Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(26)

"I'll take you to Her Majesty directly," the prince said. "I simply wanted to take these few minutes to speak with you alone." He nodded at the footman who fell well behind as we walked.

"Is something the matter?" Lincoln asked, his hands at his back as we strolled through a room of intimate proportions compared to the state reception rooms.

"Not at all. Miss Holloway, I hope you're well."

"I am, thank you, sir. And you?"

"In excellent health." The prince placed his hands at his back the same as Lincoln. Lincoln immediately moved his hands to his sides. He caught me smirking at him and his eyes narrowed.

"And your moth— the queen?" I asked. "Is she well?"

"Well enough for her age. Her Majesty will be heading up to Balmoral soon for the rest of the summer. She prefers it there. The city gets far too stifling. My sister and her family will travel with her, of course, and I'll go up later in the summer."

"And His Royal Highness, the Duke of Edinburgh?" Lincoln asked.

"One never knows what my brother is doing from one week to the next." The Prince of Wales gave us a flat-lipped smile. "He's waiting with Her Majesty now. I must warn you, they both have a bee in their bonnet over some recent events that I'm sure I don't need to detail for you."

"Thank you for the warning," I said. "We're glad you called this meeting as we have some points of discussion to raise with you too."

"Oh?"

A stiff footman opened a door to the queen's private sitting room, cutting off our conversation. We'd been in this room before. I'd spoken to the spirit of the queen's late husband here. She'd been welcoming then, but she now looked unhappy to see us, her thick brow and pendulous jowls forming a severe frown. The Duke of Edinburgh greeted us with a flaring of his nostrils. We didn't even warrant a nod.

I curtseyed and Lincoln bowed. The queen indicated we should sit at the round table where both her sons now sat. She occupied the sofa, her black skirts spread around her like a storm cloud.

"You will have read the papers," Her Majesty began.

"Yes, ma'am," Lincoln said. "We've confronted the journalist who wrote the article for The Star."

"The one who mentioned werewolves? What an irresponsible thing to do! I hope you told him so."

"We certainly did," I said. "We asked him why he concluded that the attacks had been carried out by werewolves, but he wouldn't give a clear answer. He seemed to be guessing."

"An accurate guess?" the duke asked.

"In my opinion, yes," Lincoln said.

The prince sat back in the chair and rubbed his hand over his mouth and beard. "Good God," he muttered.

"And how will you stop them, Mr. Fitzroy?" the queen asked.

"When I find out who it is—"

"It's obvious," the duke said. "There's a pack of shape shifting wolves in the East End. Look there for your murderer, Fitzroy."

"How do you know about this pack?" the prince asked his brother.

"You know how."

And so did we—Swinburn or Ballantine had told him.

"I am not convinced it's them," Lincoln said. "We have—"

"Not convinced!" The duke scoffed. "It must be them. Slum dwellers are a lawless rabble, always making trouble, and the mauling deaths occurred in their very neighborhood. I knew you'd try to defend them, Fitzroy, but where's the evidence? Do you have any?"

"Only my instincts. The pack leader is not violent, and a member of their pack is known to us. We trust her."

"A friend, eh?" The duke snorted. "That explains it."

Lincoln stiffened. "We need more time to—"

"More time! And how many more murders will occur while you take time?"

The queen put up her hand, saving us from a prickly stand-off. "Enough, Affie. I'm sure Mr. Fitzroy and Miss Holloway are doing their best."

"I am not quite as convinced."

"Why?" Lincoln asked. Oh lord. This had the potential to deteriorate very quickly.

The duke blanched. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you suggesting I am not impartial?"

"No one is suggesting that," the prince said with a sharp glare for his brother.

"I am merely playing devil's advocate," the duke said, sounding miffed. "There are some who would shut down the ministry."

"Who?" Lincoln said, his tone steely.

The duke straightened. "People."

"Affie," the prince warned.

"Would this be the same people who informed The Star's journalist about the ministry?" Lincoln pressed. "The same people who suggested to the reporter that a werewolf may be responsible for these recent deaths?"

"I wouldn't know about that." The duke stood and headed for the door.

"Affie," the queen bit off. "Sit down. We haven't finished."

The duke did as his mother bade. She was clearly still in command, despite her advanced years. Her sons dared not oppose her.

"The Ministry of Curiosities is a necessary organization," the prince said. "They will not be shut down."