Mama turned her head, with a loud crack of her neck. “What experience is that?” I watched as she ground her jaw restraining herself because Papa would always take his mother’s side in any disagreement.
“I did not acquire these wrinkles from doing needlepoint!” Granny had said. She sashayed towards the parlor door. “I’m going to direct the maid to pack my trunk. Was that two ball gowns or three? Remind me to have a new gown made while we are in London, Poppy dearest.”
Father reached over and tapped Mama on the chin, closing her mouth, while she stood agog. The image caused me to chuckle and my slight laughter roused me from the daydream.
I revived in time to hear Lord Melbourne insisting on accompanying us to the dress shop. Grimacing, Florence tightened her jaw and leaned forward. “Beg your pardon Your Lordship but that will not do. We must visit the shop as innocuous parties if we are to unearth any dark schemes. Do you not think the Queen will be better served with you remaining at her side?”
“As usual, Miss Nightingale, you are correct. But have a care for it seems we do not know whom to trust. I will assign a Dragoon to monitor Lady Beryl and personally remain with the Queen for as many hours a day as does not raise eyebrows. Let us hope there is nothing to unearth and that this was—I want to say a crime of passion but it surely does not fit the formula, does it?”
Nodding in agreement, Florence settled back in her seat only to pop forward at His Lordship’s next pronouncement.
“I will assign two Dragoons to accompany you to the dressmaker’s.”
I could almost read Florence’s thoughts. What is it about men that they cannot understand logic if it is spoken by a female? “No, Your Lordship that will not do at all,” she said. “We must not be connected with the Queen in anyway. Perhaps a footman dressed in unmarked livery would do just as well if not better for Dragoons carry themselves in a noticeably Dragoonish manner.”
“The footman who at this very moment rides on top of this carriage acquitted himself very well in Athens.” She avoided making eye contact with me. “I believe his name is something like Star, Sun, or Moon. Assign him to accompany us as he has already shown himself to be brave and trustworthy.”
I could have kissed her but instead I closed my eyes and pretended to doze again, thinking ugly thoughts to drive the smile from my face. Moon would be accompanying us on what might be a dangerous mission to Mrs. Dupree’s dress shop to order a gown for Granny and conduct a bit of snooping.
The royal carriage pulled through the marble arch and up the curved drive to the front entrance of Buckingham Palace. The carriage carrying the two demons followed us. Moon helped us alight, Lord Melbourne leaving our carriage last, his coat moving in such a way as to reveal a large pistol. He turned to the footman and said, “Star, I wish to speak to you. Step aside for a moment.”
I thought to correct him, but that would be an insult so I bit my tongue, which was tender from all the cautionary nips I had given it lately.
Moon appeared confused. Star? When His Lordship turned away to help Granny enter the Palace, the footman cast me a concerned look. I managed to send him a reassuring smile and a wink, which unfortunately was witnessed by Mrs. Ponsonby. The woman drew her yellow cloak around her, glared at me in a haughty manner and stuck her nose in the air. She galloped after Lord Melbourne and Granny. I could see we were going to get along just swimmingly.
Aware of our arrival, the Queen was waiting in the throne room. I thought I noticed a glisten of relief in her eyes but it might have been an illusion of the candlelight. Other than presenting Cecile Ponsonby to the Queen, there was not much that could be revealed while the pest and Lady Beryl remained in the room.
Queen Victoria immediately excused Lady Beryl to return to her quarters. The woman backed out of Her Majesty’s presence, curtsying as she went. And then with a subtle flick of her finger, the Queen assigned a guard to follow her.
The problem of what to do with Mrs. Ponsonby then presented itself. A tiny frown creased Victoria’s brow as she considered where to send the woman. Lord Melbourne was clearly uncomfortable with the needy, nasty nag but did not know how to manage the possessive-aggressive woman.
It was then that Florence came to the rescue by stating that Cecile looked terribly pale. With evident revulsion, she placed her hand on the older woman’s forehead and pronounced her feverish. The power of suggestion was one of my friend’s better tools. Taking the cue from nurse Nightingale, Victoria called for two maidservants to whisk the woman away. I later discovered Cecile was sent to the furthest wing of the Palace. It would take her a week to flutter her way back to the throne room.
Once we had shed ourselves of the two women, the Queen suggested we adjourn to her private salon, where she dropped the royal we—thank goodness.
We all stood until the Queen seated herself in a high-backed chair that was wide enough to accommodate her ample satin skirts and petticoats. She plunked Dash beside her, allowing a heavy sigh to escape her lips.
“Lord M, I am so relieved to welcome you back at court. I am not given to worrying about my personal safety but I have kept to my private rooms and only allowed the Baroness Lehzen to attend me. I have barely eaten for fear of being poisoned. Lady Julia was rushing to tell me something. If it could not wait—and if she had to be stopped by a knife in the back, then it must have been a warning to me of some dire nature.”
There were times when I envied Queen Victoria, but this was certainly not one of them. Not only did she have to rule a country, making wise and just decisions but she had the shadow of an assassination attempt as her constant companion.
Florence and Granny took the two armless chairs, easily adjusting their skirts to sweep back. That left two chairs with arms. Admittedly, the presence of Lord Melbourne was a bit intimidating to me as we were about to talk about some serious stuff. Yes, I was nervous.
Never having managed to seat myself in one graceful swoop, I took the wider armed chair, bent my legs in an appropriate position, guided my hands along the sides of my skirt, and settled my bottom in the chair. The pressure of the armchair on the sides of the skirt forced it to swell in front, my huge crinoline jutting out like the nose of a ship.
As I write of this embarrassment in my journal I would like to note that no one laughed, but once Granny and Victoria each let loose with smothered giggles, then Florence tittered, and Lord Melbourne guffawed. This is what happens when people expect you to be funny; they hardly hesitate to laugh at one’s faux pas. Forcing the ballooned skirt down in front, I fought the sheepish look that threatened my face.
“You are a delight, Miss Throckmorten,” Lord Melbourne said. “You are funny in a most self-deprecating manner.” The slight smile that accompanied his words was both fatherly and flattering in a male-to-female way. My crinoline and I came to terms as I tweaked my countenance to a more serious mode.
Turning to Queen Victoria Lord Melbourne said, “Your Majesty, what has been done cannot be undone but it stops here and now. I will dig out the heart of the skullduggery; the conspirators shall wear the hangman’s noose.” The concern on his face caused an ache in my heart. He loved our Queen in many ways, not just as one of her subjects but also as her dearest friend.
“I must inform you that a further complication will inflict itself upon us within a fortnight,” Victoria said. “I can no longer put off a visit from Prince Albert of Coburg. He insists on coming despite my efforts to dissuade him.” Victoria locked eyes with Lord Melbourne. There was much that remained unspoken between them; I could see a range of emotions and blushed for having invaded their privacy with my curious mind.
The Queen was clearly unhappy at the prospect of marriage and yet it was inevitable. All of Great Britain knew she must take a husband—soon. Her cousin Albert was the most likely prospect as such a union would create an excellent alliance between his country and ours.
As she spoke I noticed how Victoria squeezed the low arms of her chair till her small fingers turned white.
“How can I make a clear-headed decision on marriage when I must be on guard for my life? During Albert’s visit the Palace will be filled with strange faces, anyone of whom might be plotting against the Crown.”
She paused to study the countenance of Lord Melbourne, that little frown line reappearing between her brows. “Have you recovered from your malady, Lord M?”
“Your Majesty’s news of the murder at your doorstep brought me to my senses,” he said. I was certain no one including the Queen believed him. Although he stood erect with his head held high, the loneliness in his eyes said it all.
“Tell me more of this Mrs. Ponsonby. Aside from being Lady Caroline Lamb’s cousin, why has she affixed herself to you? Why is she here and what are we do with her?”
I exchanged looks with Granny who had leaned into the conversation, protective of His Lordship. Florence sat ramrod straight her face giving no indication of her feelings about Mrs. Cecile Ponsonby.
Chapter 12
“Your Majesty, Mrs. Ponsonby is a flea looking for a dog upon which to dwell. You are correct in your assessment—she has attached herself to me and I cannot shake her loose.”
“Then I shall do it for you. As long as she visits at Buckingham Palace, she shall not bother you. Take a note in that journal of yours, dear Poppy. Mrs. Ponsonby shall be under containment in the far wing with a guard to escort her within her permitted boundaries. We will work out the details later.”
“She won’t be hard to feed,” I teased. “The woman lives on white wine and tartar emetic. Mrs. Ponsonby admitted as much to me. That is how she stays so slender.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Florence shudder. Tartar emetic makes one vomit and white wine is hardly sustaining. It was no wonder she sought the protection of Lord Melbourne, the woman needed someone to keep her from folding in on herself.
If she became any thinner she would disappear completely.
“Let us get back to the point,” said Lord Melbourne. “This is not about a domestic squabble ending in death, which would be evil enough. There is every reason to believe our Queen is in danger. I am certain Miss Nightingale is correct in judging Lady Beryl as the person who drove the knife into the back of that sweet young girl, Julia. She was spot on in her investigation of the theft of the emerald in Greece, and sensed the killer there before anyone could hazard a guess.”
I would have blushed at such a lovely compliment, but Florence remained solemn and modest. “We must learn if Lady Beryl has any accomplices and what they plan,” she said. “The first step should be a visit to the dress shop since Lady Julia’s trail leads from Mrs. Dupree’s to Her Majesty’s salon with only one known stop—Lady Marianne.”
She turned to the Queen, “Have arrangements been made to conceal our identities? Will Brown’s Hotel accept messages on our behalf? We will surely need an unmarked carriage at our disposal.”
Lord Melbourne looked at Florence as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Brown’s Hotel?” He muttered. His befuddled expression charmed me. Quickly recovering from my amusement at his confusion, I explained the veneer of the upscale hotel and our need to not be associated with the Queen. He grasped the cleverness of the plot. “That sounds like one of your ideas, Miss Throckmorten.” he said, nodding his appreciation. It was a statement not a question and unlike Florence I blushed.
And so, a plan was set in place. Granny and I would leave with Florence in an unmarked carriage for Mrs. Dupree’s fashion house in the morning. Granny would pose as a cantankerous old lady from Derbyshire wishing to retain Mrs. Dupree to create a very special gown. She would keep the staff busy while Florence and I investigated the shop. If Mrs. Dupree found it necessary to communicate with Granny before the gown was completed any messages or bills would be sent in Mrs. Throckmorten’s name to Brown’s Hotel.
In the meantime, Lord Melbourne would be at the Queen’s side as both her protector and the chief detective inside the Palace. He assigned one of the Brocket Hall footmen, a strapping man named Samuel, to watch the movements of Lady Beryl and to intercept any correspondence she might send or receive. The man was given the freedom to roam the Palace.
It did not take long—no longer than the time it took to lay their plans—for Lord Cumberland to learn Melbourne had returned and was sequestered with Queen Victoria in her private salon. The evil uncle and Pretender to the Throne had been in residence at Buckingham for months; accompanied by his sniffy supercilious wife Duchess Frederica.
We were reviewing our plans when Cumberland bolted in the door following closely in the footsteps of the butler who entered to announce him. I had seen him before but did not truly take notice of the disfiguring scar that sliced one side of his face.
“Back to playing politics, Melbourne?” he snarled at the Prime Minister.
“Or perhaps I have missed your charming company, Cumberland,” Lord Melbourne replied as he stood, his hand on his waistcoat in the general vicinity of the hidden pistol I had noticed earlier.
“How long are you staying in London?” The bulldog would not let go. His bluster was a thin façade for his fear—that even a girl from Derbyshire could read.
Calm as a dove in a dovecot and looking fully recovered from his melancholy, Lord M replied, “The true question is how long are you and the Duchess of Cumberland staying in England? Surely your countrymen must need you for something.”
As the battle of words seemed to escalate, Lord Cumberland backed down. He fixed his gaze on his niece almost choking on the words as he said, “Your Majesty, I understand one of your companions was stabbed to death outside the door of your private salon. Be on your guard for the Chartists grow ever more vile.”
It had taken a curiously long time for Cumberland to offer comfort to his niece since the murder occurred the night before and he was only just now offering his condolences—if one could call his words condolences.
Whenever I am severely stressed I get the hiccups. And based on the ugliness flipping back and forth between the two men of power—I hiccupped. Hic! and then again, and yet again. Florence approached my chair and put a calming hand on my back. Sometimes that relieved my hiccups, but this time it did not.
Hic! Hic! Hic!
“Enough of your nonsense!” Lord Cumberland growled at me. My affliction ceased out of fear. “Your Majesty,” he almost choked on the words. “I am here to inform you of a meeting with the Privy Council tomorrow at noon. And now I bid your silly little group of conspirators good evening.” He spun on his heels, almost losing his balance as he marched from the room.
Later we had the misfortune of encountering a rather large-boned Valkyrie of a woman in the corridor, I can freely use those words to describe her after listening to her present herself to Florence.
“Miss Nightingale, we have yet to be formally introduced as that would be beyond the manners of the child queen. I am the wife of Lord Cumberland, ruler of Hanover. You may address me as Your Highness.”
When neither Florence nor I responded quickly enough, Granny spoke her mind. “Did they promote you? I thought you were a princess? Or are you a Queen in Hanover but merely the Duchess of Cumberland in England? It must be very confusing for you.”
Frederica looked down her nose at my grandmother. “What are you?” she honked.
Granny took instant offense and drawing herself up to her full height of almost five feet, she said, “I am Mrs. Throckmorten, special investigator—”
“Of housekeeping!” I cut my grandmother off before she could spill the beans.
Frederica’s pale face tightened but to her credit she took Granny’s comment in stride. “Well then little housekeeper, go about your business and take your assistants with you! Off you go!” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
The woman wasn’t worth Florence’s time. Me? I had to say something since she had been rude to my grandmother. I stood on my toes and leaned into her face to be sure the Duchess heard me. “Your powder is much too thick. It makes you look twice your age.
You really should do something about that.”
Frederica gasped bringing her hand to her mouth so quickly she smacked herself in the face.
My work was done, and grinning happily I led our chuckling party of three down the corridor to our chambers. Tomorrow we would be off to spy on a dressmaker. Odd thought. But then this entire undertaking was becoming a kaleidoscopic adventure. How could I possibly perform for the amusement of Lord Melbourne when we had a murder to solve—and perhaps an assassination plot to prevent?
Chapter 13
It was just after ten in the morning when Lord Melbourne met us in the Palace coach house, the perfect place for a discreet send off. With his blessings we were on our way to Westminster to see a lady about a plot.
But first we had to pry Granny from his arm. It tickled me to watch how he bent down to meet her as she stood on her tiptoes, hanging on with a firm grip. I wiggled my fingers under hers, hoping to gently remove them from His Lordship.
“Take no chances, ladies. Please. It may look like a fashion emporium but could be a Chartists’ cell,” he maneuvered his arm, gently twisting it free of Granny’s grip. “The Queen and I would never forgive ourselves if something happened to any one of you.” Reluctantly, my grandmother dropped to her heels releasing the poor lord. He gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her silver-white head, “You be careful, Mrs. Throckmorten. And mind these girls!”
“Oh I shall, indeed!” Granny chirped. “And when we return I promise you the first dance in my new gown.”
Lord Melbourne grinned an all too rare smile. “I doubt it will fit me, but if you wish,” he said.
Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set Page 23