Chapter 25 #2
The physician was the first to arrive. The man hesitated in the doorway when he found the Queen looking well and Lord Ravenscroft sitting at her side.
“You will go to the Fitzroy manor,” Charlotte informed him.
“Do all that you can for the household. If there is any chance you can help my diamond recover from whatever poison she was given, I want you to do so.”
He was waved off, and a knock on the door heralded the arrival of her granddaughter shortly after. The Queen indicated a chair, bidding the young woman to take a seat, and dismissed the servants who had followed the princess into the room.
“Charlotte Augusta,” the Queen intoned, her voice grave, “we are to speak of matters so grave that you must first give me your solemn word that these confidences will not pass beyond this room.”
The princess’s eyes widened. “Of course.”
“Do you consider the Duchess Atholl a friend?” the Queen asked.
The princess’s expression grew wary. “I value her counsel, yes.”
The Queen huffed. “I forgave the Frogmore incident days ago. Lord Ravenscroft can reassure you on that.”
He nodded when the princess turned his way.
“Then yes, Her Grace is my friend. Why are you asking me this question?”
“Because the duchess is ill and may be dying. I want to be certain that you will give me the truth for any questions I ask next.”
The princess blanched. “Charity is ill?”
“She was poisoned, Princess,” Ravenscroft said, taking pity on the young woman. He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. “Lady Fitzroy is responsible. We also believe that is not the end of her schemes to cause harm.”
“We need to know,” the Queen interrupted cuttingly, “whether Marian Fitzroy, or her daughter, Lady Lark, have said anything seditious in your company. Any word—any hint—that they may have indicated the nature of what treasonous plot is afoot.”
Princess Charlotte inhaled sharply, her eyelids flickering. “Including the matter of Prince William?”
When both the Queen and Ravenscroft looked at her sharply, the princess shook her head.
“Charity told me that Lady Fitzroy—” she cut her words short, looking at Ravenscroft doubtfully.
No doubt she was uncertain whether he knew about her involvement in William’s poisoning, and Ravenscroft lauded her caution.
“Lady Fitzroy was the one who schemed to put the henbane in your hands,” Ravenscroft finished. “Your father told me later.”
The princess accepted that. “I cannot think of a single thing either one said that suggested an act of treason,” she said softly. “I have done nothing more than exchange a polite word when necessary, Grandmama. I promise I would not lie to you about this.”
“What of your prospects?” the Queen countered. “Marian Fitzroy has been playing her game for months now, and has found you to be a willing pawn at least once. Has she encouraged your affections for anyone other than William? Perhaps Prince Nicholas?”
Ravenscroft peered closely at the princess, but she betrayed no startlement at Nicholas’s name, or any telltales of a woman about to lie.
“She has neither encouraged nor discouraged me at all,” the princess stammered.
“The Russians? The Grand Duchess?” he prompted. “Have they said anything suspicious in your company? Encouraged you to make an unsuitable match?”
The princess’s cheeks coloured. “Her Imperial Highness thought Prince William unsuitable,” she admitted, “but she hardly encouraged me to make an unsuitable match. Unless you count being introduced to half the eligible men she thought handsome encouragement.” The princess’s eyes rolled slightly.
The Queen probed again and again, not letting up. For Ravenscroft, it was clear that the Russians were taking an active hand in guiding the princess’s mind toward alliances that fit their needs, but perhaps not that of England.
But then, so had the Austrians and Prussia. Attempting to influence the young heir towards a positive relationship was hardly an indication of something subversive or untoward. Marian Fitzroy’s intervention in the princess’s future, at best, might be part of a Russian plot.
But if Marian truly had designs on the Princess’s life, meddling in her marital plans past blocking an engagement to William did not seem to make any sense at all.
“What will happen now?” the princess asked when it was clear they had no further questions. “Is there any treatment the physician can give to the duchess?”
“Not unless he knows something about esoteric Russian poisons,” Ravenscroft muttered under his breath. But not quietly enough, because the princess heard him clearly.
“You think Lady Fitzroy used a Russian poison?” she asked sharply.
“Lady Fitzroy told her son she learned it from a woman there,” he clarified.
“Perhaps then a Russian would have the cure. Surely, we could ask them for assistance, then,” the princess said stoutly to her grandmother. “It is the least we can do for Her Grace.”
Queen Charlotte clearly regretted that Ravenscroft had ever opened his mouth about the poison.
“Charlotte Augusta,” she began warningly, “think for a moment about the questions that would arise from such an inquiry. They are already upset that Lord Fitzroy claimed the guardianship of his sister from under their noses. The Tsar might take it as an affront. I cannot see a way to ask delicately without suggesting that either Lady Fitzroy or a countryman is responsible for the duchess’s current state. ”
“The Tsar may, but his sister might not,” the princess countered. “If I sent a note to the Grand Duchess, I think she would consider assisting us. She liked Charity. Might it help, Grandmama?”
It was a good suggestion, one that Ravenscroft felt he should have thought of himself. But the events of the last few weeks were clearly taking a toll on all of their minds.
The Queen bowed her head, considering her granddaughter’s suggestion seriously. “Pen your note here. I will ask Lord Sidmouth to deliver it on your behalf. We cannot risk sending you anywhere near the Pulteney.”
The princess looked positively thrilled to be useful, and she hurried off to write the note. Lord Ravenscroft went to make his own departure, but the Queen had one last thing to say.
“Do not pin your hopes on the Grand Duchess,” she advised. “The woman already has too much control over my granddaughter. I will instruct Sidmouth not to send along this note until we are certain it is our last resort.”
Though she berated herself for it, Selina fussed with imagined dirt on her skirts the entire trip to the Fitzroy manor in the early afternoon. They were clean; she knew they were. But sometimes it felt as though the grime of Bellrose’s house seemed to have permanently stained her.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, she caught herself searching the windows of the front drawing room for any signs of someone looking out. It would have been nice to spot Charity’s familiar golden blonde hair gleaming in the streaming sunlight. Deep inside, however, she acknowledged the truth.
She was hoping to see someone else.
Someone, specifically, who might be looking for her as well.
But that would be wrong for so many reasons, not least of which was that she was the daughter of a duke and a widowed marchioness with a reputation for intrigue. Ravenscroft’s nickname of ‘Galahad’ was far too appropriate for the unblemished soul that seemed to be Sir Nathaniel.
Selina should leave him alone.
She wrenched her mind away from the direction of her thoughts. She was there for Perry and for Charity. If she was grateful for anything about his presence, it should be that Sir Nathaniel was willing to fight the current battle at their side.
Still, her heart beat faster in her breast when she found him waiting for her in the front entrance hallway.
“Is there any improvement in Charity’s condition today?” she asked him as she handed her hat and gloves off to the waiting footman.
“No. But at least, neither has she worsened. Enough time has passed that the physician has ruled out the worst of the known poisons,” Thorne answered.
“And Perry?”
The knight hesitated, unwilling to put an answer to it. “Come. Lord Ravenscroft is waiting in the drawing room for us.”
Ravenscroft, still in his court wear, looked too weary to bother trying to hide his own concern. “I hope you had better luck in your endeavours than I, Lady Normanby. The possibility of an assassination attempt on the royal family was taken poorly by the Queen, to say the least.”
“Yes, well, you may just imagine how well Sidmouth took the same news,” she retorted, availing herself of the settee across from Ravenscroft.
“He warned us again to avoid provoking the Russians. Xavier was happy to provide any assistance he might, but exotic poisons are not his usual fare. He will send word here if he has any luck.”
The magpie grunted tiredly. “The Queen also warned me against approaching the Russians. It seems that the Tsar’s sensibilities must take priority over our safety and saving Charity’s life.
At least she let the princess write a letter to the Grand Duchess requesting aid—though the Queen wishes to hold off on sending it as long as possible. ”
Sir Nathaniel remained silent, but from his expression, it was clear that little they had to say was unexpected.
“I hate to admit it, but the Queen is right. The Grand Duchess plays the power games well. Without a clear incentive for her, she cannot be counted on to go out of her way to save Charity, no matter who asks her to get involved,” said Selina.
She clasped her hands in her lap, thinking. “Did Perry eat at least?” she asked softly.
Thorne gave his head the barest shake.
Where to go from here? There was no use in asking Perry for his opinion. From what Sir Nathaniel had said, even coaxing him to eat a few bites was a challenge. Lord Ravenscroft and Sir Nathaniel were both looking to her for a decision.
Selina pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose and then gathered her skirts and rose from her seat.
“Where are you going?” Ravenscroft asked.
“To play the role of intruder again. I shall throw propriety out of the window and speak with Perry’s sister. Something must shake loose.”
“Should it be me?” he countered. “She likely still resents both you and Sir Nathaniel for her kidnapping.”
“I am counting on the fact that she despises me, Ravenscroft. Her anger will be a useful tool.”
Hers certainly was. Just as she had told Charity while they had been trapped in Bellrose’s basement, Selina began to spindle her own white-hot rage, bundling it within her breast until she could easily imagine herself a dragon.
Lark was standing at her window when Selina entered. She turned around at the creak of the door opening, her eyes wide with surprise. But her mouth settled into a mulish scowl when she saw who it was.
“I did not give you leave to enter,” Lark stated baldly, sharpening her glare.
“I did not ask for your permission,” Selina countered. “Come with me. There is something I must show you.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I think you know far, far more than you are pretending to, and you are hiding your head like an ostrich. Your butler was killed, yes?”
She nodded slowly.
“Did you watch the meeting between Perry and your mother?”
Lark’s lowered eyes were answer enough.
“I assume you also have not been stricken deaf,” Selina spat. “You look out the window now because you can tell something is wrong. Badly so.”
Lark sniffed, but she did not disagree. Selina seized the girl by the wrist and yanked her past her maid, dragging her back into the carpeted hallway and a few doors down. Selina entered the empty master bedroom and kept going until she reached the connecting door to the next suite.
She did not tell Lark to keep quiet. There was no need. She pushed the adjoining door open on its carefully oiled hinges and shoved Lark bodily into the doorway. “Look,” she said simply.
The room was so quiet she could hear Lark’s hard swallow. That, she expected. But the involuntary half-step forward was more telling. Lark still cared for her brother.
She was not as cruel and twisted as Marian.
Selina caught Lark’s hand to stop her, trying to avoid even looking in on that scene of such private despair.
“Leave him be,” she warned. “But look your fill, Lark. This is what your mother does to the people who defy her. She is violent, cruel, and evil. This is why you were spirited away. He did not want you burdened with such sorry knowledge that your mother is a murderer. So because he loved you enough to keep you safe, your mother punished him by doing this.”
Lark swayed slightly, setting one hand to the doorframe.
“Do you see it now? Without a cure, Charity will not survive the week. Your brother will go, as well. He will not want to go on without her. And you—you have not been surprised by a single thing I have told you about your mother. Admit it,” Selina hurled at her.
“I knew my mother was ambitious,” she said shakily. “I didn’t know precisely how far she would go… but… perhaps a part of me was aware. That part of me has always been terrified of crossing my mother. Of getting her attention in the wrong way.”
“Do you believe me yet that your mother is up to no good? Because you are the only hope I have left of figuring out your mother’s little scheme in time to prevent an attack on the Crown that could spark war.”
Selina’s bosom heaved as she struggled with the surprising anger flooding her limbs and making her hands shake. When Lark cowered away from her, she tried to gentle her voice. “You are the only hope of bringing your brother to his senses. And possibly saving his wife.”
Lark’s lips parted in genuine shock. “Perry… he married the duchess?”
“Three days ago,” Selina murmured, finally glancing into the bedroom. Peregrine sat in a chair pulled up beside Charity. His head was turned away, resting on his arms where they lay folded on the mattress top beside her. He gave no sign of noticing their presence at all.
Or perhaps he simply did not care.
“That is the new Lady Fitzroy, lying there. And you can change the ending of this tale,” Selina said, shaking Lark by the shoulder roughly. “What does your mother want to achieve?”
Lark closed her eyes and went perfectly still. “She has already achieved her aim.”
“Which was—?” Selina asked, frustration cutting through her last strand of patience.
“To see me wed. To Nicholas—the Tsar’s youngest brother.”