Nero's Fiddle (35 page)

“What have you learned to draw such a supposition?” he asked once he swallowed an enormous mouthful of fresh baked scone.

Under dropped eyelashes, Cara regarded her husband. He appeared to be staring out the window, uninterested in events inside the house, but she knew he would be listening to every word and movement his enemy made. She just hoped the knife stayed in its sheath, they didn’t need the added complication to their lives of him gutting one of Her Majesty’s Enforcers.

She turned her attention back to Fraser. “Nero’s Fiddle was purchased some years ago by Prince Albert. Nate and I have searched his rooms but could not find any trace of the artifact. Last night I talked to Prince Edward, who mentioned that his new man removed some mementos of Albert from his suite, after his death.”

Fraser leaned forward in his seat, hanging on her every word.

Cara picked up a silver spoon with the family crest on the end. “A man who believes those behind the rumours of illegitimacy deserve to burn with God’s wrath,” she said, stirring her tea.

“Burn? An interesting choice of fate to use.” The scone dangled in his fingers, cream perilously close to dropping on the carpet. “A name, Lady Lyons, what is his name?”

“Thomas Dalkeith. He served the queen’s consort and moved to the Prince of Wales’ employ.” The orange cat dug his claws into Cara’s skirts, reminding her of his presence and that he had been too long without affection. She balanced her cup in one hand and stroked his coat with the other. “I believe Prince Albert also removed certain pages from one of my books, which detailed how the lyre worked.”

Fraser shovelled the remnant of scone into his mouth, dropped back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Cara could almost smell the smoke as his mind processed the information. “Dalkeith, Dalkeith,” he muttered.

His lids flung open and he grabbed his small leather bound notebook. Pages flicked over as he scanned the contents as he sought a particular entry.

“Ah.” He slapped a page and peered closer at the neat print. “Dalkeith was the most loyal and trusted companion of the old duchess. Mrs Dalkeith died just over a year ago. So our web pulls tighter and tighter around the fly.”

“You think the younger Dalkeith is related to the older?” Nan asked.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Lady Morton. Given the age discrepancy, I would place my money on Edward’s new man being a son or nephew of the older Dalkeith.”

Nessy gave a sharp intake of breath and covered it up by munching on a crisp savoury.

“You think this Dalkeith is killing people who know something about Victoria’s legitimacy?” Porcelain gave a rattle before Nan’s fingers tightened on the cup in her hands. “Why is he not torching those reporters who are peddling the scandal?”

“Parliament has initiated a secret inquiry into the rumours,” Nate said while still staring out the window. He turned back to the room. “They gather the names of those closest to the duchess to see who is still alive. They are to be questioned about the year preceding Victoria’s birth. The belongings of the deceased are searched for diaries, letters, anything that might hint at an affair with John Conroy.”

“The killer must have caught wind of the enquiry,” Fraser said. “Gossip will always spread, Lady Morton, but silence those who remain and could speak the truth and all it will ever be is unsubstantiated gossip.”

This time Nan nearly dropped the cup and she placed it on the table, with a visible shake in her hands, before it crashed to the floor.

“Which brings me to why I am here in particular.” His hand dove back into his trouser pocket and emerged with the signet ring, which he rolled between his thumb and forefinger. Flashes of light danced over the tiny phoenix. “Claudette Foreman wore this.” He dropped the item onto the end table. Everyone watched it spin on its side before laying still. “A woman involved in this conspiracy. A woman who died a horrible death because of something she knew.”

Cara picked up the ring and stared at the faded image. She looked up at the panel carved into the centre of the marble fireplace. The phoenix with spread wings, flames licked at his feet and the family motto:
I will arise.

“Your murder victim wore a ring with our family crest?” She directed her question at Nan, wondering how her family could possibly be involved in the conspiracy about Victoria and one man’s murderous attempt at vengeance―or clean up.

“Claude was a gentle and kind soul. She saved my life, you know,” Nan spoke, her hands folded in her lap. “Your mother wouldn’t turn; three days I laboured to no avail. The midwife asked Gideon to choose, me or the child; she was so certain only one of us would survive. Claude was just an apprentice, only fifteen years old at the time. Such slender hands.” She stared down at her own, lost in that horrible moment when two lives hung in the balance. “She saved us both. Gideon gave her the ring to say thank you and said we would always be in her debt.”

Cara frowned. “This doesn’t make any sense. What has this to do with Queen Victoria and her legitimacy? Where is the connection? Why would someone go to the trouble to kill a country midwife because she delivered my mother?”

Nan and Nessy exchanged long glances. Nessy twisted her hands in her apron and gave a sob. She chewed down on her knuckle and tried to settle next to Nan on the settee.

“We called on her services again, nearly three years after Bella was born,” Nan said.

Understanding crept over Cara. The traumatic birth of her mother left her grandmother unable to bear another child and meant there was only one other woman in the room who would have needed the services of a midwife.

“Oh, Nessy,” she whispered.

Nan patted her friend’s shoulder.

“Lives are at risk, Lady Morton. The lives of you and your friend if you are involved in this old mystery.” Fraser extracted the pencil from the spine of the notebook.

Nan shook her head. “Some secrets are best left undisturbed, there is nothing to be gained by dredging up events from over forty years ago.”

“But this secret has been agitated by the ill health of Leopold. Even old tongues can still wag and this is about to be dragged into the daylight by Parliament. There is someone, probably Dalkeith, ensuring the conspirators are permanently silenced.” He took another sip of his tea, his tone quiet and soothing, waiting to draw forth the require information. “Greed is a powerful motivator. Some men will go to any lengths to protect their wealth and positions.”

If Dalkeith wielded Nero’s Fiddle, he would never let the issue rest. Cara’s research told of how the artifact burrowed into the user’s brain and fuelled their desire for revenge, blinding them to reason.

“We would never tell.” Nessy jumped to her feet. She paced back and forth, her hands fisting in her skirts. “I will take her secret to my grave.”

“You need to tell us, Nessy, or that might be all too soon.” Cara’s mind whirred. What on earth had Nan and Nessy done, how were they involved in the rumours swirling around Queen Victoria? Did Nessy have intimate knowledge of the duchess’ Welsh secretary, John Conroy?

“In 1817 Nessy fell in love,” Nan started narrating the story from long ago. “Then for a time my dear friend left us, trying to forge a new life with her beloved. But their relationship was not to be. Nessy returned to us Christmas 1818 with news. She was with child.”

Nessy’s hands moved to her stomach, remembering the swell of her child within, the life that struggled to make itself known in May 1819.

May 1819

he sideboard held an array of breakfast options, from black pudding and Haggis sausage to toast and four minute eggs. Silver warming trays were held aloft on their stands, everything secure and bolted to the table top so Gideon could help himself with one hand, without needing to steady a bowl or plate.

Nessy let out a large burp. “Pardon me, but that sausage is repeating.” She placed a hand over the large swell of her stomach. “It’s given me terrible indigestion.”

Nan smiled at her old friend. “Are you sure that’s all it is?” The baby dropped the previous week and her time neared.

The hand drew circles over her apron. “What do you think, wee blighter? Is it time?” She laughed as she stood, then one hand gripped the back of her chair and she doubled over. “Oh,” she cried.

Nan rushed to her side. “What is it? Is it the baby?”

She straightened her body. “Just a twinge is all, my back has been killing me all night.” She moved to pat Nan’s arm but her hand stopped mid-air. “Oh, dear,” she whispered and looked down at the growing pool of water between her feet. “I’ve done a puddle like a naughty puppy.”

“I’d say baby is keen to put in an appearance,” Nan said. “Time to fetch the midwife, Gideon.”

“I’ll send one of the boys to ride for Claudette and tell one of the girls to fetch a bucket and a mop.” Gideon left the women alone in the breakfast room. He would direct people and events to the best of his ability, but childbirth was in God’s hands, not his.

“Let’s get you upstairs and comfortable,” Nan said, leading Nessy away while silently she prayed her friend fared better with the oncoming ordeal than she had.

A stable boy rode hard to the village and returned with young Claudette. The midwife declared it would be a hard and fast labour, Nessy dilated quickly and her screams accompanied every inch her body yielded for the baby. By lunch time, Gideon left the house, unable to listen to Nessy cry, swear, and growl. Nan sat with her friend throughout, determined to offer the same support she once gave her and prayed she wouldn’t have to choose between friend and babe.

For once, God listened, and everyone’s prayers were answered. Nessy was blessed with a swift delivery, Claudette had the easy job of catching the infant and delivering the afterbirth. By dinner time, a dark-haired girl lay against Nessy’s breast. Gideon sent a message to Bill, to let him know Nessy had delivered his child safely.

Bella clambered onto the big bed and gawked at the small bundle in wonder. Nan breathed a sigh of relief that her friend survived and that there would be more laughter in their nursery. She worried the absence of playmates made Bella a serious child. “You must think of a name for her, she is quite lovely and must have a pretty name to match,” Nan said.