“Funny chap.”
Susan started. She hadn’t realized Captain Locock stood behind her. Oliver Montgomery had watched Lionel, too.
“Can’t help liking him,” Locock said, “though half the time, I think he’s laughing at me.”
“And he seems to know everyone … and everything.” Captain Montgomery narrowed his eyes. “He’s privy to more secrets than a Roman Catholic confessor.”
“Still, he’s an amusing chap,” Locock said. “Livens up a dull evening.”
Susan arched an eyebrow. “Like this one?” When he started to protest, she said, “Perhaps you’re just missing Mrs. Locock tonight.”
“My wife hovers when the baby fusses. She’ll drive the nursery maid mad if she keeps it up.” Locock shook his head. “Mary sends worried telegrams to my father every other day.”
“New mothers. It’s quite understandable.”
“Thank God we’re leaving for Cowes next week. Then she’ll have my father and his medical advice on the spot.” Locock lowered his voice. “Mary and I feel grateful and blessed. Adoption was likely her only chance at motherhood, but you know the whole story, Susan.”
George Trevor claimed Lady Styles for the next set, and they followed Princess Louise and Frederick Locock to the floor. By the time Susan finished dancing and talking politics with the well-informed Mr. Trevor, the story had circled the room.
On Monday, the Prince of Wales would visit the Clerkenwell survivors at St. Barts Hospital.
Many guests planned to dance until dawn, but the frail, ailing Princess of Wales left with Lady Styles just after midnight. Alix winced with every step.
Two footmen waited at the end of the hallway with an invalid chair. They carried her up the stairs and wheeled her to her chamber. Susan opened the bedroom door, and a footman rolled her across the threshold.
“Thank you, Wilfred,” Lady Styles said. “That will be all for this evening.”
Susan closed the door and turned up the gas lamps on the center table. Family portraits and religious paintings crowded the walls, and a nearly life-sized figure of the crucified Christ loomed over the canopied bed. Susan often wondered what the Prince of Wales made of it.Four pregnancies in five years. Bertie mustn’t find it too off-putting.
The princess eased herself into the chair at her dressing table. She slipped the catch on her pearl choker necklace and laid it aside.
“Shall I ring for your maid?” Susan asked, reaching for the bell pull. The princess didn’t answer. “Your Royal Highness?”
“This appointment you have with Doctor Lewis … when do you see her?”
“She suggested Monday morning at her clinic.”
“How shall we …” Alexandra’s hand went to her throat, her fingers worrying the small scar on her neck. “How will it be managed?”
“I’ll suggest to the doctor that we visit her at Finsbury Circus on Friday, if convenient. Princess Louise has a drawing lesson that morning.” Susan touched Alexandra’s shoulder. “And no one will know it’s not a social call,” she said gently.
The princess sighed. “Very well.” Her hand slipped from her throat and fell to her lap. “I must do something.”
On Monday morning, Kate surprised Julia. Her maid waited at the front door, dressed in a hat, gloves, and a coat. She had a wool throw draped over her arm.
“Mrs. Ogilvie is after giving me the whole day, so I’ll be going to the clinic to help out.”
Julia was touched. “Mondays are your half days, Kate. You don’t have to—”
“The nurses looked tired out, and an extra pair of handswill be welcome to change the linens at least.” Kate shook her head. “The work of a clinic … it’s not only fixing broken bones, is it?”
“No, but after that business on Friday … this is kind of you.”
“’Tis over and done, and the world could use a little kindness just now, I’m thinking.”
“Amen to that,” Julia said, pulling on her gloves.
Kate climbed into the coach behind Julia and held up the wrap. “The cold’s come on us something fierce, so Mrs. Ogilvie sent this along. Are you needing it?”
