“His Lordship has often mentioned the humorous way you carried yourself on your adventures in Greece. He seemed to forget his very personal pain when you were around him. It lifted his spirits to see your innocent fumbles…no offense intended,” she said.
“None taken as I don’t fuddle or fumble on purpose; I am a natural botch-up. It pleases me to know I lightened his burden with laughter, but I am unsure of how I might repeat my performance for these things are not planned.” Did the Queen think I would remain at Buckingham Palace to cheer Lord M? Being close to Moon sounded promising but it would be humiliating to be regarded as the court jester.
The thought took seed in my brain, rattled around and came out making me feel less than perfect. I knew I was destined for a career and might be witty on occasion but this sort of challenge would take a lot more jocularity than I could muster on command. I wondered if Moon would think I was funny in a loving way. Where was my heartthrob, anyway?
The Queen went on, “We are certain you can bring some liveliness to His Lordship or at the least bring us an accurate accounting as to his health. Our sincerest wish is that you may soften and cheer him until he is strong enough to return to court.”
Florence nodded, wearing her most serious face. “We do understand that you need the Prime Minister at your side and promise to do all in our power to convince him to return to court.”
“Poppy will be at her wittiest.” Granny bobbed her head towards me. “She has gotten a lot funnier since we were last in London—haven’t you dearest?”
I felt the blush creep into my cheeks. “Please don’t boast of my wit for nothing takes the comicality from a person as does expectations. I can’t be funny if everyone expects it; humor has to come as a surprise for me and well as you. Now button those little lips of yours.” I kissed my grandmother on the top of her head loving the smell of her lavender cologne.
“His Lordship is the only person at court whom I can trust. Since you saw him, he has been at his estate, Brocket Hall, in almost total seclusion, supposedly nursing an unnamed illness. I am certain it is melancholy.” The Queen studied each of us waiting for questions, but when none were forthcoming, she continued.
“Left without his guidance, I will be at the mercy of my corrupt uncle who even now plots to undermine Lord Melbourne and have him replaced with a Tory who will do his bidding. I will be forever at odds with Parliament for although I am the Queen my power is checked by the Privy Council.”
Queen Victoria leaned in as if doubly afraid of being overheard. “You may have heard the ugly rumors concerning Lord Melbourne’s wife, Lady Caroline Lamb?” Since I wasn’t sure if I was current on royal rumors, I bit my tongue. Granny was about to speak when I pinched her in the side. Following Florence’s lead, we waited for the Queen to elaborate.
“Years ago, the woman scandalized all of Europe by falling madly in love with that scoundrel Lord Byron. The affair broke Lord M’s heart, particularly since it was Lady Caroline who pursued Byron, and in a most public manner. When the Lambs first married it had been a love match, but Lady Caroline is —” She seemed tempted to use one word and instead changed to another. “Was not in the best health of mind and body.”
I had heard tidbits of gossip about Lady Caroline Lamb’s outlandish behavior and her indulgence in the two “Ls” of damnation, liquor and laudanum. One did not live under the same roof as my mother and not come by a regular diet of tattletales.
“The dimwitted damsel lacked all common sense, and yet he still supported her with his heartbreaking devotion—until her death some years ago,” she cast her eyes about the room. “It was here in the main ballroom of Buckingham Palace that she disrespected his name still further by first introducing what was considered an immoral new dance, the waltz. Lord M was forced to watch her perform the steps with one of the courtiers half embracing her. Lady Caroline did all she could to harm his good name and to what end? She is gone, leaving behind the only man who ever loved her.”
The Queen shook her head in disgust. “Lord Melbourne must always maintain the dignity that befits his office as Prime Minister, and yet, the memory of Lady Caroline haunts him, now more than ever as he withdraws from public life. The woman was a fool chasing after Byron. From what I am told no lady ever owned that poet’s heart.”
A chill came over me as I thought of Lord Melbourne being regarded as a cuckold before the court and still publicly standing by the side of the young queen. I heard a gulp and assumed it must have come from me.
“How can we help? It would appear Lord Melbourne requires more than we can offer by way of just a social call,” Florence said. “He sounds truly depressed, having encountered such conditions in the chronically sick, I am not sure what we can do.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip; it was a sign she was sorting out her thoughts. “We can see that he gets more sunlight. Perhaps long walks and pleasant conversation?”
Had the Queen told us everything? A dark feeling swept over me; it was like a cold wintery rain. Was Lord Melbourne at death’s door or did he just need a chuckle and a chortle?
“The most important thing is to see to his health and discreetly report back to me. I wish to know if he is truly sick.” Victoria brought her lips up tight in a thin line, pausing for what seemed like ages. “He will know I have put you up to reporting on his health, so see beyond his play acting and learn his true condition.”
Granny stood, placing her arms across her chest. “I am ready to leave now, if it pleases Your Majesty!”
The Queen placed her hand over her mouth to cover a smile. “Please allow yourselves to recover from your journey. Take a few days to gather all the gossip and chitchat for which the court is known. You must bring Lord M many amusing stories and let him know what he is missing. I almost wish there was an emergency here at the Palace for he would come if his support was needed.”
“We shall do exactly that Your Majesty,” Florence said, and then in her forthright manner she asked, “Has a buyer been found for Mr. Averoff’s emerald?”
I was hoping Florence would ask after the gem for once the donated stone was sold and the money on deposit, she could begin to set her plans for the Nightingale School for Nurses. Not knowing how such matters were accomplished, I had wrongly assumed the jewel would be sold within days of our bringing it to London, but that was three months ago and we had heard nothing. I suppose not every antiquarian has three hundred thousand dollars in their pocket or the desire for an emerald the size of a playing card.
“That is something Lord Melbourne is charged with accomplishing. Let that be the reason for your visit.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I do hope your visit is successful.”
Florence began to stroke Athena’s fuzzy little head; it was her way of relieving her disquiet. She was not a patient person and to be forced to wait for Mr. Averoff’s endowment to be converted into currency was all beginning to wear on her nerves.
Florence was a corset-less tigress, never one who liked being told what to do she remained locked in battle with her parents as she fought for the right to study medicine. Schools willing to teach women the healing arts were nonexistent in England so she could only learn by attending medical school in Germany.
Mr. & Mrs. Nightingale had more than one reason to deny their daughter her request. Proper young ladies did not take up the vocation of nursing; the family’s standing would be ruined. The situation was untenable to the Nightingales. No suitor of means would ever consider such a headstrong young lady as marriageable material. Why could they not believe in their daughter the way I did?
I was shaken from my thoughts when the door burst open, and Lady Beryl the senior lady-in-waiting who was also the Queen’s dresser dashed into the room with one of the Dragoons close on her heels. The woman’s face was twisted in a knot of anguish. She rushed at the Queen moving so quickly that her intentions were unclear. Florence tensed, as did I.
Chapter 3
The Dragoon caught Lady Beryl, wrappin
g his arms around her and lifting her off the floor just before she reached the Queen. The woman struggled to break free, but he held her in a firm grip. With Athena now riding on her shoulder, Florence moved quickly toward the tussling couple. She lifted Beryl’s chin and studied her eyes looking for signs of hysteria; then she took the lady’s hands in hers.
“A thousand pardons, Your Majesty!” Lady Beryl looked beyond Florence, pulling her hands from Florence’s grip. “It is Julia!” The expression on the guard’s face mirrored that of the maid. Something very bad had happened to one of the Queen’s attendants.
Remembering to close my mouth, I cut my eyes to the entrance. I could see a crumpled pile of lavender fabric lying on the floor just outside the door. My brain was slow to acknowledge that the heap of cloth was the body of a woman.
With a shudder, Lady Beryl pointed toward the doorway. The guard released her, and she collapsed to the floor. Florence hastened out the door. I followed, caught up in my mentor’s draft.
Lady Julia lie face down three feet away from the threshold; the ornate handle of a knife sticking in her back. She was most certainly dead but Florence bent over the girl’s body to confirm the obvious.
Standing close behind my friend, I steeled myself against the blood that pooled down the sides of the victim’s dress. With Athena watching attentively, Florence tenderly lifted a tangle of Julia’s light brown hair. The right side of the girl’s head was pressed against the marble floor, the left side visible. Her mouth was open as if she was about to call out but no words came from her pink lips—nor would they ever again.
We had become acquainted with Julia on our first visit to the Palace when she helped prepare us for our meeting with the Queen. She was as excited as we were and took delight in rummaging through Granny’s trunk to help make her appear worthy of presentation at court. I recalled how she idolized Her Majesty. She chattered on about how lucky she was to have been chosen to be apprenticed in Her Majesty’s inner circle.
Unable to bear looking at her lifeless form, I glanced away only to catch sight of Victoria. The Queen remained inside the parlor staring down at the dead girl and hugging herself. All protocol was cast aside as Granny placed her arm around the monarch in an attempt to console her. It was unheard of to lay hands on a member of the royal family, but Granny went with her instincts and Her Majesty accepted her comforting touch.
My first thought was that whoever committed this horrible act might have intentions of hurting Victoria. Had Lady Julia thrown herself into the path of the attacker before he could gain access to the Queen? Could the killer be lurking about waiting for Victoria to step into the hall? Did Cumberland the Butcher send someone to murder our dear monarch?
The Queen addressed the guard. “Why were you not at your post?” she demanded, her voice rising in anger. “There should be a sentry at my door at all times!”
Head down, the guard studied the hilt of his sword, which remained in his scabbard. Even his gray tinged sideburns appeared to redden. He gulped, the sound echoed like a rock falling into a well. “I heard a scream down the hall and ran in that direction! It may have been this poor lady.”
“And so you abandoned your post to search for a girl who was right in front of you?” the Queen studied the man, fire in her eyes. She addressed the newly arrived commander of the Dragoons, Captain Wainright, who was accompanied by three of his men. “I expect the name of the murderer to be presented to me before nightfall!” The Queen barely kept the rage from cracking her voice. “And I require an explanation as to why this man left his post. I am holding you accountable for his actions!”
Florence put her hand near her mouth and whispered to me. “Before they move Julia, quickly sketch all you see here in your notebook, paying particular attention to the pattern on the knife handle.” She studied the sorrowful sight. “Also note the angle of the weapon, it appears the wound was delivered straight on.”
Unsure why the blade position was important, I would nonetheless do my best to capture it in a sketch.
“I have sent for the Palace coroner, Your Majesty,” Wainright said.
That the Palace had an on-call coroner was not the most reassuring bit of information. I shivered. Dropping back into an alcove, I took my notebook and penlet from my cloak and quickly sketched as Florence had directed. I had to grit my jaw and blink back the tears; aside from the giggling corpse of Mrs. Carbuncle, I had never been this close to a dead body.
Once I had quickly sketched Lady Julia’s form, paying attention to the position of her arms and legs, I concentrated on the weapon. The handle of the blade was small, and despite the bloody smears, it looked as if it was finished in white enamel with small purple flowers painted on it. Almost too fancy to be a knife, I guessed it was a letter opener.
Sketching is not my strong suit, but I did my best to make both the details on the handle and the angle of the blade clear. Then I attempted to put some finishing touches to the side of Julia’s face. I could not help but wonder what her last thoughts had been. What news was she bringing her beloved queen that she had to be stopped—dead?
A wisp of a man in a black waistcoat, with matching vest and breeches padded down the hall toward us; by his haste I guessed he was the coroner. His deathly pallor and shortness of breath led me to guess he was not in the best of health. He reeled at the sight of the corpse, and then recalling he was in the Queen’s presence, he bowed, cutting a curious eye at Florence, and then gave me the same suspicious glance.
“Your majesty, I shall take charge of this. Have we a perpetrator in hand?” He stuttered.
“We will before the sun sets!” Queen Victoria threw a sharp look at Captain Wainright. “Mr. Fowler, we wish to know all including the obvious. Keep nothing back once you have examined the poor girl,” Victoria said.
Quickly, I finished my drawing and joined Florence, watching as the coroner examined the body. My mentor’s eyes followed his slightest movement. Her tongue clicked in disgust as he hesitated before extracting the knife. The way he went about it showed that this was his first experience with such a heinous crime. I had to look away, but Florence kept a steady gaze not missing a single tick on the part of this so-called medical expert.
Marianne, one of the queen’s ladies summoned us back into the parlor where our sovereign sat with Granny close by. The remaining four ladies-in-waiting attended the Queen, each one struggling to contain her shock and grief.
I watched Florence study the women looking for crocodile tears or evidence of something more than sorrow. What reason would any of these ladies have to murder one of their own? No. Florence was wrong to suspect them of such a vicious attack; I could not imagine anyone of them guilty of a murder so foul.
Chapter 4
Parting from Granny’s reassuring touch, Victoria resumed her position on the settee. She motioned her ladies to sit, watching them gather about as if she feared she would lose yet another one.
Lady Jane and Lady Anne, each placed a brocade-covered ottoman near the Queen’s feet, adjusted their skirts and sat down. Once we were all assembled, Victoria was suddenly at a loss for words. She looked towards the closed door blinking her eyes as if to hold back un-royal tears. It was easy to imagine she might be hoping it had all been a bad dream. Gathering her companions in one glance, I couldn’t help but wonder if the Queen was trying to find Julia in the group, despite the awful truth.
As the edgy noise of taffeta and swooshing dresses grew silent, Florence began to question the ladies in Victoria’s stead. I watched as my mentor cleverly used Athena to gently enter into her enquiry. She let the owlet jump to her finger and slowly petted the bird’s head. It had a mesmerizing effect on the assemblage. Rather than meet her pointed gaze, the ladies-in-waiting watched Florence’s hand as she repeatedly stroked Athena. Now calmed, they would be able to properly answer questions despite their fear for the Queen and themselves.
Florence spoke first to Lady Beryl who had ceased her weeping and borrowed Marianne’s
handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “Lady Julia is lost to us but let us do right by her and gather all we know to help Captain Wainright find her killer. Each one of you may have information, the value of which you do not realize.” She fixed her eyes on the women individually, as she spoke. “Miss Throckmorten will write down your words while you answer my questions as truthfully as if your life depended upon it—because it may.”
Glancing about the room, taking in each one of their sufficiently frightened faces, Florence’s countenance made it clear she would not tolerate crying women. This was not the time to indulge in tears—not when a murderer lurked in the halls of Buckingham Palace.
“Lady Beryl, I am sorry you have experienced the shock of discovering Lady Julia’s body. I am certain it was a horrific experience for you. But please tell me exactly what you saw and when you saw it. Do not leave out a thing for the smallest detail may be of great importance. First, did you touch the body?”
“Of course not!” she snapped.
“How did you come to be in the hall?”
“I was on my way to the Queen’s private parlor to see if Her Majesty required my assistance. As I entered this corridor, I saw Ju…Julia lying at the door. Even at a distance I recognized her by her lavender dress. It is…was…her favorite gown.” Beryl dabbed at her eyes.
“Was the guard present?”
The senior lady’s maid screwed up her face, a frown biting into her brow. She held her hands folded in her lap, her fingers buried in the full folds of her sleeves as she shivered despite the warmth in the room. “The guard was not there.”
“He stated he heard a woman scream. Did you hear a lady cry out?” Florence asked.
Lady Beryl shook her head. “I did not.”
Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set Page 19
