If you don’t get down here, the soup will be gone. Cranston has gone back for another bowl and the skinny footman, Miles, has a wooden leg. Hurry.
Now she was awake.
“Evening, all.” Daffy headed straight for the soup tureen, interrupting a lively debate over the North Dals, Northton’s champion football team, and the Capitals, Port Fressa’s challenging football team.
“Daffy.” Cranston focused on her as she took a seat. “TheKing Titusis missing from the Queen’s Library.”
Her spoon clattered against her bowl. They never came up with a story for the ole butler. “What? Are you sure? I saw it there Monday evening. Miles, can you pass the butter?”
“I’ve looked and—”
“Am I late?” Gus to the rescue. “I hear there’s leftover soup and warm bread. Miles, good to see you.” He clapped his hand on the footman’s shoulder.
The staff hurried to their feet. But Gus paid no mind and served himself. With a glance at Daffy, he chose the chair next to her.
“I called Ernst on my way down.” He whispered the words as he slid into his seat. “He said to come to the pub tonight.”
“Do you think he found this Emmanuel chap?”
“We shall see.” Gus glanced around the table. “Did everyone have a good week? Were you discussing the match between the Port FressaCapitals and the North Dals?”
“We were discussing the missingKing Tituschair.” Cranston peered at the prince over the rim of his wine glass. “It’s not in the Queen’s Library.”
Here we go.Daffy all but buried her face in her bowl.
“TheKing Titus, of course. My apologies, Cranston, but I took the chair to my apartment for safekeeping until the ball. After all, I did find it in an unlocked library.”
Daffy spewed her bite of soup.
“Yes, of course, but…” A very pale Cranston worked to collect himself. “No one told me the chair was moved. And I locked the library, sir.” His lean cheeks began to redden. “Eventually.”
“I’m sorry you weren’t informed, Cranston. But Miss Caron and I will be looking after the chair. Thank you for your concern. Your devotion to your duty is admirable.” Gus put on an HRH show. “I shall mention you to Her Majesty.”
Cranston sat a little straighter. “Thank you, sir.”
Daffy focused on her soup, her very delicious soup, controlling her smile and urge to shout,“Brilliant!”
Chapter Thirteen
Gus
Daffy met him by his apartment at nine o’clock. “Ready?” He locked the door and tucked the key in his pocket. Zipping up his anorak, he led her to the secret door.
“You were clever tonight. At dinner. Putting Cranston off.”
“I couldn’t very well tell him the truth, could I? Not without trying to fix my mistake.” He pulled on the book, the shelf opened, and he tugged the chain of the bare bulb light. “Take my hand again. The steps are wobbly. If one gives way, don’t tumble with me.”
“But I will try and save you.” She hovered close, her hand on his shoulder, gripping his coat. “I’d rather tell the queen about the chair than how I watched you fall headlong down a dark, secret stairwell.”
Gus activated the torchlight on his phone and waved it over the steps, illuminating where the glow from the bulb stopped.
“Do you remember the legend of the tower in Brighton Kingdom? How if a young man rang the Pembroke Chapel bell at the beginning of the Christmas season, he must win the heart of his true love by Christmas Eve and marry her Christmas morn?”
“How could I forget? I cried when I heard the story in primary school. How poor Prince Michael fell to his death when he slipped on the stone steps, racing down to meet his true love. What a horrid story to share with a bunch of eight-year-olds.”
“At least the man died nobly. If I fall and burst my head open on the stone below, it will be because I’m sneaking off to meet a man about a chair.” He stopped short, bracing his hand against the wall. “Blast, I forgot Hemstead again. Why can’t I ever remember him?”
“Because you don’t want to, Gus. Shall we go back?”
