Page 57 of From London, With Love
He glanced between them, then set his pen down. His afternoon with the Grand Duchess had proven merely another false lead, so he was desperately in need of some evidence. “My favorite agents are the ones who have found whoever wants to kill the queen.”
Reaching inside his coat pocket, Byrnes produced a piece of paper with a flourish. “I have a receipt from the bank for a withdrawal for five thousand pounds, as paid to Guardsman Wallach.”
Kincaid slammed another piece of paper on the desk. “And I have the prototype schematics for a particular type of drone that is designed to be unleashed on a field of war. A gyrfalcon, if you will believe. One of the mechs who escaped the Ironmonger enclaves created a pair of them for a customer he recognized from a very popular caricature that did the rounds several years ago. She thought if she didn’t give him a name, then he’d never be able to trace her, but she didn’t count on her notoriety.”
“She?” He glanced at the receipt. And then the prototype schematics.
His eyebrows hit his hairline. And then he smiled.
Voluptuous blonde, indeed. Prince Ivanhadbeen telling the truth.
“We’ve got her.”
* * *
Malloryn foundthe culprit in the portrait gallery, staring at one of Queen Alexandra’s forbears. Or perhaps, if he was being honest, she wasn’t perusing the king himself, but the golden, shining crown upon his head.
“It wouldn’t fit very well,” he called, resting on his cane.
Princess Imogen almost leapt out of her skin, clapping a bejeweled hand to her substantial chest. “Good grief.Malloryn. Don’t you have something to do rather than creeping around this bloody tower like a vulture?” Her lip curled. “Doesn’t my cousin have some shoes that need kissing?”
Malloryn strolled closer, smiling a little. “I think she’s a little busy at the moment, thinking about whose heads are going to roll for the near-death of her dear friend, Sir Gideon.” Hetskedunder his breath. “The queen may have forgiven an assassination attempt upon herself, but Sir Gideon…. Well, I had to remind her that nobody has been hung, drawn, and quartered in centuries.”
Princess Imogen paled. “O-of course. How… barbaric. Sir Gideon is well?”
“He’ll recover, it seems. Though the queen’s sense of mercy may not.”
Princess Imogen blinked. “Have you found the assassin?”
“Yes. Though finding the assassin and finding the one pulling the strings behind them have proven to be two different stories. However, my team has prevailed.”
“Finding the one… behind the assassin?”
He had to hand it to her. She made an excellent production of being confused. “Someone clearly wanted the queen dead. They tried three times to have her killed. And I had to ask myself: why? It couldn’t be a foreign power, hoping to destroy Britain’s sense of equilibrium. Little would be gained, and most of the foreign envoys and princes were here to further their own interests. A dead queen grants them nothing.
“The old Echelon is dead, and the blue bloods who remain clamor that they’re emphatically loyal to Her Majesty. They’re already on probation, and know even the slightest provocation will part them with their heads. So, who has the most to gain from the queen’s death? Her loss would throw Britain into chaos, unless there was someone else to step onto the throne. And that someone would most likely be your brother, Eugene.”
“How dare you cast such aspersions?” Princess Imogen squared her shoulders. “Eugene had nothing to do with this far-fetched plot you claim.”
“On that we agree. Eugene can barely tie his own shoes without supervision. He would be an excellent placeholder for some power behind the throne to manipulate.”
There. A faint flicker of fear in her eyes.
“You made one fatal mistake, you know?”
Princess Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “A mistake? What mistake?”
“It’s a common occurrence among the nobility. They tend to think that servants are invisible, and carry on all manner of meetings in front of them.” He shook his head. “And although fear is a powerful motivator, when one has spent decades treating the servants appallingly, it takes very little more than a promise of protection—say, from someone even more powerful—to draw a confession forth.”
“What the hell are you talking about Malloryn?”
“Two of the undermaids recall seeing a magnificent brooch with similar scrollwork to this on your dresser. One of them claims you had several such trinkets in your jewelry box, and when I searched it this morning, I found this.” He tossed a golden scarab beetle toward her. “It was created by a mech who served in the Ironmonger enclaves, by the name of MacGregor. You bought it a year ago because you thought it was regal, and it links you to an assassination.”
Princess Imogen slapped the thing aside as if he’d thrown a ticking bomb at her. “How dare you enter my chambers? I should have you whipped. And that… that thing has nothing to do with me. I’ve never seen it before in my life!”
Malloryn smiled. “It’s just a brooch. Is it not?”
She froze.
