God Save the Queen

CHAPTER 4

DEATH IN THE FAMILYAt three o’clock the following afternoon, I stumbled out of bed, threw a dressing gown over my knickers and tank-top, and staggered barefoot downstairs to the kitchen, where I found Avery and Val at the table, talking in low voices over coffee and a box of doughnuts.

They shut up when I walked in, both turning their gaze towards me.

“You know, I can tell when you’re talking about me,” I growled at them, as I headed for the cafetière on the stove top. I was in fine form today. I hadn’t slept well. I kept thinking of Dede, and the way Vex MacLaughlin had looked at me.

What the hell had I done to attract his notice, other than help a couple of his halvies? He had no way of knowing that I knew about Fee’s criminal extracurricular activities. “We weren’t talking about you,” Avery replied unnecessarily. I grunted in response, breathing in the scent of hot, fresh coffee as I poured myself a large mugful. I dumped in milk and sugar until I had a hot, sweet, beige confection and took a satisfying slurp.

Fang me, it was good. I smiled in pleasure, and joined them at the table, feeling a little more awake – and decidedly more chipper. I plucked a chocolate-glazed doughnut out of the box and took a big bite. Bliss!

Avery watched me as though I were some kind of bug. “Christ, Xandra, how can you smile when Dede is dead? Have you no heart?”

I hit her before I even realised I’d moved – backhanded her across the face so fast my hand was a blur. A loud crack filled the air, and her head whipped around. A bright red splotch blossomed on her otherwise pale cheek. “F*cking bitch!” she snarled, but she didn’t retaliate physically.

“F*ck you,” I shot back, itching to hit her – anyone – again. The back of my hand stung. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but violence thrummed in my veins. “Don’t you talk to me like I don’t care about Dede. I’m the one who was with her when she lost the baby, remember? I’m the one who took care of her after. I’m the one she called whenever she was in trouble, you cow.”

Avery glared at me. “She didn’t call you this time, did she?”

That struck the right nerve. Val spoke but I didn’t hear him. I was out of my chair in a flash, diving across to knock my sister out of hers as well. We fell to the tiles like a couple of spitting and snarling cats, only instead of using my claws I used my fists.

It didn’t last long – we both managed to land a couple of good blows before Val pulled us apart.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “Both of you!”

I climbed to my feet with the taste of blood in my mouth, satisfied to see crimson trickle from Avery’s perfect nose. Her lip was going to get fat too. I sat down at the table once more and went back to my doughnut and coffee as though nothing had happened. My hands didn’t even tremble as I popped the lids off the bottles containing my supplements. I palmed them into my mouth and swallowed them with coffee.

“What the bloody hell’s wrong with you?” Val demanded, as he took the seat across from me.

I looked at him. “I don’t have a heart,” I replied drily, before taking another bite of doughnut.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Avery, sit down.”

She did as she was told – generally we always did what Val said. He was the eldest, after all.

“Apologise,” he commanded. “Both of you.

Avery and I looked at each other. “Are you sorry?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, dabbing at her bleeding nose with a nap kin.

I shook my head. “Neither am I. You don’t tell me how I choose to mourn or not mourn our sister, got it?”

To my surprise she nodded. “Got it.”

And that was that. It was the way it had always been with me and Avery. The matrons at the Academy always said we were more like brothers than sisters in that regard. We’d get mad at each other, have a knockdown and then all was right with the world once more.

Val stared at us – looking back and forth like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re both mental,” he admonished. “Completely hatters.”

I shrugged and snatched another doughnut from the box – custard this time. De-lish. I wanted to eat until I puked, but that was pretty much an impossibility. So I’d have to settle for just eating.

I chugged more coffee. “What were the two of you talking about when I came in? Other than me, of course.”

“Of course.” He pulled a face, but not before I saw how tired and pale he was. I really should be more careful with the two of them. They thought Dede was dead, and as much as I wanted to curse them for being so stupid and easily fooled, I had to remember that they truly believed we’d lost a member of our family. They were mourning her, while I believed that rumours of her demise had been, to use a well-known phrase, greatly exaggerated.

“Bedlam released Dede’s body,” Avery informed me, her voice cracking, tossing aside her ruined napkin. Her nose had already stopped bleeding. “The funeral’s tonight.”

My spine snapped rigid. “Tonight? Isn’t that a little soon?”

Val picked at the doughnut on the napkin in front of him. “We could hardly have a viewing, could we?”

I glared at him. “It’s still soon.” A funeral made it final. I had no time to prove the corpse wasn’t Dede.

“Take it up with Father. He was the one who insisted she be interred in the family crypt right away. I think he reckoned if we took care of it quickly enough the press wouldn’t be so hard on us.”

Ah, the press. I’d forgotten about them. They’d already got hold of the story – nothing stayed private for long, not with the way gossip spread across this city.

As if reading my thoughts, Avery set a copy of the Sun in front of me. There, on the front page, below the crease, was an old photo of Dede with the caption “VARDAN DAUGHTER’S SUICIDE”. The story went on to inform readers that a “source” said that the body was in such an “alarming” condition that DNA and dental records had to be used to confirm that it was in fact Drusilla Vardan.

Obviously they hadn’t compared dental records or they would have known it wasn’t Dede.

“Christ,” I muttered. How did they find out these things so soon? Had someone at Bedlam called them as soon as Val gave a positive ID? I could only imagine what the headlines would scream when it was revealed that Dede was really alive.

When they started talking about her “alleged” affair with Lord Ainsley, I tossed the paper aside. Alleged my arse. The bastard had told her he loved her, pretended that he was going to leave his wife for her, and my sister, bless her na?ve little heart, had fallen for it. She’d gotten pregnant, and he tossed her aside when the baby died shortly after its birth. Went crawling back to his wife, the weasel.

“You’re coming with us, right?” Val looked me dead in the eye. “Tonight, to the service.”

I didn’t want to, but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make us think my sister was dead – enough trouble that even though I’d seen proof to the contrary with my own eyes, I still had moments where I wanted to cry. That kind of effort wasn’t done for nothing, and I didn’t want to give the people responsible any reason to doubt their ruse had worked.

“Of course.” I added a little indignation to sell it.

From there the conversation turned maudlin. It started with Avery tearfully remarking that she missed Dede and dissolved from there until we were all weeping and reminiscing about things the four of us had experienced, and trading favourite Dede stories. All of them were from before the baby, back when she’d been happy and silly.

It broke my heart. How could I have been so blind to what Val and Avery had seen? No wonder they believed that body was Dede’s – they’d seen how depressed she’d been these past three and a half years. What they hadn’t seen was the one thing that had blinded me to everything else – Dede determined to make herself whole again. And that, I reminded myself, was why I knew she could never have done something like setting herself on fire.

Or perhaps I was the delusional one, wanting so desperately for her to be alive. Because if Dede was alive then I wouldn’t have failed her.

That night I dressed in full mourning – head-to-toe black, complete with a long black mandarin-style frock coat that flared around my boots as I walked. My hair was up in a simple twist secured with an ebony stick. I put on just enough make-up so I didn’t look washed out.

Avery’s girlfriend Emma – a gorgeous halvie with café au lait skin and white hair – had arrived a few hours earlier and the two of them emerged from her room scant minutes before Val arrived, both dressed in a more formal mourning style of long black skirts, fitted black jackets and wide, veiled hats. My brother wore a long coat like mine with a jasmine bloom pinned to the lapel – a lovely tribute to Dede.

We couldn’t take his Triumph to the service as it was a two-seater, so I rang for a motor carriage and driver – a perk of being a Royal Guard was having on-call transportation.

The driver, a middle-aged halvie of about five and seventy, took one look of the four of us – looking like a murder of crows – and his kind face fell. He took off his hat to reveal thinning blue hair. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a thick northern accent that sounded strange coming out of his mouth.

Val sat up front with the driver. I handed him a black handkerchief over the seat as we pulled away from the house. I gave one to Avery as well. That neither of them had thought to bring their own was no surprise to me – they never thought of these things, especially Avery, the one who would need it most of all. I offered a handkerchief to Emma as well, but she, smart girl, already had one. She smiled at me over Avery’s bowed head and I smiled back, knowing she probably had more than one handkerchief in that bag of hers. She would take care of Avery. The only one I need concern myself with was Val.

There was a line of cars outside St Albert’s Cathedral – a beautiful stone cathedral built in memory of the half-bloods who died in the Great Insurrection. Many of them were buried in nearby Kensal Green cemetery, and that was where the Vardan crypt was.

And where an impostor would be interred under my sister’s name.

I had to let go of these thoughts – at least for the remainder of the evening. If I didn’t look sufficiently like the grieving sister, there would be talk, and I couldn’t afford that, nor did I want to embarrass my family by bringing more scandal upon us.

My father arrived shortly after we did, driven by his assistant in a stately lacquered carriage pulled by four glossy black horses. As I watched him approach, I had the uncharitable thought that he should have driven all of us here. We should have arrived as a unit. As a family. But Her Grace wouldn’t like that. She despised my father’s half-blood children. I reckoned she’d have liked us more if she’d managed to produce a healthy, fully plagued child of her own.

Father looked terrible – tired and anguished. I didn’t enjoy his pain, but I was glad to know that it was for Dede. She’d always believed he didn’t love her as much as he loved the rest of us. I believed he loved all of us as much as a man could love children he rarely saw and had never lived with.

He greeted the three of us with individual embraces, an oddly personal display for him. When he left me to embrace Avery, I caught sight of another arrival being admitted to the family room – Church. I left my father’s side and went to greet him. He took me into his arms and held me so tight that I could have lifted my feet off the floor and not budge.

“Thank you for coming,” I whispered hoarsely. Having him there made this charade feel so incredibly real.

“My dear girl, I will always be exactly where you need me to be.” He kissed my temple. “Now, no weeping. Save that for when no one can see you.”

I nodded, blinking away the tears his kindness had wrung out of me. He released me with a smile that gave me the strength I needed to get through the evening.

The attendant told us it was time, and Father led the way into the main body of the cathedral, where the service was to be held. Since we were family, we were the last to go in, and the entire chamber rose to its feet when the Duke of Vardan entered. It would be in all the papers tomorrow, how he looked, how we looked – and that Her Grace had not attended. They would bring up the child she had lost years ago as well, no doubt, just to add extra titillation to the story.

And they would mention that I walked in on Churchill’s arm.

We sat in the first pew; directly in front of us was the coffin – rosewood with pewter accents. Avery dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief I’d given her. Val stared at his hands, and Father spoke softly to Dede’s mother, Lecia. Rather than see the anguish in the poor woman’s expression, I stared at that highly polished box and wished I at least knew the name of the person in it. Church took my hand, and I held tight to it. He was reason in a sea of insanity.

Shortly, the vicar came in and began to speak. He went on and on about how good Dede had been and how her soul was now at peace – all the right things. By the time a lovely soprano began to sing “Amazing Grace”, Avery was sobbing openly on Emma’s shoulder, and I was ready to punch someone.

I was going to kill whoever was responsible for putting my family through this pain.

Finally it was over, and the coffin was carried out by members of the Peerage Protectorate – Dede’s colleagues. Family followed. Avery and Emma walked behind, and Church escorted Lecia, the tiny little woman hanging on to his arm as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. Val and I flanked Father so he wouldn’t be alone when the flash bulbs went off outside. They were blinding in the darkening night – especially to our sensitive eyes. The press – human – was here in droves. So much for the theory that we’d avoid gossip by having the burial quickly. A quick funeral was like a quick wedding – it had to be a cover-up for something.

“Your Grace, is it true that Drusilla vowed to kill Lord Ainsley?”

“What about allegations that your daughter was a transsexual?”

“What would you say to Drusilla if she could hear you?”

“Do you feel the asylum was negligent? Are you going to sue?”

We pushed through the crowd. I wanted nothing more than to bare my fangs – which had extended in my anger – and hiss at the pushy humans. The only thing that kept me from doing so was that it would end up on the cover of all of tomorrow’s papers.

Instead, we escorted Father to his carriage as quickly as possible.

“Get in,” he commanded, sliding across the seat. “I refuse to give those hounds any more of my blood today.”

I slid in next to him along with Val. Avery, Lecia and Emma sat across from us. Church sat up front. Father’s assistant shut the door just as a reporter tried to get a shot up Avery’s skirt, preventing me from grabbing the camera and smashing it over the bastard’s head.

The carriage pulled away, hooves tempered by vulcanised discs. It was slow going, but at least we were going. My father pressed a glass of wine into one of my hands. “Drink this. You look positively feral.”

That was the second time I’d been told that by a family member. I was beginning to get a complex. But then he patted the top of my thigh. “So fiercely loyal to those you love.”

By the time we reached the cemetery I was almost myself again. This quick temper wasn’t me, nor was this desire for violence. But these weren’t normal circumstances, so I made a mental note to get a better hold on myself and let it go for now.

The Vardan crypt was only one of the many dedicated to the peerage. There hadn’t been anyone entombed here in almost seventy years – those lost in the Great Insurrection, and that long-dead step-sibling before that.

One day they would bring my body here – not a thought I wanted to entertain. My only hope was that I lived a long life, but not so long that I was ancient and useless, relegated to squiring people around like the halvie who brought us to the cathedral.

Only family came this far – and Church, of course. Security at the gate would make certain no reporters got through. This was supposed to be our private time, when each member of the family could go into the crypt and have a moment alone over the coffin.

Except for me, of course. I stood outside and looked around – at anything but my grieving family. That was when I caught sight of a strangely familiar head of blue hair behind another crypt a short distance away. Fee? What was she doing here? Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a coincidence that I had saved her from the betties a short distance from where I lived, or that the birth records she stole from the hospital would have included mine. And now here she was at my sister’s funeral – uninvited – watching us.

Or maybe just watching me.

Call me paranoid, but there was something dodgy about all of it.

“Are you all right?” Church asked me, glancing in Fee’s direction. Of course, she ducked out of sight before he could spy her.

“I’m fine,” I replied, not quite meeting his gaze. “Just thinking.”

He gave my shoulders a squeeze, and I fought the urge to lean into him as Vardan approached.

“Do you want to go in, Alexandra?” my father asked. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear.

“No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Dede and I always said what we needed to say to each other.” It wasn’t a lie so I didn’t feel guilty about it.

He nodded absently. I’m not even certain he heard me.

Avery and Emma came out of the crypt a little while later, and my father gave permission to close the tomb up once more. He hadn’t gone in either. Why not? I knew my reason – because that wasn’t Dede in there – but what was his?

I wondered about this as the six of us walked out to the gate. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder to check on Fee. I should have told Val, so he could arrest her, but I kept quiet. There was a mystery here, and squealing on Fee would only hand it over to someone else to solve. I was going to suss out this intrigue.

A few photographers and reporters waited by Vardan’s carriage, having followed us from the service. Flashes went off, questions were yelled at us over the top of one another. I hesitated just inside the gate. Val glanced at me. Poor thing looked a wreck.

“Coming, Xandy? Father’s going to take us home.”

I shook my head. “I’m not ready to leave just yet. You and Avery go on without me.”

He ran his hand up and down my arm. “I understand. You have your rotary?” At my nod he said, “Ring me if you need anything. See you tomorrow?”

Another nod. We hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

Church embraced me as well. When he asked if I wanted company, I thanked him and told him that I really just needed a little time alone. I don’t think he wanted to give me that, didn’t want me to be by myself, but he respected me enough to do just that. He waved at me through the carriage window as it pulled away.

I returned to the cemetery, ignoring the shrinking number of reporters. It was darker here than out there on the street, and while I could see everything perfectly, the vultures couldn’t see me. I don’t think they even noticed I wasn’t with the others; it was the Duke they were interested in.

I waited a few moments, until my family and the reporters were gone, before slowly making my way back to the Vardan crypt. I kept low, using the elaborate monuments and headstones as cover as I crept silently through the grass. It was slow going – I had to be quieter than usual, and stay downwind.

Crouched behind a stone sarcophagus, I peeked around the worn edge. From there I had a dead-on view of my family’s final resting place. I wasn’t surprised to see the door to the tomb was open again. I had a pretty good idea who was inside.

What the f*ck was that blue-haired thief up to? Anger – no, aggression – bubbled inside me. I wanted to march in there and tear her head off, protect what was mine. But that would be foolish, and I wasn’t that stupid.

I didn’t see anyone else lurking about, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I moved fast, ducking behind another stone as I manoeuvred closer to the tomb. I approached from the side so that whoever was inside wouldn’t see me coming, pausing long enough to pull the lonsdaelite dagger from the sheath sewn into my coat.

I slipped into the crypt. A lone figure was standing next to the rosewood casket, covered from head to toe in a long hooded cloak. It was Fee, judging from the size. And she was about to lift the coffin lid.

I pounced on her, using my body weight and strength to pin her to the coffin, which shifted on its shelf. She struggled, but I slammed her face into the casket before flipping her over so that she faced me. I pressed the edge of my dagger to her throat and tore her hood off with the other hand.

I was right. It was Fee. The dagger trembled, eager to slice through her skin and give me access to the blood beneath. I was so angry. So hungry.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” I demanded as saliva flooded my tongue.

“Paying my respects,” she replied, glancing down at the blade as blood trickled from her nostrils to her mouth. “Could you put that away?”

I ignored the request. I wanted to lick her upper lip clean. “How do you know my sister? And why did you steal the records from the hospital?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A little pressure and the blade bit ever so slightly into the skin of her throat, drawing a bead of blood. “You tell me or I f*cking end you right here.” It was a lie, of course. I wasn’t going to kill her – not while she had information on Dede. Though I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t take a bite.

“I’m really sorry,” she said with a slight smile.

“For wha—” And that was all I got to say before I was struck by lightning and died.

I woke up a few seconds after my heart started beating again. Sprawled face down on the crypt floor, I was drooling on the dirt. Crypt dust tasted just like I thought it would. At least I hadn’t pissed myself from the jolt. That was something to be bloody thankful for.

I spat out most of the grime coating my teeth and gingerly pushed myself to my feet. My muscles were a little twitchy, but otherwise I was all right.

Brushing the dirt from my clothes, I cursed myself. The bitch had shocked me good. She must have used a professional-grade machine – the kind usually only available to Scotland Yard and a few government agencies. Good shockers were hard to get, for the very reason I had just experienced – they rendered a half-blood useless.

I could only assume I was still alive because she felt she owed me for saving her life. The irony of her debilitating me the same way the betties had her was not lost on me. The next time we did this particular dance I would have to make certain I knew the steps a bit better. She’d got me because I let my guard down. I was so intent on finding answers I forgot to be vigilant.

My dagger was on the floor. I swiped it up and slid it back into my coat. Nice of her, I suppose, not to take my weapon. She couldn’t have known what, or how valuable, it was.

Or, I thought, turning to the coffin, she’d got what she wanted and just wanted to get the hell out of there. Call it a macabre hunch, but I opened the casket. The crispy half-blood was still there, releasing a sweet charcoal smell into the air. But I smelled Fee as well, and when my gaze fell upon the corpse’s hand, I realised what she had been there for – Dede’s ring.

I knew Fee was a thief – Val had the surveillance photos to prove it – but why take a melted ring? She could try fencing it, but pawn shops were reluctant to take items that were obviously aristocratic – trouble tended to find those who bought and sold stolen aristo goods.

I had given Dede that ring for her birthday. I’d wanted her to know that she was a part of the family, even though she often felt left out. She’d cried.

There was a splintering sound as I slammed the casket lid shut. My breathing quickened and my heart began to pound as irrational rage bubbled up inside me. It raced up my spine, brought heat to my neck and cheeks. I felt like I was about to come out of my skin, the flesh over my cheekbones taut and hot.

I wanted that bloody ring back. I didn’t know what Fee’s game was, but I was going to find out.

I ran out of the crypt, causing debris to kick up and twirl in my wake. As I swung the door shut, I sniffed at the night air; I’d always had a very sensitive sense of smell, even for a halvie – another perk of my breeding. As with every sense, when it was extremely keen, you learned how to “tune” it and ignore those things on the periphery. It had taken me years to get so those industrial rubbish bins restaurants used didn’t gag me – or worse, the whiff of sewers. Church used to tease me and tell me I had the senses of a goblin.

I hadn’t taken it as a compliment.

But now, I had no such squeamishness. I sniffed my hands, digging past the dirt and wood and burnt flesh to find Fee’s scent. It was there, as subtle and unique as jasmine amongst wood chips. I chased it to the street, whipping past tombstones so fast my eyes stung. But there, outside the gates, the scent faded, mixing with others – petrol and rubber and steel. She’d been picked up, or had a vehicle waiting.

I sniffed again. The scents were so familiar, trying to sort through them was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle that was all the same colour. When I finally found all the pieces, they’d faded to almost nothing, and I was certain one of them had to be wrong because the person it belonged to had been lost to me for a very long time. But the other … the other wasn’t really dead at all.

Dede.