An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6) -Deanna Raybourn Page 0,126

would Durand choose for her to be locked in a dark fortress for the rest of her life? The possibilities were grim.

The princess turned back to us, brisk and businesslike. “I mean to open Alice’s exhibition on schedule tomorrow evening. Will you be there?”

We exchanged glances and nodded. “Of course, Your Serene Highness. It would be an honor.”

CHAPTER

29

The next evening, we arrived at the Curiosity Club an hour before the exhibition opening in order to attend to the last details. Lady C. was a whirlwind of activity, supervising the polishing of the display cases and the dusting of the various displays.

“That goat is most unsettling,” she remarked to me, pulling a face. “Ought we to leave it?”

“Oh yes,” I told her, not relishing the battle that would ensue should we remove Stoker’s pride and joy.

At last the preparations were finished. A wide velvet ribbon had been stretched across the doorway, to be cut by the princess to officially open the exhibition, and tables had been laid with vast silver coolers of iced champagne and enormous wheels of Alpenwalder cheese adorned with bunches of hothouse grapes. Trays of lobster patties and hot roast lamb pies were passed, and Julien’s enormous sugar homage to the castle took pride of place. The guests circulated, taking in the maps and photographs and pausing to admire Stoker’s goat as well as a rather bedraggled stuffed otter that had been sent at the last moment by a prominent Londoner of Alpenwalder descent.

I was most interested in the reaction of the princess and Pompeia Baker-Greene. They remained together, lost in contemplation whilst the other guests mingled, drinking champagne and chattering loudly about their own travels and travails. The princess was claimed by Lady C. to make the rounds of dignitaries while Stoker and I went to stand next to Pompeia. Her Bath chair had been moved in front of Alice’s portrait, the photograph of her standing atop a mountain peak, a suffragist banner in hand. Pompeia Baker-Greene sat regarding it thoughtfully as she took immoderate bites of Alpenwalder cheese and sipped at her champagne.

“She was a remarkable woman,” I told her. “I wish I had known her better.”

“She would not have liked you much in the end,” Pompeia said firmly. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin. “But only because she was sometimes wary of kindred spirits. And you, Miss Speedwell, are like my granddaughter—an uncommon woman.”

I grinned. “I am glad you were able to come, although I wish the circumstances had been more pleasant.”

Her steely brows rose. “Why? Death is part of life, child. It is not the end. It is not even the middle. It is merely a doorway. Alice is no further away from me than if she had stepped into the next room.”

“You are a philosopher,” Stoker told her.

“I am an old woman,” she corrected. “And I have neither the time nor the patience for pretense.” She looked up at him with an assessing eye. “I am also a connoisseur of good-looking men, and you, my dear boy, are an extraordinarily attractive one. Now, wheel me over to where they are pouring more of this champagne and I will teach you a thing or two about women.”

He did as she told him, putting his head close to hers as he refreshed her glass. I was still watching them when the princess moved to my elbow.

“Should you stand so near me?” I asked softly. “Someone else might notice the resemblance and surmise what we have been up to this week.”

She looked down the length of her regal nose. “I am taller and my jewels are much better,” she said, not unkindly. “I do not think we will be found out. Tell me, did you enjoy playing at being a princess?”

I considered for a moment. “Not really. It is a great deal of work and very little freedom.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling gravely. “You understand me. Few people do. Alice saw the cage for what it is. Gilded and studded with diamonds, but it is still a cage. That is what made her such a good friend,” she added, her gaze drifting to Alice’s portrait.

“Friend?” I asked gently.

She caught her breath but did not look at me.

“I understand,” I told her.

She canted her head, giving me a thoughtful smile. “I think that you do. Our relationship was not one I could ever acknowledge openly, you understand. Such a thing is not possible here in England. In the Alpenwald, it would be utterly unthinkable.