Chapter Twenty-Eight
TWENTY-EIGHT
We’re in the royal coach, and I’m sprawled, as much as it’s possible for me to sprawl in my dress. I point one gloved finger at the beautifully wrapped boxes beside Gray.
“Every one of those pastries is mine,” I say. “I earned them.”
“You did.”
I point the finger at him. “I mean it. I just spent two hours regaling Queen Victoria with every damn detail of our current case.”
“Queen Victoria?” His brows shoot up. “The Queen is not in Edinburgh.”
I flip him the finger. Then I slouch more.
“She must be staying at Balmoral and somehow got copies of our earlier adventures. I didn’t have ‘Queen Victoria, true-crime fan’ on my bingo card.
None of this makes any sense to me.” I shake my head.
“No, it does. The Queen of the British Empire is bored, and she’s decided you’re her summer project. Making you police surgeon.”
“You handled that with aplomb. Thank you.”
I pause, watching him, and then I say, “Would you want the position?”
“It is not mine to have. I am not even a licensed surgeon. I cannot be—”
“You can be whatever she wants you to be, Duncan. Imagine the circumstances were different, and you could have Addington’s job with no sticky web to get caught in. Would you take it?”
He fidgets and then looks out the window, and my stomach drops. The wall is up. This is too personal, and I don’t get to peek that far into his hopes and dreams.
“Yes,” he says, softly, still looking out the window. “I do not like to admit that, even to myself. It’s unsafe.”
“Wanting something you might never get.”
“Wanting something I will never get. It sets me up for disappointment. It makes me start wondering what I could do with the position, as if it is a goal I should chase. It is not a goal. It is a dream, and it is not the sort I can pursue.”
Chasing that dream would mean plowing down Addington, and the guy might deserve to be plowed down, but it won’t help Gray in the long run. He’d never be able to stop fighting everyone who objected to how he won the position.
“Does it help to have the Queen say you deserve it?”
“It is gratifying.” He looks at me. “But it is more gratifying to hear you say I do.”
“You really do.”
“Thank you.” He moves his knee to press against mine, the pressure barely noticeable with all my skirts. But I do notice, and I duck his gaze.
“So the Queen is bored,” I say.
“Evidently.”
“And we are to keep her abreast of the case. Personally. Which we totally have time for.”
“Perhaps we can get her to endorse the chronicles.”
I pause. “You think so?”
“I was teasing.”
“Oh, I’m not. Could you imagine that?”
“I believe I will settle for knowing she is reading them.”
I shake my head. “Bigger dreams, Duncan. You need bigger dreams.”
His lips curve. “Oh, I have them.”
“Such as eating every pastry in those boxes?”
The smile grows. “For a start, yes.”
“Did I mention they’re all mine?”
“You might threaten to do that, but they would turn to dust in your mouth, eating them while knowing how much I would enjoy them.”
“Pfft. No. I will delight in eating them in front of you. In watching you suffer.”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a guinea. Then he opens the box, carefully undoing the fancy wrapping, selects a pate à choux, and hands it to me. As I take it, he lifts the coin.
“Eat that in front of me, without hesitating, and this is yours.”
I eye the pastry. The coin. The pastry.
Then I snatch the coin. “You win.”
“Which means you do not get the coin, Mallory. That was the wager.”
“I get the coin. You get the pastry. Now eat up.” I pocket the guinea. “And hand me another one of those puffs.”
We’re late for dinner, but under the circumstances, Mrs. Wallace doesn’t even glare at me about it. Oh, she still glares when I find her in the kitchen to say we’re home, but it’s about something entirely different.
“You better not have embarrassed Dr. Gray.”
“Never. I told the riotous story about accidentally lighting myself on fire at last week’s bonfire, and you know what she said?” I lean over. “‘We are most amused.’”
No reaction. Not even a scowl. I sigh. “You are the worst audience.”
“I am the best audience. When the joke is funny. Also, contrary to popular thought, the Queen never said ‘We are not amused.’”
“And you know that how?”
“Because the story goes that she said it in response to a risqué joke, and she appreciates all jokes, particularly risqué ones.”
“And you know that how?” I repeat.
“I performed for her when I was with the circus.”
I cross my arms. “Right. As a knife thrower. I’ll admit you can throw a knife, but I’m not buying that story without more details.”
“No, you only want more details. It isn’t the same thing.” She holds out a platter. “Take this.”
“You do remember I’m not a maid, right?”
“Then you shouldn’t be hanging around my kitchen. Go.”
These days, McCreadie usually joins us for dinner.
Tonight, he doesn’t, because he’s trying to put a little distance between himself and Gray, lest anyone try to say he’s using his courting Isla as an excuse to exchange case information.
Of course, he’ll totally do that later, when he picks Isla up for a walk, but it’s all about appearances.
That means we’re dining with just Isla, who wants to know all about our audience with the Queen.
“With someone at the palace,” Gray corrects.
She rolls her eyes. “No one is listening in. You can say it was the Queen.”
The door opens, Jack bringing in the main course. When we all turn to look at her, she whistles nonchalantly. “It is only me. Your dutiful housemaid. As Mrs. Ballantyne said, no one is listening in. But it was the Queen.”
“The Queen isn’t in Edinburgh,” I say.
“She most certainly is. Everyone knows that.” Jack sets a plate in front of Isla. “Well, not everyone. But I know it. I would be a poor journalist if I did not.”
“If you know it, why isn’t it in the papers?” I ask.
“Because no one is fool enough to write it. If she thinks she’s being all sneaky, slipping in and out of the city, we let her have it.” She serves Gray next. “She is here on business, meeting an emissary. She arrived three days ago.”
She looks at me as she sets down my plate. “Please tell me you did not think you were speaking to some random noblewoman, hiding behind a screen, as all random noblewomen do … while using the royal palace to serve tea.”
“They knew,” Isla says. “They are being circumspect.”
“So why did she summon you, Mallory?” Jack asks me. “Not just Dr. Gray but you.”
I meet her gaze in silence.
“Oh, come now,” she says.
“Are you serving the meal?” I say. “Or joining us for it?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She pulls out a chair.
“That was sarcasm.”
“Sorry, but while I speak the language fluently, I have no ear for detecting it. What did the Queen want?”
I look at Isla. As a household matter, that falls to her.
“You may answer,” Isla says. “And then Jack will go downstairs before Mrs. Wallace finds out she lingered.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jack puts her elbows on the table, clearly forgetting she’s not in male attire. “Now talk, Miss Mallory.”
I look at Gray.
“Really?” Jack says. “You already cleared it with the lady of the house.”
“Queen Victoria has been following our adventures,” I say. “Through your chronicles.”
Jack blinks. Stares. Blinks. When she speaks, the words come as a croak. “The Queen is reading my … my…”
“You have put our dear Jack at a loss for words,” Isla says. “Mark this day, Mallory. It will not come again soon.”
Jack’s eyes narrow as they fix on me. “That is a joke, yes? You are teasing me.”
“She is not,” Gray says as he cuts off a piece of his chicken cutlet.
Jack sits back, all the color drained from her face. “The Queen is reading…” She swallows. Then her eyes meet mine again. “Is there a problem? Something she objects to?”
“No, she seems quite taken with the stories. That is why she called us both in. She has been looking for the installments on this new crime and, finding none, she wanted them directly.”
Jack’s mouth opens and shuts. She looks like she’s going to faint. Then she says, “So she is…”
“Bored,” I say, making Isla laugh. “Also a queen. Apparently, if you’re the ruler of the British Empire, you don’t have to sit and wait for the next installment of your serialized crime story. You can call in the detectives personally.”
“Is she upset that there are no new installments?”
“We explained the situation, and she understands. She has been updated and, apparently, we’re supposed to continue to keep her updated.”
“Should I … write them? For her?”
I slice into my cutlet. “She might be insulted if Dr. Gray and I don’t deliver in-person recitals. But once they are written, she should have the earliest copy.” I glance at the others. “Yes?”
Isla nods. “Yes. Jack and I will get to work on them to deliver early, but not before you have had a chance to update her personally.” She purses her lips. “This is a very strange situation.”
Jack bursts out laughing. “That is an understatement. The Queen?” She shakes her head. “I’m going to need some brandy.”
“Finish serving first,” I say. “Or you risk incurring the wrath of Mrs. Wallace.”
“But you may join us for dessert,” Isla says. “With brandy. I believe we all need it.”
It’s a quiet evening after that. I expect to discuss the case, but Gray slips out of the town house saying something about having work to do. By then, Isla is gone, so it’s me and Jack, hanging out and talking about the case while Alice joins us in sharing a plate of the Queen’s pastries.
I’m still catching up on sleep, so I’m in bed by eleven and Gray hasn’t returned. I slip a note under his door, letting him know I retired early and I’ll be ready to rise whenever he is.
The next morning, I barely get downstairs before he’s there, as if he was lying in wait.
“Busy day ahead?” I say.
“Perhaps. I have plans for breakfast, though.”
“Ah, okay. So I’ll meet up with you later?”
He frowns. Then he lifts a picnic basket. “I mean I have plans with you. Breakfast. Is that acceptable?”
“Uh, sure. Yes. Let me get ready.”