Nero's Fiddle (32 page)

Cara fidgeted with her skirts while they waited in the outer office.

“Nervous?” Nate asked with a twitch to his upper lip. He leaned against the wall and looked relaxed, despite the fact that the queen had summoned them and they had an indelicate topic to discuss.

“Yes, I keep expecting her to yell
off with her head
.” She walked back and forth, her gaze flitting over the paintings lining the walls.

Behind the solid wooden doors, a voice rose and fell. The wood sprung apart to reveal the derriere of the queen’s secretary as the man backed from the room.

A cry of ‘damned reporters’ hit their ears before he pulled the doors to and then turned.

“Give her a moment,” he said, straightening his cravat and then the points of his waistcoat as though the diminutive queen had held him by the throat up against a wall.

Great, the queen’s in a temper and we’re bearing bad news.

Cara paced for another minute, then Nate pushed off the wall and reached for her, stilling her movement. He took her hand in his and gave a squeeze. “Shall we get this over with?”

She nodded. Nate signalled to the secretary, and he ushered them into the queen’s presence.

Cara expected to find the queen in an agitated state but the monarch sat at her desk, her head bowed. Crisp piles of papers aligned with military precision awaited the royal signature. A black lace mop covered her hair and bobbed up and down as she read a dispatch. She was clad in black taffeta, still in full mourning for her husband. Some said she would never surface from her grief.

Cara dropped a curtsey and beside her, Nate bowed.

“Lord and Lady Lyons.”

With their presence acknowledged, they could stand; no messing around today. The queen remained seated, a quill in her hand which she dipped in a cut crystal bottle. “We believe you have a report to make?” Her focus drifted back to the dispatch and the pen nib hovered, waiting to drop in the right spot.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Nate said.

Cara bit her tongue, not wanting to articulate what ran through her mind. Although, she had so many different thoughts whirling around sometimes it was hard to know which one to grab. She was just as likely to blurt out Loki had a piercing just like the late prince consort. The rational part of her brain which maintained a semblance of control pointed out that
that
wouldn’t be a very good conversation opener. Although it could explain why she grieved him so hard.

“There have been some unusual recent deaths which we believe are caused by a particularly dangerous artifact,” Nate said.

The scratching of pen on paper ceased. The cold blue stare pierced through Cara, not Nate. One eyebrow rose. “Do elaborate.”

“Three people have died by what appears to be spontaneous human combustion. Such deaths are incredibly rare, so rare as to stretch credulity when there are three in a matter of just two months. Inspector Fraser is investigating for the Enforcers,” Nate said.

“God’s fire,” Victoria muttered, then waved her hand to continue.

Cara took a breath to still her mind. “There is an artifact called Nero’s Fiddle which replicates that effect.”

The eyes narrowed. “We hope you will seize and dispose of this lethal object.”

“There is a matter of some delicacy involved, ma’am,” Nate said.

The piercing gaze flicked from Nate to Cara, assessing them. “Then please speak plainly.”

Cara stayed silent, letting her husband drop their news. She found in situations like this, it was better to remain silent and let Nate try and keep them out of trouble. Or, he could keep the queen talking while she slipped out the door and ran for it.

“We have learned that the artifact was sold to Prince Albert several years ago and was last known to be in his possession.”

The queen’s lips pursed as though she sucked a lemon and the pen clattered into its silver holder. With knuckles clenched on the green leather blotter, she rose. “Your mongoose is chasing the wrong snake if he thinks to sniff at our door.”

Cara bit her lip and reached out for Nate’s hand.
Try telling Hamish to lay off the aristocracy.

“We understand the prince had an interest in matters beyond the physical realm,” Cara said, trying to weigh how much to tell the queen. She doubted mentioning he often dropped in to visit a syphilitic countess in Belgravia would go over well. Especially not if the queen found out her husband’s spirit still found the time to gossip with Helene on a regular basis while his wife mourned his loss.

Victoria turned her head, her attention lost out the window for a moment, before she spoke. “There were books and objects of an otherworldly nature among Albert’s possessions. They remain undisturbed in his apartments. Have our secretary procure someone to escort you there. Once you find this fiddle undisturbed, we trust you will speak to the inspector.”

Somehow Cara doubted Nate would speak to Fraser unless he did the talking with his fists or a blade. “Let us secure the item first, ma’am, so we can be sure it is not behind the deaths and will not cause any in the future.”

She gave a curt nod. “One other thing, Viscount Lyons. We are still waiting for your answer to our question.”

Nate froze, his attention on the queen. His fingers tightened on Cara’s hand.

“Have you thought any more on our proposal or will you be gracing the House with your presence since you are now responsible for two seats?”

“I’m not of a political mind, ma’am. I believe my new position in the crown’s service will require a large deal of travelling, so I regret my seat may remain vacant for some time.”

Cara kept down her snort. Nate wanted to spend all day with the politicians about as much as she wanted to be stuck doing tea and biscuits with their wives. Neither of them was suited to the superficial games of social niceties.

“Very well. We would be most pleased if you dropped other, more nefarious pursuits to dedicate yourself to our employ.” The queen took up her pen, her change of focus their cue they were dismissed.

“Ma’am,” Nate murmured.

It didn’t quite sound like an agreement to Cara’s ears, more like a play for time.

In the outer office, Nate relayed the queen’s order that someone escort them to Albert’s suite. The secretary called for a guard, who led them through the maze of corridors to the private apartments on the next floor.

With the passage of time, her beloved’s rooms became a mausoleum. Despite the fact he had died four months earlier, nothing had been touched or moved, except to perpetuate the idea he would return. That day’s newspaper lay on the bedside cabinet; no doubt each morning the old one was removed and a new paper put down. Fresh flowers stood in a vase at the end of the mantle. A red velvet smoking jacket was tossed over a chair, waiting for its owner to return.

The guard closed the door and left them alone with each other and the spectre of the dead consort.

“What did she mean by being responsible for two seats?” Cara had a list of questions in her head and limited time to rattle them all off.

“The queen is holding me responsible for not just my seat but that of the Earl of Morton. I am supposed to sit for both titles until such time as—” He waved his hand at her midriff. Their relationship defied the rules of convention, Nate married her before she ever met him, then he proposed and they had yet to have a ceremony. Children had never entered the conversation. Not once.

“Until I breed the requisite heir and a spare?”
Children
. A shudder ran down her spine. She enjoyed her freedom, a child seemed such an adult responsibility. Assuming a woman survived childbirth. The act nearly stole her grandmother and took her mother; her line was not well suited to the activity of breeding. The odds were stacked against her should she become pregnant, or would the heart allow her to draw on Nate’s strength should the time ever come?

His arm slipped around her waist and his lips nuzzled her neck. “Stop thinking about it.”

“How can I not think about it now you have raised the topic? It’s not as if we sleep in separate rooms like most married nobles.” A child. Her stomach gave a lurch at the very idea. “We could always have you neutered and remove the possibility?”

The look on his face would kill pigeons in flight and pluck them stone dead from the heavens.

Men. So touchy about their testicles.

“Why don’t we discuss this later? I think right now we need to find Nero’s Fiddle.” He pulled the shoulder of her gown sideways to kiss along her collarbone.

She danced away from his arms. “Then stop touching me.”

The man was incorrigible. Given the amount of time he devoted to divesting her of her clothing, surely it was only a matter of time until she quickened. While Nate had a supply of the new rubber French letters, they were thick with a hard seam. The most charitable description was to call them
unwieldy
. Plus, they smelt funny and were prone to sliding off. She looked after her body by taking an infusion of the plant Queen Anne’s Lace early in the morning. Although no method was truly fool proof. She could carry even now, unless she was barren. A hand fell to her stomach, wondering. They had been intimate for eight months now. How long did conception take?

She took a deep breath, willing her gut to stop cavorting around and making her nauseous. The more she thought about the possibility of being pregnant, the more her stomach revolted and threatened to revisit breakfast.

“Stop worrying about it,” Nate said. “Take a deep breath.”

She hadn’t realised she was only breathing out; in would help. She took a breath and then another. The shake in her hands subsided. Pushing down thoughts of what might be happening unseen in her body, she returned to their current mission. Where would a prince hide an ancient artifact of power?

She started with the bookcase while Nate went through the drawers in the dresser. A perusal of the prince’s collection revealed a number of old tomes that her fingers itched to add to her pile. She would have to ask the queen if she could borrow or acquire the texts to aid their job as the royal artifact hunters.

“How big is it?” Nate asked, having looked under the bed and found nothing but a gaily painted porcelain bed pan.

“It’s a lyre, hard to tell from the text but perhaps a foot square.”

Nate stood at the end of the bed and surveyed the room. “If it were me, I would have a hidden compartment for my valuables. Look behind paintings and furniture. And check panels for signs of wear from fingers.”

They searched all afternoon and found nothing.

“So close, where could it be?” Cara kicked the bureau. “I should get Helene to ask Albert next time he pops in on her for a chat.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “It will turn up. We know it came this far, we just need to find who Albert may have handed it on to.” He stuck his head out the door and signalled for the guard, who led them back through the maze.

The man chatted as they walked the long corridors. “We all miss him, lovely chap,” he said.

Cara nodded, lost in her own thoughts. “I’m not surprised the queen is trying to keep his room intact.” The whole nation knew the depth of the queen’s grief, but not her culpability in his end. He died tearing Hatshepsut’s Collar from around her neck. “It must comfort her to see his things.”

“And others feel the same way,” their guide said. “You’re not the first people to go looking for something in there.”

The chill returned and slithered down Cara’s spine. “What do you mean?”

“The Prince of Wales took a few mementos of his father, including his man.” They came to the main staircase and foyer and the man bowed to leave them.

“He took his father’s valet?” Nate asked, halting the man before he disappeared back in the palace.

“Yes, he moved service from father to son, Edward inherited him. Must be handy to have a valet trained in serving a king, no need to train one up.” He gave a wink, and having answered the question, he left, scuttling down another corridor.

Nate and Cara exchanged looks as they crossed the courtyard to their waiting carriage. If anyone knew what happened to the prince’s possessions it would be the valet, constantly in the prince’s room and presence.

“What do you think Edward took, apart from the valet?” she asked.

Nate shook his head. “No idea; best we ask. I believe he will be in attendance at Skittles’ soiree tonight.”