An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(51)
“Drink, Baroness,” he urged. She took the glass he held out to her with an unsteady hand. She looked doubtfully at her glass, then took a deep, shuddering breath to steel herself before drinking. She gasped, and the color finally returned to her cheeks.
“I am sorry about your tiara,” I told her as the duke moved on to offer restorative libations to the chancellor and Stoker. The baroness looked down at the badly damaged coronet still clutched in her gloved hands.
“It is nothing, a bagatelle,” she said. It was clearly a valuable piece, but she was right; compared to the cost of human life, it was nothing.
She looked at Stoker. “Mr. Templeton-Vane, I must thank you. If not for your swift action—” She broke off, pressing her lips together to control her emotion.
Stoker flushed, the tips of his ears reddening adorably. “Do not speak of it,” he said softly.
“Well,” I said, “we shall have to agree upon a story for the police. No doubt they will be here in short order to question us.”
“We cannot afford scrutiny from the Metropolitan Police,” the baroness said, her lips compressed. “Miss Speedwell’s masquerade, as effective as it is, will not stand up to lengthy questioning by the authorities.”
The chancellor’s expression was grim and Duke Maximilian sat slumped in an armchair in the corner, his face pale. He was clearly still shaken, and I was a little surprised at his lack of spirit. For all the courage he had displayed at the time, the experience seemed to have left him oddly cowed.
“I do not think we need worry about that,” Stoker said slowly. “In fact, the Metropolitan Police can easily be put off on the grounds that this was not an assassination attempt at all.”
“What do you mean?” the chancellor demanded.
The baroness bristled. “My good man, we were there. We saw the explosion. Someone tried to harm our princess with a bomb.”
“That is precisely the point, Baroness,” Stoker explained patiently. “They did no such thing. The bomb was a squib.” He looked around at our collective confusion and began to elaborate. “I spent a good deal of time near munitions in the navy. The bomb hurled at us tonight was nothing but sound and fury. There was a mighty noise and a flash, but no destruction. If we had really been standing so near a proper explosive, there would have been injuries, deaths even. The bomb that went off under the tsar of Russia’s carriage blew his legs entirely off, and we have sustained nothing worse than a little soot and some ringing in the ears. Someone wanted to sow a little panic without doing real harm. This was nothing more than a vicious prank.”
“My God,” Maximilian said faintly. He dropped his head into his hands.
“But who on earth would do such a thing?” the chancellor asked. “People might have been trampled to death trying to get away. It is a monstrosity.”
I furrowed my brow and thought a moment. “Anarchists?”
“Anarchists do not play at murder,” Stoker reminded me soberly. “Their intention is to kill, always. No, this was something entirely different, designed to frighten but nothing worse.” He turned his attention to the chancellor. “What will you say when the police come calling?”
The duke gave a start, dropping his hands. “The police? The English police? We are not subjects of your Crown.” His bearing, always proud, took on a new hauteur.
“No,” Stoker agreed, “but you are guests in our country and your princess is a head of state. This event occurred under the noses of the Metropolitan Police. I recognized one of their inspectors at the opera. Surely you do not believe they will simply let this go and not investigate?”
The duke flushed angrily. “It is an outrage! To suggest we cannot protect our own—”
The chancellor waved his hands. “Be calm, Your Grace. Naturally the English police will have questions, but we will simply give them a statement saying we believe it to be a silly prank and tell them the princess does not wish to pursue the matter. They will have no choice but to leave it there. And regardless of who was responsible, the fact remains that they did not succeed. We must move forward. And, as Mr. Templeton-Vane says, we must proceed with our objectives as if nothing untoward has happened.”
“I do not believe I said anything of the sort,” Stoker began, but the chancellor carried on as if he had not spoken, turning to me. “Fraulein, you performed very well, although I am certain the baroness will have notes for you.”
That august lady drew herself up stiffly. “Naturally, all performances may be improved upon. But I think the Fraulein has had enough for one day.”
Stoker stared from one to the other in frank astonishment. “For one day? This was the arrangement, Your Excellency. Miss Speedwell impersonated your princess for the gala and it is finished. We will naturally be returning to our own lodgings now.”
The Alpenwalders exchanged glances, and by some unspoken agreement, it was the baroness who appealed to him. She came towards him, her expression pleading.
“Mr. Templeton-Vane, you are right. We have asked a tremendous thing of you and your friend. And she has been a triumph. But our princess is still missing and what we must accomplish here is not at an end.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her hand on his arm. “Please. I beseech you. Not for myself, but for my princess. Stay here tonight. The princess may return by tomorrow morning and then we will send you on your way with gratitude, such fervent gratitude!”