Free Royal Flush by Rhys Bowen

steward to pay my bill.
    “Already taken care of, your ladyship,” the steward said.
    I looked around the car, a little flustered over who might have been treating me to lunch. It certainly wasn’t Mr. Beverley. He was counting out his money onto the tablecloth. Then I decided that perhaps Sir William might have arranged this, trying to soften the blow of my having to leave London in disgrace, I suppose.
    I rose and nodded to Mr. Beverley, who also staggered to his feet. “My lady, I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to make your acquaintance,” he said. “And I do hope that this will be the first of many meetings. Who knows, perhaps you will be free to take tea with me one day while I am at the inn. There is a delightful little teahouse nearby. The Copper Kettle. Do you know it?”
    “I usually take tea with the family when I am home,” I said, “but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other at some stage, if you are planning to stay in Scotland long. Maybe at one of the shoots?”
    At this he turned pale. “Oh, deary me, no. I do not relish killing things, Lady Georgiana. Such a barbaric custom.”
    I almost reminded him that he had tucked into the pheasant with obvious relish and that somebody had had to kill it at some stage, but I was more anxious to make an exit while I could.
    “Please excuse me,” I said. “I was up very early this morning and I think I need to rest after lunch.” I gave him the gracious royal nod and retreated to my compartment. Really this had been a most tiresome two days. It was with great expectation that I thought of home.

Chapter 8
    Still on the train
August 17

    The compartment was warm with afternoon sun and I was replete with a good lunch. I must have dozed off because a small sound woke me. The slightest of clicks, but enough to make me open my eyes. When I did, I sat up in alarm. A man was in my compartment. What’s more, he was in the process of closing the curtains to the corridor. It was the military-looking man who had been eyeing me closely in the dining car.
    “What do you think you are doing?” I demanded, leaping to my feet. “Please leave this compartment at once, or I shall be obliged to pull the communication cord and stop this train.”
    At that he chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to see that done,” he said. “I wonder how long it takes to stop an express going at seventy miles an hour? A good half mile, I’d guess.”
    “If you’ve come to rob me, I have to warn you that I am traveling with nothing of value,” I said haughtily, “and if you’ve come to assault me, I can assure you that I am blessed with a good punch and a loud scream.”
    At this he laughed. “Oh yes, I see what they mean. I think you’ll do very well.” He sat down without being asked. “I assure you that I mean you no harm, my lady, and I ask you to forgive the unorthodox method of introduction. I tried to introduce myself to you in the dining car but that odious little man beat me to it.” He leaned closer to me. “Allow me to introduce myself now. I am Sir Jeremy Danville. I work for the Home Office.”
    Oh, golly, I thought. Someone else from the government making sure I got home safely and caused no royal scandal. He probably wanted to know what I’d told Godfrey Beverley.
    “I caught this train deliberately,” he said, “knowing that we could talk without danger of being overheard. First I want your word that what I am going to say to you will never be repeated to anyone, not even to a family member.”
    This was unexpected and I was still in the process of waking up from my doze. “I don’t see how I can agree to something when I have no idea what it is,” I said.
    “If I told you it concerns the safety of the monarchy?” He looked at me long and hard.
    “Very well, I suppose,” I said.
    I began to feel a little as Anne Boleyn must have done when she was summoned to the Tower and discovered it wasn’t for a quiet dinner party. It crossed my mind that