“Good evening, Sir Rupert—or should I say good morning?” I asked pleasantly.
He eyed my costume with its rather exuberant display of bosom and immediately jerked his gaze away, blushing furiously. “Stoker, I do hope you have an excellent reason for keeping Miss Speedwell out and about at such an hour,” he said.
Stoker’s only reply was to point to Eddy, slumped and slumbering in his chair. Sir Rupert looked once, then gave a start, peering closely at the sleeping prince.
“Is that—”
“Yes,” Stoker told him.
Rupert sniffed deeply. “Has he been—”
“Yes, to excess, but it was entirely understandable under the circumstances,” I assured him.
Sir Rupert’s expression was pained. He gestured for Dearsley to close the kitchen door and set to making the coffee before turning once more to us. “I do not mean to be insulting, you understand, but I do hope you will forgive the indelicacy of the question: did you, by any chance, abduct this young person?”
“We did not,” Stoker assured him.
“Although he was abducted,” I pointed out. “But not by us.”
“We liberated him,” Stoker added.
“It was the least we could do,” I put in. “He was at least partially abducted because of us.”
“I don’t know about that,” Stoker argued. “I think they would have taken him if we hadn’t been there, although it certainly played perfectly into their scheme to kidnap us together.”
“Oh yes,” I agreed as Rupert pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Would you care to start at the beginning?” he encouraged.
“Certainly,” Stoker said. By unspoken agreement, we all fell silent until Dearsley finished brewing the coffee. He set the pot and various impedimenta on the table and discreetly withdrew, leaving us to convene our council of war, as it were. I played mother, pouring out a steaming cup for the brothers and another for Eddy, putting it to the side to cool just a little as he rested.
“Nothing to eat?” Stoker asked his brother hopefully.
Sir Rupert spread his hands. “There are bananas on that sideboard, but otherwise, I am afraid I cannot help you. I do not know where the key to the larder is kept.”
I was not surprised; few gentlemen even knew where their kitchens were. Stoker had just opened his mouth—no doubt to offer to pick the larder lock—when the kitchen door opened and a tall, statuesque figure appeared. Her dressing gown was exceptionally fine violet silk and her nightcap was Belgian lace and neatly tied under her chin, and she carried herself with as much dignity as if she were wearing Court dress.
“Stoker!” she exclaimed in genuine pleasure. She came forwards, extending her hands, and Stoker jumped to his feet.
“Hullo, Lavinia. I am sorry to have woken the household,” he said. She put up her cheek to be kissed and he obliged.
“Think nothing of it, dear boy. We don’t see half enough of you,” she assured him in a low and musical voice. She caught sight of me then and smiled. “You must be Miss Speedwell. Tiberius has spoken of you with the highest admiration,” she told me.
“That’s very kind of you, Lady Templeton-Vane,” I said.
She glanced around the table. “I see Dearsley has managed coffee, but there ought to be food, and if I know Stoker, it ought to be sweet.” She drew a key from her pocket and opened the larder, carrying out a large fruitcake, cheese, a small cold ham, and some chutney. She made quick work of carving the ham and putting out plates. “There now, eat up. And perhaps when you are finished you will explain why the future King of England is intoxicated in my kitchen,” she finished in the same pleasant tone.
Rupert sighed. “I suppose it is not worth asking you to go back to bed and pretend you haven’t seen him?”
“It is not,” she acknowledged. “Stoker, I presume there is a story to tell?”
“There is, Lavinia.” With admirable clarity he apprised his brother and sister-in-law of the situation, omitting only my identity as the semi-legitimate daughter of the Prince of Wales.
“You say your uncle is involved?” Sir Rupert asked. As a party to our first encounter with de Clare, Rupert already knew my secret, but as a barrister, he would consider himself bound to secrecy, and the shrewd look he gave me as he listened to Stoker’s tale conveyed that he understood the purpose of the abduction plot perfectly.
“He is,” I confirmed. “Has there been any word of the prince’s disappearance?”
Lady Templeton-Vane shook her head, setting her lace ruffles to waving. “Nothing in the newspapers and I daresay we would have heard a whisper or two.”
“It has only been twenty-four hours since he was taken from Madame Aurore’s establishment,” Rupert pointed out. “It may well be that his sister has been thorough enough in concocting a story that no one at Balmoral has missed him.”
“Then we must return him to Balmoral before they do,” she said serenely.
Sir Rupert goggled at her. “I beg your pardon, Lavinia.” It was not a question. Sir Rupert was clearly and completely appalled.
But his wife of twenty years was unruffled. “Rupert, it is quite simple. The prince is here, in our kitchen. What is easier than smuggling him out into the mews into our carriage and taking him to the station? He would be conspicuous in our company in those tradesman’s clothes,” she went on, “but Lucius left several suits of clothes in his wardrobe before he went off to Cambridge and I daresay something of his will come near enough to fitting the prince.”
“I am not concerned with the sartorial practicalities,” Sir Rupert began.
“You ought to be,” Lavinia Templeton-Vane said calmly. “Stoker, do have another piece of fruitcake. I know how much you like this receipt. Grated apple is the secret.”
Sir Rupert cleared his throat. “My dear—”
“Oh, don’t ‘my dear’ me!” his wife erupted, startling us all. “I am always hearing from you and Tiberius about the grand adventures Stoker and Miss Speedwell are getting up to. Did it never occur to you that I might like a grand adventure myself?” she challenged, lifting her chin.
Sir Rupert opened his mouth, then closed it again, wordlessly.
Lady Templeton-Vane went on, putting an imploring hand to her husband’s sleeve. “We are not too old for an escapade, Rip,” she said gently. “I will order Dearsley to pack a hamper while we dress. We will give His Royal Highness plenty of coffee and food and a proper suit of clothes, and then we will take him to the station and board the first train for Scotland.”