Suzanne Robinson (27 page)

“Why?” Cheyne asked. “Haven’t you done it at school for plays? I did, and I hated it. All those petticoats dragging at one. Taking tiny steps. Managing a fan. And corsets. Horrible.”

Mattie grinned at Cheyne as he gave a mock shudder. “I feel the same way, but once women get the vote and begin working more in business, things like corsets will vanish.”

Everyone turned to stare at her. She flushed, but continued. “It’s true. Women are going to vote and become doctors and scientists. They already have, and someday soon they’ll realize doctors and scientists can’t afford to be hindered by whalebone.”

No one took her seriously except Cheyne, and the topic changed to the impending New Year. The world was frantic with excitement at the dawn of the new century. Everyone in England and America seemed to have an opinion about the future. Some predicted disaster, the end of the world, Armageddon. Others looked forward to a new era filled with advancements, inventions, and increasingly wise and enlightened human conduct.

“I have no idea what the new century will bring,”
said Lance. “I’m only certain that tonight I’ll be at the Prince of Wale’s grand ball. I understand he’s brought in a Chinese firm to do the fireworks.”

Mattie saw the frozen expression on Rose Marie’s face and changed the subject. The countess had been omitted from the royal guest list again. Elland Capgrave seemed more interested in the German emperor’s blustering excesses than the dawn of a new century. Cheyne agreed with him that the Kaiser needed watching.

“The Prince of Wales is his uncle and deals well with him,” Cheyne said, “but he was raised to think himself almost a god. I’m worried about what will happen once Wilhelm no longer fears his grandmother’s disapproval. Once Her Majesty is gone, there’s no telling what Germany might try.”

Speculation continued for a while before Mattie’s visitors began leaving. Before Cheyne left, Mattie tried to speak to him alone. They’d had another quarrel about her leaving the money for the blackmailer, and she was worried he’d try to stop her. Luckily he seemed resigned to her presence.

She’d given Dora permission to visit her family in Chelsea, so next day she dressed without help for her outing to Westminster Abbey. Her black velvet suit was perfect, for the weather had turned cold and rainy. She was pulling on black kid gloves when she stepped outside Spencer House expecting to see her motorcar waiting. Instead a carriage stood before the steps and a groom saluted her.

“Afternoon, Miss. Mr. Tennant sent his carriage for you.”

“Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, especially her mother. The footman opened the carriage door, and Mattie climbed in. Mutton was sitting inside and tipped his hat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bright. The gov’nor sent me to look after you.”

“Very well, Mutton, but you can’t come inside the cathedral with me. Three o’clock is the busy time for visitors, and I don’t want the blackmailer to see you with me.”

“Yes, miss.”

The carriage rolled into Piccadilly, dodging omnibuses and cabs. Not five minutes passed before Mattie leaned to stick her head out the window, then sat back down and glared at the valet.

“Mutton, where are we going?”

“Hyde Park, miss, for a nice drive.”

“What in blazes does Mr. Tennant think he’s doing?

“Protecting ’is future wife, Miss.”

“Now, you listen to me, Mutton. You tell the coachman to drive us to Westminster right now.”

Looking like a well-dressed bear in his thick wool coat and bowler hat, Mutton said, “No, miss. The gov’nor would have me hide if I was to do that.”

“Then I’ll get a cab.” Mattie put her hand on the door handle.

“Please don’t do that, miss. I don’t want to have to stop you.”

She looked at Mutton’s unhappy but resolute expression and dropped her hand. “Dang it, Mutton.” Fuming, she drummed her fingers on the leather seat. “He was planning this all along. He sat in the Palm Room blabbering about tea and costume balls when all the time he meant to send me on this blamed useless ride in the park.” She crossed her arms and glared out the window. “Smiling and nodding and saying as how he hadn’t liked women’s clothes. So amusing. Even the countess laughed. Dang, dang, dang.”

Mattie slumped against the squabs, her brow furrowed. If she’d known what he was planning, she would have thrown petticoats, fans, corsets, stomachers, and farthingales at him. She lapsed into silence for a moment, and then she sat up to stare into the distance.

“Wait a minute.”

“Sorry, miss, but we got to keep driving around the park for an hour.”

“No, no.” She snapped her fingers. “The costumes!”

“Steady, miss. You’re getting the vapors and chattering nonsense.”

“Hogwash.”

“Pardon?”

Mattie scooted forward and put her hand on Mutton’s thick arm. “I know who the blackmailer is.”

Mutton stared at her. “Who, miss?”

Lifting her hand, she waved her forefinger at him. “No, Mutton. I’m not telling you unless you take me to the abbey.”

“Can’t do that, miss.”

“If you don’t, and your master fails to catch the blackmailer because he was looking for the wrong person, it will be your fault.” Mutton raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Mattie turned her head and looked at him sideways. “He might be taken unawares.” Still nothing. “If he’s surprised, he might make a mistake and get hurt.” Mutton stirred and gave her an unhappy look, so Mattie lowered her voice to a whisper. “He might even get killed.”

Mutton chewed his lip, but made no move to stop the carriage.

“Listen,” Mattie said. “The blackmailer revealed something to me in a conversation. It was a mistake, and I don’t think he knows he made it. We can catch him off guard and end this before someone else dies!”

Giving her a hard stare, Mutton moved closer to the carriage window. “You certain?”

“I’m certain.”

It took twenty minutes to reach Parliament Square. By then the rain had ceased. Mattie ordered the carriage stopped, and before it rolled to a halt she jumped out, with Mutton close behind her. They stepped onto the pavement as Big Ben tolled the quarter hour. She searched the crowds of pedestrians for Cheyne, who was to have stationed himself on the green and follow her into the abbey.

“There he is, miss.” Mutton pointed to a tall figure lounging on the grass opposite the small but exquisite sixteenth-century church of St. Margaret’s that lay between them and the cathedral. He was holding the brown paper parcel.

Mattie sailed over to him when he wasn’t looking, snatched the parcel from his hand and said, “Good afternoon.”

“Hell, Mattie, what are you doing here? Give that back.”

“What will Mutton think of you, cursing in the presence of a lady?”

“He’ll think me well justified, if he knows what’s good for him. He’s in enough trouble.”

Mattie ignored him and looked around the green. “Where’s Dora? It’s obvious she isn’t really visiting her family. She has to be around here somewhere posing as me.”

“She’ll be here in two minutes,” Cheyne said as he consulted a pocket watch.

“You’d better send her away.”

Cheyne put a hand on her arm. “You’re not going into the cathedral.”

Mattie slipped out of reach. “I am, or I won’t tell you who the blackmailer is.”

“What?” Cheyne glared at her.

“Tell him, Mutton.”

“She’s figured it out, gov’nor. Did it while we was driving in the park. That’s how she made me bring her here.”

Something feral and primitive stirred in Cheyne’s
eyes as understanding dawned on him. “No. You’re not going in there. Especially if you know who he is. If he finds out you know, he’ll kill you.”

Mattie had anticipated his reaction and moved farther away from him. As he started toward her, she dove into a knot of pedestrians on the walk that led to the cathedral. She heard him calling to her, but she reached the west entrance to the abbey and plunged inside. Merging with the crowds filing into the nave, she became part of the rush to visit Westminster before evening services began. This was why the blackmailer had chosen the afternoon.

Turning right and skirting one of the enormous fluted columns that supported the graceful fan vaulting, she walked down the south aisle. She passed the choir, turned right and her gaze skimmed over the rose window in the wall of the transept. She glanced at the dorter staircase that had once been used by monks to reach the choir, then surveyed Poet’s Corner. The place was dedicated to artists, and set against the walls were statues of Shakespeare and George Friederic Handel, busts of Ben Jonson, Robert Southey, and, recently, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Mattie gripped the parcel and walked to a niche in which rested a humble stone rectangle. Dark and small, it contained the remains of Geoffrey Chaucer. She looked over her shoulder and saw a couple engrossed in trying to decipher a Latin inscription.

There was no one else in the transept at the moment,
so she placed the parcel in a dark space between the tomb and the niche. She looked around again, but saw no one. She waited until more people wandered into the transept, then walked back down the south aisle. As she went, she looked around for someone she knew, to no avail.

Not daring to linger, she left the abbey and went back to Parliament Square. As she set foot on the green, someone latched on to her arm.

“Cheyne Tennant, you startled me.”

“Serves you right.” He held her arm tightly and guided her across the Green. “We’re going for a walk.”

“What about the blackmailer?”

“Balfour has men all over the abbey. He’s quite capable of doing his job without us.”

Mattie found herself marched away from the square, across the street and under the shadow of Big Ben. By the time they reached the clock tower, Mattie was out of breath and angry. Cheyne finally let go of her, but he gave her a frigid look that told her she’d be wise to remain where she was. Clasping his hands behind his back, he gazed at the palatial building that housed England’s Parliament.

“Tudor Perpendicular,” he said.

“What?”

Cheyne nodded at Parliament. “The style, it’s Tudor Perpendicular. After the fire, Barry designed it. It’s a warren of eleven hundred rooms, one hundred staircases, two miles of corridor, and, of course, old
Ben in the clock tower.” He turned on her. “And if you don’t tell me what you’ve discovered, I’ll drag you to the top of Big Ben and dangle you over the edge until you talk.”

Mattie wasn’t listening carefully to his words because she’d seen the fear in his eyes. “You won’t do that.”

Uttering a sound of supreme frustration, Cheyne threw up his hands, “Mattie, what am I to do with you?”

“Calm down. I’m going to tell you. I was thinking about how rotten you were, having me abducted, and I got to thinking about our conversation yesterday in the Palm Room. Everybody was talking about costumes and corsets and such, and I remembered—” Mattie broke off as she saw three large and rough-looking men get out of a carriage and come toward them. “Cheyne.”

She got no further. The strangers surrounded them quickly. One pulled a revolver from his coat pocket, stuck it in Cheyne’s side, and took hold of his arm.

“Quiet, now, laddie. You come with us, you and the lady.”

Cheyne stared at her, a warning clear in his eyes. Mattie looked at the two men, who had positioned themselves so that she was between them. One had a scraggly beard stained with tobacco and the other had protruding eyes that gave him an insectlike appearance. When they grabbed her arms, she dug in
her heels without thinking, but the man with the revolver clucked at her.

“Now, now, missy.” He pulled Cheyne closer and jabbed him with the gun. “Behave yerself or I’ll shoot the lad here full o’ holes.”

“Mattie, do as they say or they’ll hurt you,” Cheyne said calmly.

“That’s right, you be a good girl,” the leader said.

Allowing her captors to take her to the carriage, she waited while one got in. The other boosted her inside and climbed in after her. Then Cheyne was ordered to get in, but when he mounted the step, the leader reversed his gun and hit his captive on the head. Mattie cried out as Cheyne collapsed on the floor and was dragged inside.

“You good-for-nothin’ saloon slags, keep your hands off him!”

She fought to reach Cheyne, but one man grabbed her while the other shoved a cloth in her face. She gasped, breathing in a sickly odor that made her gag. She hit a chest and a face, but her blows seemed to land on carpenter’s putty. Then everything receded into blackness.

Mattie surfaced from oblivion slowly. Voices floated around her, disembodied and hollow, but she couldn’t distinguish words because of the nausea that clawed at her belly. Sinking into darkness again, she climbed
back to consciousness without any idea of how long she’d been insensible.

This time the nausea wasn’t as bad, and she could make out other sensations. She was lying on a flat surface with the side of her face pressed against something rough. The voices were still floating around her. As her body began to return to something like normality, Mattie risked opening her eyes.