“And Brodie?” she inquired. “Or was there some matter that required his attention elsewhere?” She leaned in close. “I did see him with Sir Knollys and Lord Salisbery. So very tragic about his son.”
Her subtle way of asking about our new inquiry case. Sly like a fox.
“Will the Queen be attending?” I inquired as a diversion for the conversation.
She gave me a knowing look but chose not to pursue the question.
“It is doubtful,” she replied instead. “She chooses to avoid such things, still in mourning after all these years. Such a waste, and there is the estrangement between her and the Prince of Wales. It might prove difficult with the Marlborough Set here for the festivities, considering the usual rumors of their activities here.
“Hunting parties, they call them. The question might be just what or whom is the quarry.”
Aunt Antonia, who had experienced several decades of royal scandals and rumored liaisons, was always most entertaining. She was not usually concerned about proprieties over such things, which admittedly had included her own ancestors.
“Do you think that perhaps she embellishes her stories?” my sister had once asked after a particularly colorful story that our great aunt had shared.
I sincerely doubted it. She was merely honest in that way of someone who had experienced such things and dared anyone to contradict her.
“Ah, Sir Richard Huntingdon has arrived,” Aunt Antonia exclaimed now with a nod across the room. “A schoolmate of the Prince of Wales. From their university days. There were four of them—reckless, carrying on as young men have a way of doing, getting themselves into, shall we call them ‘situations,’ the way young men have a habit of doing when they believe themselves invincible and above the law.
“There was more than one scandal that made the newspapers, and the one where Prince Albert was forced to intervene on the Prince of Wales’s behalf. The poor man diedshortly after, and it is said the Queen blamed young Albert for the ‘difficulty of the situation’ and has never forgiven him.”
She nodded a greeting to Sir Huntingdon, and he in turn nodded across the floor of the saloon with its sweeping staircases, paintings of royal ancestors that filled the walls in gilt frames, and full-sized statues looking down on the festivities.
“The newspapers called them the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in one article before it was banned from referring to them as such,” she continued with that smile. “However, they did seem to revel in the attention, until the Queen stepped in and ended it all.
“They have all been part of the Marlborough Set since, as well as occupying high level positions.”
Most interesting, I thought, as we continued around the enormous room and I did wonder what those statues set upon the walls high above the room and at the balustrade of the landing to the second floor might have witnessed of the Prince of Wales’s indiscretions in the past.
“I see that they have brought out champagne for the guests, a favorite of the Princess of Wales,” Aunt Antonia commented. “I suppose that will have to do. I have always thought it to be highly overrated.”
A comment from aconnoisseurwith a preference for her own Old Lodge whisky.
“You’re finally here!”
That excited exclamation rushed toward us in a wave of dark emerald-green that emphasized the young woman’s dark eyes and dark hair that lay over one shoulder.
I was taken somewhat by surprise as I was familiar with Lily in a walking skirt and blouse for lessons with her tutor, or a dueling costume when practicing in the sword room.
I was reminded of Brodie’s comment that she was no longer the young girl we had brought from Edinburgh after one ofour inquiry cases, but a young woman. And a beautiful young woman, according to the stares that followed her.
Not that she was aware as she joined us.
“Bloody hell, this gown is tight. I can hardly breathe.” The Scots accent was there, subtle, but still there along with her blunt assessment of the gown.
“However, do ye wear such clothes? And a bloody corset!” she added.
“I chose to escape as many society parties as possible,” I confessed, thoroughly enjoying her comment that included rolling those dark eyes.
Of course, the tightness of the gown might have something to do with the way it fits now. She had worn it some months before, as I remembered. However, she had still seemed quite the young girl then. No longer, it seemed, as Brodie had reminded me.
“And the young men,” she continued. “I had to threaten to take one of them down if he touched me again. As if he thought he could.”
Those eyes narrowed. “He laughed.”
Foolish on the part of the young man. It was undoubtedly best that the temptation was removed, for now. I hooked my arm through hers. “Let’s escape,” I suggested. “There is an impressive trophy room on the second floor that I explored in the past.”
A temporary reprieve at best from any further questions regarding Brodie from my great aunt, but one, nevertheless.
