Page 135 of Immortal Rose

Mrs. Keyes’s words rose in me, defiant. You must take back your story. You must fight for what you desire.

My hand closed over Mama’s necklace. No one would take this from me. This inheritance was mine by right, and I would use it to remake my world. I would use it to help others—women like Mama, set adrift by society; children who lived with the terrors hiding in the shadows of the streets.

There is power to notoriety. In time, you may find you like it.

Well. There was no time like the present.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hugh was already in high dudgeon when he saw Reddy pacing in the palace corridor.

“I thought you might turn up if I gave it a few minutes,” Reddy said grimly, clasping his hands behind his back. Seeing Hugh’s arched brow, he explained, “Elly missed our standing appointment to go riding. I thought it best to see why.”

“And?”

“There are police guarding the door to her apartments,” Reddy said, disgruntled. “I tried both bribing and threatening, but they’re too terrified of Glenmoor. I went to find her usual guards, but they’ve been sent out to other royal residences, as has her lady’s maid and several of the courtiers she trusted.”

Hugh’s temper was on a fraying leash, and that only heated his blood. He stalked down the servants’ corridor, struggling to master his breathing.

“We may be able to take the police together—one looks a bit soft in the gut and the other like he can’t count past three,” Reddy said, falling in step beside him, “though I suspect you’ve come up with a different plan, given the searing look of determination on your face.”

“Something of the sort.”

Hugh was in no mood to banter; he wanted to see to Eleanor’s safety and return home immediately. Viola’s look of uncertainty as he departed after breakfast had haunted him the entire ride to the palace, as terrible as the scratches she’d left on her neck and face.

No—he couldn’t think about her just now. Not without losing what little grip he had on his fury. Viola was safe at home with the others. He needed to see to Elly now.

“Wait,” Reddy began, seeing Hugh slow beside a floor-length portrait of Queen Juliana. “There isn’t a passage to her rooms.”

“Of course there is.”

“Does she know that?” Reddy asked, a new edge to his tone.

Hugh gave him a bland look as he felt along the portrait’s gilded frame, feeling for the hidden latch. “She would have known when it was relevant.”

“That little wife of yours was absolutely right,” Reddy muttered. “You really think you know best.”

Hugh froze at the word wife, letting it pierce his heart like the lance it was. With a glance down the hall to ensure they weren’t being observed, Hugh swung the disguised doorway open, revealing a narrow passage blacker than his heart.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Reddy whispered, shutting the door firmly behind them. “Though I’m hurt not to have received an invitation to that particular disaster.”

Hugh paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark and his mind to orient him. Ten yards straight, then to the right, where they’d find the necessary stairs to the upper floors.

Uncle Giles had ensured both he and Reddy knew the hidden corridors within the walls of Summerland Palace as well as the veins on the backs of their hands. He’d locked them inside the vast web of narrow halls until they could navigate them in utter darkness, to avoid candlelight flashing in the viewing holes.

The pathways had originally been built for royals to escape revolution or assassination or, Hugh supposed, loathsome guests, but they had been forgotten by everyone but the succession of spymasters who had served them. There were no existing maps, and knowledge of them was passed only in whispers.

Meaning there was every chance Glenmoor didn’t know of them. One small advantage, at least.

The memory of Viola’s face contorted with agony flashed in his mind, vivid in the dark. Hugh’s hands curled at his sides as he swung right and hurried up the rickety stairs.

“Has there been any word from Mrs. Silver’s sister yet?” Reddy asked, at least remembering to keep his bloody voice down. “On Gallia’s involvement in the poisoning?”

Hugh grunted, drowning in his own frustration on the matter. “No.”

“Fox,” Reddy began after a moment, “are you quite all right? I understand that yesterday may have frightened you—”

Hugh whirled back on him, nearly sending Reddy tumbling down the stairs.