by Edith Layton
The crowd melted away in moments. Mr. Howatch slunk back to his kennels, muttering. Elizabeth, blushing rosily, took one last look at Lord Montrose, the lingering chimney sweep, and Augustus, before she turned and hurried out the palace gate.
Theo looked at the three men who remained.
“I don’t know what’s in the basket,” he said. “But I know that I thank you.” Then he dashed away to catch up with his sister.
The three men gave each other measuring looks. Then each, without another word, went about their business.
* * *
The commotion in the palace had died down. The remaining staff breathed easier. The packing was done, many courtiers had gone, the dogs that were to go with Her Majesty had been sent on ahead. Now it only remained for the Queen to leave.
The Queen had one last task. She lingered in her rooms, looking at the big orange cat the footman held in his arms.
“Tell the cook to let her stay in the kitchens until I return to Buckingham,” she instructed him. “That is a very fine place for a cat. And another thing. Tell the staff that I expect I will have new spectacles when I return, and shall wish to inspect this cat to be sure she is in fine fettle. That is all, thank you.”
The footman left, with the cat.
The Queen stood alone. She smiled. “Silly people,” she murmured to herself. “Well meaning, but foolish. To think I would not know my own cat! It was not this one. Nor the one before that, the one Montrose stole away. A cat is as singular as a person, and as irreplaceable. But it would never do to be ungrateful or cause further upset.
“At least this way they will be sure to take care of my Moggie when she returns,” she whispered to herself. “Because they will not be sure which is Moggie, will they? And why shouldn’t a fine cat like the one Montrose just brought me prosper too?”
“Ma’am,” her lady in waiting said, as she came to the door. “All is in readiness. Shall we go?”
“There is no reason to tarry any longer,” the Queen said. “I wish to spend Christmas with my family.”
“Isn’t it lucky that the cat came back when she did then?” her lady in waiting said cheerily.
“The cat always comes back,” Augusta Victoria, Queen of England, Wales and Scotland, and Empress of India said firmly. “One way or another.”
* * *
They saw each other as they came up the street. Each frowned to see the other there. Augustus scowled to see Thomas Fellows holding a nosegay in his gloved hands. Thomas concealed a look of annoyance when he saw the box of candy under Augustus’s arm. Without speaking, they marched up to the shabby house.
Ignoring the other man, Augustus tapped upon the Millers’ door. Thomas Fellows waited, a slight sardonic smile on his face.
They heard barking, and without meaning to, each looked at the other in surprise. The door swung open.
Theo beamed at them. “It’s all right, Nibs,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s friends. Isn’t it a treat?” he told the men buoyantly. “He’s barking to beat the band. At everything! Never gives us a minute’s peace, not since Peaches came back.”
“The cat came back?” Augustus asked.
Theo gave him an enormous wink. “In a manner of speaking,” he said in very adult tones. Then, yipping like a frolicking puppy himself, he broke down and added excitedly, “I couldn’t hardly breathe until I opened that basket when we got home, then I couldn’t bear to look in. I didn’t have to. She jumped out, like a crab out of a boiling pot! And she made straight for old Nibs. Oh, he’s doing so much better since she came home. Barks and eats and everything. ’Course, the pots of beef broth and eggs and honey that George, I mean, Lord Montrose, brings over must have helped too. But everything’s back to what it was, only better than it was before. Thanks to you!”
“The cat,” Thomas said carefully, “was in the basket?”
“Of course,” Theo laughed. “As if you didn’t know. Between you guarding my back in the Queen’s quarters,” he told him, as Augustus’s head swiveled so he could stare at Thomas, “and you saving me from the guards when I left,” he told Augustus, as Thomas looked at the guard in equal surprise, “and Lord Montrose handing me the basket with Peaches—well, never was a fellow so taken care of, and I thank you, thank you!”
“Ah,” Augustus said.
“Uhm,” Thomas said, and then added, “and your sister, she thanks us too?”
“She does, for that, and for not letting on when you saw her in disguise, come to try to find Peaches for me. I couldn’t have been more surprised. I was afraid my face would tell all. But neither of you gave us away by word or deed, and we’re ever so grateful. She’d tell you so herself if she was home now.”
“Where is she?” Augustus asked.
“Out walking with Lord Montrose again,” Theo said happily.
“Again,” Thomas said.
“Oh, yes. He came yesterday too,” Theo told him merrily.
“I was too busy to come sooner,” Thomas said.
“I was still looking for the cat,” Augustus said in disgust.
“Well,” Thomas said, “I expect I’ll just wait for her to return. Guess what, young Theo? I’ve come to ask you and your sister if you’d care to join me for Christmas dinner.”
“I came to ask her that,” Augustus said belligerently.
“Thanks,” Theo said happily, “but we can’t. We’re going to Lord Montrose’s house for a bang-up Christmas feast. He’s asking his sister too, for propriety, he told Elizabeth.”
“He isn’t married?” Augustus, who had never thought about his superior’s private life, asked before he could stop himself.
“A widower these last ten years,” Thomas, who made it his business to know everyone’s life, said on a sigh of resignation. “No issue, huge fortune, big house and a sister who wants to see him married again. They are not class conscious,” he added gloomily.
“But he’s old!” Augustus exclaimed.
“Only ten years older than Elizabeth,” Theo said guilelessly. “And they both like cats, dogs and the opera. The same books too. I heard them talking. It isn’t hard, because they never stop.”
“Oh,” Augustus said. Something nudged his ankle and he moved aside. A big orange cat sauntered past him and went right to touch noses with the old dog, who had come to the door to greet it. “Well,” Augustus said with forced cheer, “all’s well that end’s well.”
“For some,” Thomas said. “Give your sister my best regards,” he told Theo, “and tell her that if her plans go awry, she knows where she can find me.”
“Yes, me too,” Augustus said hastily.
They wished Theo happy Christmas and left. They walked together for a while, not speaking.
“At least the Queen never knew,” Augustus commented after a while.
“Who can say? Cats and women,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “Unpredictable.”
“And only one always comes back to you,” Augustus sighed.
“Want to join me for Christmas dinner?” Thomas said suddenly. “I told my lads that I’d be busy, and so I want to be.”
Augustus looked at him.
“Not anywhere near my place of business,” Thomas said. “I know a fine restaurant in the Strand. You’re too honest for my taste, but at least I can count on you to share the cost fairly.”
“What would you have done if I’d got the cat first?” Augustus asked.
“Stolen it from you,” Thomas said promptly.
“Well, that’s an honest answer. Yes, good then,” Augustus said. “I told the lads I’d be busy too. I don’t trust you by half, but the other half would be glad of company at Christmas.”
“What would you have done if I’d got the cat?” Thomas asked curiously.
“Arrested you,” Augustus said simply.
“Should be an interesting Christmas,” Thomas said approvingly as they walked on down the street together.
About the Author
Edith Layton grew up in
Queens, New York, and began writing when she was ten years old. She worked as a freelance writer for newspapers and magazines before publishing her first novel, The Duke’s Wager, with Signet/NAL. She won numerous awards, starting in 1984 with The Romantic Times Award for Best New Regency Author and The Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award: Best New Regency Author. She went on to publish over 30 novels and many more short stories. Much of her out-of-print backlist is being reissued by Untreed Reads, as well as never-before-published titles.
Edith Layton also published under her married name, Edith Felber. She was married for over 35 years to her physician husband, Dr. Norbert Felber, and produced three loving children, one of whom is writing this bio...
For more information about Edith Layton's life and books, please visit http://www.facebook.com/authoredithlayton.
