Page 73 of The Heir
“Lehzen,” said the princess, “we cannot shrink from this now.”
Lehzen did not answer.
“Wemustfind out what happened,” the princess insisted. “I promised Dr. Gerald I would.”
“How can he expect such a thing from achild?” blurted out Lehzen.
“He can expect it from the person who will be queen.”
Lehzen fell silent again.
“I admit, I thought I knew why I was doing this,” said Victoria. “I thought it was to spite Sir John. I thought it was to defy the Kensington system and, well, and Mama. But then . . . in speaking with Dr. Gerald . . . I saw that this thing matters to more people than just me. It matters because his father, William Maton, was a man who lived and breathed and walked, and because he may have died because someone took it upon themselves to decide he should not live, and that is a breach of the king’s peace, and that will bemypeace, and . . . that matters.” She stopped. “I am not making my point very well.”
“No, you are,” said Jane.
But I am like Lehzen, and I wish you weren’t. Because William Maton was possibly being paid by my father to lie for him. Because Mr. Rea is my father’s friend, and if someone was stealing from the household and Mr. Rea was involved, my father could have been involved, as well.
And all of that might mean it was my father who killed William Maton.
Chapter 32
King William IV strode down the corridors of Whitehall, his boots ringing hard against the marble floors. Persons of various stations stared and whispered as he passed. He ignored them all. He knew what they were saying.
They called him Silly Billy and wondered what had gotten him into a temper today. They compared his head to a pineapple and said his narrow brow was an outward sign of some inward mental impediment.
They thought he didn’t know. As if he had not come up in the Royal Navy, which drank down rumor and gossip along with the rum ration. As if he wouldn’t recognize an insult because it was disguised by a smile and a fluttering fan.
As if he had learned nothing as a prince in his father’s—and then his brother’s—vicious, deteriorating court.
Indeed, something both the navy and the court had taught him was the importance of good intelligence, not to mention the vital importance of maintaining the element of surprise. Which was why he had not given the men of the Kensington Board any notice that he planned to attend their Whitehall meeting.
“My lords! The king!” bellowed the footman.
All the men in the room scrambled to their feet. Lord Dunham actually dropped whatever papers he’d been holding, and they scattered about the floor. He was red as a beet when he bowed.
William pretended to ignore it.
“No, no, no ceremony, no ceremony!” he declared, although no monarch had ever actually meant those words, and he certainly didn’t mean them now. “Sit, sit, all of you.”
William dropped into the chair at the head of the table and looked directly at the brandy decanter. “Drink? Very good.” He held out his hand, which sent Dunham and Dunfermline both scrambling to get a glass and fill it with brandy. Duncannon looked pained.
God’s teeth, how is it we wound up with a set of lords all titled withDs for this ridiculous committee?
The glass of brandy was put in his hand. “Your health, my lords!” William drank. Which meant they all had to drink with him.
He slammed his glass down on the table.
“Your Majesty, we had no word . . . ,” began Dunfermline, his nervousness deepening his Scotch accent.
“No?” William twisted in his seat to glare at his secretary Marsters, who stood hunched behind him like a particularly tidy crow. “No?”
“An oversight, sir,” replied Marsters. “I am sorry.” The man was amazing. William almost believed him, even though he knew for a fact the fellow was lying through his teeth.
“Oh well, nothing to be done about it now.”
“Sir John has just left, I’m afraid, sir,” said Lord Dunham. “We can perhaps still—”
William swept all this aside with a single gesture. “No need, no need. You’re the fellows I want to talk to. You’re the ones in charge of my niece’s household, after all, and it’s the household I’m here about.” He watched them shooting glances at each other, shuffling their papers, trying to work out exactly what was happening.
