Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  We navigated a seldom used staircase to the second floor and traversed the corridor to the guest-bedroom suites. Moon spoke in a near whisper for the walls in Buckingham had ears, as did Granny who feigned sleep while shuffling along clinging to his arm. “I spent the morning with Dr. Sparks and his hot air balloon, again. This was our third outing.” He looked at my face for a reaction. “A hot air balloon is an amazing contraption. We circled the Vauxhall flower fields. Miss Poppy, you would love it.”

  “How does it rise?” I could not grasp the idea of flight. Our Creator wisely did not endow people with wings. The entire concept confounded me.

  “I only know a simple way of explaining it. He has a small burner near the bottom of the balloon. It consumes coal and makes hot gas that causes the bag to inflate and then rise. Hot air is less dense than cool air and will float off the ground. Think of it like wood in water; wood is less dense than water. That is why wood floats on water, and balloons float into the sky.”

  I chuckled softly. “I will take your word for it. I have not attempted to float wood on water.”

  He laughed. “I suppose it is something boys are more prone to experiment with.”

  “But how do you come down?” I didn’t like the sound of this, having just found Moon I did not want to lose him to some crazy flight of fancy.

  “Dr. Sparks boasted about his skills with the balloon. He showed me something called a release valve that lets the hot air out and brings it back down to the ground. He uses guide ropes to move it in the direction he wants to go.”

  “What if you blew away around the world? You could end up in China! I do wish you would be careful.”

  Moon chortled. “It can’t go far, maybe across the Channel to France or Germany.” He eased Granny around a bend. The sentry opened the huge white door to allow us to enter the next corridor. “I am going flying again with him tomorrow morning. I think he has taken a liking to me for he has requested and been given my assistance with Braxton’s blessings.”

  There was a mischievous look in his eyes. “Speaking of taking a fancy, I think he is besotted with Miss Nightingale. When not explaining the balloon, he spoke only of her.”

  “He is in for a disappointment,” I said. No sooner had I spoken than I had cause to gasp in surprise or was it fear?

  Chapter 13

  The little man in the dark coat, Prince George’s traveling companion, sauntered toward us swinging a walking stick. He acted as if he were on a Sunday stroll in Hyde Park. How had he eluded Captain Wainright’s search and what was he up to?

  As he drew closer, I became aware of a certain clanging sound emanating from him. It was the bang of metal against metal. The stranger appeared chunkier than when I observed him exiting Prince George’s carriage.

  Moon transferred Granny’s sleepy grip to my arm and confronted the man. I was fearful the lurker would strike my love with his stick, but the stranger seemed content to remain nonchalant.

  “Who are you and what you doing wandering the halls of Buckingham Palace as if you belong here?” Moon demanded in a loud voice, waking Granny. His words quickly drew a set of guards. “Summon Captain Wainright!” Moon ordered the nearest sentry.

  The stranger stopped his approach, reached up and stroked his beard. The mere movement of his arm produced the sound of a cook banging pots and pans.

  Florence was the first to arrive—after the guards. She towered over the swaggering fellow while Moon removed the walking stick from the lurker’s hand. “The Dragoons have been looking for you, sir. Who are you and how do you come to parade the Palace halls?” she demanded. The guards stood back while the newly arrived servants knew to give Miss Nightingale a wide berth.

  The fellow adjusted his spectacles looking angrily at Florence and then Moon, but not asking for the return of his walking stick. “My name is Pink. Antoine Pink. I am looking for Prince George.”

  “Well he certainly is not here!” Florence said in a tone tinged with amazement. “This is a private wing of the Palace. Sir, you were seen arriving hours ago and a search for you has been underway. How is it a guard does not already have you in custody?”

  It was at that moment that he was lifted off his feet by two Dragoons, each grabbing one of his arms. I imagined this was done to impress Captain Wainright, who came running down the corridor holding his scabbard steady against his side.

  Mr. Pink held his composure as Captain Wainright and Florence battered him with questions. He had an odd nervous tick. Whenever Florence would ask him something, he would push his spectacles giving his nose a quick wiggle. I guessed it was a delaying tactic allowing him time to think of an answer.

  Under the Captain’s orders we adjourned to the guards’ room—an austere place with stone floors and rough stone walls. It was hard to imagine we were still in the Palace, as it had the feeling of a dungeon, not that I have ever been in one.

  The Queen and Lord Melbourne had been notified of our discovery. Her Majesty sent word she wished nothing to do with the man and was only interested in what his motives were. We were to keep her informed.

  Lord Melbourne came dashing into the room buttoning his waistcoat. His valet followed closely behind him waving his ascot. The Prime Minister’s eyes were swollen as if he had been asleep for a long time even though it had been less than an hour since he retired to his chambers. His dark curly hair was in disarray causing the gray hair at his temples to stand out. When he arrived at our little gathering he was short of breath.

  “Moon has found the man I saw with Prince George!” I said in a loud voice. I wished my love to be credited with nabbing the prowler. If he had not laid hands on Mr. Pink, the scoundrel might have run off. Where had the little lizard been hiding all day and why?

  “I would send for Prince George to explain this man’s presence, but we do not know where he is staying. Confound it!” Lord Melbourne growled. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Mr. Pink.

  As I watched Florence study the stranger I could almost read her thoughts. Pink was a sliver of a man, the perfect size and shape to slip into the shadows and remain motionless, but what was his motive?

  Lord Melbourne left it to Florence to continue questioning Mr. Pink, saying he would wait until she had completed her interrogation. It was my guess that Lord M was so stunned to discover this fellow strolling about His Lordship had yet to wrap his mind around the outrageousness of the caper.

  Florence approached the man seeming to take in every aspect of his being, including his scent as she sniffed several times before confronting him. And then she began dissecting the slippery fellow. I so enjoyed watching her analyze a person for it unnerved even the strongest of personalities. “Mister or should I say Monsieur Pink? For your cheap scented cologne betrays that you are from France, I might narrow that to Paris.” She studied the top of his head having an excellent vantage point.

  Mr. Pink visibly cringed. A person who enjoys slithering in the shadows does not relish being exposed to the light of scrutiny. “Yes. I am from Paree.”

  “And by your clothes, you are not a servant to Prince George and yet you were seen leaving his carriage earlier today,” Florence motioned for me to write down his words.” And yet the Prince did not introduce you to the Queen?”

  I reached in my pocket and withdrew my weathered journal and penlet. Peering up from my notes I could see that Pink was unnerved by having his words recorded. His face constricted perhaps vowing to be cautious.

  Athena peeked from Florence’s pocket chirping loudly. There was something about the stranger that set her off, so much so her mistress placed a cupped hand over the agitated bird. “Mr. Pink, I repeat—you were seen in the company of Prince George of Hanover. Why did you not present yourself to the Queen?” Florence asked.

  Despite his constrained expression the little fellow responded most genially as if he were sipping tea in a fine parlor and not surrounded by guards in a dungeon. “I fully intended to. From the moment we stepped from the Prince�
�s carriage I was at his heels, but somehow in the vastness of the Palace I lost him.”

  Lord Melbourne snorted a sound of derision and venom. It was clear the strutting little fellow had pushed him into responding. His Lordship took over Florence’s questioning. “Why has it taken this long for you to show yourself? Where have you been lurking? If you were lost why not present yourself to one of the guards? Did you not see sentries at the entrance of every corridor?” Lord M’s questions came fast like verbal punches designed to weaken Mr. Pink’s composure.

  The sneak turned two shades deeper than his name and began to stammer. “I … I am a Frenchman, and not one familiar with your British wa … ways. When Prince George entered the foyer, he told me to lose myself until he sent for me—so I did.”

  It was Florence’s turn to snort. “That, Monsieur Pink, is a ridiculous answer. It has been hours since the Prince left and yet you continued to skulk about not making your presence known? I take you for a threat to our Queen and recommend that you be lodged in a cell until such time as Prince George explains your existence!” If Florence were a dragon, she would have been breathing fire at this point. My friend does not tolerate fools, nor will she accept being treated like a fool.

  “Wait! No dungeons! I suffer from rheumatism and cannot tolerate dampness. I will explain my mission and you may judge for yourself. I am merely an expert gemologist, not a criminal.”

  “I see I may have misjudged you. Hmmm.” Florence smirked. “Since you are an expert gemologist, you should have no objection to opening your coat to show us your equipment.” I swallowed a giggle.

  Granny poked me with her sharp elbow and chortled. Knowing my grandmother’s naughty sense of humor I guessed Florence’s request had struck her funny bone. Gulping back a snort, she whispered in my ear. “Should we warn him of the life expectancy of experts in the Palace?”

  Mr. Pink cut his eyes toward Granny. By the expression on his face he had heard her remark. Fumbling with the flaps, he opened his coat, the movement causing further clanging.

  Chapter 14

  “Empty those pockets!” Lord Melbourne commanded. Mr. Pink complied.

  The sight of Pink’s collection of Palace valuables was greeted with a collective groan. It was obvious his coat was designed to suit his profession—a thief. There were more pockets in the lining of his coat than in all of our cloaks, jackets, and gowns combined. I had never seen so many compartments in a garment. With a shrug and a silly smile, he began to unload his booty.

  Lord Melbourne exchanged astounded looks with Florence while Moon and I merely shook our heads. One after another Pink placed silver spoons, gold cups, and tiny bronze figurines on the stone floor of the guardroom. The pile soon mounted to his kneecaps. I was flabbergasted, wondering how he had managed to walk at all let alone to creep about the Palace halls sounding like a tinsmith drumming up trade.

  Once his pockets, all twenty or more, were emptied, he dropped his hands to his sides with a deep sigh of resignation. Had he absconded with his goodies he might have never found it necessary to ply his trade ever again. But now he would spend his life in prison wondering what if.

  Lord Melbourne nodded at Florence allowing her to continue probing. “Mr. Pink … that is your real name?”

  I doubted he could appear any more sheepish. “They call me Pinkie, madam. As you see I am missing the tip of this finger. He held out his right hand, demonstrating a lack of his small finger. “I lost it to a mark who was swift with his knife. I go by Mr. Pink but as long as we are being tru…th…ful,” he gagged on the word. “My given name is Monsieur Antoine Voleur.”

  “And how do you come by the nerve to creep about the Queen’s residence stealing things that strike your fancy?” Florence asked.

  He looked down at the pile, while tucking his many pockets back into place, his hands shaking as if afflicted with palsy. “Someone must have put those things in my coat; I have no use for cheap baubles. I am here at the invitation of His Royal Highness. Prince George has come to buy an em...em…erald,” he stuttered. “I understand it to be a very special stone. I am an expert on the value of jewels.”

  Mr. Pink’s eyes wandered over Florence’s features, looking for some sign of kindness, perhaps? He then cast his eyes toward Lord Melbourne. Not finding what he needed from either person, he continued to puff his tale, adding importance to his position in a stammering stream of meaningless words.

  I peered at all the faces gathered with me, not just Lord M and Florence, but the guards and of course Captain Wainright. Not one registered belief. How could they after seeing the pile of plunder at his feet?

  The thief held his hands in a prayerful position finally giving in to a version of the truth. “I beseech you to understand my plight. This is the honest truth. I have a wife and six children to feed. The Prince visited my home in Paree in the dead of night. He offered me near half of the profit he would derive from the money his father gave him to buy the jewel.”

  A look of perplexity ricocheted from Lord Melbourne to Florence, bouncing off me and hitting Moon. I was baffled as to what the man was talking about. He seemed crazy as a bag of ferrets.

  Crinkling her face in uncertainty, Florence urged him, “Please explain.”

  “Lord Cumberland gave Prince George two hundred thousand pounds to buy the emerald—at least that is what he told me. The Prince contrived the idea that if he could get the stone for half that amount then he could keep the change, not confessing the terms of the purchase with his father. Of that money not spent on the stone, he would give me a bob less than half. All I had to do was act as if I was an expert on jewels. Not too difficult to manage as I am very familiar with expensive stones.”

  Lord Melbourne shook his head in disgust. “We shall not waste any more time with this man. Not here. Not now.” He turned to the Captain. “I suggest you hold Mr. Pink or whatever name he chooses under guard until we sort out his relationship with Prince George. While you have him in custody continue to question him. I am sure Her Majesty will want to know where he has been for all these hours. We will expect you to learn how this breech occurred and why this thief was admitted to the Palace. Report to me in the morning.”

  I would not wish to be in Captain Wainright’s boots come daybreak. How had the Palace guard become so lax?

  Chapter 15

  As I pulled the pillow off my face, I noticed Florence standing at one of our chamber windows. Her silhouette was illuminated from behind by the dim light of the rising sun. Slipping out of my bed I padded to her side.

  “Time to wake Granny. The Queen expects us within the hour.” She turned to me, concern showing on her tired face. “Whatever Her Majesty has planned for this morning, I would prefer not to be involved. I must complete my research into how Madam Tchotchke was murdered—and why. I am leaving it to you to entertain her.”

  Stepping back from the window, I managed to mash Granny’s right foot. “Sorry! You snuck up behind me. I didn’t hear you.”

  She winced while hopping on her left slipper and grimacing in pain.

  “You should have coughed or said something!” I hugged her close. She had a habit of silently sliding next to me.

  “There are still some worms in the cup from last night. I’ll feed Athena while you both get dressed.” Florence barely looked at us as she spoke. She had that distant glazed look in her eyes; the one that said her mind was already hours ahead.

  As Granny and I prepared to leave, Florence informed us, “Forgive me for not accompanying you. Her Majesty can be very single minded. If she decides I should spend the morning with her, there will be no way for me to excuse myself. I intend to conclude my investigation today!” Appraising our outfits, she cautioned, “Do take your cloaks, for you have no idea what the Queen has planned.”

  Not above the occasional white lie when circumstances demanded, my friend instructed us to tell the Queen that she was feeling ill and would remain in bed for the morning. We grabbed our outdoor robes and armed wi
th Florence’s fib, we scurried to the royal quarters.

  The Queen bubbled with excitement, notwithstanding being told Florence would not join us. Her disappointment came and went in the blink of a lash. It did not appear Captain Wainright or Lord Melbourne had informed Her Majesty of the arrest of Mr. Pink. It was not my place to tattle the news, and yet someone had to tell her. I gulped, taking the responsibility, not knowing how she would react.

  “Your Majesty, perhaps because of the early hour you may not have been informed. Captain Wainright detained Prince George’s traveling companion late last night. The man is in jail.”

  “Lovely! I will expect a full report from the Captain and Lord Melbourne when we return from our flight.” Brushing off the information, she tucked Dash in his puppy bed, giving him a loving pat. “You stay!”

  Flight?

  “Lehzen! Come ahead. We are ready!” The Queen called.

  Granny cut me a questioning look. “Where are we going, Your Majesty?” she asked.

  Victoria covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “Mercy me, have I not told you? The anticipation of this adventure has affected my memory. I was certain I swore you to secrecy. The Baroness Lehzen has already given me her word she will tell no one, particularly Prince Albert. He would be so angry if he knew.”

  The Baroness winked as she spoke, “My lips are forever sealed.”

  “My Derbyshire Damsels,” Victoria said, “you must promise me to tell no one about our little voyage this morning. Prince Albert thinks me a fragile flower to be protected at all costs. If he learns what we have done, he will lecture me until our silver anniversary.”