She shifted her attention back to Mr. Brown, who bade Victoria to touch the deck after he shuffled, then turned cards over while nodding gravely. For heaven’s sake, if there was something the man wanted her to know, why not just say it and be done with it? Why the subterfuge? What was so fearsome he couldn’t speak of it before the queen? And, if it had something to do with Lady Maud, how could it possibly have been so fearsome that he wouldn’t risk a tongue-lashing in order to save the girl’s life?
These questions gnawed at Violet as Brown examined the cards. “Look, wumman,” he said. “Death in position five, which represents one possible outcome of events.”
The queen gasped.
“Yes. Death, the Reaper, La Mort, as the French say.”
“Oh dear,” the queen said. “What do you think it means, Mr. Brown?”
“It may refer to Death himself, or that which surrounds death. Funerals, grief . . . undertakers.” He had a mournful expression. “I believe the spirits grow anxious, dear lady.”
“Anxious for what?”
“For the lady in black to find them.”
All eyes turned to Violet.
I don’t need a medium. I should just push him out the window mys—
“Mrs. Harper, have you been contacted yet?” Victoria asked.
“I’m afraid not, madam, although I have spent considerable time waiting. Of course, I have also been distracted by the funeral for—”
“Mr. Brown, our lord chamberlain has received notice from Scotland Yard that they are concerned about an evil presence, as well, just as you have been saying. Perhaps the spirits would speak through the cards and tell Mrs. Harper where she can find them.”
“An excellent idea ye have. I shall gather them and reshuffle as such, yes, and now lay them out again.” This time, he had the queen touch individually each card he’d dealt. As Brown was flipping over cards, he said, “Ah, most interesting, yes, most interesting. I feel . . . I feel . . .”
Alix spoke for the first time. “Yes, what do you feel? Is someone here?”
“No. The spirits are leading me on a merry chase through the palace.” Brown closed his eyes and leaned back. “Through Her Majesty’s state rooms, up the Grand Staircase, down the Grand Staircase, through the green drawing room, the throne room, gliding above the picture gallery. It’s too fast; I cannae see it all. Slow down, spirits. Where are you really taking me?”
“To the refuse pile,” Bertie muttered, which earned him a sharp look of disapproval from his mother.
“I am outside the palace now, hovering over Her Majesty’s guard, now back over the rooftops. I see into rooms. I see Her Majesty sitting before a spread of the tarot, surrounded by her beloved children. . . .”
Bertie rolled his eyes as Alix leaned forward, breathless and both hands across her gradually swelling abdomen.
“Now we fly away from the palace—but to where, spirits? Nae, it cannae be! Why this? Why here?” Brown shook his head in wonder. “The stables? What is there to see here? A stall here, a trough there. What of it? Wait, ’tis nae fair, spirits, to darken the scene. Ye must return. What? What?” Brown’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened? Your Majesty, you cannae imagine what just happened to me.”
“But I can, Mr. Brown! I witnessed it for myself. Through your words, that is. The spirits took you all around the palace.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Bertie snorted. “Yes, that was certainly it.”
“Dearest—” Alix said.
“Yes, yes, I know. I must behave myself. I’ll hold my tongue, but only for you, Alix.”
Brown turned to Violet. “And you, Mrs. Harper? Did you read anything in what happened?”
“I believe I’m beginning to understand what happened.”
“Did you also sense the spirits, Mrs. Harper?” the queen asked. “We knew you were very spiritual.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Soon we shall all know what horrible thing surrounds us. We wonder, Mr. Brown . . . We wonder if the spirits are cautioning us about our upcoming Drawing Room event.”
He nodded sagely. “If anything should happen at the Drawing Room, it would be personally devastating to ye.”
“Oh, then perhaps we have solved the mystery of it all. Mrs. Harper, you must see what the stables have to do with our Drawing Room next week.”
With the queen’s eager blessing, Violet departed for the mews. She was halfway down the staircase when she heard a noise behind her. It was Beatrice on the top landing, staring at her with those serious eyes.
“Yes, Princess?”
“I should like to accompany you.”
“You would? But why?”
The girl shrugged. “It would be interesting.”
Violet doubted she’d find anything more interesting than a few broken horseshoes to step around, but it certainly wouldn’t be dangerous. In fact, Beatrice might be useful. “Do you know of a rear exit from the palace to the mews?”
Beatrice nodded.
“Come along, then. Show me.”
As the two walked to the stables, Violet took the opportunity to ask Beatrice questions about Mr. Brown, hoping she was being tactful and subtle.
“I can see that you admire Mr. Brown, Princess.”
“He is Mama’s special friend.”
Violet nodded. “He seems to know a lot about the tarot.”
“Mama says he is very gifted and very spiritual.”
“I wonder if he knows secrets beyond the tarot.”
Beatrice stopped to ponder this and shook her head. “Mama has never said so.”
Violet realized that Beatrice’s admiration of Brown was solely a reflection of the queen’s adoration. The princess didn’t know anything valuable.
Once again, Violet entered the Buckingham Palace mews, except this time with a twelve-year-old princess in her wake. Stable workers quickly dropped into poses of respect for Beatrice as they walked past. Assuming that Mr. Brown was guiding her to where they had met once before, she led Beatrice through the courtyard to the familiar row of stalls.
The princess was oblivious to what was probably a serious breach of etiquette—a member of the royal family stomping through straw and inspecting horse stalls, with an undertaker, no less. Instead, Beatrice seemed delighted with her role as Violet’s assistant.
“Mrs. Harper,” she said. “Do you suppose that, rather than looking for someone or something, we should let whatever it is find us?”
“An excellent idea. Where shall we wait?”
Beatrice shrugged, her shallow well of ideas now dry.
“What lies behind that doorway?” Violet asked, pointing to the other end of the long stable building.
Beatrice stared at her blankly, causing Violet to suppress a laugh. “Sorry, Princess. Of course, how would you know the layout of the mews? Let’s go see.”
They walked beneath the wide, curved arch that led them into yet another long building, this one containing a variety of small coaches for children, including a brightly painted snow sled, as well as some finer coaches with emblems, crests, and plumes decorating them.
It was, however, the coach in the center of the building that caused Violet to come to a standstill, with Beatrice nearly colliding into her.
Dominating everything else was a magnificent carriage, larger than any other she’d seen before—not counting public transport—whose ornate carvings gleamed in bold relief. It dwarfed everything else in size and pure ostentation.
“What is this?” she asked.
“The state coach,” Beatrice said. “Mama rode to her crowning in it.”
“How do you know? You weren’t born for nearly twenty years after her coronation.”
“Everyone in the family knows this. My brother Bertie will ride in it one day.”
“It has no use other than to carry a king or queen a few blocks to Westminster Abbey to be crowned?”
“Mama doesn’t like it. She says it has distressing osh-cu-lay-sh
uns.”
“Oscillations?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
It was hard to imagine such an impressive work of art would be thoroughly uncomfortable to ride in.
Violet realized they’d been standing next to the state coach in solitude for several minutes, soaking in the resplendent grandeur and the history in which it had participated.
“Princess?” she said.
“Yes?”
“The spirits haven’t visited us. I believe it’s time we returned to seeking them out.”
Beatrice nodded and followed Violet back through the buildings and into the courtyard. As they stood there, amid the commotion of wheels and hooves under a bright and cloudless sky, Violet had an idea.
“Princess, follow me.” Violet headed for the staircase that Louise had stepped down recently. What had she been doing up in the stable workers’ quarters that day? Violet had forgotten all about it in the tumult of Lady Maud’s death.
“Madam, stop! You cannot go up there!” A stable worker scurried over just as Violet was putting her boot on the first step. She turned to face him and saw that he had dropped into a bow before Beatrice.
“I cannot do what?” Beatrice said.
“Pardon me, Your Highness, I did not realize . . . I mean, I only saw the undertaker. . . .” The man rose, and Violet realized it was the same groom who had stopped her the last time she was here.
Another groom sauntered up to see what was the matter. “Need help, Teddy?”
“No, Meredith, mind your business. You’re new here and have no concerns with the princess.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t assist two lovely ladies.” Meredith winked boldly at Beatrice.
“Go on with you. Back to whatever stall you were mucking.”
The other man smiled and walked away as casually as he’d come.
Teddy scratched his cropped head. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but might I inquire as to what you need from our quarters? I’m happy to get whatever it is for you.”
“Actually,” Beatrice said in a tone of authority that suggested she might have been the queen herself, “we are meeting with the spirits and they may be waiting for us there.”
The groom blinked in astonishment. “You plan to . . . ghosts . . . meeting with them . . .” The poor young man was stumbling again.
“What the princess means to say is that we have business upstairs that is quite secret. Can you keep a secret—Teddy, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am, of course, ma’am.”
“Then tell no one of our visit here. It’s vital that no one knows the Princess Beatrice was in the mews.”
He straightened up. “You can rely on me, ma’am. I’ll make sure Meredith and the other boys keep their yaps shut—pardon me, I mean that they keep quiet about your visit, too.”
“The princess is grateful.” Violet nodded at Beatrice, who took the undertaker’s cue to offer him her hand. The poor boy nearly fell over in awe but composed himself enough to take it and bow over it.
Thus freed from the attention of the mews workers, Violet and Beatrice crept upstairs to see if anyone—or any spirit—awaited them there. The rooms up here were hidden behind nondescript doors every few feet, all along a catwalk above the courtyard. Should they knock on doors? Simply enter them?
“Why don’t we walk along slowly? Perhaps we’ll hear something.”
“What kind of sounds do the spirits make, Mrs. Harper?”
“Oh, I imagine they’ll sound very close to human.”
They walked along the catwalk slowly, with Violet tilting her ear toward the doors and Beatrice trailing her fingers along the metal handrail. At the end of the row of doors, Violet stopped before the last one, hearing voices. She frowned. It couldn’t be.
“What do you hear, Mrs. Harper?”
Violet put a finger to her lips. Beatrice nodded. She and Violet were not the only females in the stable workers’ quarters, as unmistakably female voices floated out through the door. She bent to listen, and Beatrice joined her.
“. . . if they think they can stop us—” This voice was familiar, but Violet couldn’t place it.
“Why isn’t Mrs. Butler here?” A different voice.
“She has gone to see Dr. Garrett.” Yet another woman speaking.
“. . . intolerable. They will have to realize that we won’t permit this situation to continue.”
At this voice, Violet jerked upright. Beatrice, too, must have realized who it was, for she gasped and covered her mouth.
It was Princess Louise speaking. What did she find intolerable, and to what would she resort to stop it?
“Princess,” Violet whispered. “I think we’ve found Mr. Brown’s spirit.”
The continued conversation behind the door was too garbled to understand, so Violet signaled that they should leave.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the groom named Meredith was waiting for them. “Your Highness, do you need a carriage made ready for you? I would be pleased to drive you.”
“No, I don’t leave the palace without my mother.”
“And yet here you are. Maybe you’d like a visit to the confectionery or doll shop?”
Beatrice slipped behind Violet, whose maternal urge began coursing heavily through her veins. “Thank you, we do not need passage anywhere, we’ll just be returning to the palace. All we need is for our path to be cleared.”
Meredith stepped back and swept an arm to indicate the walkway. “As you wish,” he said.
Violet had seen her fair share of insolent and disrespectful household servants, having never been able to successfully manage them herself, but this young man was different. It was as though he was practically mocking her and the princess.
How had he ever been hired to work in the queen’s palace?
Violet had no time to wonder about it, for the more troubling question was whom Louise was associating with and what sort of activity she was involved in.
Pray God it wasn’t treasonous.
As Beatrice and Violet neared a rear entrance to the palace, she said, “Princess, I think we should keep what happened today between us.”
“Oh yes.” Beatrice nodded her understanding with a wisdom beyond her years. “Mama would never forgive Louise for being in the stable workers’ quarters unaccompanied.”
That, Violet feared, was the least of Louise’s troubles.
Reese Meredith’s luck was holding. Only at Buckingham Palace just over a week and already he’d met a member of the royal family. It was just a girl, not the queen, but who knew they would deign to crawl around the mews? He’d seen one of the elder daughters also wandering around recently.
But who was the woman in black? A governess? A spinster relative, one of those poor-cousin types who rely on the charity of wealthier family members? Maybe she’d been recently widowed. She was far too familiar with the young princess, and far too well dressed, to be an ordinary servant. She was also far too haughty.
No matter. What was of concern was that she was very protective of the little princess and seemingly in her company with some regularity, which made Reese wonder if the woman also spent time with the queen.
The woman in black would bear careful watching. If she was an aristocrat, she’d learn only too well what happened to them.
Violet regretted that she hadn’t gone straight to the queen with her minimal knowledge of Louise’s activities, for here she was, riding in a carriage with the queen to Cumberland Lodge. This residence, located on the grounds of Windsor Castle, was home to Victoria’s twenty-three-year-old daughter, Princess Helena, and her husband, Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein.
The queen’s latest idea was to have a tarot card reading at Princess Helena’s home, not only to “further explore the spirits’ meaning” but also to entertain the sickly Helena, who Victoria said was having a relapse of her “malaise.”
If only Violet hadn’t decided to keep things to herself for the moment. Without full knowledge of what
Louise and her compatriots were discussing, though, it seemed rash and premature to report it to the queen. What would she say? That Louise was gossiping with friends in the grooms’ quarters at the mews? And what could be the possible repercussions? Beatrice’s prediction of unforgiveness? Not exactly a conclusion to whatever evil might be lurking about the palace.
Not only that, a report like that to the queen would earn Violet Louise’s enmity.
No, despite a ride to yet another tarot card reading, one that she was now certain was an ongoing fraud Mr. Brown was perpetrating and that he was not a genuine seer, it was better to endure another one of his sessions than to risk unnecessary condemnation.
For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even sure what she was looking for yet.
The queen had been chatty on the train ride to Windsor, discussing the foibles of her children and her now growing bevy of grandchildren, with a particular emphasis on Helena.
“Helena,” Victoria confided, “is a bit too sickly. Complains about this condition and that disease, but we believe she really suffers from hypochondria. Nothing whatsoever really wrong with her except boredom. Now, when our dear prince, Albert, was still alive, it was obvious that he genuinely suffered. . . .”
Violet sought haven in her own thoughts as Victoria waxed on about Albert’s virtues, which surpassed those of all his children combined.
After the train ride to Windsor, the groom named Meredith handed them into a carriage and drove them from the palace to Cumberland Lodge inside Windsor’s Great Park. The queen was finally changing subjects.
“Tell me, Mrs. Harper, is your husband still involved in that distasteful dynamite business?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. He is currently in Wales with Mr. Nobel, trying to convince the authorities there to allow for a dynamite factory.”
The queen shuddered. “If it happens, we shall have to avoid any visits to Wales. We could not risk the danger to our person.”
“I don’t believe that any factory would be located near the center of a city.”
“Nevertheless, it seems an unpleasant sort of affair. We warn you, Mrs. Harper, that terrible things will come from your husband’s involvement in it.”
A Virtuous Death Page 10