Shall We Dance? (35 page)

“Perry?” Amelia asked as they made their way back inside and walked in the direction of the four remaining empty chairs. “Surely you don't think Nate's aunt Rowena's vision means anything?”

“No, pet, I don't. But I am kicking myself for dismissing Mrs. Pidgeon as yet another of my uncle's additions to Her Majesty's household. He denied it, but he'd deny having a nose if it stood to profit his motives, so I allowed myself to disregard the woman.”

“And now?”

“Now, my dear, we will take up our places like good little subjects the queen desires on display, and we will watch Mrs. Pidgeon like hawks, keeping to the bird analogy, if you don't mind the obvious.”

“Do you really think the queen could be in danger? Tonight?”

“The trial has been adjourned, Amelia, and before my uncle took to his heels, he told me there are only nine votes to reconvene. I don't wish to raise your hopes, but I can't see a vote going against the queen. I still say she'll never be crowned, the king won't allow it, but she may have already won this round. That alone could have made someone very unhappy.”

“But Mrs. Pidgeon? She certainly doesn't appear threatening in any way.”

“No, but she was part of the household when Lucy was poisoned.”

“We don't know that Lucy was—oh, all right, she was poisoned. I don't want to believe that, but I do.”

Amelia curtsied to the queen as Perry bowed, and then he escorted her to her seat to the queen's far left as he, in his turn, took up his chair two to the right of Her Majesty, Georgiana and Nate sitting together, just to his right.

The doors opened, Nestor performing that office with a flair only slightly marred when he nearly tripped over his own feet, and the evening began….

 

T
HERE IS NOTHING
quite so formal and downright tedious as an evening that included royalty, unless Queen Caroline acted as hostess.

She laughed and joked and winked her way through nearly an hour of bowing and scraping by her many guests, drawing some of them closer to whisper into an ear, or even to slap a wrist with her fan, punishing the person for being absent too long.

And then there were the performances. An Italian singer—not a prudent choice, as the queen insisted upon joining in on the choruses in her own rather good Italian, reminding everyone present of the absent Pergami.

The singer was followed by a harpist who seemed to play on for hours, and Perry had to bite his lip when he heard Georgiana whisper, “Nate, you wake up this instant.”

And all the time, Perry watched Mrs. Pidgeon, who stood at the end of the velvet drapery, hands neatly folded in front of her, quietly giving orders to the many servants who were offering refreshments to the assembled guests.

From the opposite end of the drapery, Clive watched the woman as well, while Nestor, who was quite possibly as subtle as a red brick through a window, made it a point to annoy Her Majesty every few minutes by coming up behind her to ask if there was anything, anything at all, Her Majesty might require.

In fact, the only people acting even the least odd were Clive and Nestor, and Georgiana, who seemed to think it her duty to tell him, twice, that Aunt Rowena was quite serious about a bird meaning the death of the queen.

Ridiculous. And if not ridiculous, why would anyone make an attempt on the queen's life in the midst of a crowded ballroom?

And where better,
Perry's mind had answered him, and he continued to watch Mrs. Pidgeon.

At last the harp was carried off by two of the footmen, and the violinists began sawing on their instruments, alerting everyone that the dancing was at last to begin.

The queen began things, not by having the elderly duke lead her out onto the floor, but by taking herself out there alone, then spinning in a circle, her outrageously short skirts flying out to expose all of her knees, her arms raised as she cried out, “Come! Come! Enjoy yourselves! Your queen demands it!”

There was some murmuring from the astonished
guests, but then they rushed onto the dance floor
en masse,
as a queen's invitation was always also a royal command.

Perry stood, watching Georgiana and Nate join the set forming closest to them, and made his way toward Amelia.

“She just stands there, Perry,” Amelia said when he sat down beside her in the chair vacated by one of the ladies. “And the longer she stands there, the more I wonder if Nate's Aunt Rowena is right. Isn't that silly?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But can we take that chance?”

“No, I suppose not. Oh, dear, she's twirling again. I begged her not to, but she told me if people are going to talk about her anyway, she might as well give them something to say. As if they didn't find enough to say after that night on Lake Como, when she danced for the servants.”

“Coward that I am, I think I'm dreading leading off the second set with her.”

“Oh, don't worry, Perry. I should have told you, but there wasn't time. She rarely dances a second set, not if she dances all of the first one, and it would appear she plans to do just that. We're fortunate if she gets through this one before she's so exhausted she has to be helped back to her chair. Her Majesty's expectations always outstrip her strength. I imagine she only teased you that way because Georgiana had told us that you are known never to dance. She couldn't resist playing with you.”

“She also forbade me to dance with you, remember?”

“I remember.” Amelia began tugging at the fingers of
her gloves. “That was…mean. No, I don't want you to think Her Majesty is ever…” Her voiced trailed off as she looked up at him. “Her Majesty can be complicated.”

“Yes, I know. Treating you as her beloved daughter one minute, then deliberately hurting you the next.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Almost as if she feels very close to you and at the same time she resents you. Perhaps you remind her of someone she dislikes very much.”

“Perhaps,” Amelia said, once more tugging at the fingers of her gloves. “I'm sorry we won't be able to dance. I'm sure you would have enjoyed shocking everyone.”

“Amelia, everyone in this hot, overcrowded room can go straight to the devil for all I care. But I would very much like to waltz with you. Of course, at the same time, I would very much like to still have my head on my shoulders tomorrow morning,” Perry said, grinning. “We could adjourn to the terrace, where no one can see us.”

“I suppose we could,” Amelia said, then frowned. “Oh, Her Majesty is leaving the floor. Excuse me, Perry.”

“Naturally,” he said, getting to his feet and then watching as Amelia all but ran to the queen's side, assisting her into her chair. Amelia had spent her entire life at this woman's beck and call, and there was something unnatural about the interaction between them. Something that made Perry almost believe that, in the queen, he had found a rival for Amelia's affections.

Love could certainly twist a man, to the point he looked for bogeymen where none existed.

Speaking of which…he turned his attention once more to Mrs. Pidgeon, who had spent the evening so firmly rooted to one spot that he wouldn't be surprised to see flowers growing out of her head.

But she wasn't there.

“Yer Lordship?”

“Clive,” Perry said, not turning around. “Good man. Did you see where she went?

“Behind these here curtains, sir,” Clive said. “Could be nothin', but—”

Perry looked past Clive, to where the queen sat fanning herself while Amelia offered her a glass of wine.

The wine? Where had it come from?

No, not the wine. That would be too risky.

Perry looked around the room, no longer hearing the din of the music, the noise of a hundred conversations.

The doors to the terrace were all open, but that meant nothing.

Then he looked up. A half dozen chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, each of them ablaze with dozens of candles. White velvet sleeves covered the chains that held them in place, each running along the ceiling and down the far wall, to where the chains were secured.

One chain. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Six?

Perry looked at the sixth chandelier, and at the velvet-covered chain that, unlike the other five, disappeared behind the heavy draperies.

He looked at Amelia, still fussing over the queen. He looked up once more.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, running for the end of the long wall of drapery, Clive close behind him.

He skidded around the corner of the drapery, nearly colliding with a footman carrying a silver tray freshly loaded down with refreshments, to see Mrs. Pidgeon standing just beside the hook holding the chain to the sixth chandelier.

She glared at him, then curtsied. “Is there something His Lordship requires?”

“I'm not sure, Mrs. Pidgeon,” he said, advancing toward her. “Is there anything I should know?”

“No, sir,” she answered, and Clive growled.

“In that case, if you wouldn't mind stepping aside for a moment?”

“Stepping aside, sir?”

“You grow redundant, madam,” Perry said, and Clive, at a nod from him, took hold of Mrs. Pidgeon's arm none too gently and pulled her away from the wall.

Perry stepped closer, his hands clasped behind him as he examined the length of chain and velvet to a height he believed Mrs. Pidgeon capable of reaching without climbing on a chair, which would bring entirely too much attention to her.

Only a few inches from the large silver hook, he saw the slit in the velvet and pushed back the edges of the slit to reveal the chain. One link was cut almost clear through.

He took hold of Mrs. Pidgeon's arm. “Clive, move
Amelia and the queen out from under that chandelier.
Now.
Pull them both away by their hair if you have to. That damn thing could fall at any moment.”

“Oh, no! How horrible! My Lord, what good luck that you should have—”

“That will be quite enough, Mrs. Pidgeon,” Perry said, pushing her against the wall. “Wasn't that leaving much to chance? The noise, the vibration, they could have sent the chandelier crashing while the queen was dancing, and nowhere near it.”

“I don't know what you're—”

“That's why you were standing there, isn't it, Mrs. Pidgeon. To stay away from personal harm, of course, but also so that you could watch. But it didn't fall. How disappointing for you. And yet how fortunate, when Miss Fredericks at last came within range. You did hope for the two of them, didn't you? For both the queen and Miss Fredericks?”

“Perry? Her Majesty is most upset at Clive and—what's going on?”

He didn't turn around at the sound of Amelia's voice, but only said, “Clive, now fetch Sir Nathaniel, if you please.”

“Already here, Perry. Clive, Nestor and me.”

“Good. And the queen? Is she safe?”

“Well, um…”

“The queen,” Her Majesty said, “is quite safe, thank you. She was quite safe in her chair, until she was all but
lifted
from it and dragged back here. There is, of course, an explanation?”

Now Perry did turn, stepping slightly away from Mrs. Pidgeon, unfortunately, just as another servant, carrying yet another tray of wineglasses, pushed open the door from the preparation rooms.

The door came between Mrs. Pidgeon and himself.

The servant sprawled facefirst on the floor.

The heavy silver tray, now sans its servings of wine, was in the hands of Mrs. Esther Pidgeon as she let out a rather demented scream and ran straight for the queen.

Nestor yelled out,
“No!”
and stepped in front of Her Majesty, arms out at his side, obviously prepared to die for her.

The silver tray connecting with the top of Nestor's head created an awful
bonk,
and the selfless would-be hero dropped like a stone just as Perry and Nate grabbed Mrs. Pidgeon.

And Her Majesty clapped her hands, saying, “What a show! Again! Do it again!”

 

T
HE QUEEN'S RESIDENCE
at Hammersmith was, at three in the morning, at last grown quiet once more.

The chandelier had been secured without disaster, and the dancing and drinking and general carousing had wound down at last, with only a few stragglers left to attend the queen, who had adjourned to her chambers to entertain from her bed.

Aunt Rowena, clearly one of the heroes of the hour, had been given permission to sit in a chair especially placed beside that bed, where she sat in her funereal black, grinning fair to burst.

Nate and Georgiana had slipped away hours earlier with a wink to Perry, and Clive and his Dovey had retired to the housekeeper's quarters soon after.

Esther Pidgeon, babbling and weeping, had been retrieved by her brother, Lewis, who promised to have a severe talk with his sister before sending her north to their aunt (this one still aboveground, and a teetotaler to boot) in Edinburgh.

And Bernard Nestor, the hero of the hour, a rather large bandage around his well-rung head, had been taken up by Henry Brougham, who himself handed the hero into his coach, saying that he had badly misjudged the fellow and promising him a position of much more importance, and at twice the pay.

Bernard, nodding, and still with a prodigiously loud ringing in his ears, smiled vaguely as Perry closed the door to the coach and signaled for the driver to start his team.

“And now, madam,” Perry said, turning to offer his arm to Amelia, “I believe we have some unfinished business, you and I.”

“We do, Perry?” Amelia said as they made their way through the foyer all the way back to the ballroom, where the candles were burning low and the flowers, although still fragrant, had begun to wilt. “Why, they're still here.”

Yes, the musicians were still in residence, just as Perry had paid them handsomely to be.

The moment Perry and Amelia entered the ballroom, they lifted their violins and began to play a waltz.