Dame Eliska drummed against the table with her stylus. "It's hard to say. I can have my staff conduct some discreet opinion polls."
"Good idea," Caitrin said. "On such a personal issue, I would prefer to present Elizabeth with more than our own conjectures."
Nods rippled around the table.
Paderweski scribbled a note, then said, "If we could take a few minutes for a distasteful subject before we adjourn, I would like to discuss protocol and arrangements for the funeral. It's been almost twenty-six T-years since the Kingdom dealt with a monarch's funeral. We're going to need to politely brief many of those who will be attending."
"I," said Queen Angelique, "have attended at least one. If I might beg to be excused?"
She pushed her chair back from the table and unshed tears glittered in her dark eyes.
"Your Majesty," Wundt said promptly, rising as well.
As one, the group rose, and Caitrin Winton-Henke looked after the retreating widow, remembering the society gossip nickname from many years before.
"Poor little beggar maid," she whispered.
In another conference room, in another part of the same city, another very exclusive council was meeting. As with the council in Mount Royal Palace, several of the members would be recognized as public figures; unlike the royal council, it was the most heartfelt wish of these councilors that their meeting never become a matter of record.
Willis Kemeny, Ninth Earl of Howell, was perhaps the most nervous of the lot. A husky man whose chocolate brown skin suggested a crossover with the House of Winton some time in the past, he was a highly placed member of the Crown Loyalist party. His name was one of those bruited about as a possible successor when old LeBrun retired as Party head.
If pushed, trim, fashionable Lady Paula Gwinner, Baroness Gwinner of Stallman, would call herself a Liberal, yet a perusal of her voting record would reveal expedience rather than allegiance to a particular political philosophy. The youngest person present—a mere twenty-eight T-years—she defended her erratic votes as a reflection of her zeal in studying each issue. Most critics when caught beneath the glare of her golden-brown eyes chose to agree rather than argue.
Neither Marvin Seltman nor Jean Marrou were members of the House of Lords, but they each had held seats in the Commons for many terms. Their attention to the issues that would influence their constituents had made them popular and fairly secure. Marrou was even developing a following outside of her own district.
The last member of the group, Major Padraic Dover, was the only one who did not hold a seat in Parliament, yet in many ways he was the one most privy to the inner workings of the Palace. A native of Gryphon, he served in the Bordeaux Battalion of the King's Own Regiment. For the last eight years, he'd served as a liasion between the regiment and the PGS.
It was Dover who raised his wine glass in an ironic toast.
"The King is dead! Long live the Queen." His voice dropped in tones equal parts menace and triumph. "Our Queen."
The fierce emotion in his voice could not escape his allies. Earl Howell frowned slightly.
"Elizabeth is not yet `ours,' " he reprimanded primly. "True, King Roger has been dispensed with, but we have yet to complete the maneuvers that will enable us to adequately influence the young Queen."
Marvin Seltman, short, dour, ambitious, and embittered by the status quo, nodded agreement.
"But with the King dead," he said, "the field is much more open. Are those of you in the Lords ready to deal with the issue of the Regency?"
Howell and Gwinner nodded.
"We've instigated a whispering campaign in the Commons," Seltman continued. "It's difficult. Our house has always supported the monarchy strongly, but we're not really looking to undermine the monarchy—simply to suggest that a Regent who is too close kin to Queen Elizabeth won't be in a position to objectively direct her actions."
"Good," Howell said. "I've been doing the same in the Lords. The Crown Loyalist's unstinting support of the monarchy stands me in good stead there. After the special session tomorrow, I'll have a better idea of what's being planned."
"Cromarty," Padraic Dover added, "is at Mount Royal today. I doubt that the visit is purely social."
"Certainly not," Howell sniffed. "Cromarty's Centrists may have been effective toadies to His Late Majesty, but he wasn't of their social circle."
"Duchess Winton-Henke is also at Mount Royal," Dover said. "Her husband and children are due this evening."
"Winton-Henke is a likely candidate for Regent," Howell said. "If you should hear anything that can be used to undermine her . . ."
"Of course I'll pass it on," Dover said. "However, I'm more interested in learning what you're doing regarding Justin Zyrr."
"We're doing everything in our power to delay the wedding," Jean Marrou spoke for the first time.
She was a naturally quiet woman, blind from birth. Her optical nerves would not respond to regeneration therapy simply because there had never been anything to regenerate. The reason for her blindness was uncertain, but she believed, as her parents had, that her mother's exposure to a strain of Artemesian measles brought in by a Solarian League trading ship had caused the damage.
Although the Star Kingdom had long traded actively with other systems, Jean Marrou's upbringing had made her fiercely isolationist. King Roger's policies of trade and expansion made certain—as far as she could tell—that quarantine procedures would be inadequate and that other innocents would be exposed to diseases like that which had ruined her eyes.
Lovely, fair, and terrifyingly intelligent, she had responded to Marvin Seltman's gentle probes with a ferocity that had surprised him. Only her iron self-control made certain that she would not expose the plot in one of the rare evangelical fits that broke her normal composure.
What Seltman did not know, what would have terrified him if he had, was that among the equipment she habitually carried was a small computer with a visual scanner. This fed her a steady stream of information on who was present at a given gathering. It also indicated small details like who was in converse with whom. Unknowns were flagged and filed as such. Routinely, she analyzed this data and drew the conclusions that had made her a brilliant political strategist.
Marrou continued, "However, whether we delay the wedding or not will have no effect on Zyrr's position unless you can follow through with your promise to discredit him in Elizabeth's judgement. You'll also need to bring yourself to her attention in a positive fashion."
Dover nodded sharply. "I know all that. I've also known Beth since she was a girl. I'm certain I can win her over. It's just a matter of getting that interloper Zyrr out of the way."
"And then," Seltman said, spinning his wineglass between his fingers, "with one of us as Regent and another as the Queen's spouse, we'll be in the perfect position to steer the monarchy to our own ends!"
After the meeting adjourned, Marvin Seltman and Paula Gwinner departed in the same vehicle. The other members of the cabal had assumed they were having an affair—a belief they encouraged through small gestures and occasional indiscreet comments. The real reason for their closeness was coolly political.
"Your stocks have just paid a dividend," Seltman said, passing Gwinner a small portfolio.
She opened it and smiled at what it contained. Paula Gwinner had been born to a title, but the title had not come with much in the way of property. That hadn't mattered to her when she was small, but she still recalled the smarting shame she'd felt as an adolescent when she first realized that some of their social peers sniggered at her father's shabby evening clothes or her mother's increasingly out-of-fashion formal wear.