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14 December, 1861

The carriage made little sound as it rolled beneath the iron portcullis of Windsor; the harness and wheels were wrapped in flannel, the paving stones three inches deep in sawdust. But its arrival fell upon the place like an armed attack, shaking the ostlers out of their torpor. They sprang to the horses' heads before the equipage had even pulled to a halt, as though Patrick Fitzgerald brought tidings of war.

Fitzgerald made no move to step down into the sawdust. His hands were thrust in his coat pockets for warmth, his eyes fixed on the flaming torches and silent men beyond the carriage window. Once before, he had been to the great stone pile west of London--summoned, as tonight, by the woman who ruled there. But he was thinking less of the Queen now than of the man who lay in her private apartments, shuddering with fever.

"Let me come with you." Georgiana's gloved hand--that supple hand, so deft with the knife blade--reached for him. "I want to come with you."

"No."

Darkness filled the carriage. Only the gleam of her eyes suggested a presence; she had drawn the hood of her cloak close about her face, like a thief.

"It may have nothing to do with you, Georgiana. You cannot always presume--"

"And what if I have something to do with it?" she interrupted. "With him?"

"Georgie--"

But she'd turned her head away, her profile outlined against the squabs. She was biting down hard on her anger, as though it were a haft of iron between her teeth.

"And she'd never let you near him," he attempted. "You must know that."

"Then she's a fool!"

The coachman stumbled as he jumped from the box; the noise reverberated against the chilled stone like a gunshot, and the ostlers stared in outrage. Silence in the Old Quadrangle, in respect of the dying. Fitzgerald caught the coachman's indrawn hiss of breath, ripe with fear, as he pulled open the door.

"Wait," he told Georgiana. "I shan't be long."

She didn't attempt to argue. She would be freezing soon, he thought, despite her layers of petticoats. But Georgie would never ask for a hot brick, a brazier of coals. Her pride would kill her one day.

A footman led him into Windsor by the lower entrance, and there, too, the stone floor was blanketed with sawdust. The castle was known for its menacing silence--the vast, carpeted halls absorbed every footfall, and its people trafficked in whispers. Fitzgerald neither spoke nor offered his hand to the man who awaited him--William Jenner, court physician and eminent man of science.

"You took your time," the doctor snapped.

Fitzgerald handed his gloves and hat to the footman before replying. "I was in Dublin but two days since."

"And you stink to high heaven of strong spirits."

"Would you have had me miss my dinner, then? I only received your summons at five o'clock."

"It is nearly ten! As I say--you took your time." Jenner's eyes were small and close-set, his jowls turned down in perpetual disappointment. He surveyed the Irishman's careless dress, his unkempt hair, with disfavour. "It may be that she will not receive you, now."

"I didn't ask for the audience." Fitzgerald shrugged indifferently. "Is it so necessary?"

"I would not thwart her smallest wish at such an hour! I fear too much for her reason."

"And your patient? How is he?"

"Typhoid."

Jenner had made his reputation, years ago, by distinguishing typhoid fever from its close relative, typhus. The physician was the acknowledged expert in the thing that was now killing Prince Albert.

"The Prince will rally," Jenner said.

From the vehemence of the...

 

 

"An enquiry into the death of Queen Victoria's beloved Prince Consort.... Intertwined with information about medical malpractive 150 years ago and royal genealogy."

 

"[A] beautifully written novel, filled with twists and turns.... You'll smell the scented chambers at Windsor and the filth in the hovel, along with the Victorian hypocrisy. And you will be so caught up in the characters that you'll wish Barron would turn Georgie and Patrick into a series, just as she did with Jane Austen."

 

"A suspenseful tale that fits with several little known facts about the Victorian monarchy.... . Barron skillfully paces the book to keep the reader's interest heightened."

 

"A thrilling chase through Europe with plenty of action and.... The stunning conclusion will leave you wondering about the course of British history."

 

Stephanie Barron is the author of eight previous Jane Austen mysteries. She lives in Colorado, where she is at work on the next Jane Austen mystery.


From the Hardcover edition.