Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [133]
Vespasia considered for only a moment. “An excellent idea,” she agreed. “But we should get you a plainer gown, and an apron. A good white one, without ornament, should serve for either calling. I think Victor’s nurse would be better. The staff will be very familiar with lady’s maids; nurses they might know less. Do you agree, Victor?”
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes. “Of course. We will arrange it all as soon as we arrive at the station.”
“You think we are late already, don’t you?” Charlotte said to him.
He made no pretense. “Yes. If I were they, I would have acted by now.”
An hour and a half later they approached the spacious, comfortable house in which Queen Victoria had chosen to spend so many years of her life, particularly since the death of Prince Albert. Osborne seemed to offer her a comfort she found nowhere else in the more magnificent castles and palaces that were also hers.
The house looked totally at peace in the fitful spring sun. Most of the trees were in leaf, in a clean, almost gleaming translucency. The grass was vivid green. There was blossom on the blackthorn, and the hawthorn was in heavy bud.
Osborne was set in the gently rolling parkland that one would expect of any family mansion of the extremely wealthy. Much of the land was wooded, but there were also wide, well-kept sweeps of grass that gave it a feeling of great space and light. The house had been designed by Prince Albert himself, who had clearly much admired the opulent elegance of the Italian villas. It had two magnificent square towers, which were flat-topped and had tall windows on all sides. The main building copied the same squared lines, and the sunlight seemed to reflect on glass in every aspect. One could only imagine the beauty of the inside.
Their carriage pulled up and they alighted, thanking the driver and paying him.
“You’ll be wanting me to wait,” the cabbie said with a nod. “You can look, but that’s all. Her Majesty’s in residence. You don’t get no closer than this.”
Vespasia paid him generously. “No thank you. You may leave us.”
He shrugged and obeyed, turning his vehicle around and muttering to the horse about tourists with no sense.
“There is nothing for us to wait for either,” Narraway said ruefully. “I can’t tell anything from the outside, can you? It all looks just as I imagine it should. There’s even a gardener at work over there.” He did not point but inclined his head.
Charlotte glanced in the direction he indicated and saw a man bent over a hoe, his attention apparently on the ground. The scene looked rural and pleasantly domestic. Some of her anxiety eased. Perhaps they had been more frightened than necessary. They were in time. Now they must avoid looking foolish, not only for the sake of pride, but so that when they gave the warning the royal household staff would take them seriously. Anyway, it would not be long before Pitt would send reinforcements who were trained for just this sort of duty, and the danger would be past.
Unless, of course, they were mistaken, and the blow would strike somewhere else. Was this yet another brilliant diversion? Narraway forced himself to smile in the sunlight. “I feel a trifle ridiculous carrying this case now.”
“Hold on to it as if it were highly valuable to you,” Vespasia said very quietly. “You will need it. That man is no more a gardener than you are. He doesn’t know a weed from a flower. Don’t look at him, or he will become alarmed. Doctors called out to the queen are not concerned with men hoeing the heads off petunias.”
Charlotte felt the sun burn in her eyes. The huge house in front of them seemed to blur and go fuzzy in her vision. Ahead of her, Vespasia’s back was ruler-straight. Her head with its fashionable hat was as high and level as if she were sailing into a garden party as an honored guest.
They were met at the door by a butler whose white hair was scraped