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“Nor would I have you in it,” murmured Mama.

“No, I was not in it,” Papa said grimly. “But that may yet change.”

Shortly afterward gentlemen with grave expressions began calling on Papa. Mariah watched them come and go; she heard raised voices in her father’s study, where they all met and talked and argued, late into the evening. Papa did not come to dinner, and his guests were still there when she went to bed.

She lay awake until late, burning to know what, if any, role Harry might have played. She was certain he was involved, in some way. And she might never know, for she had no way to contact him, not even a name to inquire after. Just Harry, she thought, watching the shadows of the tree branches flit across her window. She placed her hand atop the little card with the delicate scroll of ivy, lying on the table beside her bed, the only proof she had of Harry’s existence, and a lone tear ran down her cheek.

The next day Papa told them more about the plot. It had been kept out of the newspapers so far, and Liverpool was of the opinion they should keep it that way. “Some of the lower classes are already hinting assassination may be an acceptable method of protesting the government’s policies,” Papa said, looking worn and weary over breakfast. “Two attempts in three months might inspire others to try again.”

“But the villain will be dealt with,” exclaimed Mama. “Quickly and decisively, no doubt.”

“Yes, but did he work alone? So far he has confessed nothing more than a desire to kill Lord Liverpool. Sidmouth would hang the man today, but if he’s part of a larger plot, his death could lead to worse. The worst we could do is to make the man a martyr.” Papa sighed and shook his head. “But that isn’t my main concern. It’s time for cooler heads to intercede, and apparently I have been selected as the first to try.”

“Ah,” said his wife with a knowing look. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I shall call on His Majesty. This business with the Queen has unnecessarily agitated people, giving them a rallying figure for all who feel abused by His Majesty’s government. The king’s persistence in seeking a divorce has transformed her from a spoiled, indulgent woman into a victim of royal petulance. He must be persuaded to cease promoting, for a time, his desire to eradicate her from the monarchy. And since I think it wisest to begin softly...” He turned and glanced at his daughter. “I would like Mariah to come with me.”

Mariah, who had been eating quietly, hoping to discover more about any possible connection to Harry, started in surprise. “Me, Papa?”

“Yes, you. You know the king wishes to divorce his wife.”

She nodded.

Papa sighed again. “And that he is determined to keep her from his coronation? That he has had her name removed from the prayers of clergymen across England?”

“Yes, but... What does that have to do with Lord Liverpool?” she dared to ask.

“Liverpool opposes the divorce, but he is the king’s man. There is great unrest in England. Newspapers exhort the masses to revolt. Some of the radicals have chosen to rally around the Queen as a symbol of their discontent. Rumors have been flying thick and fast that she’s about to embark any day from France for England, to claim her right as Queen. The King is just as determined that she shall not be recognized in any way. Do you see the storm brewing?”

“Yes, Papa. But what’s to be your role?”

His expression turned rueful. “I am to persuade His Majesty, delicately and gently, that talk of the Queen, at least, must die down. Divorce is out of the question. Procuring it would be very costly politically, if not impossible, and England has more important worries now. If the populace is not distracted by a pointless uproar over her return, it may calm the unrest and give the government a chance to bring down the most virulent of the mob. Some people are stirring a dangerous pot, and we mustn’t let it boil over.”

“And why am I to come with you?” Mariah darted a glance at her mother, who sat in watchful silence.

“Because it’s meant to be a persuasive call, diplomatic and friendly instead of confrontational. His Majesty must take just such a tack in dealing with the Queen, and allow his ministers to persuade her not to return to England by whatever means they can, even if it injures the royal pride. The people’s goodwill is a powerful thing, and His Majesty must remember that.” Her father smiled. “And our sovereign has always been fond of a pretty female face. It will put him in good spirits if I bring one with me.”

Mariah smiled and ducked her head. It would be quite a thrill to meet His Majesty. She had missed a chance to be presented to the old Queen, being too young before going abroad with her parents. The King might be older and less dashing than he’d once been, but he was still the King. She glanced at her mother, who gave a small nod of agreement. “Of course, Papa.”

He pressed her hand. “Good girl. I shall request an audience as soon as His Majesty will see us.”

* * *

The rumors were true. A cook in the Bethwell household was found to be a cousin to John Brunt, a radical Spencean who had recently been hanged in Newgate for the failed conspiracy to assassinate the Cabinet in February. The cook had vowed to avenge his cousin’s death and so had been putting a large quantity of toxic foxglove into the turtle soup. A maid became suspicious of him, and had been watching. By good fortune she recognized the herbs he added and was able to call others’ attention to it. The cook was currently in Newgate, apparently spilling his secrets in an attempt to save his own life, but so far he had only named ordinary ruffians.

“Is Stafford satisfied?” Harry pressed. They were sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. Angelique had been to see Stafford late last night and was relating what he told her.

Angelique shrugged. “For now. He is beside himself with relief, even joy, to have caught someone. It proves he was right, and that always pleases a man.”

“Of course. And the maid who intercepted the soup? She was one of his as well?”

Angelique smiled coyly. “She was not, until I befriended her. It is always good to have another pair of observant eyes about, and her eyes miss nothing. One hint that Lord Bethwell was anxious about his digestion, and she reported everything in the kitchens to me. And now she will have a rich reward, so it has gone well for all of us.”

“I should say so.” Ian pushed back his plate and slapped his hands down on his thighs. “And us? Are we to have our reward now?”

She nodded. “Stafford considers our business to be at an end. I will give my notice today. Harry, you are also free to leave Crane’s service.”

“And I?” Ian winked at her. With his broad Scots accent and imposing physique, Ian hadn’t been assigned to anyone’s household because he would never blend in. He’d always said he was happier with horses than with people anyway, and Harry had to admit they needed a capable coachman.