be a mighty king when your time comes.”

“They will not strip this from me, not now I am off my father’s leash and free to enjoy my position. I have not waited this long in the shadows to be labelled a bastard and cast into penury.”

She remembered Nolton’s cold promise of evidence against Victoria’s mother and wondered how much Bertie knew. The comment about the rumourmongers deserving God’s fury was too much of a coincidence and the prince had the most to lose should the rumours be proven.

“Society is the brighter for your star joining us, sir.” Cara caught Skittles’ eye and gave a subtle eye roll, hoping the courtesan would intervene before Nate threw the prince out a window. “Do tell me you will be a regular patron at Skittles’ wonderful soirees? I have so enjoyed our tête-à-tête.”

She danced her fingers up his arm, gave him a wink and just like that, the runaway train slammed in to a wall. The prince’s eyes widened and he took a deep breath. He clasped her hand.

“How kind of you, Cara. I can call you that, can’t I?” The harsh light vanished to be replaced by the puppy dog looking for validation. “And do call me Bertie, all my close friends do.”

“Bertie.” She smiled and flicked open her fan, using the small object as a shield. Made of enamelled metal, each segment was finished with a razor tip she could thrust into a man’s gut should he become too forward. Nate shot her a look that said he expected the accessory to be intimately acquainted with part of Bertie’s anatomy by now. Ignoring her husband, Cara fixed her attention on the prince. “Do let me know when it’s convenient for me to chat to your man about the lyre, I would be ever so grateful.”

“Bertie,” Skittles called and wrapped her hands around the prince’s forearm. “Cara has monopolised you enough, do come and talk to me about your adventures at university in Edinburgh and Cambridge. I hear you are quite the rogue.” She bit her lower lip, leaving the skin glistening and wet.

The prince swallowed, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his mind fixated on the beautiful courtesan. He drifted from Cara without a backward glance.

She gave a soft huff at his retreating back. “So much for my appeal.”

An arm encircled her waist and pulled her to a warm chest. “If he hadn’t left you I was going to be forced to call him out.” Hot breath washed over her skin. “When he started pawing at you, I thought you might have opened him up with your fan. Are you all right?”

She leaned against him and remained silent for a moment, waiting for her demons to slink back to their dark corner. “Yes. Old fears are back, but I know I can conquer them again.” Her brain searched for a light-hearted topic. “It’s really not fair you know. You commission these wonderful toys for me, and I can’t find an opportunity to use them. I still haven’t skewered anyone with the stiletto in my parasol and now I’m not allowed to use my fan.”

“I like knowing you’re armed.” He nuzzled under her ear. “Although I could have saved some money and just bought you a champagne bucket.”

She laughed. “Even unarmed, I am never defenceless.”

“Remember that. You are never defenceless nor unprotected,” he whispered his words low so only she would hear. “The prince looked quite agitated, whatever were you talking about?”

“He is rather disturbed about the allegations about his mother’s illegitimacy. His new man has suggested those behind the tale deserve to burn with God’s fury.”

Nate swore against her skin. “Rather coincidental choice of words.”

The prince’s words chased each other around her brain. “Too much so. Dalkeith used to be Albert’s man and Bertie said he removed a couple of objects from the prince’s rooms.”

“Bertie?” He stiffened behind her.

Cara turned to see a frown settle over Nate’s face. She stifled her laugh. It wasn’t the coincidences that had him worried but her use of the nickname for the prince. “You know I do believe I could wrangle an invite to the prince’s private chambers, to discuss this further.”

Nate growled low in his throat. “I don’t think that will be necessary. We just need to have a conversation with Dalkeith once we figure out what Fraser wants in Leicester.”

London, Wednesday 12
^th
February, 1862

ara christened the baby airship
Bobby
, because it bobbed up and down like a balloon. The men shook their heads, raised eyebrows, and muttered about having to call the diminutive dirigible
Bobby,
which just encouraged her to find nicknames for everything and everybody. Her attempt to match man and endearing epitaph shut them up lest any of them end up called Snookums.

They ate a quiet breakfast, each lost in their own thoughts. Cara was conflicted between rushing to Lowestoft to interrogate Jackson about his intentions toward her friend and her need to protect Nan and Nessy from whatever imaginary conspiracy Inspector Fraser thought they were involved in. She took out her growing frustration on her boiled egg. With a sharp knife, she slashed it in half and toppled off its head. Wielding a slice of toast like a sword, she rummaged around in the egg’s cavity.

Nate watched over the top of the newspaper and kept quiet.

More surprising, he maintained his silence when she gave a cry and lobbed another piece of buttered toast against the wall. It stuck and then dribbled down the dark blue paper leaving a sticky trial.

“I’ll kill him if he has taken advantage of her,” she said, as the butler picked up the toast and placed it on an empty tray. Watching the man clean the mess of the wall made her stay her hand from any further childish outbursts. “Sorry,” she said as he took the offending toast away.

“Let’s put out one fire at a time,” Nate said. “Shall we leave? I’m sure we all want to hear what Fraser has to say that involves your family.”

Rugged up in warm clothes, they climbed into
Bobby
and headed for Leicester. Cara pressed her face to the window and watched the snowscape below. The dirty grey of London gave way to the crisper view of the country. Farmers forked bright yellow hay off the back of wagons to feed hungry sheep and cattle. Children in brilliant blue and red woollen coats built snowmen and pelted each other with snowballs while their parents worked. The farther north they flew, the more the ground greened. Grass poked through its winter blanket, ready to shake off the cold and embrace spring in a few more weeks.

Inactivity chaffed; her body needed to do something, anything, to burn off the building edge of anxiety. She couldn’t even prowl around the tiny, swinging carriage. At least the Hellcat allowed her to circumnavigate the outside deck. She shuffled back and forth along the bench seat, took one stride to the bolted-down table and back again.

Nate sat immobile in the corner. Arms crossed over his chest, he watched her from under half lidded eyes. “Now I understand why you dove out a window if you father confined you to your room. You seem incapable of being restricted to a small space.”

“I can last a whole hour sitting with Malachi; he is helping me with my Latin.” A mischievous grin touched her lips.

One black eyebrow arched. “He might be ancient but I will call him out if he gets any ideas about you.”

Close to the estate, plumes of smoke rose as the Enforcers’ slow and ponderous steam carriage chuffed up the curving driveway. Cara guessed they had an early start to make such good time. The airship passed over the top and split the cloud in two before they set down in the garden. Little
Bobby
only needed the help of two workmen to be made secure to the bollards. Cara and Nate ascended the stairs in time to meet Fraser and Connor at the front door.

“What have you been up to?” Cara managed to whisper to her Nan as they showed the men into the front parlour. “Why does Inspector Fraser want to see you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dearest.” She kept the smile on her face but the worry etched itself between her brows. “Tea, Duffie,” she yelled down the hallway to the cook. “And bring some plates of those divine smelling savouries you are concocting down there, the scamp is far too skinny.”

Nessy gave Cara a hug. “You need curves, girl. Men love curves to explore, don’t you, Nate?” She gave the viscount a wink.

“Don’t worry about what he likes,” Cara whispered to Nessy as they took their seats. “I’m more worried about what you two have been up to.”

Nate hung back in the hallway until Fraser and Connor crossed the threshold. Only then did he trail behind and enter the room; his focus never moved from the object of his disdain. He took up position at the window with one hip resting on the sill and arms crossed over his chest. Cara saw the slight bulge in his sleeve, hiding the knife strapped to his forearm. Despite her urging, he never carried a gun. He preferred a blade; he said it made any encounter more personal.

Connor stood in a corner and tried not to bump an Aspidistra off its delicate stand. Each move elicited a clank or whirr from the gadgets dangling from his bandolier. He leapt back when a leaf touched him and the sudden movement set off a glow stick. “Sorry,” he muttered as he tried to cover up the bright green light. He thrust the stick into his pocket and glared at the plant.

Fraser took an indicated arm chair, across from the women. The orange tomcat claimed Cara’s lap and fixed Fraser with his golden gaze; a sneer curled his lip and exposed his fang. Finally, he and Nate had a foe in common.

Everyone stared and waited as the inspector extracted his notebook and pencil.

“Thank you for coming, Lady Lyons,” Fraser said. He rubbed the back of his neck, where Nate threw visual daggers, as though he felt the cold stare behind him.

“How goes the investigation?” Cara asked. “I assume that is why you called us all here?”

He leaned forward in his chair, his attention fixed on the tray brought in by the rotund cook. He waited as she set out tea, biscuits, and savouries. “I believe the deaths are centred on the rumours of Victoria’s illegitimacy and the pivotal question: who has the most to gain by proving her unfit to rule.”

Cara cast a glance to Nate. Her pursuit of Nero’s Fiddle led her first to Prince Albert and then his son, Edward. If he discredited his mother, he removed himself from the line of succession as well, which made no sense given his eagerness to exploit his royal position and newfound love of shopping. His motive could not be to support the accusation, but to silence it. “Our enquiries would lead us to believe you need to look at the problem from the opposite direction.”

Nan played mother, pouring tea before handing out cups. Fraser raised an eyebrow as he took the offered drink.

“Who has the most to lose?” He mulled the words over as he sipped, his eyes closed in a moment of enjoyment before they snapped open again. “You think the murderer is close to the queen?”

Nessy circulated the nibbles and Connor pounced on a cream and jam scone like a man who had forgotten his breakfast. “Oh, I do love a man with a strong appetite,” she said and the colour raced up from under the sergeant’s collar. With a laugh, she continued around the room and left the plate on the table in front of the inspector.