CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The next day I stood in my bedroom being dressed for a ball that was the target of an anarchist plot. While my mother fussed over the exact position of one of the ten thousand white flowers that covered my gown, I mentally went over Winnie’s tutorial on bomb defusal.
It was a uniquely awful experience.
“I wonder if we should add another feather to your veil?” Mother fretted, standing beside me in front of the mirror.
I swallowed a groan. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand upright if we add anything else.”
The ensemble I was wearing was the most terrible thing I had ever seen. A white gown cut wide on my shoulders and covered in silk flowers. In contrast to the simple corset style of the top half, the skirts were a heavy, old-fashioned froth of so many layers of silk I wasn’t sure I’d fit through the door. Attached to the shoulders of the gown was a three-feet-long white train. It was three feet long because that was the absolute shortest the train was allowed to be and I had been clear that “the absolute shortest” was the only length I’d accept. The train too was made of thick layers of silk, overlaid with white tulle.
If the uncomfortably weighty gown wasn’t enough, I was also wearing a white veil, attached to the back of my head by a diamond clip with three curling white ostrich feathers in it. I looked ridiculous, but I was too busy worrying about Buckingham Palace being blown up to care.
Despite Sylla’s confidence, and Mrs Finch’s reassurance that the Aviary had found themselves in tighter spots than this, I was finding it hard to maintain the same businesslike sense of calm that the rest of them possessed.
“You look wonderful,” Mother exclaimed. “Oh, it reminds me of my own debutantes’ ball. What a thrill it was. I danced with your father that night, you know. Perhaps this evening you’ll dance with your future husband. Maybe that nice Mr Laing will be there,” she added slyly.
“Mmm,” I said noncommittally, resisting the urge to rip all this foolish decoration from my body. I wanted to scream. I wanted to order my mother to stay at home where it was safe and to lock all the doors, but of course nothing would give Laing a clearer sign that we were on to him. I had to pretend that everything was normal. Mrs Finch had been clear about that.
“You look lovely too,” I said truthfully, looking at my mother in the mirror. She was willowy and elegant in a gold gown that looked as if it weighed a quarter of my own.
Her eyes shone with tears. “I always dreamed of sharing this moment with my daughter,” she said softly.
I was surprised by the lump that rose in my own throat at her words. Suddenly, I found myself wondering, after I had so misjudged my brother, whether there was a better way for me to forge a relationship with my mother – a more honest one. There was nothing like the threat of imminent danger to give a person a sense of perspective. I’d been brave enough to tell Max how I felt and it had been worth the risk. Perhaps that might be the case here too?
There was only one way to find out.
“I know you enjoy these social events,” I said carefully, “but you and I are quite different.” She frowned and I pushed on. “I find social occasions to be quite overwhelming. I hope you won’t be disappointed if…” I hesitated. “If I don’t secure a husband at the end of the season. If that isn’t … what I want for myself.”
There was a long pause, while our eyes remained locked in the mirror. It was a small admission, but I could hardly believe I’d dared to say so much.
“You know,” Mother said, her tone conversational, “that I have received more than one proposal of marriage since your father passed away.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” I replied, uncertain where this was leading.
She smiled. “But I haven’t accepted any of them.” Now I felt that she was the one being careful. “I find I enjoy the independence of being a widow.” Her eyes met mine again, held. “Perhaps,” she finished quietly, “we are not so different as you think, Felicity.”
I blinked, surprised by the sudden rush of emotion her words inspired.
She toyed for a moment with my veil. “The world is changing so quickly.” Mother’s smile had faded. “And I don’t know if I will keep up with it. You have to understand … for my generation, getting married, it was imperative. It was security. I know you find it mercenary, but it’s the reality faced by many women – including me, when I was your age – that a good marriage is the only secure future. I still want that for you. I want you safe and provided for.”
It was more of a concession than I had hoped for. And it felt like an opening, of sorts.
“I understand,” I said. “I’d like to talk more. I’d like to hear more about your life as an independent widow.”
Mother laughed and the tension between us dissipated. “And I suppose you can tell me about your … mathematical interests.”
“But first, the ball,” I reminded her.
“Yes.” She turned, twirled me under her arm – a movement that ended with me tangled in all the unwieldy yards of my skirts. “You’re going to have such a wonderful time!”
My smile slipped away as I thought about the night ahead. “I’m sure it’s going to be eventful.”
I had never been inside Buckingham Palace before, and I wasn’t particularly enjoying the experience. I don’t think I would be, even if it weren’t for the knowledge that there was an explosive device ticking away somewhere. The first part of the ritual involved standing in line for hours, hot and miserable in our wretched gowns, while we waited to be presented to our royal hosts. As the sister of a duke, I was at least near the start of the queue.
The queen herself was not in good enough health to receive the endless line of fluttering young debutantes, so that position was being filled by the Prince and Princess of Wales. It was a strange thing really, to think that after over sixty years the time must almost be upon us to have a new king. Seeing him taking part in ceremonies like this one felt like a precursor to a change that, though inevitable, still felt almost impossible to imagine.
The presentation itself passed in a blur. I was ushered into a room of overwhelming gilded splendour in which two golden thrones were arranged. The prince and princess sat with impassive faces, showing neither pleasure nor the discomfort and boredom I was certain they must be feeling.
The Lord Chamberlain, a small man full of pomp and ceremony, announced my name in round, ringing tones. I approached the thrones as Mother had drilled into me, and dropped into a full court curtsey, my knee almost touching the floor. I felt the foolish feathers on my head wave. A bead of sweat ran down my spine, my legs shook, and I sent up a small prayer that I would not tip over.
When I managed to launch myself back to my feet without incident, I had to tackle the most treacherous part of the process: backing out of the room without stumbling over all the yards of material surrounding me, because it was not permitted to turn your back on royalty.
By the time Mother and I emerged into the ballroom where the celebrations were taking place, I was panting, as though I had run a race.
“You were wonderful.” Mother beamed, crushing my hot hand in hers. “I’m so proud of you.”
Seeing how happy she was made it almost worth it. Almost.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes already scanning the room. The information that Sylla had wrung from one of the anarchists about their bomb making, indicated that given their range, the explosives were likely planted in the ballroom or one of the smaller reception rooms being used by guests for maximum impact. The throne room had been dismissed early on; Max had impressed upon us the impossibility of someone smuggling a bomb in there.
“Besides which,” Sylla had pointed out reasonably, “the prince and princess are due to join the guests at the ball afterwards, so it makes far more sense to target a much larger crowd.”
Sylla herself was somewhere in the room, already on the hunt for the device. Maud had slipped Laing’s watchdogs and entered the party disguised as a member of staff, thanks to Mrs Finch’s connections.
It had been decided that Max’s presence was too dangerous – it might put Laing on guard or cause him to panic – so he was grinding his teeth in a location nearby, accompanied by Izzy.
At Mrs Finch’s request he had agreed to a slim window of time before the prince and princess would be removed from the palace. They were not to be allowed past the throne room unless the threat had been completely dealt with, so we only had the duration of the presentations to finish our search or the entire place would be evacuated. A couple of hours at best. Tipping Laing off would be awful, but the welfare of everyone else had to come first. Still, it was all a risk – what if moving people out of the palace caused Laing or his associates to detonate the device early? There were no truly safe options, apart from putting an end to this ourselves.
Max had men everywhere, all hunting for the device and ready to disarm it once it was found. Still, given the size of the rooms involved and the number of people within them, I felt my heart sink. It was no small task.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a head full of unique and lovely rose-gold curls. “I think I see a friend of mine,” I said to Mother, who waved me away.
“Darling, go and enjoy yourself. I’ll have a gab with my friends, and enjoy bragging about how graceful your curtsey was.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to leave?” I asked, one last desperate attempt to get her to safety. “It’s so warm and you must be tired after all your hard work. Now the presentation is over, I can hardly be considered unchaperoned in the middle of this crowd.”
Mother laughed. “Tired? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
“Of course,” I said weakly. “I’ll come and find you later.”
With a wide smile, she disappeared into the press of people, and I headed in the direction of Marigold.
“For heaven’s sake, Lockhart,” I heard her say as I approached. “It’s a party in a palace . At least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Bloom, if I get blown to pieces in the company of this bunch of stuffed shirts, I’m coming back to haunt you,” was the response from the devastatingly handsome man standing beside her. Marigold’s husband, Oliver Lockhart, was extremely grumpy and extremely beautiful. He seemed to actively dislike everyone apart from his wife, who he clearly adored, much to my brother’s amusement. Oliver and Max had some sort of strange friendship/rivalry that I couldn’t begin to understand.
“If you’re getting blown up, then I think we’ll all be haunting on the spectral plane together,” I said, sidling up to the couple.
“Felicity!” Marigold exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Your brother’s not here, is he?” Oliver scowled. Then, when I turned to him, he reared back in alarm. “What the hell is on your head? You look like a swan that’s been the victim of bad taxidermy.”
“Oliver!” Marigold smacked his arm.
“No, he’s not wrong,” I sighed. “I feel as though I’m about to keel over at any moment. At least it’s not as hot as the seventh circle of hell in here. Oh, wait. It absolutely is.”
Marigold smothered a laugh. She looked beautiful, her generous figure clad in a silk gown of silvery blue that flowed like water down her body. Her dipping neckline highlighted the stunning necklace that she wore, a sparkling circlet of the deepest red rubies and delicate green emeralds, fashioned to look like a chain of lush red roses. It was magic, and I suspected further evidence of her husband’s devotion – red roses meant passionate love, after all. Mari had taught me that.
“I know we’re supposed to be on guard in a dangerous situation,” Mari confessed, “but I can’t help getting distracted. Who’d have ever thought I’d be here, in Buckingham Palace? My family asked me to try to smuggle out a napkin so they could have it framed.”
“I’m glad you came,” I said. “I know you didn’t have to, but given that Laing doesn’t seem to have connected you to the investigation…”
Mari’s face went fierce. “We might not be in London now,” she said firmly, “but I’ll always be a Finch. Of course we came.”
“Then we should get to work,” I said. “Sylla, Maud and several of Max’s men have split the rest of the spaces between them. If you search the west side of this room, I’ll take the east. Given the amount of damage they’re hoping to do, Winnie believes the device must be at least the size of a loaf of bread, so there are a limited number of places it could be hidden. We’ve been informed there will be a timer, and that it won’t be set to detonate until after the presentations are finished, and the prince and princess are present.”
“That gives us some time,” Mari said. “Thank goodness those awful presentations are endless. We’ll find it.”
I nodded, then glanced over to where my mother stood with her friends. We would find it, I told myself. Because, after all, we had no choice.