Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [88]
‘But women do die in childbirth, even healthy ones,’ I said.
‘So they do. But some years later rumours started that she and her baby had both been poisoned just after the birth.’
‘Why would anybody do such a terrible thing?’
‘She was Queen Caroline’s daughter. In some people’s opinion, Caroline was well nigh a lunatic, certainly an adulteress. Certain distinguished persons at court were said to be determined that neither her daughter nor her grandson should ever come to the throne.’
‘But to kill a baby! It’s like something from the Middle Ages.’
‘Royalty is something from the Middle Ages.’
‘Did many people believe it?’
‘It was a persistent rumour, helped by another unfortunate fact.’
‘What?’
‘A few months after Charlotte and her baby son died, the gentleman who’d had charge of the birth, her accoucheur, shot himself.’
‘In remorse for killing her?’
‘No, there was no suggestion of that, even in the rumours. But he was an honourable man and, so it’s said, blamed himself for not foreseeing the plot and preventing their deaths.’
‘Daniel, do you believe this?’
‘No. I believe their deaths were sheer misfortune. But it seems some people, including Sir Herbert Mandeville, are determined to revive the rumour – with one essential difference.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Child, you’ve come so far. Can you not see it for yourself?’
I didn’t want to think. I’d thought enough and every time it seemed to have made things worse. We sat for a long while in silence. The day’s warmth had faded from the brick wall behind us and Daniel must have been cold in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, but he gave no sign of it.
‘Well, Liberty?’
‘The baby didn’t die after all. Charlotte died, but her baby didn’t.’
‘And was spirited away by Charlotte’s friends and brought up safely on the Continent, until the time came to claim what was rightfully his. Yes?’
‘No!’
‘I agree with you. It’s a fairy tale, a horrible, warped fairy tale. And yet it’s what Sir Herbert and Trumper and all the other greedy fools think they can get the country to believe. I’m sorry, Liberty. I’m ranting. But their idiocy has killed your father and could do so much other damage.’
He was trembling now, from anger not cold.
‘But why are they doing it?’ I said.
‘Why do men do most things? Money and power. Sir Herbert and his like have been running the country since the Conqueror. Now they’re beginning to see some of their power stripped away, and it maddens them. When they knew the poor buffoon William was dying and there’d be a mere child on the throne – a girl child at that – they decided to take their chance. Put in another king, one beholden to them, and no more nonsense about reform.’
‘But even if he were Princess Charlotte’s son, why should they suppose people would support him rather than little Vicky? He is hardly Bonnie Prince Charlie, is he?’
Daniel laughed bitterly.
‘So-called Bonnie Prince Charlie was a fat, red-faced, drink-sodden wreck, yet men died for him fewer than a hundred years ago.’
‘And my father died because of Mr Brighton?’
‘Yes. I can’t see any other explanation. He must have threatened their plans in some way.’
‘But how could he? You said it was an open secret in Paris in any case.’
‘As a joke, yes.’
‘But he thought it was all a joke too. He said so in his letter. And my father wasn’t important, not in that way. He couldn’t have made any difference.’
‘It puzzles me, I admit. But he must have known something, otherwise why should they have tried to kidnap you?’
‘It was a woman they wanted to know about. Daniel, do please think. There must have been a woman somewhere, those last days in Paris.’
He shook his head.
‘I can’t remember him speaking to a woman at all, except the maids at the hotel. And …’
He hesitated.
‘There’s still something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’ I said.
‘No. Nothing that matters.’
‘How do you know? Anything might matter.’
‘Very well. There was a wine shop on the corner of the street near our hotel. I happened to be walking past and I’m nearly sure