A Perilous Undertaking (Veronica Speedwell, #2)

by Deanna Raybourn

I would earnestly warn you against trying to find out the reason for and explanation of everything… To try and find out the reason for everything is very dangerous and leads to nothing but disappointment and dissatisfaction, unsettling your mind and in the end making you miserable.

“Anyone can get lucky,” he said coldly. “And I suspect your continued survival owes itself to a combination of good fortune and sheer bloody-mindedness. You are too stubborn to die.”

Lady Cordelia had been admitted on the strength of a series of papers she had written on the subject of advanced mathematics, and it was good to see that her talents—frequently wasted in arguing with Mrs. Bascombe about the grocer’s bills—were once more carrying her into the circles where

I have traveled alone. I am unmarried, I live without a chaperone, and I work for a living. These are not the actions of a lady,”

“Invariably. We are educated out of common sense, curiosity, and any real merit. We are made to be decorative and worthy of display, with occasional forays into procreation and good works, but nothing more.”

thought of my mother, the beautiful actress who had married in secret and borne a love child, only to have her sweet prince marry another—a woman of his own class who would fill his royal nursery with pedigreed babies while his firstborn grew up motherless.

“She often moves anonymously amongst her artist friends. A pointless affectation, really. Everyone ends up discovering who she is in the end, and those who don’t—well, if she isn’t treated with deference, she can be quite peremptory.”

Only Lady Cordelia’s life was continually upended by his demands. It would never have occurred to him that she might have interests of her own to pursue.

One scandal sheet called him a child of Lucifer while the quality press seemed to think him a rakishly charming fellow who had nobly chosen to go mutely to the gallows rather than excite further scandal by breaking his silence.

“You don’t believe the public should have access to the accumulation of human knowledge? To the accomplishment of art and exploration?”

“Have I shocked you? Remember I was born in a different time, Miss Speedwell. Virginity is Queen Victoria’s legacy. The rest of us are not quite so blinkered,” she told me. “Take my advice and get rid of yours as fast as you can.”

“Indiscretions that would only burden a wife. He was frequently unfaithful, and that was something I was perfectly happy to accept.” “Happy!” I exclaimed. I could not imagine any woman being content to have the man she loved warming another’s bed.

I pointed it out, at which he invariably

reply. I rolled my eyes heavenwards, but neither

berated her talent, her eye, her morals, and would no doubt have gone further had not Emma Talbot stepped forward.

Prince Albert might have been dead for a quarter of a century, but the industry of death showed no sign of slowing.

He must have broken dozens of hearts in his day, for even now he reminded me of nothing so much as a magnificently grizzled old lion. He might be winding down, but life was not yet finished with him.

“It strengthens the womb. It is given to women who are in danger of miscarrying so they can retain the child,” he explained.

Believe me when I tell you, a royal would never soil their hands when there are minions who will gladly do the deed for them. They don’t handle money, they don’t knock on doors—for the love of Christ, Veronica, they scarcely even wipe their own—”

“I may do things in my own fashion, Sir Hugo, but our aims are not incompatible,

“I’m not,” Stoker put in. “No parson would dare be that sanctimonious. I can smell the stink of our eldest brother all over that particular remark.

Please assure his lordship that I am not enjoying the fruits of connubial bliss with Stoker, nor should he expect a claim upon his fortune because I am in an indelicate condition.”

It was as close as an aristocratic Englishman could come to expressing real emotion, but it was enough for the princess. She pressed his hand.

“Certainly, but Miles is not one of them. He behaved badly with Ottilie because she permitted it. A woman who demanded his fidelity would have earned it.”

She not only turned a blind eye to his philandering, she befriended the women he bedded!”

“Sorry for him? But Mr. Gilchrist is blessed with talent and angelic looks. He is well-connected and has a tremendous future. Why should you be sorry for him?”

“So do I, Rip,” Stoker put in. “You were rat-arsed and no doubt made some highly vulgar observations which so inflamed Merry that he came round at the first opportunity to see Miss Speedwell for himself. He as much as insinuated she was my mistress,” he said flatly.

“As I said, child, I have always liked the notion of granting wishes. Now, off to the ball with you, Cinderella. I have ordered the town carriage for your use tonight, but I am afraid we haven’t any mice for footmen. You will simply have to make do with the ordinary kind.”

“You little devil!” he said, his tone admiring. “You think to use your fiendish wiles upon me with no care for what might become of my position at Scotland Yard. You are an absolute monster,” he told me, but he was smiling as he said it.

Stoker gave him a thin, feral smile, baring his teeth. “You always were a slippery bastard,” he said in a low tone. “But even you cannot talk your way around the fact that we found your name in Ramsforth’s ledger.”

“Miss Speedwell, I am delighted to find my assessment of your liberal thinking is accurate. To meet a lady of such broad-mindedness is rare indeed. Stoker, if you don’t marry Miss Speedwell, I might.”

“It is the best of a bad lot,” he admitted. “Would you prefer ‘Sodomites’?” “Hardly. That smacks of Evangelicalism, and you know my feelings on forcible religion,” I reminded him.

“No,” he said slowly. “I am better than a husband. I am your friend.”

“Veronica, I have extensive medical training as well as significant experience in debauchery. I know perfectly well that anyone who has imbibed not only a full opium pipe but a syringe of cocaine is going to feel like seven hells. Now, drink up.”

“You are far too old for fairy tales, Miss Speedwell. Surely you know the life of royalty is not at all as we believe it to be. It is a prison—a gilded one—but a prison nonetheless.”

They say Louise has ordered the windows of the palace bricked up to stop Lorne escaping into Kensington Gardens to tryst with soldiers. Whether it is true or not, I can tell you that Louise has been unhappy. And an unhappy wife is a dangerous creature.”

How dreadful to have millions of strangers know the intimate details of one’s life, to pick over them like so many discarded bones from a banquet table, looking for the choicest bits of meat.

The very fact that she had been in the grotto and viewed the collection would have catastrophic repercussions for herself and the throne. Married women did not conduct themselves in such a fashion, and married princesses with Puritanical mothers were held to a higher standard still.

“He would rather dance at the end of a hangman’s noose than betray you? That speaks to a connection more intimate than mere friendship,”

And do you know who was supposed to look after it? I was. She would live with us and give him his golden child, and I was to be nothing more than a nursemaid in my own home, reduced to whatever crumbs she saw fit to leave me.”

“What in the name of Satan’s arsehole is that?” he demanded. “The genitals of a very healthy young man,” I told him, waving the phallus-shaped lamp.

“I am angry at being used as a pawn,” I retorted. “I am not your chess piece to move as you see fit, my lady. I was not engaged upon this investigation simply because you wished to amuse Her Royal Highness or make certain Miles Ramsforth didn’t hang. You were testing me.”

“Who do you think insisted upon this piece of theater that Sir Hugo has played out in the inquest? Who do you think demanded that Ottilie Ramsforth’s confession be written and submitted into evidence?” Ice numbed my spine. “If I had given evidence, I might have been charged with Ottilie’s death,” I said, groping slowly towards understanding. “He could not take the chance that I would be exposed.” “He could not stand that his own child would suffer,” she corrected. “He did this for you.”