by A. W. Exley
Cara smiled. On her first meeting with Jackson, she shot a hole in the palm of his hand.
“Don’t get too cocky, these skirts are so long, I could be hiding a cannon under all this fabric.” She gave him a wink as she picked up the hem and stepped into the carriage. His laughter bounced as he jumped up next to the driver.
A combination of regular foot soldiers and a special exoskeleton unit guarded Buckingham Palace. The metal monsters were slower moving, pacing back and forth like caged grizzly bears, enormous guns more like small cannons clutched in their metal claws. Squat metal boxes, holding hundreds of rounds of ammunition, were strapped to their backs and ready to feed their weapons. The belt ran from the magazine over a shoulder clip to keep it in place and down to the gun. The smaller foot soldiers were a faster counterpoint, weaving between their slower comrades.
Cara alighted at the main gate to have her appointment verified at the guard house. Soldiers escorted her across the expanse of open parade ground. On one side loomed a metal monster, the other a red clad soldier, both keeping pace with her all the way to the steps of the Palace. There, a house guard took up supervising her visit. He led her through the main doors, along a winding corridor, up a staircase, and down another corridor. Cara wanted to stop and gawk. She had never been to the palace before, and found the bustling interior fascinating. So many people on determined courses, her endless curiosity raised its head and wanted to follow them, to see where they went and what they were doing.
Her guard set a cracking pace, heedless of her long skirts. She was thankful for the silken fabric that swirled around her legs, without hindering her movement. After nearly ten minutes of navigating the rabbit warren of corridors, he stopped at a set of double doors and ushered her into an outer chamber occupied by Victoria’s private secretary.
The little man arched his eyebrows at her and shot his gaze to the large carriage clock ticking loudly on the corner of his desk. He gave an audible tsk in between the clock’s beat; she was one minute late.
The guard gave a small bow and closed the doors behind him, leaving her to her fate.
“Come, come,” the secretary said, ushering her toward the next set of doors. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Wide metal stripes banded the panels and Cara wondered what they were expected to withstand. He pushed the heavy wood inwards, revealing the queen’s inner sanctum.
The British monarch stood at the large window, her back to Cara. A sheet of paper dangled from her limp fingers. The secretary gave an almost imperceptible polite cough and announced her.
“The Lady Nathaniel Lyons, ma’am.”
His gaze flicked to Cara and she got the distinct impression he was telling her she was on her own. He scuttled backward, never turning his back to the queen as he left the room and pulled the doors closed in front of him. They gave a soft thud as they met in the middle, leaving Cara alone with the ruler of the British Empire.
Cara dropped into a deep curtsey and waited for a signal that she could rise. Silence yawned between them, but she didn’t dare raise her head to see if the queen had noticed her. She stared at her hands holding her skirts and the wide band encircling one finger. She wanted to fidget with the delicate piece of jewellery or toss it hard enough at her husband to embed it in his forehead.
“You have been Nathaniel’s wife for three years.” A statement, not a question, letting Cara know her claim to the constable of the Tower had been verified back to the original source documents.
She took the comment as the signal she had been waiting for and stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You were married at a time you were not in London.” Victoria turned from the window to study Cara.
Someone has done some digging.
“Correct, ma’am, I was in America at the time.”
“When did you learn of the arrangement your father made to marry you to Lord Lyons?”
Cara risked meeting the queen’s gaze. Sharp blue eyes regarded her. The monarch had the stare of a falcon, keen and seeking, the sort of intense gaze that could spot a mouse hiding in the grass while soaring on an air current high in the sky. It would be foolhardy to attempt to deceive her majesty. “I found out fairly recently, ma’am.”
The queen gave a bark of laughter. “That sounds like Nathaniel.”
The queen was diminutive in stature, but not in presence. The aura of power emanated from her. She had ruled from the age of eighteen and she knew the extent of her reach. She had a way of looking at you that made it quite clear she was the perfect height, and everyone else around her was over tall. Her girth grew with each passing year and with the birth of each subsequent child. Now approaching her middle years, time stole her youthful beauty and figure. But nothing could diminish the predatory eyes that saw all, or the keen intellect that aided the expansion of the British Empire beyond the reach, or dreams, of any previous monarch.
She cast her eye over Cara’s unconventional dress. The queen favoured wide skirts and crinolines, an unfortunate combination on a short, round frame. It wasn’t the visual similarity to a plum duff that caught Cara’s attention. Now she had a chance to examine Victoria, it was the gold necklace around the monarch’s neck that stole her breath.
Distinctly Egyptian in origin, the heavy collar sat on her shoulders like a mayoral chain, dipping down to an ornate centre piece. Two large lapis lazuli scarabs, easily the size of field mice, perched on the collar at each shoulder as though whispering secrets into the ear of the wearer. Tight hieroglyphics covered each large gold link of the necklace, which fanned out at the bottom to hold the centrepiece. There, gleaming like a madman’s stare, sat a Horus eye, carved from an enormous ruby and surrounded by swirls of obsidian.
Fireworks went off in the back of Cara’s brain as her eyes fixed on the necklace. She recognised it. Her father devoted pages to the necklace in his secret notebooks. The ancient tome, Magycks of the Gods, detailed only three known Egyptian artifacts; Cleopatra’s arm band, Nefertiti’s Heart―responsible for the slight hiccup in her heartbeat―and lastly, Hatshepsut’s Collar. Which meant this was no ordinary piece of jewellery; it was an item of power and Nate’s problem just got exponentially worse.
“That’s an unusual necklace, ma’am.” She broke protocol, speaking before the queen addressed her. She risked broaching the subject, desperate to know if the queen had any inkling about the piece she wore so casually about her neck while her brain dashed around trying to remember what rumours were attached to the necklace.
A plump hand raised and short fingers stroked a scarab resting on her shoulder. “Yes, it was gifted to us by Napoleon the third. We were recently reminded of it by a loyal subject.”
“Do you wear it often?” A klaxon rang long and hard in Cara’s mind and she had to mentally tell it to pipe down, so she could concentrate.
The falcon’s gaze turned hard on the mouse before it. “We are not here to discuss jewellery, Lady Lyons, except for the rope necklace your husband will soon wear.”
Threads splintered in Cara’s mind and she tried to pull them all back together. There were strands in this story she could not afford to let go. Her gut instinct told her they were interwoven, she just couldn’t see the pattern yet. She needed time to step back and see the overall effect, but time was something they were fast running out of.
“My husband has the right to face his accuser and know the charges against him.”
The queen cocked her head. Cara could see the astute mind at work. “Duke Nolton accuses Viscount Lyons of trafficking with Russia to the detriment of our Empire. Does that satisfy your need to know the charges?”
“On one level.” How far could she push the monarch? “On another level, I would ask what motivates Duke Nolton to make such an accusation?” A chill ran over Cara’s body as the temperature in the room plummeted.
The queen locked her gaze to Cara and didn’t blink or look away. “Nathaniel chose well in you.” A shadow travelled behind the queen�
�s eyes, then vanished. “There is a history between those two. The duke discovered that Lyons has something which belongs to us. Tell him to return the item, and we will ensure the duke recants his accusation.”
“And if Nate does not?”
“We normally hang traitors to the Empire, but we will resurrect the tradition of drawing and quartering just for your husband.” There was a glint in the queen’s eyes; something not quite right lurked within the depths of those once pretty cornflower blues.
Cara guessed the fleeting image hiding within the queen’s gaze belonged to the ancient artifact, a necklace that was far more than a mere decorative piece of jewellery.
“He has a week sitting in the Tower to make his decision, and then we will make it for him.” The queen turned her back on Cara and returned to her desk littered with papers and a large red leather box with a gold embossed crown on top.
Dismissed, she bowed and backed slowly from the royal presence.
I’ve got such a bad feeling about this.
She was wrapped in her own thoughts as she crossed the antechamber. The outer doors opened, and a tall, slender man entered. He greeted the secretary with familiarity and his distinctive Germanic accent made Cara swing her head. In his middle years, the queen’s visitor was still handsome, and impeccably dressed in pale breeches and morning coat in a tonal complement to the queen’s attire. Prince Albert was on his way to work to take the seat at the desk opposite his wife’s.
Cara sucked in her bottom lip. Rumours circulated that Albert was open to the idea of the occult and otherworldly presence on this earth. Her eyes flicked down to the smooth front of his high waist pants. He was also rumoured to have started a fashion for the piercing that bore his name, and ensured the fit of his trousers was never ruined by unseemly bulges.
She reigned in her curiosity on that titbit before it galloped away with her.
Not the time, Cara, not the time.
As the prince passed, she placed a hand on his sleeve. “A moment, your Highness, if you could spare one?” She dropped a small curtsey as he halted and took her hand in his.
“Lady Lyons.” He raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a warm dry kiss to her flesh.
She met his steady brown eyes; they were as warm and open as his kiss. This was her one opportunity to say something. Don’t blow it by mentioning his trousers. “I couldn’t help but noticing the unusual necklace the queen is wearing.”
A tiny flicker of concern shot behind his gaze, a small flare of his nostrils. “I am told it is an ancient Egyptian piece.”
“Hatshepsut’s Collar.” Cara smiled. “My father devoted his life to studying such unusual artifacts.”
His eyes widened and his moustache twitched, his fingers curling further around her hand. “You know of it?” A question, containing many unspoken layers.
“Yes, and, please, ask her majesty to remove it, and return the piece to the Tower. She must not wear it any longer.” She tried to convey the depth of her concern in those few words.
His grip on her hand tightened and he pulled her closer, a whisper on his lips just as the inner door opened and a chill blew over them.
“Albert.” A single word and he dropped her hand as though scorched by her touch. “Do not detain Lady Lyons. She must work her wiles on her husband, not mine.”
Worry lined the prince’s face, but he tucked it away before he turned to his wife.
Cara missed her opportunity.
atshepsut’s Collar. Just what I need, another dammed Egyptian artifact.
Cara knew how she would spend her free time as soon as she managed to procure any. Her father’s journal and the rare books she collected would need to be consulted, to glean what she could about the necklace. She didn’t know what power the collar held, but the strange glint in the queen’s eyes sent a shudder down her spine as did the knowledge of the thousands of men answering the monarch’s call.
I’ve got such a bad feeling about this.
The carriage and mechanical horses took Cara to the Tower and the solitary raven who watched her approach the gate. The bird cocked his head, staring at her in interest as she requested to visit her husband. She was ushered through the door in the portcullis with a minimum of words being exchanged.
“Not too many traitors staying at the moment?” she asked her dour guard as he silently led her along the road to Nate’s personal tower prison. The raven’s large body passed overhead as he flew from the front gate to perch farther down the wall. The familiar shudder ran through Cara’s body at the bird’s interest in her progress.
The guard flicked his gaze to her and then returned his eyes to the middle distance, refusing to be engaged in conversation.
“I’ll take that as a no, not many traitors contemplating the long drop this week.”
Her attempted levity with the guard was all façade as she climbed the ancient stone steps with a heavy heart. Potential consequences of Nate’s fate weighed her down. She hoped he gave Victoria back whatever it was she wanted. He probably stole it anyway.
Then she could go back to being angry at him for making life altering decisions without consulting her.
The upstairs guard gave her a look as sour as the downstairs one, and she wondered why they all looked so miserable in their jobs today. A small wedge of light came in through the narrow window and crept across the floor. The guard positioned his chair in the tiny sliver of warmth and Cara surmised boredom and cold sucked the smiles from their faces.
Keys jangled as he sorted through the chain to find the correct one and inserted the brass shaft into the old lock. The faintest click preceded the barrels in the lock giving way, and then he swung the door inward for Cara.
She found Nate flat on his back doing sit-ups. Despite the chill in the room, he was shirtless and a sheen of sweat glistened on his torso. He lay on a grey striped blanket, pulled from his bed. The thin layer of wool was the only thing between his naked spine and the hard stone floor. He sat up as Cara watched his abdominal muscles contract with the crunch.
“I wondered what you did all day to occupy yourself. You didn’t strike me as the type to sit and mope, or compose sonnets.” She crossed the small cell, picked his shirt off the single mattress, and then tossed it to him as he stood up.
Nate caught the shirt and scooped up the blanket with his other hand, throwing the scant bedding onto the cot. “I do this and push ups until I’m tired.” He shrugged the shirt over his head, pulling the cream linen down to his hips. “Then I lie on my bunk, think about you naked and under me, and I exercise a different muscle.”
Cara sucked in a breath at the reminder of their physical relationship and the warmth she missed at night. She ran her hands over her forearms to dispel a chill as she watched him tuck the shirt into his pants. One large hand adjusted the bulge developing at the front to a more comfortable position.
“I like today’s outfit. I thought for a moment you wore only a thin layer of paint, then I realised I couldn’t see your nipples.” His hungry gaze took in the uninterrupted outline of her body in the tight fitting jacket. “You make my eyes water.”
“I promise your eyes will water when you see the bill.” She reminded herself to visit the recommended jeweller. Not that she wore a lot of jewellery, but if she was going to divorce Nate and run, any pieces she obtained would come in handy as portable finance. Heat travelled up her neck at his intense scrutiny. She cleared her throat and her tongue licked over her bottom lip, returning much needed moisture. “I saw the queen today. Duke Nolton accuses you of dealing secrets to the Russians.”
Nate gave a snort of derision. “Nolton.” He spat the word out and turned to lounge against the wall of his cell as though he stood at the mantle in a Mayfair parlour.
“The queen said you two were acquainted.” Cara waited for a more detailed explanation.
“We have a history. It’s no surprise he is the agitator behind this. What else?” He moved the conversation along before she could pry
into what sort of history.
She bit back the questions on the tip of her tongue, wondering what happened to the full disclosure they discussed only the previous day. “The queen says you have something of hers and she wants it back. You have until the end of the week to return it.”
Nate swore under his breath and stalked to the window. He placed his palms down on the sill and glared out the narrow slit as though contemplating if he would fit to make the leap to freedom beyond.
Cara moved closer, her brain demanding more information while her hands twisted deep into the silk of her skirts. “Just give it back to her, whatever it is; you could be out by dinner time.” And we’d both be safe.
He turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not that simple.”
“How can any object be worth a traitor’s death?” She shuddered; it wouldn’t just be a gruesome end for Nate. She would share every single agonising second until they both died.
He beckoned her closer, but she planted her feet.
“Do you think you can cock a finger and I’ll run to you?”
“Do you want to hear what I have to say?”
Insufferable man. Her feet moved, forcing the rest of her to follow. He folded her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. She let out a deep sigh. She was angry at him, but needed his touch; he centred her and calmed her internal storm.
He whispered against her skin; their conversation listened to by other ears. “It’s not a trinket. I hold something flesh and blood.”
She stiffened in his embrace and pulled back to search his face. A person? she mouthed.
He shook his head, no.
Thoughts raced through Cara’s mind. It was a maddening puzzle with no obvious solution. He had something flesh and blood that belonged to the queen, but it wasn’t a person. She doubted Victoria would throw him in the Tower and threaten execution over a corgi. Yet it was something the monarch wanted desperately enough to bring back the old custom of hanging, drawing, and quartering.
Other threads pulled at her mind. Or is it the necklace? What if Hatshepsut’s influence is at play? If the artifact is driving her insane, it could be anything, even a favourite budgie.
