by Edith Layton
He’d seen Elizabeth’s face last night, her absolute shock and terror. He didn’t know what she was afraid of, but thinking about it, he could guess more than she’d guess he could.
So. There was nothing for it. He’d made a mistake. He should never have turned to anyone else, especially not a man like Thomas Farrow. That meant he’d have to get Peaches back himself. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t rely on his friends. It only meant that they had to be old friends, and none of them adults.
* * *
She couldn’t even get in the gate. The guards Elizabeth spoke to smiled or tried to flirt with her. But no matter what she said, they refused to let her in to speak with anyone else.
“There’s a pity,” the old man who was standing near the West gate said as another guard walked away from her. “But there’s no visiting today, missy, so save yer breath, whatever yer business. They won’t let ye in no matter what. Maybe if the Queen wasn’t here…but she is, so the place is in a dither. I come in from Frickle for the day and found I can’t even get in to say hello to my niece, what works as a second upstairs undermaid in the west wing.
“The Queen ain’t been here in dog’s years,” he went on. “She don’t care for the place now that she’s old. Not the palace, nor the city. So it’s closed most of the time with only a skeleton staff, so a fellow can visit a relative once in a while. When the Queen is here, though, only the nobs and her family gets in.”
He looked at the lovely face turned so imploringly to his, and added, “And there’s no talking to none of them, neither.” He shifted a bony shoulder to indicate the huge impassive soldier standing at attention at the gate. “Not that they’re cruel nor nothing, but they’re sworn to keep all their attention on their duty, which is to protect Her Majesty, and got no time for a chat. I heard,” he added, “that they could get shot fer so much as saying a word!”
Elizabeth’s eyes flew to the massive guard. His expression didn’t change, but she swore she could see surprise register in his wide blue eyes.
“I must speak to someone,” she said loudly enough for the guard to hear. “It sounds strange, but someone at the palace has made some hideous mistake. They’ve taken my poor brother’s cat. Stolen it, to be precise.”
Now she did see something flare in the soldier’s eyes. It looked like shock, followed by anxiety. Still, he didn’t move a step, just stared straight ahead.
But the old man backed a step. His voice was soothing when he spoke again. “Now, now. I’m sure the Queen don’t need yer cat. What ye need is to go home and rest, missy, and I’m sure it will all look better in the morning.”
“I slept very well, thank you very much,” Elizabeth said bitterly, “What I need is someone who will listen to me.”
She marched off to find someone who would. She did. More guards listened before they turned their backs and walked off. The workers she spoke to who were laboring behind the gates gave her strange looks and went on working. The man selling painted cards in front of the palace listened more attentively, as did the fellow selling meat pies, and the woman in shawls vending hot tea. They shook their heads at a tale of such villainy, then offered their wares. Elizabeth kept trying. All she got for her efforts were looks of pity, but not for her stolen cat.
Elizabeth had circled the palace twice looking for a way in, or the ear of someone who worked there, when she realized it was past time she went back to the shop. She’d accomplished nothing. She walked off slowly, so sunk in despair that she hardly heard the running footfalls behind her, until the deep voice said, “Miss?” twice. Then she looked up to see who had spoken.
A very large, fair-haired young man stood before her. He was buttoning his coat and seemed out of breath. Though his clothes were those of a gentleman, his face had the scrubbed look of a man who worked outdoors. She looked up into his eyes.
Then she recognized him. Her heart leapt up. “The guard!” she cried. “You were in front of the palace, you heard me. I am not mad,” she insisted.
“I didn’t say you were,” he said, looking at her fixedly. “I am Sergeant Augustus Quimby. And you are…?”
“Miss Elizabeth Miller,” she said promptly, and immediately launched into her story about Peaches, Nibs and Theo. He stood watching her with awe. Some men reacted to her that way and it made her uneasy, but not this time. He had such an open, honest face. Besides, he hung on every word, obviously impressed by her story. But as she went on, he couldn’t conceal the distress that leapt to his honest eyes.
“I know it sounds bizarre,” she concluded, “but my brother has his ear to the ground. Why should a Queen want a common cat I do not know, but that is what everyone’s saying.”
Augustus drew a deep breath. There was so much he couldn’t say. But there was one thing he could. “I will look into this for you,” he said.
“Oh, thank you,” she exclaimed in relief, giving him a radiant smile. “Because I don’t know what else I can do. I can’t get in the gates to talk to anyone, and those I did speak to all looked at me as though I’d run mad. The cat is of utmost importance to Theo, and so to me too. And,” she said sadly, “I confess I’m worried about old Nibs. He’s not only a good dog who deserves the best, but he’s all we have left of the old days, you see.” She stopped and cocked her head to the side, listening, her face growing pale. “Is that the hour I hear striking? I must get back to work!”
“But I have to know where you live,” Augustus said. She turned a suddenly suspicious gaze on him. “So I can report my findings to you,” he said.
“Of course,” she said with a sheepish grin. “It’s only that I’m so very late!”
“Then may I accompany you?” he asked. “Where do you work? What do you do?”
They talked as they walked, or rather, as they rushed, because Elizabeth hurried. She hated to, because this young soldier was one of the nicest men she’d spoken to in a long while. She firmly repressed any hopes of future meetings with him that had to do with anything but the cat. He was obviously a gentleman for he had a position of some importance, and so what future could there be for a fellow like that and a milliner two steps from poverty?
“And you?” she asked, when she’d done telling him about her situation.
“Oh, I’m a lucky fellow,” he said, clipping his long strides to match her hurried steps. “I’d thought to follow in my father’s footsteps and be a farmer all my life. After I served my country, of course. But I rose in the ranks, and they gave me honors for my soldiering, and then what did they do but offer me a position with Her Majesty here in London?”
She stopped and smiled so sweetly at him that Augustus almost stumbled. But then her smile slipped. “I think I’d best go on from here alone,” she said. “The shop is a street away. Mrs. Sunshine will definitely wonder if I returned from a visit to a sick aunt with a gentleman like you as an escort.” Her eyes searched his. “I don’t like lying,” she said fervently, “and try never to deceive anyone. But I’d do anything to get that cat back again!”
* * *
Augustus walked back to the palace, his brain seething. He didn’t doubt Miss Elizabeth Miller for a moment. That was apart from the fact that she was the prettiest young woman he’d ever seen. He knew truth when it looked him in the face, even if the face that was looking back at his was incredibly lovely. It was true he’d lived in barracks for a long time, and didn’t have any female companionship because he was shy with women. Even so, he had eyes. And the entreaty in hers touched him to the heart. She was in desperate need too, like a heroine in a fairy story. The least—or at least the first least thing—he could do for her, was to retrieve her cat. But even if the cat did belong to her brother, how could he get it back?
The fact that he was largely responsible for the cat being taken made him feel like a villain. The fact that the Queen he was sworn to protect might now have the wrong cat weighed deeply on his troubled spirit. If the cat were rightfully his monarch’s he could at least set Miss Miller’s mind
to rest. But the evidence she presented was very compelling. And if the Queen didn’t know the difference between her cat and the boy’s, what harm would there be in setting things right? Moreover, she’d be leaving the palace soon, and no one knew when she would return—if ever.
Augustus thought new, uncomfortable, deep and treasonous thoughts all the way back to the palace.
* * *
“And so,” Elizabeth said gaily, as she finished telling her story that evening, “I have the best feeling that we may have Peaches home for Christmas, Theo!”
Theo frowned. “I dunno.” He looked over to where Nibs lay in his corner. The old dog’s sides moved, but not deeply, because he wasn’t sleeping. His cloudy eyes seemed to stare into the distance.
“I believe in miracles,” Elizabeth said firmly, “especially at this time of year. If you’d seen Sergeant Quimby, you’d agree. He seems capable of one. He’s tall and strong, with such a firm chin, and has the most sincere blue eyes. I’m sure he’ll think of something. Perhaps he’ll start the search for the Queen’s own cat again.”
“Yeah,” Theo said, “and he’ll march on in and take my cat away from her, right? The Queen of England? He might have big shoulders, but I don’t think he can do that.” He looked down at his untouched bowl of stew. “She’s a grand old lady, and so say all, but she’s old. What is she—eighty or a hundred now? How good can her eyes be? No wonder she can’t tell the difference. She can’t tell the difference between her cat and a lion, I’d wager! Else why would she settle on Peaches being hers, huh?”
Elizabeth ducked her head. There was nothing she could say. She was spared trying to invent another hopeful fantasy by the sound of someone at the door. Nibs rose to unsteady feet and growled. Elizabeth looked at Theo. They never had company. But maybe someone had found Peaches?
She and Theo got to the door at the same time, and flung it open.
A dark man stood there. He was dressed like a well-to-do gent, from his hat to his fine greatcoat. His handsome face was barbered and he smelled of subtle flowers this December night.
Elizabeth stepped back in alarm.
“Good evening,” Thomas Farrow said. “May I come in?”
Elizabeth bit her lip.
“Come now,” he told her. “Even I wouldn’t try to get up to anything with young Theodore here. I have some news for you about your cat. But if you’d rather I left…”
“Come in,” she said, and stepped back far enough to let an elephant pass without touching her skirts.
He took off his hat and entered the room, looking it over thoroughly as he did. “Well,” he said finally, gazing hungrily at Elizabeth, “seems it took a cat to get me this far. I can’t wait to see how far I get when I have the actual cat in hand.”
“Your news, sir,” Elizabeth said firmly. There was no doubt he was a fine-looking fellow, but his business was crime. Worse, the dark current of attraction he exuded made her nervous, because it was as unnerving as enticing. She neither trusted nor liked the man, and was honest enough to be afraid to know him better lest she succumb to liking him—or worse. Thomas’s intense gaze followed her whenever their paths chanced to cross. She’d always felt the lure of him. At such close quarters it was almost overwhelming.
“Your cat,” Thomas told Theo, “is more than looking at a Queen, young Theo, she’s living with one. I’ve done some investigating. Seems that one of the men responsible is Lord George Montrose, a shadowy fellow with power in government, though behind the scenes. I’m surprised he’s mixed up in this, but the Queen is his business, I suppose. The other fellow,” he said, his eyes sluing to Elizabeth, “is Augustus Quimby, a sergeant in the guard. A fine upright soldier, big and fair. The very model of a decorated war hero. Which he is. No doubt he’ll wear another medal soon: one shaped like a cat.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, she repressed all other signs of her dismay. She kept her back rigid and said tersely, “I see. And how did you discover this?”
“There’s not much that goes on in this part of London I don’t hear about. May I sit down?”
“Do you have anything more to tell us about the cat?” she asked stiffly.
“No. But I will. I hope to be able to get my hands on the actual cat, in fact.”
“Oh, that would be capital!” Theo exclaimed.
“But you don’t know more now,” Elizabeth persisted.
“No, not yet.”
“Well, if and when you do,” she said, “I’d certainly ask you to be seated. It would be ungrateful not to. But as it is, I have work early tomorrow morning, and so does Theo, so we cannot ask you in for a visit now.”
Thomas gave her a thin smile. He clapped on his hat. “Understood. I look forward to our next visit, and trust it will be a longer one. A much longer one. I am not half so bad as you think, Elizabeth, and a great deal better than that, or so say most women I know. And who was it that said that all a man needs to reform is the love of a good woman?”
“Someone who didn’t know a bad man,” she snapped before she could stop herself.
But her answer seemed to please him. His eyes sparkled. “How true. But you don’t know me either—yet. For now, good night.”
When he left, Elizabeth stood rubbing her hands along her arms to keep from shivering.
Theo didn’t notice. “A palace guard and Thomas Farrow on the job! It won’t be long before Peaches is back.” He ran to Nibs, dropped to his knees and held the old dog. “Hear that, boy? We’ll have her back soon, you’ll eat your Christmas dinner with her, you’ll see.”
Brother and sister finally settled down and did their last chores, each thinking deeply. So both were startled an hour later, when there was another tapping at their door.
This time Nibs just lifted an eyelid. Elizabeth went to the door and cracked it open. A strange voice, a deep velvety masculine one, said, “Good evening. Miss Elizabeth Miller? I wondered if I might speak to you? I’m on the Queen’s business, and mean you no harm, I assure you.”
She opened the door.
A tall, thin, impeccably dressed gentleman stood there, leaning on an ornate walking stick. His age was difficult to judge in the shadowy light, but she could see lines of weariness on his lean face.
He swept off his high beaver hat. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Montrose. I’m employed by Her Majesty and my business is everything that concerns her. Strange as it is to say, I’ve been given to understand that you are under the impression that she has stolen your cat?”
“I am not under the impression that she swooped down and abducted our cat herself, sir,” Elizabeth said, drawing herself up. “But, yes. I was told that agents of Her Majesty took our cat. One of them was yourself. Or so I have been told.”
“Indeed,” Lord Montrose said. He stood, leaning heavily on his walking stick, obviously waiting.
Elizabeth remembered her manners, as well as the fact that this man was a gentleman. “Come in, sir,” she said, opening the door wide. “It’s a cold night.”
He smiled, which made him look years younger. “Thank you,” he said as he ducked his head and came in through the doorway. “Good evening,” he said when he saw Theo. “Master Theodore, am I right?” Before Theo could answer, the tall man looked into the corner. “Why, there’s the one I heard was most affected by this adventure, the old dog—Nibs, is it?” He limped across the room and knelt by the dog’s bed. He stripped off his gloves. Nibs wagged his tail as Lord Montrose ran both hands over his bony old body.
“His nose is cold, his breathing isn’t labored,” Lord Montrose said thoughtfully. He turned his head. “But he’s far too thin. What are you giving him to eat?”
“He won’t eat nothing,” Theo said.
“‘Anything,’” Elizabeth corrected him absently.
“Have you tried egg yolks beaten with a jot of sugar syrup, added to reduced beef stock?”
Elizabeth and Theo exchanged a look of dismay. Nibs had always been happy to share their meals. They’d ha
rdly enough money for their own dinners and hadn’t realized the old dog might need special food, not to mention such expensive fodder.
“The dogs at my country home always thrived on that when they grew older and found their usual fare hard to eat,” Lord Montrose mused. He straightened with far more grace than Elizabeth had thought a lame man capable of.
“Nibs was doing just fine until Peaches left,” Theo said defensively. “Since she was taken away he won’t touch a thing.”
“I see,” Lord Montrose said.
He loomed large in the small room, Elizabeth noticed. “Please have a seat,” she said.
He hesitated. There was only one chair in the room. “I can’t while you are standing,” he told her softly.
Flushing, she pulled out the stool kept under the table. “It’s not elegant,” she said haughtily, plumping herself down, “but it serves for me.”
“I’m happy here by Nibs,” Theo said, promptly sitting on the floor beside the dog.
The gentleman took the chair and sat, holding his stick in front of him. “Now,” he said on a long sigh, as he contemplated the chased silver eagle’s head atop the stick, “the matter of the cat. You have an orange cat, a female, and she’s missing how long?”
“Four days,” Theo said promptly.
“And she has never gone missing before?”
“Never!” Theo said.
“But she is an outdoor animal?” Lord Montrose asked gently. “That is to say, though she eats and sleeps here she has free range of the streets day and night?”
“Not night!” Theo said quickly. “There’s too much danger at night. She goes out days—but she comes back all the time to see to Nibs. I come home twice a day to let her in and him out.”
