Jarvis clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his gaze out the window to the forecourt below. “Three years ago, after the death of the Princess Amelia, His Majesty decided to build an elaborate new royal vault at Windsor Castle, beneath the Wolsey Chapel at St. George’s. As originally constructed, the vault could only be accessed from outside the chapel. But the Prince Regent recently decided to install a new entrance in the form of a sloping passage that opens from the quire of St. George’s itself.” He paused to glance over at her. “You know Princess Augusta is gravely ill and unlikely to recover?”
“Yes,” said Hero. Princess Augusta, elder sister to King George III, was both aunt and mother-in-law to the Regent and had taken refuge in England after the death of her husband, the Duke of Brunswick, in battle against Napoléon.
“Because of her imminent death, the workers were urged to proceed quickly. Several days ago, they accidentally broke through a thin brick wall into the vault containing Henry VIII and Jane Seymour. The vault’s general location was known, but over the years its exact placement had been forgotten.” He slipped a delicate gold snuffbox inlaid with a swirl of seed pearls from his pocket and flicked open the lid with his thumbnail. “According to records, the vault should have contained only Henry and his favorite Queen. But in looking through the aperture they’d made, the workmen were surprised to see not two, but three adult-sized coffins.”
“The third being that of Charles I?”
“As it happens, yes.” He lifted a delicate pinch of snuff to one nostril and sniffed. “The Dean of the chapel immediately contacted Carlton House. Given the importance of the find, I personally made the journey out to Windsor to inspect the discovery on behalf of the Prince.”
“And?”
“Henry VIII’s coffin is in decidedly poor condition. You can see where a crude opening had at some point been cut in the wall of the vault immediately above it and then filled in. Frankly, I suspect the opening was made by the men who lowered the third coffin into the vault, and they accidentally dropped it on Henry. Jane Seymour, however, was off to one side and intact.”
“And the third coffin?”
“The third coffin was still covered by its dusty black velvet pall, which, upon being raised, revealed a plain lead coffin encircled by a strap inscribed ‘King Charles, 1648.’” He nodded to the metal scroll. “Like this.”
“You had the coffin opened?”
“Not at all. Indeed, the Dean and Canons have strict instructions to guard the site well. The Prince is anxious to personally hold a formal examination of the contents of the third coffin as soon as the construction of the passage is complete—and Princess Augusta is dead and buried, of course.”
“Why? I mean, why examine the remains of Charles but not the others?”
Jarvis tucked the snuffbox into his pocket. “I’m afraid His Highness has long maintained a rather morbid fascination with the Stuarts. He says he wishes to answer some historical questions, but I suspect he’s mainly driven by a desire to look upon the mortal remains of a British royal so unpopular as to lose his head at the hands of his subjects.” His gaze returned to the metal fragment. “If this strap has indeed come from Charles’s coffin, the Regent will not be pleased to learn that someone has interfered with the burial before he’s had the chance to do so himself.”
“Do you think there could be political implications to this?” asked Hero.
“Anything involving the Stuarts is always cause for concern—as is the relationship between Stanley Preston and the Home Secretary.” He watched her fold the section of lead back into its brown paper wrapping, then said, “I don’t like your involvement in this, Hero.”
She looked over at him. “If it were up to you, I would neither write about the situation of London’s poor nor investigate murders—or even nurse my own newborn son. Pray tell, how would you have me pass my days?”
“Shopping in Bond Street. Embarking on an endless round of morning calls. Reading the latest lurid romance . . . Surely you know better than I how women of your station spend their time.”
She smiled. “I enjoy shopping and reading.”
“Then you should do more of it.”
“I’m not like that,” she said, suddenly serious.
His lips flattened into a tight line. “You should have been born a boy.”
“I like being a woman just fine.” She kissed his cheek, then carefully readjusted the tilt of her hat. “Will you be sending someone out to Windsor?”
He declined to answer her question.
But later, as she was leaving Carlton House, she saw one of the tall former guardsmen in Jarvis’s employ crossing the courtyard at a run.
Chapter 10