Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

For Tobias, this was bigger than picking sides. This was about protecting everyone he cared for. He handed Bucky the Webley. “You need to get home.”

Bucky’s brown eyes widened, but he took the gun. “What about you?”

Tobias looked over his shoulder at the clock. As the Gold King’s maker, he had permission to poke his nose where he liked in Keating’s territories. “I need to get up there and figure out who made that thing.”

TENSION REIGNS AT THE PALACE

Almost immediately after the attack on our beloved Big Ben, the Empire has suffered another blow. The Prince of Wales has taken to his bed with a sudden and serious illness. Some fear a return of typhoid, which nearly took his life in 1871, but unconfirmed reports claim palace physicians believe this to be a new malady. It is further said that they cannot discern its cause, much less prescribe a cure.

—The London Prattler

London, September 19, 1889

LADIES’ COLLEGE OF LONDON

5:05 p.m. Thursday

“COOPER!”

Evelina looked up from her book, squinting a little. Her mind had drifted to a place far away from the words before her—back to a spring night when Nick had crept through her bedroom window. It should have been night, and it should have been Hilliard House, but with a wrench, she realized none of that was true. Instead, she was sitting in a sunny patch at the south end of the quadrangle, warm enough that she’d shed her wrap. The air smelled dusty, carrying the faint scent of windfalls from the orchard behind Witherton House.

She raised a hand to shelter her eyes from the low angle of the sun and was rewarded with the sight of a familiar form approaching with a newspaper clutched in one pearl-edged glove. The young woman’s skirts were patterned with orange and red chrysanthemums, her fitted jacket a burnt umber that nearly matched the shade of her thick hair. The ensemble gave her the air of a harvest sprite.

With a dramatic sigh, Deirdre Livingston flung herself onto the bench beside Evelina and thrust out the newspaper. “I need you, my darling girl.”

“Oh, do you?” Evelina unfolded the special edition. It was the Prattler , one of the more outspoken of the London papers—not the sort of thing Deirdre would normally read. The first article that caught her eye concerned a cholera outbreak. Clean water was something else the steam barons were trying to charge for, and disease was the inevitable result.

“This is an academic emergency,” Deirdre said in a stage whisper, a tiny frown bunching her eyebrows.

Evelina hid a smile. “I thought you’d charmed your way to a passing grade in French literature.”

“ Bien sûr . This is far more urgent. I’m about to go walking with Mr. Edward Pringle, and he’s all about Parliament. I need to give the impression that I read more than the fashion papers.”

“But you don’t.”

“You don’t know that.” Deirdre tried to sound scandalized and almost succeeded.

“Your room is across the hall from mine. I think I would know if you actually read something.”

“How?”

“Because you wouldn’t be knocking on my door at a quarter to midnight just before each and every exam.”

Deirdre snatched the paper and folded it to the article she wanted. “Give a girl a chance, Cooper. We can’t all be dedicated to our studies. Some of us are here for husbands.”

“I admire the clarity of your focus.”

Deirdre held up the paper, pointing to a headline. “Tell me about this.”

Evelina read the type held inches from her eyeballs. Then alarm rippled up her spine and she sat straighter. “Good heavens!”

“Exactly,” said Deirdre. “The prince is ill. That’s all Edward is going to want to talk about. I need to know what to say.”

“The crown prince is the heir to the whole Empire!”

“I knew that much.” Deirdre smoothed her skirts, her chocolate silk gloves gliding over the autumn-colored pattern. “Who would the crown go to if he didn’t recover?”

It was a good question. Although Victoria and Albert had begun with a houseful of children, their brood had dwindled one by one. Some had been carried off by typhoid, others by the bleeding sickness, and still others by circumstances none could understand. It was almost as if a curse stalked the palace, seizing each of the heirs in turn.

Foreboding chilled Evelina like a sudden breeze. “If the crown prince dies, I’m not sure who would succeed the queen. There are relatives of the royal family still in Germany, but I am not sure who has precedence.”

“So what does this mean for the government?” Not that Deirdre actually cared, but Edward Pringle would.

Evelina set the paper aside. For a moment, she was back at the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies, whispering about boys with Imogen. Memory hit her like strong drink, leaving her dizzy. Wollaston had been a hundred years ago, before the air battle and Keating and losing Nick. It wasn’t fair, but she almost resented Deirdre for not being Imogen.

Evelina drew a ragged breath, forcing herself back to the present. She actually liked her classmate very much, and tried to get into the spirit of her matrimonial chase. But during the last year of danger and tragedy, Evelina had lost her light heart. As a result, she tended to remain aloof from the other students, feeling more like a ghost than one of the young, boisterous crowd.

She tried to smile. “Well, Mr. Pringle will say that there is the Steam Council to consider. For the sake of the royal family, it would be better if the heir were someone very capable and charismatic.”

Deirdre’s face was intent. “Why? Because of those rebels? The Baskertons?”

“Baskervilles,” Evelina said automatically. “They’re a rebel group who are against the Steam Council.”

Deirdre blinked, clearly lost already.

“Think about it this way,” said Evelina. “The members of the Steam Council hate each other, but they hate the rebels more.”

“And where does the prince come in?”

“My uncle believes that if the queen died and there was no one strong to take over from her, the Steam Council might just push the monarchy aside and take over the government for themselves. The Baskervilles want to stop them.”

“So the rebels are actually protecting the queen?”

“That’s right.” Evelina had met a few of the leaders—including the ringleader they called the Schoolmaster—and she was reasonably sure that both her uncles were involved up to the brims of their top hats.

Deirdre looked grave. “In other words, if the prince dies, it’s a bigger problem than just finding another heir. Everyone will start fighting one another.”

“Exactly.”

Her friend picked up the newspaper and began folding it into the smallest possible square. “Now I understand, and wish I didn’t.”

Evelina knew all too well what she meant. “I hope that helps to entertain Mr. Pringle.”

Deirdre smiled slyly. “At least until we get to more engaging topics.”

“You’re wicked.”

“I do hope so.” Deirdre stood, abandoning the newspaper on the bench. “I fancy myself as the wife of a prime minister.”

“Good luck.” Evelina picked up her book.

“Enjoy your studies.” Deirdre sailed off across the lawn, the sunshine caressing the warm tones of her costume.

Evelina managed to read a few paragraphs before the newspaper tempted her away from the slog through Goethe. She reread the article, but it was short on details. The Bugle or the Times would have been better. But that meant getting down to the main road in front of Camelin where the newspaper boys sold their wares—and with a headline like that, the papers would sell out quickly.