“To alarm one of the supposed victims.”
“To what end?”
“That, sir, would be the key to the puzzle.”
Sussex leaned forward and considered the chessboard, and then he moved a white knight. He gave no indication that he expected Braydon to take part.
“Have you considered,” the prince asked, “what you might do when you detect the culprit? It is the Regent’s wish that the incident be kept as quiet as possible. He fears the mob, you know, especially after his carriage was attacked earlier in the year. In his darker moments, he fears the guillotine. He worries that the mere idea of murdering princes might be infectious.”
“Not entirely without reason, sir.”
When the Red Band plotters had been destroyed in the summer, parts of a guillotine had been found in a warehouse near the docks. Quite likely the Regent had been told, which might not have been wise. The revolutionaries would never have succeeded, but they’d been serious in their intent, and there were others of similar mind.
“Not entirely without reason,” Sussex agreed, looking up from the board. “It’s a delicate business, reform, Dauntry. As you know, I work for it. We will have it—we must have it—but every step opens cracks that can be exploited by those of evil mind. Evil must be stopped, but freedom must be preserved. I do not like Sidmouth, but I’m not opposed to the work that Hawkinville does.”
“I was given to understand that you assisted in the establishment of his unit, sir.”
“Sometimes my position gives me useful authority. Mostly, you know, I find it a damned bore.”
He meant it, but Braydon suspected that if the princewas suddenly made a commoner, he’d be miserable. That contrasted whimsically with himself. He’d thank God if he could be restored to that state.
Sussex moved a white castle. If he’d been playing both sides of a chess game, it should have been black’s turn. Braydon focused on the board. Both kings were safe, but the black queen was now in a very difficult situation, boxed in by the castle and surrounded by three knights: two white, one black.
Mothers and sons; sons and mothers.
Sussex straightened. “As one of the interested parties, I would be pleased if the matter were quietly put to rest. Kent and Clarence feel the same. No purpose will be served by pursuing it, and we’re sure you and Hawkinville have more important matters to attend to. The unpleasant elements are skulking at the moment, but they will creep out in time.”
Braydon considered the board again and then looked up. “Yes, sir. You’re undoubtedly correct.”
“Good, good.” Sussex rose. “I thank you for coming. May I hope you’ll take a stance for reform in Parliament, Dauntry? It’s the only way.”
Braydon rose. “I agree, sir. But orderly reform.”
Sussex surprised him by disagreeing. “Radical change can’t help but disrupt order. Many see reform as infringing on their ancient rights and privileges, and they’re right. The Crown had to shed powers under Magna Carta, and then in the Civil War and Restoration. In the coming years, many entrenched powers must be undermined. There will be howls and some will fight, but I have faith change will be achieved without bloodshed. With your help?”
“I will do my best, sir.”
Sussex put out his hand, and Braydon shook it. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Dauntry, and I thank you.”
He wasn’t talking about reform.
***
Braydon left Kensington Palace, considering what to do next. Nothing, of course, other than call off the hawks. It was over.
As for the other matter...
He spent the walk home exploring his new, not entirely pleasant, state of mind.No, not mind, heart.Weren’t lovers supposed to dance and sing and scatter flowers toward the sun? The sun lurked behind clouds and he felt naked, even raw.
Vulnerable.
There were no flower sellers at this time of year, but then he passed a girl hawking posies of silk violets. He bought one, and then felt damned stupid carrying it through the streets. With a wry smile, he wondered if an aspiring dandy would see Beau Braydon with a posy and decide it was the latest fashion.
He entered his rooms, hoping Kitty was home. She was in the drawing room with a great many parcels piled on chairs and floor. Her dog was snuffling about them, stub tail wagging.
“I had the larger items sent directly to the Abbey,” she said, delightfully unapologetic. “But I had the smaller ones sent here, and we brought some with us as well. I seem to have acquired rather more than I thought. Oh, what a pretty posy.”
Is she, too, wondering if it is the latest manly fashion?
