Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

Why Bertie thought inviting me to come to his country house to kill some poor unsuspecting creature should count as any kind

of apology was beyond me. Did he even know what he was apologizing for? The past decade of having to know him?

I yawned, adjusting the sashes of my black riding hat. Harriet had found me an elegant blue riding habit I could wear over

my trousers. The skirt was silk and wouldn’t drag me down while riding. I didn’t have much practice on a horse—not as much

as Harriet, who stood fiddling with the reticule dangling from her belt. But I wasn’t here to impress anyone with my riding

skill.

The sparse forest beyond the Surrey cottage was about to be trampled upon by the prince and his shooting party. And what a

large party it was—larger than I was expecting.

“Sally! You came! I knew you couldn’t resist me.” Bertie, in a black velvet jacket and high red leather boots, wrangled his

Thoroughbred by the leather bridle toward me.

I brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “Yes, I figured you’d need to kill something after the gala debacle.”

Bertie stiffened. The smile he forced soon disappeared when he tugged his horse’s bridle too suddenly and it struck his face

with its nose.

Not far behind him his royal cottage was lightly shrouded in morning fog. The two-storied, gray-bricked home had smoke coming out of its chimneys. There were a few of them along the blue roof because the cottage was longer than it was tall, spreading itself along the acres of royal land.

As Bertie groaned and rubbed his cheek, Harriet slid out from behind me and curtsied to him, before shooting me a strange

look and heading toward the crowd of attendants and hunters.

I wasn’t looking at Bertie. I was looking at my betrothed behind him. In a shooting coat, long in the waist, Captain Davies

patted his horse along the long white strip down its nose. I hadn’t been sure whether he’d be here. It wasn’t his presence

that bothered me so much as the fact that he was currently in the middle of a robust conversation with William McCoskry.

“Who’s that man?” I asked Bertie, and pointed at him as if I didn’t know.

“Oh, him? That’s William McCoskry, an old friend of my mother’s. I met him when I was a child. He was a merchant then, but

now he’s been a governor in Africa for the last few years.”

“And why is he here?” I hadn’t anticipated he would be. Another surprise I didn’t appreciate. McCoskry clapped Davies on the

back as they jostled their horses together.

Bertie waved an attendant over to bring me my horse. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s a friend. I’ve been asking him about his work

of late. When I told him I knew you, he was curious to see you in person.” Bertie chuckled. “Quite the popular lady, aren’t

you?”

I was indeed. Dalton Sass rode in on his horse, clopping gently against the grass with none other than Charles Wilkes riding

next to them, the two of them in matching red jackets.

And with matching, hateful grins.

I was surrounded by enemies.

“Ah, Miss Bonetta. It’s been too long, too long indeed since the luncheon.” McCoskry gave his horse’s reins to his personal

attendant and strode toward me, his arms spread open for a hug. Both Bertie and Captain Davies intercepted him before he could

reach me.

“That’s right.” Davies, though shooting him a friendly smile, gripped his shoulder a little too tightly. “I hear you’ve known

my wife-to-be since she was a child!”

“As did you all, apparently,” I mumbled underneath my breath, catching Davies off guard. As he cleared his throat, McCoskry

nodded.

“Oh yes, I was there when she was first presented to the Queen.” His voice was loud and obnoxious, his Scottish accent as

boisterous and prideful as the strangely shaped red beard colonizing his face. “An adorable little thing even then. And so

entertaining. She danced for us just the night before. A performance from an African princess.”

Only Captain Davies seemed to notice how violently my body stiffened. Without hesitating, he took my hand. He couldn’t have

known why I was squeezing my jaw at the sight of him. But perhaps part of him did understand. Perhaps he could feel the shame

radiating off my skin as I stayed silent through his long, detailed, humiliating account.

McCoskry described everything but for the fact that I was terrified and naked. He saved me that indignity now in a way that

he should have when I was a child, though it was probably more out of a sense of self-preservation that he skipped certain

details. The dance he described was playful, joyful even. He spoke with the smile of a brazen louche remembering his “good

old days” when he groped women and gambled in bars. And as he spoke, the desire for blood overcame me. But I wasn’t the only

one in this hunting party whose bloodlust could be felt.

“Are you okay, Sally?” Captain Davies had turned to me and whispered it so only I could hear. It took me by surprise. I couldn’t

answer.

“I didn’t know Sally danced .” Sass rode up to us, his horse greeting us with a quiet snort. “I’m sure she was adorable when she was a child. But we tend

to become very different as we grow up, I find.” He turned to his other half. “Don’t you agree, Inspector?”

“Quite.” Inspector Charles Wilkes avoided my eyes as he answered. He could barely grunt the words out, he was so furious with

me. His white hands flushed red with the blood pumping through them. Both Dalton and Wilkes knew more about my true intentions

than anyone here. What had Miss Sass’s demon spawn told the inspector that gave him the go-ahead to bail Bambridge out of

jail?

What was Wilkes willing to tell the party here and now?

“The weather isn’t perfect,” said Bertie, looking up at the cloudy sky. “But the companions more than make up for it. Looks

like there’ll be much to talk about on the hunt. Gather the hounds and the guns. It’s always a good day for shooting something,

I say.”

Something told me we were all in agreement there.

Men went out with bang sticks, trying to draw out the stags while the hounds hungrily swiveled through the trees. They were

lucky for their keen sense of smell because it was hard to see much between the shade of the evergreen leaves, the cloudy

skies, and the light touch of fog. According to Bertie, it all made for a better challenge.

My challenge encroached me on all sides: the man who would be my next target, William McCoskry, riding out front next to Bertie.

The man I blackmailed into destroying my former target, Inspector Wilkes. And beside him, the man who insisted on bringing

chaos to my plans, Dalton Sass. Everyone had their shotguns out.

One fired. With terrible neighs, the spooked horses came to a flailing stop. To my left, Harriet trembled, her cheeks red

with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry!” She bit her lip and avoided all eye contact. “I thought I saw something.”

“It’s all right, Harriet,” said Dalton directly behind her. “I’m sure more than one of us here has an itchy trigger finger.”

We exchanged steely glances as the party moved forward more carefully through the ancient woodland.

“It’s a shame the Queen couldn’t come out with us on this hunt,” said McCoskry in front of me, and just the sound of his voice

made my gun grip tremble. At least he wasn’t wearing a kilt. It would have made the view far more awkward. “She’s always been

so fond of sport. But then I suppose after what happened at the museum...”

He trailed off.

“Precisely,” Bertie said in a grave tone. “She’s not at all pleased those... ‘photographs’ were revealed to the public.

Have you seen the papers? The cartoons about it are terrible. Of course, Mother blames me.”

I was sure Bertie got an earful. He was the royal representative in charge of the exhibit. The Queen would have blamed her

disappointing son for her mortification.

“But,” Bertie continued, “if you’re interested in seeing her, you can always come by Windsor Castle tomorrow to catch the

séance.”

“Séance?” Captain Davies adjusted his top hat on his head. Luckily for him it hid his bald spot, or perhaps that was by design.

“Oh, Mother quickly arranged it and made sure all in her circle knew. She’ll be trying to contact Father again with a different

medium this time. Who knows, maybe we’ll get to see a crystal ball. Only her closest friends have been invited—people Father

knew to help jolt his spirit from the afterlife.” He let out a sigh. “It’s all so mad.”

Bertie’s bitterness was palpable. Harriet, fully aware of the intricate, morbid goings-on of the palace, shifted uncomfortably

on her horse.

But was it really mad? Now that the Queen’s macabre hobbies had been revealed, why would she lean more publicly into the spiritual?

Something about her movements felt strange.

“I don’t know about madness,” Captain Davies said, “but we Yoruba believe that one’s life doesn’t end with physical death. Our ancestors live on, though we don’t always see them. They can even be reborn into our families under the right circumstances.” He glanced at me. “Isn’t that right, Sally?”

It felt odd being able to talk about beliefs with one of my own kin. I wished so badly it felt more pleasant. Davies was right,

of course. But my perspective had changed so drastically since childhood, conversations like these hurt me more than anything.

I’d driven myself crazy thinking of my parents, thinking of Ade’s fate in the next world—whether he was happy. Whether he

was at peace. Whether he still would ever speak to me again after I let his life be taken by those murderers, the Forbeses.

What he thought of me now, bearing their name...?

I used to go to sleep in Freetown expecting to chat with my mother in my dreams, for it was only in my dreams that she could

speak to me. And we did for a time. We’d cry together. She’d warn me of dangers to come.

Ade would speak to me in my dreams too. He’d tell me those words over and over again so that I would never forget: Their “love” for you is conditional, Ina.

Despite my enslavement to Britain’s Queen of Hearts, I’d managed to maintain those connections before the beatings got worse

and my mind broke as my body broke. Now thinking of traditional beliefs left me feeling frail and cold. Now when I shut my

eyes at night and saw nothing in the darkness of my dreams, I wondered if I believed in anything anymore.

“Why, Captain Davies, I thought you were a Christian?” McCoskry looked back. “And educated by the best.”

Davies straightened his shoulders, lifting his head in defiance. “One can believe many things at the same time. It’s not so

necessary to force one thought above the other.”

“No one loves armed missionaries,” I added in support as I sat uncomfortably upon my horse’s black leather saddle. “Wasn’t that said to be the first lesson of nature?”

Support was probably something Davies didn’t expect. As Captain Davies shot me an approving smile, Bertie turned back. “Ah

yes,” he said with an obnoxious nod. “I’ve heard those words before: spoken by Plato, of course.”

Captain Davies and I exchanged glances.

“Robespierre,” Captain Davies corrected him. And while Harriet giggled and Bertie’s ears burned, he added, “Though I can imagine

why you , a royal, wouldn’t be so fond of memorizing that particular man’s works.”

“Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death,” Dalton shouted in an operatic voice. “The last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!”

Davies leaned over. “That one wasn’t Robespierre, by the way.”

As Bertie muttered something and slouched over, Davies gave me another conspiratorial grin, but I returned it only weakly.

Was this something to be proud about? How thoroughly we’d had Europe’s history and philosophies forced into us?

“I’m less worried about the dead than I am with the living these days,” Inspector Wilkes said, and the sound of his voice

forced me to refocus. There was nothing fun about this hunt no matter how easy it was to make short work of Bertie’s ego.

“Yes, I heard about that whole business with William Bambridge,” McCoskry said. “It’s rather unbelievable. I thought he was

an upright enough man.”

“Well, it turns out that new evidence has been brought to light that might exonerate him.”

My body chilled.

“Is that so?” McCoskry laughed. “What kind of evidence is that?”

“Very fascinating,” Dalton answered for him. “It’s why I paid Bambridge’s bail. He’s staying with me for a few days, lying low, you know, as he’s under house arrest. So I hope you’d keep it to yourself for now until this whole mess is cleared up.”

Without a word, I reacted as naturally as anyone would. As far as they were all concerned I was just as in the dark and scandalized

as any gentlelady.

“You need to be careful with these things, Wilkes,” said McCoskry. “As governor in Lagos, I witnessed all kinds of crimes

from former slaves and slave owners.”

Even participated in a few of them yourself. I tightened the grip around my gun, saying nothing. McCoskry wasn’t the only one with a long memory. But it wasn’t time for

that just yet.

“It’s sometimes hard to know who’s innocent and who’s guilty,” the red-haired man continued.

“While other times it is as clear as cut glass.” Wilkes’s glare bored into the back of my skull.

The hounds suddenly went into a frenzy. Bertie put a hand up. “Enough chitchat. Let’s go see what they’ve found.”

We raced through the woods. But the stag wouldn’t be caught, not so easily. It evaded the bullets Bertie and his party lobbed

at it, using the fog as cover. Hollering, Bertie kicked his horse, beckoning us all to split up amidst the trees.

The smell of blood took me through a winding path to my right. Captain Davies rode off with McCoskry. I thought Harriet was

following close enough behind until I entered a clearing, turned around, and found myself alone under the canopy of leaves.

“Harriet?” I called out, shuddering when a flock of birds took off from the rustling treetops. I pulled my shawl around my neck and called again, louder, “Harriet? Where in the world have you gone? Have I lost you?”

“You’ve lost something, I suspect. Your bloody marbles, you witch.”

Inspector Wilkes. He rode into the clearing, one hand on the reins, the other on his gun, as Dalton followed close behind.

“Alone at last, Sally.” Shadows from the leaves painted sinister shapes across the Freetown boy’s face. “We have a lot to

talk about.”

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