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The queen allowed her husband to lead her away, and as Palmerston started back the way he’d come, Will made to intercept him. He moved casually but with purpose, calling out an innocuous greeting. The Foreign Secretary slowed, and Will caught up with him, keeping apace. Palmerston was a tall man with bold features and somewhat wild hair. He’d been a favorite of the ladies before—and some said after—his marriage.
“Any progress on your part?” Palmerston asked as they walked.
Will didn’t report to the Foreign Secretary, not any longer. He reported solely to Baron, but he didn’t see the harm in answering.
“Not yet. I like to think I’m making progress. You? I gather that exchange was not to tell Her Majesty that the King of Denmark sent her a gift.”
“Not at all.” Palmerston glanced behind him. Will, seeing the need for secrecy, led the Foreign Secretary to a shaded section of the gardens, far from the others. They could not be approached here without the interloper being seen.
“Go on.”
“I planned to send word to Baron after I informed Her Majesty, but it will be faster to tell you myself. The police found the man who shot at the queen.”
Will caught his breath and went still. “Where is he now?”
“Hell, most likely.” At Will’s look, he went on. “They botched it, and the man was able to jump out of a window before they could take him into custody. He’s dead.”
“For Christ’s sake. We needed to question him.”
“Yes. Trust me, I had some scathing words for the head of the police, but what’s done is done.”
“Who was he?”
“His name was Liam O’Sullivan.”
“Irish.”
The secretary nodded. “As we suspected. The police searched his room and found several incriminating documents.”
“I need to see them.”
“Of course. For the time being, I will summarize. He had clippings from the papers about the queen, which is nothing anyone in the public can’t access, but they found something else.”
Will waited, knowing the Foreign Secretary had a bent for the dramatic. He gave the secretary his pregnant pause.
“A palace menu, such as the chef might prepare for approval from Her Majesty. And if what my men tell me is correct, it is initialed by the queen herself.”
“I hate to be wrong, but in this case, I might not have minded,” Will said.
“Yes.” Palmerston’s blue eyes looked out over the gardens, toward Lady Averley. “It seems we have a traitor inside the palace.”
“Any reason to believe it’s not she?” Will asked, knowing Palmerston still studied Lady Averley.
“No. But we know the dead Irishman was the one who attempted to assassinate Her Majesty. He was identified by more than one person in the park that day. We would have had him sooner, but he was very good at hiding.”
“He most likely had help.”
“We’re looking into that, yes. I’d be obliged if you would speak to your fellow agents who have some knowledge of the various factions of the Irish separatists. It’s quite probable he belonged to one, and they have been hiding him.”
“I will.”
“As to our blond lady, we have no evidence that she is involved, but the fact remains that O’Sullivan knew to be at thepark that afternoon with his pistol. He was in place, and but for the grace of God, would have shot the queen. That excursion was unplanned and, from all accounts, last minute. And no one disputes it was initiated by Lady Averley.”
Will did not look toward the ladies-in-waiting. Already he was certain this conversation looked far too serious for a man in his role. “When can I see the papers found with the assassin?”
“Tomorrow night after dinner?” the secretary suggested. “I’ll have had time to look at them by then. Come to my offices in Whitehall.”
“I shall see you then.” Will started away and then looked back over his shoulder. “Do you want to inform Baron or shall I?”
