Newbury waited for the sound of the butler’s retreating footsteps, but they did not come. Clearly, the man had chosen to remain in the corridor outside, to keep an eye on Newbury and ensure he didn’t attempt to interrupt the Prince and his other visitor. Of course, Newbury had no intention of doing any such thing.
Sighing, he strolled over to the fireplace. It was ostentatious in the extreme, hewn from white Cararra marble, with two darker supporting pillars to either side. Logs were piled in the grate, but were not lit. Above the fireplace was a huge gilt-framed mirror that reflected the sheer splendour of the room with almost dazzling effect. The door frames, too, were gilded, and the black and white chequerboard floor continued through from the hallway, giving Newbury the impression he was standing on a square of an enormous chessboard, a pawn waiting to be moved. Perhaps, he reflected, he was.
This thought gave him pause, and he glanced around, looking for somewhere to sit. He settled on a low chair, upholstered in red velvet and with gilded feet in the shape of lion’s paws. It looked impressive, but was not particularly comfortable.
His eyes were drawn to a series of large canvases on the opposite wall. They were landscapes, but the scenes they depicted were unfamiliar to him. The rolling hills were not the lush and verdant green of England, but scrubland and desert. Small groups of figures in peasant’s robes toiled in the fields, and in the foreground, characters from biblical myth acted out scenes from the famous stories. They were not very much to Newbury’s taste. Nevertheless, the surroundings were much more appealing than the agent’s waiting room at Buckingham Palace.
He started a moment later as he heard the door open.
“Newbury! This is unexpected,” came the booming, authoritarian voice. Newbury turned around to see the rotund figure stalking into the room. The Prince of Wales looked immaculate in his grey double-breasted suit. He walked with a wooden cane which scuffed against the tiled floor with every step he made. He was smiling, but appeared somewhat flustered, distracted even.
Newbury suddenly felt himself withdrawing beneath the Prince’s penetrating gaze. Had he misunderstood? Had he made a terrible social faux pas by coming here to Marlborough House? He jumped to his feet. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness. I did not mean to disturb you.”
“Nonsense, Newbury,” bellowed the Prince, stopping a few feet from him and leaning on his stick. “I told you to call if there was anything you needed. Now, take a seat, will you, and give it up.”
Newbury did as he was told, lowering himself into one of the other gilded chairs by the fireplace. Albert Edward did the same, sitting opposite Newbury and propping his cane on the glass-panelled fire screen.
“I fear I cannot give you long, Newbury,” said the Prince. “I’ve some other damnable business to attend to.” He inclined his head in the direction of the door. “Most pressing, I’m afraid.”
Newbury nodded. “If there’s anything I can do to help…?” he led, trying to ensure it didn’t come across as if he were digging for information.
“You are doing enough, Newbury. Assuming, that is, that you are here to talk of the situation I outlined for you the other day?”
“Quite so, Your Royal Highness. I’ve given some serious consideration to your words.”
Albert Edward smiled broadly. “I’m glad to hear it, Newbury. There is no one else I would rather have on the job. I’m delighted to know you’ve decided to occupy yourself with the matter. It’s one less thing to have to worry about.” He paused, fixing Newbury with his watery gaze. “So, you have news to that end?”
Newbury nodded again. “I believe so. I’ve been following that line of investigation. Tell me, Your Royal Highness, have you heard of the recent spate of murders taking place throughout the city? The victims have all been found with their hearts removed.”
The Prince blanched. “Indeed I have. A despicable business. You think there might be some connection?” he asked, dubious.
“I do. I believe the German agents may be responsible for the deaths. If not the Germans, then foreign agents of some kind,” replied Newbury. He was feeling a little hot around the collar, and he rubbed a hand self-consciously over his face.
“What makes you say that, Newbury?” prompted the Prince, evidently failing to see the connection.
“The fact that all of the victims so far have been agents of Her Majesty the Queen,” said Newbury, quietly.
“Indeed?” said the Prince, clearly shocked. “Then it does seem likely that they are being targeted. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover my cousin was behind it. If the Kaiser could undermine the Queen’s position, erode her power and her network of information, it would make a coup-or even an outright war-far easier to achieve.” He shook his head in dismay. “Have you considered, Newbury, that you might also be at risk?”
“Any or all of Her Majesty’s agents could be at risk, Your Royal Highness. That’s why I’m here,” said Newbury.
The Prince frowned. “Go on.”
“I’m hoping to obtain a list of the Queen’s agents, to look for patterns and potential victims.” He sighed. “At present we have very little to go on. I’m working closely with Sir Charles Bainbridge of Scotland Yard, and we’re attempting to identify, if not a motive, then at least a pattern in the deaths, so that we might act to prevent further incidents. I fear there must be a double agent in our ranks, someone who is able to identify targets for the Kaiser. I wish to weed them out.”
“Have you spoken to the Queen?” asked Albert Edward, his brow creased in thought.
“Yes,” said Newbury, wondering precisely how he might broach the subject of the Queen’s reluctance to provide the necessary information. The Prince might have spoken honestly to Newbury about his mother back at Chelsea, but that was his prerogative, as her son and the future monarch. Newbury had to avoid causing insult. “I rather fear … well, I fear that Her Majesty does not trust me enough to grant me access to that list of names.”
Albert Edward threw back his head with a deep, rumbling bellow of laughter. “Ah, it’s like that, is it?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course, she doesn’t trust me much, either. Thankfully there are others at the palace who do.” He nodded, as if weighing his options. His composure returned. “I can get you what you require, Newbury. And if it helps bring an end to the constant threat of war with the Germans, well, then you’ll be doing us all a great service. It’ll take some time,” he said, glancing absently at the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. “Can you return tomorrow evening? I’m sure I can have it for you by then.”
“Of course,” said Newbury. “I’m most grateful to you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Good to have an ally, eh?” said the Prince, jovially. “Well, I feel the same, Newbury. Let’s just say Her Majesty has been a little … confused, of late. She sees enemies where there are none, and doesn’t see the assassins that are already lurking in plain sight.”
“She believes the Secret Service is out to undermine her,” said Newbury.
“Well, she might yet have a point there,” replied the Prince. “But it remains to be seen. I’d tread carefully where the Secret Service is concerned, Newbury. I advise you to let that little drama play itself out without your involvement.”
Newbury wasn’t sure how to respond to this particular revelation. So the Prince, too, had concerns about the legitimacy of the Secret Service. Perhaps there was more to the Queen’s comments than irrational fear, after all? But then, everything Newbury had said to Veronica about Angelchrist was true. He had no reason to doubt the man, and every reason to trust Bainbridge with his life. Surely they wouldn’t be mixed up in something so nefarious.