The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (24 page)

“When we finally find that time alone without interruption,” Wellington said from behind the blind, “oh, Miss Braun, I will have you dancing amongst the stars.”

Eliza gave a soft laugh as she opened the door, then her breath caught in her throat. Little Serena, in the light of a solitary candlestick, looked as pale as the nightgown they had picked up for her the day before.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Serena mumbled. The child was exhausted, pale and wan in the candlelight. “I can’t get to sleep.”

Wellington emerged from behind the screen, another nightgown in his hand which he handed to Eliza. “Your turn, Eliza,” and Wellington led Serena to the large bed as she slipped behind the screen to change.

“Bad dreams then?” she heard Wellington ask. Whatever could upset the street urchin must be truly terrible. She had been through hell and back again on the street, and with the Ministry.

“I keep seeing you and Mum getting grabbed like Callum did.” Serena’s voice started to crack. “I couldn’t do nothin’ to save you and Mum. Just like Callum.”

“You were back at the doctor’s house?” Wellington asked gently. “We’re nowhere near there, little Serena, and Miss Braun and I aren’t going anywhere.”

Once her nightgown was on, Eliza emerged from behind the screen. She found Wellington on his knees, eye level with the child sitting on the bed, his hands gently holding Serena’s in his own. The girl didn’t say anything, her serious face giving little away. A child of the street, she’d learned, Wellington was sure, not to cry or make a fuss because it simply made no difference. Like a wild animal, any sign of weakness could in fact lead to death or worse.

“We’re going to get Callum back,” Wellington said slowly and deliberately. “We haven’t forgotten him, any more than you have.”

Over Serena’s head Eliza frowned a little, and mouthed the words he would discern quite clearly.
“No promises.”

This was a slippery slope he now found himself on, but knowing what few certainties Wellington had in his own life with his mother’s death, Eliza understood his desire to give Serena hope.

It might have been a foolish pledge, but when she came around to see her face, the child was smiling.

“I haven’t forgotten him,” she said, in between tiny yawns. “I know he’s out there waiting for us. I just wish he was here to see everything. France, Germany, this place . . . we never even seen outside of London before.”

“Come along, Serena,” Eliza said, motioning to the middle of the master bed. “We should get rest.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she implored.

“We have to,” Wellington said gently, “and you need to be strong. For the Ministry.”

“The big man said he didn’t know when you will come back,” Serena said. “You are coming back?”

Eliza looked at Wellington and then curled up next to Serena as Wellington went to change. Both of them curled up next to Wellington after he extinguished the candelabra. Serena was trembling while Wellington gently stroked Eliza’s forearm with his fingertips.

“Mum?” Serena asked.

“We’re coming back, Serena,” Eliza said. “We’ve made it this far together.”

“Promise?” she asked. “Like what Mr. Books did?”

Wellington’s fingertips stopped in the comforting touch against Eliza’s skin.

“We’re coming back, Serena.” Eliza kissed the top of the child’s head. “We’re coming back.”

Wherein the Queen Reveals Her New Vision

T
he
Regina Immortales
stood at her mirror staring at her own reflection with the rapt attention of one utterly consumed by themselves. Lord Sussex, who stood behind her, tried to keep all judgement off his face, and yet every part of him was repelled by the sight.

Victoria had been young once, of course she had, but she had lost the glow of youth, and she most certainly should not have gotten it back. It was against nature, but to say as much would have been the end of his tenure in her Privy Council, and quite possibly his life as well, considering the Maestro and Jekyll’s interest in her.

“My eyes,” the Queen said, swinging herself from side to side examining her other features, “they are somewhat darker than when I was first young.”

“A side effect of the treatment,” he replied as tonelessly as possible. “Our good doctor said that not everything would come back exactly as it once was.”

She actually pouted a little. It was quite incredible that she was in many ways reverting to her previous girlhood mannerisms; quirks that had been smoothed out by time and experience
reared their heads again. That particular side effect, unlike the eyes, could carry serious consequences.

Victoria smoothed back her hair, which was now free of grey, and lightly ran her fingertips over her face, now untouched by care or worry . . . or at least seeming to have forgotten about it.

“Well, it should,” she said pertly. She finally gave up the mirror and turned towards the window, where thick fog had moved in to smother the capital. When she pressed her fingers against the glass, her brow furrowed; she appeared to be cross with the weather disobeying her whims.

On the end table beside her, she picked up a small statuette, given as a gift from the people of France. It was a representation of herself, dressed in full regalia, created in commemoration of her Golden Jubilee. Sussex could see Victoria studying the details of the figurine, as if committing the image of her older self to memory.

“I wish the people to see me right now, renewed
Regina Immortales
as God decreed.”

Sussex shifted slightly in place. The Queen’s belief in her transformation being a miracle from God as opposed to a miracle of science disturbed him as well. She seemed perfectly capable of forgetting all about the doctor’s involvement, perhaps because Jekyll had put Sussex in charge of managing her. The doctor had more than enough to do with keeping both of them on their required regimens. Confined to his laboratory, Jekyll remained dedicated in collecting and processing enough formula to make their plans possible.

Sussex would never have envisioned Victoria as quite this much of a handful. Keeping her in her private chambers, or heavily veiled when outside it, was a struggle, and so he knew what was coming after her pronouncement.

Queen Victoria turned from the window and glared up at him. “I want to show my subjects their queen reborn. This week, if not earlier!”

He pressed his lips together, swallowed and tried to think of the right words. “Ma’am, the plans are not yet in place for your grand reveal. Imagine the horror and panic your . . .” Sussex had to pick the right word.
Incurring her wrath,
Jekyll had warned,
could aggravate the nerves, stimulate senses,
and evoke another side effect.
It was his imperative to keep the Queen gratified. “. . .
renewal
would give them. It has to be managed and done at the right time. There is no better time than your upcoming Jubilee.”

The Victoria he had known, the matron, the mother, the Queen of some experience, would have understood that immediately. She’d become sensitive to the will of her people after several incidents, and a few assassination attempts. This queen who stood before him was something entirely different. His words, from the way she regarded him, had not struck the right note.

Her anger flared bright and hot, instantly transforming her eyes to flickering red flames and her sweet face to one twisted with outrage. For a moment he was looking down at something not human, a contorted hobgoblin of anger with the world at her command.

“Are you suggesting they would not love their queen?” the Queen snapped at him, droplets of saliva striking his face and causing him to actually take a step back. Her eyes were mad, lost in a fury. “Are you saying the common degenerates of my realm would not love their perfect, immortal queen?”

An odd creaking sound tickled his ear. Sussex inclined his head, as if to acknowledge his queen and show his deference, but the gesture merely masked his eyes glancing down at the monarch’s hands. Her fists were balled up tight, and the creaking came from the solid gold statuette still in her hands.

He glanced to his right, to the bag the good doctor had left on the sideboard there. Inside were vials that Sussex had been instructed on how to use, but he wondered if he were quite able to restrain the Queen while at the same time dosing her with the liquid. He decided that the best course might first be to see if he could restore her sanity.

“Of course not,” he said. “The citizens of the Empire adore their queen, and all she stands for. It is just that many of those in power might well be adverse to your unexpected restoration.”

Her eyes fixed on him, but her face remained twisted. “You mean my family?”

He nodded cautiously. “Yes. Your family.”

“Too many damn children,” Victoria hissed through her teeth. “Too many princes and princesses who will be only
too glad to stick a knife in my back when they know I am not giving up the throne by shuffling off to die.” Her head jerked in a weird inhuman way. “And Bertie. The worst of the lot. He should have died in San Francisco.”

Her eldest son, she had hoped, would have been killed during his visit to San Francisco. This plot against Bertie, apparently hatched between her and the Maestro, had failed on Doctor Sound’s proclamation that Bertie was safe and in hiding. Her son’s popularity continued to haunt her, not to mention the number of heirs of his own left behind.

“Any word from the Department?” the Queen asked.

“Indian and Egyptian Branches were abandoned, but we managed to confirm five more resolutions.” Sussex fought the urge to mock the chosen word for “kill” the Department used in their day-to-day operations. “We have reports of full resolutions in Wales, Ireland, Canada, Australia, and Hong Kong.”

“What about Director Sound?”

Sussex took in a deep breath. “No word, Your Majesty. He has not been seen since his audience with you.”

The Queen, much to his delight, did not explode. “Whatever they need, whatever it takes, I want Sound before me. I must know where Bertie is hiding. Of all the whelps that would dare take the throne from us, he is the worst of them.”

Not for the first time, Sussex bemoaned the fact that his queen had loved her husband so much in her early years. She had birthed a veritable litter of prospective heirs to the throne. If even one of them, in particular Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales, rose up and called her a demon or abomination, then the country and the Empire could be torn apart. Sussex and the good doctor needed Victoria to be accepted as the
immortal
queen. When they controlled her, they would control all she did. It was so much easier than trying to do it themselves. With a shining example of perfect immortal monarchy at their back, their achievements would be limitless.

“Precisely, you are, as always . . . most wise,” he crooned to her, and was rewarded as the redness in her face faded. “We have to make sure that your family is contained, and unable to cause you any problems.”

“No, we can’t just kill them,” Victorian said matter-of-factly, with a sweet smile. “That would look most unpleasant,
and not set the right tone for my immortal rule. My reign has to be perfect,” she said, returning to the mirror. Setting the gold statuette on the end table beside the mirror, Victoria lost herself in its reflection, as if it were the first time. “As I am.”

It had taken both Sussex and the good doctor many long hours to wean her away from that particular scenario of maternal filicide. In addition, not all of Victoria’s family lived in her Empire. Many of her daughters and sons had married into European royalty, and so she had many grandchildren in power all over the continent, all of who could lay claim to the throne of the British Empire.

“Yes, and it will be,” Sussex crooned. “All will be as you wish, Your Majesty.”

The duke’s eyes jumped to the solid gold statuette she had held in her grasp during her tirade. What had once been a fine likeness of Victoria had been mangled and deformed as if it had been made of soft clay. The distorted lump, he considered, could have not only been the results of another side effect, but an unintentional representation of what his queen had become.

Her voice made him start. In the reflection, her eyes now narrowed on him. “Henry says to trust you in all things, but I have yet to see results. Sound’s Ministry must be resolved.
Completely.
There can be none to hinder my plans!”

Sussex inclined his head in a silent acknowledgement, but he reserved the particulars of the Queen’s wishes to himself. Though they had managed to scatter and disempower the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences, Doctor Sound still held influences. There were still many similar organisations in foreign nations, such as OSM in the United States, MOOSE in Canada, and the mysterious OZT answering to the czar, all of whom had worked with the Ministry. After a fashion. It would not do to alert them to what was currently going on in Buckingham Palace.

“All of the colonies are stripped of their branches, any unresolved agents are now fugitives carrying significant bounties on their heads.” He kept his voice calm while he spoke, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do not anticipate many of them will survive the week.” He preferred not to share just how many
agents had escaped the Department. His assurances kept her under control, and since no one else saw the Queen, she would never find out their limitations.

“What of the breaking of the Ministry headquarters?” Victoria pressed.

“The headquarters are locked down, and we will breach the defences tomorrow at the latest,” Sussex said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets, concealing an odd quiver that had begun stealing over him while talking with Victoria. “Our objective will be the Archives. From what I understand, they will yield evidence on where we can find any remaining agents.”

“Quite excited about cracking open that particular nut, aren’t you?” she taunted from the mirror. A single eyebrow crooked as she added, “This is your business. If you don’t take care of it, there will be nothing I can do to help you. I will have to go on without you.”

She returned to her desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew from it a small vial of emerald green liquid. Holding it to the light, the Queen spun it in her fingertips. “Such a little thing to rest a whole magnificent empire on.” She uncorked it, raised it to her lips, and downed the whole amount. The twisting of her face said it was no treat, and Sussex suddenly remembered Henry’s creations were quite bitter. The ones he took to control his outbursts were vile, but necessary.

A common ground for both the Queen and the duke to share.

Victoria wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staggered back a few steps, righted herself, and stood straight. “So my subjects will wait for the Diamond Jubilee. Do our valiant workers have all they need?”

“They do, Majesty. The grand project proceeds apace and should be indeed ready when planned. The Grey Ghosts will march on the appointed day, and will stand for you.”

Her eyes raked over him. “Then the only thing that remains is for you to take command of that dreadful Miggins Antiquities.” She flicked her hands in his general direction, as if he were a maid she was sending to fetch her shawl.

Swallowing back his rage took every ounce of control the Duke of Sussex had, but he managed to execute a stiff bow and
back out of the room. How could he tell her that the Maestro had stolen that particular joy of breaching the Ministry from him already? It still burned him to think of it.

Unless the Queen was secretly in league with the Maestro.
That bitch,
he seethed.
She would turn on me. After all I have done for her, that whiny, self-centred trollop!

The idea of this wretch ruling over the Empire on which the sun never set unsettled him. He could only hope that Henry knew what he was doing when he created her.