Julia London - The Princess Plan

“There is not a single gentleman in our acquaintance who appreciates the work or the appeal of Honeycutt’s Gazette ,” Hollis said pertly. “Am I the only one to notice this?”

“Trust me, Mrs. Honeycutt, you are not the only one to notice,” Beck said.

Hollis was very protective of her enterprise and looked as if she might launch herself at Beck. But Caroline was quick to step in before anything untoward was said or done. “Thank you for your advice, dearest brother,” she said sweetly. “Surely now that you’ve imparted your vastly superior wisdom, you’ll want to find someone else in need of your advice and leave us to finish our breakfast?”

“You’re dismissing me, are you?” Beck asked casually as he helped himself to bread. “Then you must not care to hear my news.”

“What news?” Hollis asked.

“No, no,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “This is not for your gazette, Hollis. This is strictly confidential. Do I have your word?”

“Really?” Eliza asked, perking up. “What is it? Has Mr. Clarence’s wandering eye wandered again?”

“Nothing as mundane as that ,” Beck said, clearly disappointed by her guess. “Do I have your word?”

“Yes!” the three of them cried in impatient unison.

“Very well,” Beck said, and ate a berry before announcing, quite casually, “This morning, the crown prince’s personal secretary was found murdered in his bed at Kensington.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. And then a burst of questions.

Beck held up his hand and looked around at them. “His throat had been cut as he lay sleeping. I suppose he lay sleeping. All I know is that he was found in his bed, dressed in nightclothes, from which one could deduce he’d been sleeping.”

Caroline, Hollis and Eliza looked at one another, their mouths agape.

“But which one is his secretary?” Hollis asked. “They all wore identical masks.”

Beck shrugged. “They say his hand was deformed—”

Eliza gasped. “No!” she croaked.

“Yes.”

“But he was the one who managed the introductions to the prince! You remember, Caro, I pointed him out to you.”

“Well, he won’t be making introductions now,” Beck said carelessly.

Caroline slapped her brother’s arm as he reached across her again. “How can you be so heartless?”

“Really, Beck!” Eliza said, appalled by this news. “The man spoke to me! He asked if I’d been harmed.”

“That’s right,” Hollis chimed in. “A man has lost his life and you are making jests.”

“It’s not a jest, it’s fact. I’m not heartless, but I have no personal knowledge of this man. It is therefore difficult for me to spring tears of grief for his demise.”

“But why ?” Hollis asked.

“Because I don’t know him—”

“No, no, I mean why would someone kill him?”

“Well, that is the question on everyone’s mind, isn’t it? I suspect it has something to do with the rumors of rebellion that circulate. Perhaps the murderer meant to slay the prince and mistook his secretary.”

“No,” Eliza said. “The secretary was a slight man. The prince is tall and robust.”

“I suspect they will know soon enough. Someone is bound to have seen something. One simply cannot go wandering about Kensington cutting throats and not be noticed. All right then, stop eating and dress. It’s near to teatime and I’m expecting callers. I won’t have a harem lounging in my dining room.” Beck took another berry and sauntered out of the room. “Please do as I ask, Caro,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the hall.

Caroline rolled her eyes and pulled a hunk of bread from a loaf and began to butter it.

“I can’t believe it,” Eliza said. “I can’t believe that poor man was murdered .” She thought about how earnest he was in making his introductions to the prince. How intolerably disgruntled the prince appeared to be, scarcely looking at the ladies. How kind he had been to her when she’d boasted of meeting a prince. He’d said she’d made an indelible impression.

“Why would someone murder him in a royal palace? Where there are guards and people and so many opportunities for capture?” Hollis added. “Beck is right—someone is bound to have seen something.”

“But if one managed to evade capture, suspicion would fall to English and Alucian. Think how difficult it will be to sort it all out,” Caroline remarked.

“Yes, but—”

Hollis’s argument was never heard, for they suddenly heard Beck bellow for Caroline in a voice that clearly conveyed displeasure. “ Caro! I will have an explanation for how you came to spend so much for one dress !”

“Oh dear,” Caroline said. “My brother has discovered how extraordinarily generous he is.”

Caroline had long been famous for spending Beck’s money. He generally huffed and he puffed, but really, he could never truly say no to her.

“CAROLINE!”

“Well, then,” she said, quickly gaining her feet. “I think it best if we retire at once to my rooms.” She began to walk so quickly that her dressing gown billowed out behind her as she fled the scene. Hollis and Eliza scurried after her.

As the three of them dressed, Hollis couldn’t contain her curiosity about the murder. She ran through several scenarios that would have led to the poor secretary’s death. As she babbled on, Eliza wondered how the prince with the green eyes had taken the news.

OVER THE NEXT few days, the whole of London was abuzz about the sensational news of a murder at Kensington Palace. Hollis was a frequent visitor to the house in Bedford Square, updating her family on the most recent theories as to who or what had befallen the gentleman, whose name, she’d discovered, was Mr. Matous Reyno. At first it was suspected the culprit was English, perhaps someone opposed to the trade agreement, for who would have access to that part of Kensington but an Englishman? And yet all the servants at the palace had been questioned and no clue had emerged.

The queen herself had offered a reward for anyone with information who came forward.

When no one came forward, suspicion shifted to the Alucians—there was turmoil in their part of the world, everyone said, and surely it had to do with that. But the whereabouts of the Alucians, including their serving staff, were accounted for on the evening of the ball.

“One could conclude that poor Mr. Reyno cut his own throat,” Hollis said drily. She reported that the Alucian princes were made distraught by the crime, and understandably so. “But the crown prince has conducted himself admirably in the course of the meetings in spite of his tragic loss,” she said confidently. “He continues to push for the trade agreement.”

Eliza thought of the green eyes behind the mask and tried to imagine them distraught.

“And now I’ve nothing for the gazette.” Hollis sighed. “It seems rather gauche to speak of fashion in light of the tragedy, does it not?”

“Of course,” Eliza agreed.

“Oh, well,” Hollis said. “Mrs. Pendergrast gave me a lovely pattern for sewing a baby’s christening gown.”

The lack of tantalizing content for Hollis’s gazette did not remain a problem for long, however. It changed one morning when Mr. French, who normally delivered the post, did not appear at the house in Bedford Square. In his place came a stout little fellow who was scarcely taller than a child, wearing a greasy cap and dirty coat. Eliza had seen him around a time or two lurking near the Covent Garden Market.