"I'm just lowbrow enough to have an abundance of that," he said. "What were you thinking? Braddon's your favorite, am I right?"
"I do adore her."
"You just like books where husbands get pushed down wells."
"You've found me out."
"How about Wilkie Collins? The Woman in White? That might be good for her."
"I'd nearly forgotten about that. I don't think it's in my library. I read it when I was still at my parents' house."
"I'm surprised your mother allowed it," he said, stepping up a ladder to reach the book in question.
"She didn't. I borrowed it from a maid."
"Here you are." He handed it to me. "Have you something for me?"
"I do." I gave him the letter I'd brought. "Unfortunately, Cécile doesn't have much to report." He leaned against the edge of his large, leather-topped desk so he could read. When he got to the end, he laughed softly.
"I can't believe that I've managed to hide something from you."
"What?" I asked.
He gave the letter back to me. "Read it again." I did but still saw nothing of particular interest.
"I'm pleased, of course, that Cécile's ordered a new dress, and that Caesar is triumphing over Brutus." I frowned. "She makes no mention of Odette continuing to pine for Davis. I do hope he's not going to have his heart broken."
"Is that all you see?"
I leaned next to him, against the desk, so close that my elbow touched his sleeve. "It's perfectly obvious that you're bursting at the seams to reveal that which I have missed, and you know that I'd never want to keep any pleasure from you."
He breathed deeply and crossed his arms. "You will be the death of me." I met his eyes, doing my best to look all innocence. Neither of us spoke until I dropped the letter. He bent over, picked it up, and, leaning against my shoulder, held it in front of me. "The new dress refers to the planned coup. She knows that the plot has been set in motion but must not yet have an idea of the date. The reference to her dogs means that she is winning over Monsieur Garnier."
"It's so obvious now that you've told me."
"Codes generally are once you know how to decipher them."
"Do tell me that Davis and Odette aren't code for anything. I'll be despondent if I find out that what she said in her previous letter had nothing to do with my poor butler."
"You're quite safe. Davis and Odette are not part of the code."
"That's a relief." I loved the feeling of him so close to me and for a moment allowed myself to think of nothing but the warmth of his arm against mine. I was not, however, so carried away as to overlook the implication of what he had just shared with me. When I realized what it meant, I was quite overcome. "I am such a fool!"
"Don't be so hard on yourself. I understand your reluctance to marry."
"You're absolutely terrible," I said, but couldn't help smiling. "I'm talking about the correspondence between Marie Antoinette and Léonard. They must have written in code."
"It's possible."
"How can I tell?"
"Well, if the letters are encoded, it's likely that there's a simple sort of key. The queen wouldn't have been able to hide anything in her cell, so she must have been able to decipher and write without consulting a key."
"Her jailers would have read everything she wrote and received, so it can't have been too simple or obvious."
Colin crossed the room to another bookshelf, ticking off each volume with a finger until he found the one that he sought. After glancing through it, he passed it to me, then returned to his search. "This might be helpful, as well, so long as it doesn't distract you from the matter at hand." He gave me a second book, this one in French, Les secrets de nos pères: La cryptographie; ou l'Art d'écrire en chiffres.
I glanced at both of them while he opened a drawer in his desk. "This is a definitive work, though it's more pertinent to military cryptography. Fleissner von Wostrowitz is a master, and it's possible that reading his articles will inspire you, though the more I think about it, I'm inclined to say your letters rely on both steganography and cryptography."
"You've absolutely baffled me. I've not the slightest idea what you're talking about."
"Cryptography is codes. If you pick up a document and see a series of numbers or letters that look like gibberish, you know at once that they need to be deciphered. Steganography, however, provides a way to send a hidden message that does not look like a code."
"Like your letter from Cécile?"
"In a sense, yes, though we're primarily using a jargon code, substituting words — Brutus for Garnier. Our system is laughably unsophisticated. Were we to employ a null cipher, for example, it would be much more difficult to crack. In such a case, you might need to read only the second letter of every other word in a document to find the imbedded message. It's an elegant method — utterly simple once you know the technique that's been employed — but doesn't necessarily require a complicated key. And, to the untrained eye, the paper looks like an ordinary letter."
"Perfect for our jailed queen," I said, my excitement growing.
"I think so. It will be difficult to figure out their system, but not impossible. You will have to analyze each letter very carefully." He squeezed my hand so hard that it almost hurt. "I rather envy you the task."
"I never expected you were a gentleman who keeps ready references on code breaking in his library. I'm beginning to suspect that your work is more fascinating than you let on."
"Think what you will. My current assignment requires little more than an ability to stay up until all hours of the night drinking in less-than-satisfactory company."
"And a quick mind that can recognize when something of significance occurs."
He smiled. "Yes, I must be careful not to sacrifice any cognitive function."
"It must be exciting to feel that the fate of the empire rests in your hands."
"That's quite a romantic exaggeration. Most of my time is spent waiting, gathering small bits of information that, if I'm lucky, will eventually prove useful."
"Come home with me. We can work on the letters together."
"I'm afraid I'm bound to our friend Berry tonight."
I sighed. "You poor man. But I deserve a share of sympathy, too. I'm forced to return to an empty house and spend another evening alone."
"But not truly alone. It's impossible to have any privacy in these houses. A servant can come in at any moment. Have you ever been really alone?"
I thought about this. "No, not when you put it that way. Have you?"
"Whenever I work on the Continent I try to go to Switzerland after I'm finished. There's a chalet I rent in the Alps. You cannot imagine the quiet, the beauty. The mountains are spectacular, but what I crave most is the solitude. It's intoxicating like nothing else to go into a house and know that it is entirely empty aside from you."
"I can't even imagine it," I said. "But who feeds you? Don't try to tell me you cook for yourself because I'll never believe it."
"There's a village two miles away. I hike down, stock up on bread and cheese, whatever else I can carry."
"So you picnic?"
"Essentially, yes."
"And do whatever you please?"
"Exactly, and it typically amounts to very little. There's something freeing about it. No questions to answer, no etiquette to be obeyed, no obligations to meet."
"It sounds like just the thing for me." I smiled.
"I should very much like to take you there. Do you think you could bear the loss of your maid and your butler and your cook?"
"I do."
He reached up as if he would touch my face, but changed his mind, instead putting his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side. I let my head fall against his shoulder, and stayed there, perfectly content in our silence, until his butler marched into the room.
"Mr. Berry is here, sir."
"Take him to the billiard room. He can occupy himself while I finish here." Hoskins nodded, bowed,
and left us.
"I can't imagine what Berry wants." Colin pulled a watch from his vest. "We weren't to meet for dinner for another two hours. I'd better tend to him."
"You're far too rumpled for public consumption," I said as he unrolled his sleeves. "Though I must confess to finding you most appealing this way."
"You'd find me like this much more often if we were married. Think on it, Emily. You could curl up in the library, all these books at your disposal —"
"Yes, but they would still be your books, Colin. I want my own."
Hoskins interrupted us again. "I'm very sorry, sir. Mr. Berry is insisting that you come at once."
Colin waited until the butler had gone to turn back to me. "Possessions can be more binding than you think. But I understand how you feel. Know, my dear, that if you did marry me, all that is mine would be yours."
It sounded perfectly lovely but wasn't really true. All of it could be mine only so long as he remained alive. If he died before me, I would find myself once again at the mercy of someone's heir.
"I can see your mind working," he said. "Remember your Austen: 'Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.'"
I raised an eyebrow. "Have you been consulting literature in search of references that might ease the mind of a lady considering the proposal of a gentleman whose estate is entailed? If so, Pride and Prejudice is unlikely to provide the desired result."
"I don't see why not. It all ends perfectly well."
"While we are on the subject of marriage, I have a question for you. Several people have suggested to me that all my problems with society would disappear if I were to marry Jeremy. Do you agree?"
"I suppose so, but the entire scenario is ridiculous."
"Yes, well, forget that for the moment. I'm interested in the hypothetical. If I came to you and said that I'd been persuaded to accept him for the good of my reputation, what would you say to me? Would you stand aside?"
He tilted his head slightly to the side and looked at me. "Absolutely not. I'd throw you over my shoulder and carry you to Gretna Green."
I could not help myself. I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. "You are a dear man."
He smiled, his eyes dancing as he kissed my hand. "I'll come to you soon to see how successful you are at code breaking."
21
Code breaking, it turned out, was an excruciating, frustrating endeavor. The books and articles I had from Colin were fascinating studies, but I found in them nothing that helped illuminate the letters strewn across my desk. I was forced to tear myself away from my work, however, as the hour for my tea with the queen approached. I dressed carefully, choosing to wear the gown Mr. Worth designed for me after I gave him a swatch of ice-blue silk Cécile had cut from one of her curtains the first time I'd called on her in Paris. Meg didn't even try to contain her excitement as she assisted me. She tugged on my corset strings with such enthusiasm that I could hardly draw breath, and worked on my hair with complete disregard for the violence her hairpins inflicted upon my scalp.
The result was worth the suffering. I might not be able to breathe, but my tight stays would force me into perfect posture, and my hair was absolutely flawless. Not even a monarch could find fault with my appearance. Meg stood back to admire her work, nodding, with her hands firmly planted on her hips.
"Oh, madam, you are lovely! Your mother will be so proud. I can't even imagine getting to have tea with Her Majesty."
"I'll try to smuggle out a scone for you," I said.
"You wouldn't dare," she said in a hushed tone, her eyes wide. "But will you tell me what it's like? Do you think you might see Prince George?"
"Highly unlikely, Meg. I don't know that the prince is even in Windsor."
"I think he's very handsome. Everything a prince should be."
She looked so eager that I couldn't resist giving her something to feed her daydreams. I leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially. "I've danced with him, you know. A most courteous gentleman and even handsomer than the pictures you see in the paper."
"Molly knows that gentleman who might be king of France. She's told me all about him."
"Has she?" I asked. "What did she say?"
"Well, he's no Prince George, but he sounds friendly enough. Really great men know how to connect with the common people, I've always thought."
I was stunned that, after discussing Charles Berry with Molly, Meg could have come away with any conclusion except that he was the worst sort of cad. Molly would not want to share the details of her ordeal, but surely neither would she deliberately paint a favorable picture of a man who had harmed her. There was no time for such thoughts at the moment; my mother had arrived.
We spoke very little as we left Berkeley Square, but I could see that she was pleased with my appearance. She had come for me in an open carriage, and ordered her driver to go slowly on the way to Paddington Station so that anyone passing by would have no difficulty in seeing and identifying us. More than one acquaintance appeared surprised to see us together. My mother bestowed on these people her chilliest smile, chatting with me the entire way. Once aboard the train, however, we sat in silence.
I had seen the queen on numerous occasions, but usually only for official events: royal garden parties and my presentation at court. Today, as we approached the palace, I thought about the last time I'd been in Her Majesty's presence, during her Golden Jubilee, when Ivy and I had watched the fireworks from the garden at Buckingham Palace. Neither of us was yet engaged, and she had been flirting shamelessly with a dashing member of the diplomatic corps. Bright flashes filled the sky with color that washed over the crowd below, only to fade and plunge us again into darkness. It was during one of these dark intervals that the gentleman standing next to me took my hand in his. The memory was so faint I questioned its veracity, but it kept tugging at me, until I was able to picture Philip's face, a questioning smile in his eyes as the light returned to bathe us.
"I am certain that I need not remind you to make no mention of your eccentricities when we are with Her Majesty," my mother said, jarring me back to the present. Before I was born, she had served as a lady-in-waiting to the queen, and the two of them had been on friendly terms ever since. It was only because of this that she had been able to arrange for today's meeting. I doubted very much that Queen Victoria made a habit of taking tea for the benefit of repairing ladies' reputations.
"I am grateful to you for doing this, Mother," I said. "There's no need to worry. I shall be graciousness itself."
A servant led us into a large sitting room in the queen's private apartments, where Lady Antrim, a lady-in-waiting, greeted us.
"Catherine, dear, it is so good to see you," she said. "And you, too, Emily. You are looking well." A door opened, and the queen was wheeled into the room. As always when I saw her, I was struck that a person of such small stature could have such a commanding presence. We all curtseyed and observed the formal niceties, then sat down at a heavily laden tea table.
"You are bearing the loss of your husband quite well, Lady Ashton," the queen said, accepting from a footman a plate full of dainty sandwiches.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I manage the best I can." Should I have listened to my mother and worn a dress of a more muted color?
"The pain of a widow stays with her forever."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Your mother has not brought you here for consolation, though your husband was the best sort of man. She tells me you have fallen victim to rumors of a most insidious sort."
"I have, ma'am."
"I do not doubt your virtue. Your mother would never have raised a girl of questionable morality. Yet it is essential that you guard your reputation as if it were your greatest treasure."
"Let me assure you, ma'am, that I do. I have never behaved in a way that should have led to these stories." My mother blanched slightly as I spoke.
"You would not be here, Lady Ashton, if I had any reason to doubt that. As qu
een, I have been attacked by ill-natured gossips more than once. The reprehensible nature of these people knows no bounds. I hope that news of your meeting with me does something to quell these rumors."
"Thank you, ma'am. I am most obliged." I knew at once that she was referring to the scandalous stories that had circulated about her relationship with Mr. Brown, the Scottish ghillie. Some people had gone so far as to claim that they had been secretly married. My mother assured me that was nonsense, but I always had wondered what the queen's true feelings were. A woman in her position would be so very alone, surrounded by people, but no one who was her equal; who but a spouse could offer her real companionship?
Without another word to me, she directed her attention to my mother. "Now, Catherine, have you given further thought to potential brides for Eddy? I cannot tolerate him remaining unmarried for much longer."
The eldest son of the Prince of Wales, Prince Eddy, had been embroiled in any number of scandals of his own and always suffered in comparisons with his younger brother, Prince George. It came as no surprise that the queen would want to see her grandson married.
"Of all the names we have discussed, my thoughts keep returning to Princess May. She's a sensible girl, well brought up, with a strong sense of duty."
"She's fairly pretty, too," Lady Antrim said.
"What are her interests?" I asked. "I don't know her well."
"Her interests?" Lady Antrim's face was blank.
I was about to question whether the lady's interests were compatible with those of the prince but stopped myself in time. Stopped myself from speaking, that is. I couldn't keep from wondering how the poor girl would feel to be thrust upon the prince.
"As I said," my mother replied. "She's a very sensible girl. No silly romantic ideas."
"I shall invite her to Balmoral in the fall," the queen said. "Your efforts in these matters never go unappreciated, Catherine."
I don't know that I had ever before seen my mother look so pleased. But, then, I suppose that I'd never really seen her in her element. Here her skills as a matchmaker were a valuable commodity, while to me they were anathema. I was glad that she had friends who acknowledged her talent.
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