The Chess Queen Enigma (10 page)

L
urelia didn't fall.

I
never believed it was an imminent possibility; for she merely stood at the balcony, which had a waist-high railing, looking as if she were in shock, but Miss Stoker certainly did. She dashed off like a madwoman, pushing through the crowd and bolting up the moving stairs.

I followed at a slightly more sedate pace, though still very quickly. Unfortunately, our hasty actions garnered the attention of some of the other party-goers, and I heard the low rumble of concerned murmurs.

My insides churned and my palms were sweaty beneath my gloves. I wasn't eager for Miss Adler or Princess Alix to realize we'd lost custody of our charge on the very first night of duty. And from the looks of the younger princess, something unpleasant had befallen her. I just hoped it wasn't anything too awful.

By the time I reached the balcony, I was breathing heavily due to my blasted corset. Evaline had moved Lurelia away from the edge, out of sight of the curious in the ballroom below. It was a lovely space, for the other side of the chamber opened onto a large terrace that overlooked the city. The fresh night air would have been welcome if this weren't such a desperate moment.

The princess sat on an upholstered bench, looking more forlorn and timid than ever. Half of her hair sagged in loose hanks, and she was missing a glove and one of her pearl earbobs. There was even a tear on her overskirt.

“It was awful,” she said over and over again. “So terrible!”

“It's all right. You're safe now,” said my partner. I wasn't at all surprised she didn't have a handkerchief to offer the tearful princess, so I extricated one from my small drawstring bag and thrust it at Lurelia. Honestly, how did Evaline think she would be a successful vampire hunter if she was never prepared for emergencies? She hardly even remembered to bring money for the street-lifts.

“I was so frightened!” Lurelia made good use of my handkerchief with decidedly unprincesslike sounds. “And he . . . he . . . Oh, it was terrible!”

“He who?” I demanded, for clearly Miss Stoker had no concept how to conduct a thorough and efficient interrogation. She merely stood there looking disgusted. Someone had to take control and guide Lurelia into coherence. “What happened? Did someone attack you?”

“Y-yes. Yes. I—I went to wash my face . . . I was feeling rather warm. I didn't really want to dance the last waltz, and so I sent my partner off to find something to drink. But I wanted some air, so I . . .” She buried her face in the handkerchief.

“Yes? What did you do?”

“I went up to . . . up here. Someone . . . Lady Cosgrove-Pitt? Or one of her companions . . . had mentioned to me there was an open terrace on one of the lower roofs, and I thought if I could just breathe some of the night air I would be . . .” She dissolved into tears, hiding her face in trembling hands.

“Your Highness . . .” It was a struggle for me to keep my tone respectful, for this was precisely the sort of emotional breakdown that frayed my nerves. “If you would attempt to focus your thoughts and tell us what happened, Evaline and I will see what's to be done.”

Lurelia lifted her damp face from the scrap of white linen. “It was awful. He was so . . . he was so frightening. He . . . he . . . at least, I
think
it was a he.”

I went cold. “What?”

“I thought it was a man at first. He was dressed in black, and he wore a hat. And gloves. And it was dark and shadowy.” My sharp words seemed to have forced Lurelia to collect her thoughts. “But then, the way he spoke . . . and moved. It couldn't have been a woman, could it? A woman dressed in men's clothing?”

“What did he—or she—look like?” I demanded, feeling as if I'd been plunged into a pool of water. Everything was
slow and murky. I had seen Lady Cosgrove-Pitt just before the final waltz. She had been standing in a corner, conversing with Mr. Oligary and Lady Bentley-Hughes. And she had been the one to tell Lurelia that the terrace was here. Could she have had the time to change her clothing and come up here to accost the princess?

“Forget what he looked like! What did he say? What
happened
?” Evaline's voice was as tense as I felt.

“He . . . she . . . w-wanted me to tell h-him . . . h-her . . . where it was. ‘Where is it? Where is it?' He kept saying it over and over. ‘Where is it?' He had his hands around my throat . . . f-first he shook me by the shoulders, then he put his hands around my neck . . . and he wasn't so very tall. Perhaps he was a woman.”

“What did he want? What was he looking for?”

“He—he wants the chess queen. The Byzantine chess queen.” Lurelia's voice quavered. “He said if I don't give it to him, he'll . . . he'll . . .”

“Do you mean the Theophanine Chess Queen?” I was confused. “How would you know where it is?”

“I don't know!” Lurelia burst into tears. “I told him the letter is missing, and he s-said the letter didn't matter. That he knew I could find it. That that was why I c-came to L-London . . .”

I had to blink several times before I could determine where to begin to untangle this tale. “So a man—who might have been a woman—accosted you here on the terrace and
wanted you to tell him where the Theophanine Chess Queen is. And even though you don't know where it is, not only does he believe you do, he believes you came to London for the express purpose of retrieving it? Is that correct?”

The princess had stilled during my speech, and now she looked up at me with confused gray eyes. “Y-yes. I believe so.”

“Why on earth would he—or she,” I added grimly, “believe you know where it is? The chess queen has been missing for three centuries.”

“Be-c-cause I . . . I . . .” Lurelia swallowed hard. “Because I was the one who r-realized the l-letter was a-about the chess queen. I found it in a trunk of old papers and r-realized what it w-was—a letter from Queen Elizabeth to my ancestor the Duchess of Fedeway. But I d-don't know what it means!”

“So the man threatened you. If you don't tell him where the chess queen is, he'll . . . what did he say he'd do?”

Lurelia bowed her head. “Nothing,” she whispered.

I exchanged an impatient glance with Miss Stoker, and she took the opportunity to speak. “Your Highness . . . Lurelia. We're here to help you. If you're in danger—of anything—tell us so we can help. You must trust us.”

But she just shook her head silently. Before I could press her further, Inspector Grayling burst through the entrance. Hardly sparing either Miss Stoker or me a glance, he rushed to the distraught princess.

“Your Highness, are you hurt?” Because of his excessive height, he found it necessary to crouch next to her in order not to tower over the diminutive girl—something he never had
the consideration to do when speaking with me. The toe of his shiny boot squeaked softly on the marble floor. “What has befallen you?”

“She isn't hurt,” I told him, deciding an interruption with a clear and simple response was better than the halting, timid answer Lurelia would no doubt provide.

Grayling flashed me an exasperated look just as Mr. Oligary, Miss Adler, and Lord Regent Terrence swept into view. Oh
drat
.

“Princess Lurelia! Are you injured? What has happened?” exclaimed Mr. Oligary. He hardly leaned on his walking stick as he limped to the princess's side. “Your Highness, I am terribly sorry for whatever occurred to upset you at my social hall. I shall make certain the captain assigns the very capable Inspector Grayling here to handle the investigation, and he will make any arrests as quickly as possible. Please, allow me to see you to a more comfortable location so you may be . . . er . . . put to rights.”

Miss Adler gave me a cool glance, and I knew at least in her mind, Evaline and I were being held responsible for this event. Double drat!

“Miss Holmes, perhaps you can shed some illumination on the events?” Inspector Grayling sidled up to me. He looked down his long nose as if
I
were the one who'd attacked the princess, clearly taking his assignment seriously.

Before I could formulate a polite response, Miss Adler ushered Lurelia from the terrace, plying her with platitudes and assurances that she would be just fine. They were followed
by the Lord Regent, who appeared to be quite inebriated, if his unsteady footsteps and the stench of spirits wafting from him was any indication.

This left Mr. Oligary, Grayling, Evaline, and myself on the terrace. I had never met the famous businessman, inventor, and philanthropist, and wasn't pleased about making his acquaintance under these circumstances. Aside from that, I felt as if I should assist Miss Adler with Lurelia.

But as it turned out, I didn't have much choice in the matter.

“You're the Holmes girl, then?” Mr. Oligary fixed me with a pair of piercing blue eyes. One of them was magnified slightly by a single-lens spectacle, held in place by a curious brass fitting that curved around his temple and ear. It was very cognog, and I decided if I was ever required to wear spectacles, I would want something of similar design.

I knew Mr. Oligary's age—at least as reported in the papers—was forty, and meeting him in person gave all indication this was true. His attire was the height of fashion, with exquisite tailoring and excellent fabric. His coarse brown hair was just beginning to thread with gray at the temples, and while his face wasn't perfectly handsome, the man had an air about him that my mother would call charisma.

As I took in the details of his person, I observed several nuances that had never been reported in the press: he smoked Joseph & Gargantan cigars, preferred Imported Empress Earl
Grey tea to spirits, had recently changed the blade on his mechanized shaver, and owned a white dog who desperately needed its nails clipped.

“Yes,” I said. “My name is Mina Holmes. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Oligary. I had the pleasure of attending the Grand Opening of the New Vauxhall Gardens several weeks ago, and look forward to visiting again, for I was unable to find the time to ride on your Observation Cogwheel.” I carefully avoided looking at Grayling, who'd fished me out of the river in a most mortifying episode that evening.

“Indeed. And what a shame. The Observation Wheel is my favorite part of the pleasure park,” he said. “Please. Be my guest any time at the Gardens. These will allow you to ride as many attractions and as often as you like.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of triangular brass tokens, which he offered to me and my companions.

We thanked him profusely—especially Grayling, which caused me to wonder just whom he might be planning to take to the Gardens. Then I introduced Miss Stoker.

“Isn't your brother Bram Stoker?” Mr. Oligary said. “The manager of the Lyceum Theater? I've been speaking with him about replacing the current steam engine that powers the lighting system. We have a new model that runs much more quietly. Although I prefer the soft, sibilant hiss of steam—it's so relaxing and comforting, isn't it?—but when one is at the theater, one does wish to hear what is being said
onstage, I suppose.” He smiled benignly at us. “And steam power is much safer and more efficient than electricity. We are very fortunate here in England not to be exposed to the dangers of that terrible invention.” His voice, which until now had been casual and friendly, tightened a trifle.

I dared not look at Grayling, for I was fairly certain his terrifying steamcycle did not, in fact, run on steam, but on something illegal. Such as electrical power.

“The Moseley-Haft Act has made certain of that,” said Grayling in a well-modulated tone. “Keeping Mother England safe from the evils of electricity also enables you to keep your steam and cogwheel factories in business, and therefore a good number of our countrymen and women employed.”

“Precisely.” Mr. Oligary smiled. “I shudder to think what would happen if we legalized that abominable, invisible white-hot power they use in the States.” He gestured absently to his leg using the walking stick. “You may not know this, but I actually considered supporting its widespread induction to England until the event which caused this very injury.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you heard about the incident, which resulted in the death of my business partner, Edgar Bartholomew.”

“It was no mere accident,” Grayling said, glancing at me.

Mr. Oligary shook his head gravely. “Tragic. If only I had arrived in time, perhaps I could have prevented the tragedy.” He looked at Evaline and me, chagrin in his expression. “Pardon me, ladies. Ambrose and I have discussed this
case numerous times, and I apologize for bringing up such a tedious topic in front of you. It's one of the few unsolved crimes on my young friend's docket, and I'm certain he shares the same frustration I do.”

Grayling nodded. “Very well, then. Miss Holmes, shall I find your wrap? It's well past two o'clock and the orchestra and food have long quit. Most of the guests have gone as well.”

I avoided Miss Stoker's sudden look of interest and inclined my head in acquiescence, ignoring the rise of heat in my cheeks. I knew Grayling also wanted to quiz me about the attack on Lurelia. I would be most forthcoming with him, of course . . . as long as
he
apprised
me
of the details regarding the not-so-accidental death of Mr. Oligary's business partner. “Certainly, Inspector Grayling. I have one thing I must do, and then I shall meet you by the door through which we entered. Miss Stoker, may I have a word?”

Evaline grinned broadly as we left Mr. Oligary and Grayling on the terrace. “You didn't tell me the inspector was your escort this evening. He certainly looks well put-out in his tailcoat and gloves.”

“Oh, Evaline, do hush about that.” My cheeks were flaming. “I want to visit the ladies' retiring room one last time to see if there is any trace of that face powder. If the Ankh was here this evening, there is always the chance she made use of the chamber.”