Nero's Fiddle (3 page)

“Nolton said he had proof that the Duke of Kent was not Victoria’s father. Do you think it’s true, that she is illegitimate and that’s why the prince is sickly?”

Nate straightened and placed his hands on the back of her chair. “Rumours have always circulated that John Conroy was the duchess’ lover. She wouldn’t be the first woman to keep the identity of a child’s father to herself.”

Cara chewed her bottom lip. Had they saved Victoria from Hatshepsut’s Collar only to lose their queen to the infidelity of her mother? Was Nolton right, and Victoria was never the rightful heir to the throne? “But to do that with a royal child?”

Nate’s lips brushed the back of her neck, distracting her train of thought. Cara raised her arms to pull his head closer as she spoke. “I am expecting Amy this morning. I have brought in reinforcements to help redecorate. Plus, she needs to escape London after the dissolution of her engagement to John Burke. Apparently, he is being unpleasant about it and spreading rumours, she is quite ruined in the eyes of the
ton
.”

“Hmm.” He made the noise deep in his throat, tickling her ear. “I’ll see to it that he stops.”

A shiver ran down her spine, wondering what fate would await Sir John if he continued telling his tales about Amy. Perhaps he would be lodged in one of the soundproof cells far beneath the Lyons airship hangar. She made a mental note to extract the entire sordid story from Amy.

Jackson stuck his head back around the door. “The Hellcat is coming in.”

“Excellent.” Cara picked the linen napkin off her knee, and dropped it on to the table. “Amy was bringing up crates of fabric and wallpaper samples with her.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “No chintz.”

A smile broke over her face. “But I hear it’s all the rage in London.”

“No
chintz
.” He growled out the syllables.

Cara tugged the fur-trimmed hood of her jacket tight around her face, to keep out the freezing wind blowing from the ocean. She dashed across the weed-strewn lawn toward the Hellcat, avoiding the sheep sheltering by the unkempt hedge. The sleek airship landed with the feline maiden bow figure pointed to the sea, her wooden locks strewn back across the prow as though she too fought the arctic gusts.

Loki’s men tied the lines to the mooring bollards sunk in the lawn with heavy cast iron rings in the tops. The gangplank swung down and a figure wrapped in purple wool descended and rushed toward Cara with outstretched arms.

“Oh, Cara,” Amy said as the two women met and embraced. “London is just horrid, but Captain Hawke rescued me and left their curtains twitching.”

Cara smiled. “Come inside to the warmth and tell me all about it.”

Amy stopped and stared. Her mouth hung open as her gaze roamed the dark house where nightmare creatures wrapped clawed hands around the downpipes and ledges. The blackened windows made the turret appear like a skull with sunken eye sockets hovering above the main building. “Oh, good grief, it’s hideous.”

Cara laughed. “If you think this is bad, wait until you see the inside.”

Amy turned wide eyes to her. “So you need my help to set fire to it?”

“That was my first reaction, too.” The two friends burst into laughter and headed up the wide stairs to the warmth.

Outer clothes were shed and handed to bemused staff before Cara ushered Amy into a small drawing room. The spiders here were smaller in size and the flock wallpaper had seen better days; but the overstuffed sofas, abundance of cushions, and roaring fire made it passably comfortable.

Cara threw another log on the fire before taking a seat. “So you didn’t mind me sending Loki to fetch you?”

Amy let out a sigh as she plonked down. “Oh Cara, Captain Hawke was ever so daring. He landed his airship right outside our house, in the middle of the street. He stopped all the traffic. I’m sure poor old Mrs Higgins from next door clutched at her curtains so tightly she pulled them from the rail.”

“Made a bit of an entrance, did he?”

A maid brought the tea tray and set it on the low table between the women.

“Oh, yes. He swung over the side on a rope, just like a pirate on the high seas.”

Cara poured tea while Amy told her tale of the dashing captain.

“He waltzed up the front path followed by two crewmen and demanded I accompany him.”

A whisper of concern flew through Cara’s mind.
I hope Loki didn’t take advantage of Amy.
The pirate often held court at Su-Terre as the Trickster, a man who gambled favours and usually won.

“He was ever so gallant and gentleman-like. He let me hold on to the wheel and fly the ship.” Amy’s deep brown eyes shone with excitement, her troubles forgotten for the moment.

As though summoned by her thoughts, the door opened and the captain appeared. “Everything all right with my two favourite ladies?”

Amy blushed and held a hand to her chest. “Oh, yes thank you, Captain Hawke.”

Cara fixed a look at Loki.
Thank you
, she mouthed, over the top of Amy’s head.

He winked and a dropped a deep bow. “The lads have unloaded all your luggage. Let me know if I can be of service in any capacity.”

Amy drew a fan and circulated air over her heated face. Cara hid a laugh behind her tea cup as the rogue disappeared again.

The fire crackled and silence settled between the two old friends. Cara put down the cup and frowned across the table. “Now you’re here, you can confess all. What happened?”

Amy remained silent, but her hands took flight. She picked up a cushion and turned it over and over before setting it on her lap to stroke the worn velvet fabric. “We called it off. We were not compatible.”

Cara took a deep breath to stop herself from blurting out the words at the forefront of her mind. John Burke made his distaste of Cara clear on their first meeting. “You were so excited, you shone when you talked of the wedding plans.”

“He did not like you,” Amy whispered.

Cara bit back a snort. “That’s irrelevant, he wasn’t marrying me. I thought him keen on you?”

A sigh and she turned her face to the fire. “He did not like any of my friends. Or my family, my activities, or even the way I dress.” Her hands stilled on the cushion. “He was so charming at first and then as time progressed, he changed. He said the sole purpose of a wife was to ensure his daily comfort and pleasure.”

A chill crept down Cara’s spine and she rose to sit next to Amy. She removed the cushion and took Amy’s hand in hers. “Amy, what happened with John?”

“Every day began with a letter from John, telling me what to wear, where I could go and what he expected me to do before we met that afternoon.” Unshed tears shimmered in the eyes of a trapped doe. “Then one day I decided to escape and read one of those dreadful penny romances. Silly I know, but a harmless way to fill vacant hours. He thought it a waste of time and didn’t have it on my list of approved reading material. We argued, not for the first time. He threw my book on the fire, then he”―one tear slid down her cheek ―“he struck me.”

Cara swore and moved to her friend and drew Amy into an embrace. “I’m so sorry I was not there.”

A tiny smile. “I do believe you were busy helping your husband escape from the Tower of London at the time.”

“Nate’s a big boy and he wasn’t going anywhere. You should have come to me.” Cara pressed a handkerchief into Amy’s hand.

“He said I deserved it, that I drove him to it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He said he had to educate me about how a wife was expected to behave. I was so foolish. Everyone thinks John is such a wonderful catch. He is putting it about he broke it off because I was at fault. Now they all whisper about me behind my back.”

She bit back her anger. “He didn’t deserve you, Amy. No man should raise his hand to a woman. Don’t ever, not for one instant, think it was your fault.”

Her friend cried and Cara plotted. She intended to ensure John Burke learned never to raise his hand to another woman.

Lowestoft, Monday 16
^th
December, 1861

ate led Jackson down a long corridor through the middle of the house that turned into a narrow staircase. As they descended, lights glowed softly at regular intervals and cast their path in shadow but illuminated the step in front. The stairs opened out to the old wine cellar deep under the estate. Two walls covered in a wooden honeycomb contained bottles that told the alcoholic history of the house above. Dust and spiders had longed ago claimed the small oblong flagons, like tiny corpses at sleep in their alcoves in a crypt.

Nate had spent the last ten years in London and abroad, leaving the house to its ghosts and servants. The queen’s decision to appoint him and Cara as her artifact hunters meant they would need to spend part of the year at the country mansion, playing museum attendants. The new career breathed fresh life into the old structure, and gave direction to the staff long used to an empty house.

As promised, Queen Victoria supplied the funds for the construction work undertaken on the Lyons estate. Her pockets proved to be as deep as the catacombs running back to the cliffs. The most obvious sign of the recent expenditure was the impressive set of shiny new metal doors in the back wall of the cellar. The doors comprised dense layers of metal, reminiscent of the structure used in the Pit under the airship hangar. This particular set was bolted and riveted as though expected to withstand a charging elephant, or to keep the equivalent sealed within.

A large wheel mounted in the middle of the door, controlled the securing bolts. Nate dialled the combination and then Jackson turned the wheel until a deep
clunk
sounded. The men pushed the heavy doors open and a blast of polar air rushed out to greet them.

“Christ,” Jackson muttered and pulled his jacket tighter around his body.

Labouring deep in the cold ground, a handful of trusted workers had made the old smuggling tunnels safe. Metal brackets held back the surrounding rock and earth at six foot intervals. Electric bulbs sat in metal cages attached to the ceiling. Thick copper pipes ran from one fitting to the next, connecting the oversized Christmas ornaments. The yellow light flickered on and off with minute power surges.