An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6) -Deanna Raybourn Page 0,76

to throw to them. His finger was neatly bandaged and only a little swollen, I saw with relief.

“Good morning,” I said brightly. “Anything of interest?”

Amusement twitched the corners of his mouth. “Only this.” He lifted the newspaper to show me the front page—princess attacked by prankster outside opera house, trumpeted the headline. It was accompanied by a few lurid sketches of the pandemonium outside the opera house and an official portrait of Gisela complete with crown and royal orders.

“Prankster!” I exclaimed as I leant forward to read the article. It was a breathless account of the entire evening from the triumph of Mademoiselle Fribourg in her début as Atalanta to the enthusiastic reception of the Princess of the Alpenwald. After a full page of this, the story turned to the drama that had played out upon the pavement.

It went on at great length describing the event and quoting Inspector Mornaday of Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police, who characterized the event as nothing more than an ill-timed and nasty joke perpetrated by a japester who had vanished into the crowd. It concluded with a statement from the Alpenwalder delegation that they were perfectly content that this had been a prank and not a serious attempt upon the princess’s life.

“It seems Mornaday has come to the same conclusion you did,” I said, tossing the newspaper back to Stoker.

“There were no injuries and little damage apart from a few torn garments and broken feathers in the jostling from the panic,” he replied. “It was the obvious conclusion—even Mornaday could not fail to draw it. And the chancellor’s statement would prevent him from investigating further, even if he were so inclined.”

“He will not like that,” I mused. I produced the card from the chocolate box and examined it again. “‘Prepare for your end.’ Ominous.”

“And timely,” Stoker added, forking up a kidney for Huxley. “A threat like that appearing around the same time as her disappearance and the bomb at the opera house? Not a coincidence, I think.”

“A squib,” I reminded him. “As you so cleverly deduced. It would have no doubt made a powerful effect, receiving a threat like that coupled with the fright of the explosion.”

“Did she bolt because she received it?” he wondered aloud as Huxley nibbled daintily at the fork.

I shook my head. “I had a good think and remembered something I ought to have recalled earlier. The seal on the chocolates was unbroken when the baroness offered the box to me. Gisela never saw the threat.”

“So, she did not disappear because it unnerved her,” he said, offering a titbit to Betony. Under his elbow, Nut sidled up to his plate and lifted off a poached egg. “Why then did she leave? And why is the chancellor so certain there is no cause to worry about her?”

“Perhaps he knows where she is,” I ventured. “He does seem the least anxious of the lot of them.” I helped myself to a piece of toast from the rack and spread it liberally with quince preserves. “So what can we infer?”

“That Gisela is being threatened but not harmed. The chocolates carry only a paper threat, but no real danger, it seems,” Stoker said, scratching Vespertine gently behind the ears. “Of course, the chocolates I ate seemed fine, but I suppose we ought to investigate the rest in case any have been tampered with.”

I shook my head. “I examined them carefully first thing this morning. There is no sign they have been adulterated—no discoloration, no peculiar odors. No marks of hypodermic syringes or seams where the chocolates may have been opened and put back together.”

“Very well, we will assume the chocolates and the squib were meant to frighten, but nothing more. To what end?”

“To force her to leave?” I guessed.

“Which she has.”

“But she never saw them,” I pointed out.

“Perhaps they were not the first.” He shook his head. “It’s a damnable puzzle. The only thing we can be certain of is that they are being perpetrated by someone who does not know Gisela has vanished.”

“Because otherwise, why carry them out?” I agreed. “So, someone outside the Alpenwalder entourage. And that might be anyone—including our favorite investigative journalist.”

He grunted his agreement and pushed his chair back, slapping his thighs for Nut to jump onto his lap before giving me a searching look. “You do not really believe J. J. would do such a thing?”

“I do not know what to believe,” I said evenly.

“Veronica, I know she is a difficult person to like at times, but