Six Months Later

SIX MONTHS LATER

L illian was thinking of the first night of Nikolai’s play when the organ music started. It had been, she thought, a perfect evening: his power and passion so fully on display, his talent, his zest for life. She was very, very proud of what both her husbands had achieved, and deeply grateful she had married Nikolai, whatever pain loving him had also brought her. As the full and thunderous chords rang out, making the ancient stones of the cathedral tremble, she stood. It was right to be here in the city her husband had spoken of so often. It was right to witness this moment.

His Majesty Stefan V, King of Marakovia, led the procession, preceded only by a flock of priests, and his train was carried by a dozen page-boys in floppy white cravats. Behind him were four men in civilian dress, with short cloaks hanging from their shoulders. One carried a sword, another a shield, one an orb and one – His Excellency, Grand Duke Nikolai Goranovich Kuznetsov – a crown.

‘Lillian, Nikolai looks like Count Dracula,’ Tom whispered, and Lillian had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing. Sally tried to frown at him, but her eyes were dancing, too.

The wound that Nikolai had received on the night of the talent show had not been fatal. Within a day, he had been cursing his doctors and insisting he was well enough to travel; within a week, he had left for Marakovia.

Tom and Sally had been married three months now, and Tom was in the process of removing Lassiter Enterprises from his mother’s hands. It had been announced to the press that Edmund’s health had worsened, so Constance would retire to Switzerland to be near her elder son. How Tom had loosened his mother’s grip over the business, Lillian was not certain, but she was sure that the return of Darien Burnside, Jack’s awful assistant, who had visited Edmund in Switzerland, had been part of it. Presumably Darien would be able to testify, if asked to do so, that Edmund was in no condition to support or veto his mother’s business decisions, no matter what she had been telling the board. Then, she suspected, Tom’s hand had been strengthened by the arrest of Jason de Witte. They had opened the Illustrated London News in early September to find a picture of him, head sunk, standing between two police officers whom Grace identified as Orme and Hatchard. The humiliation of that man had been a pleasure to witness, even at second hand. Evie Wilkins – known in London as Evangelista D’Angelo – a doyenne of the West End stage and Lillian’s oldest and closest friend, had even driven up to Highbridge to give them an account of De Witte’s arrest in person. They had chosen to apprehend him in the middle of a gala where half of the West End were present to watch. ‘Took the champagne glass out of his hand and put cuffs on him mid-barb,’ Evie told them. She had impersonated his horrified goldfish gape on and off all evening, till they were all laughing too hard to speak. Even Grace, who had been trying, Lillian thought, not to enjoy De Witte’s downfall excessively had succumbed to laughter in the end.

Dear Grace , Lillian thought. The early arrival of her daughter had caused even Mrs Cook some moments of anxiety, but while Lillian left the theatre in the ambulance with her husband, terrified he might die, little Ruby Treadwell was born, healthy and whole, backstage. Lillian was shocked, and a little delighted, to find she was immediately, abjectly, in love with the child, and grateful beyond belief to discover Tom and Grace had no immediate plans to leave Lassiter Court. Indeed, they would be masters of it whenever she was in Marakovia with Nikolai.

It occurred to Lillian, with a shock, that if Edmund eventually succumbed to his injuries, Tom would inherit the baronetcy and Sally would become Lady Lassiter. Dougie peered round his mother and caught Lillian’s eye. She winked at him, and he grinned back.

Once Nikolai had passed, there followed any number of military types, and then a bunch of working people, nicely dressed, with great ribbons on their shoulders, carrying the tools of their trade, from hammers and hoes, to sewing baskets and cooking pots. Sally was glad she had a good view of them through the ceremony, because it was long and in Marakovian, and it was fun to try and guess what everyone was from what they carried.

‘She’s a teacher!’ Sally whispered to Dougie. ‘That’s a slate and she’s got a piece of chalk on a string.’

‘Shush, you two!’ Tom said, gently. ‘Honestly, can’t take you anywhere.’

‘All right, Mr Lassiter, sir.’ She was quiet for a couple of minutes, admiring the engagement and wedding rings on her finger. ‘What about the wicked uncle, Andrei? Is he here?’

‘No, he retired to the country due to his ill health.’

‘I bet he did.’

The choir started up, and Sally settled, her arm round Dougie’s shoulders, listening to the strange harmonies. Not her sort of tune at all, but nice nevertheless. She glanced along the row. Dixon was there, looking unhappy because they had insisted he wore a new coat. The Prince of Wales himself had been quite firm about it. Jack and Grace sat next to him. Jack and Grace’s little girl, Ruby, was a sweetheart. Stella was at the end of the row, missing four days of her latest show to attend the coronation, and to flirt with the Prince of Wales.

There were more prayers.

Sally let her thoughts drift back to Highbridge and the new town house she and Tom had just bought in a square on the west of the town centre. It was near the recording studio and still only two tram stops from the Bricklayers Arms where she still sang once a week, and Dougie’s school.

Tom had told her everything that had gone on that night after Grace’s baby was born. The involvement of Bridget Chisholm had really shocked him. It had shaken Jack, too, and Dixon, and for a moment there everyone had fretted about things at The Empire going off the rails again, with no Miss Chisholm, and Jack and Grace tied up with little Ruby. Lillian had stepped into the breach, saying she was grateful to have something to think about while Nikolai was away. She’d even managed to hire a new assistant before Jack’s office got into too much of a state.

By and large, the whole matter of the evening had been hushed up. Miss Chisholm, they thought, had been arrested, but Mr Poole said there was not a breath of anything in the papers, and whenever Jack rang up Colonel Osman, he was told nothing and was referred to someone called Barrington-Smythe, who had replaced Sir Gideon, who also told him nothing but managed to be ruder about it. They had learnt, through sheer persistence, that Miss Chisholm was not called Miss Chisholm at all, but was the daughter of a close ally of Taargin’s – Ilya something or other – who had married an English girl before the war. Taargin was still an ambassador, but not in England.

As far as the world knew, Crown Prince Stefan had received news of his father’s death and returned home immediately, supported a few days later by his cousin, Grand Duke Nikolai Goranovich Kuznetsov. Stefan had landed at the northern border and ridden on a horse, like an old-fashioned knight, through the country to the capital while heralds pronounced the news of his father’s death and his succession. In every town or village he passed through, he invited the people and landowners to join him. By the time he arrived at the capital, with Nikolai by his side, he was at the head of a mass of thousands of his people. It was probably around that time, Sally guessed, that his uncle started to feel a touch peaky.

There was a movement in the row. Stella was getting up and moving along the side of the cathedral. Sally looked at her order of service. It didn’t help her much, being all in Marakovian, but she guessed what was coming when she saw (Kuznetsov/Rowntree/ something or other) Lancelot Drake y Stella Stanmora c Mabelou Millsou. Shame Lillian and Nikolai weren’t singing it, but perhaps that would have been pushing the more conservative citizens of Marakovia too far. Sally didn’t think she’d ever enjoy hearing “The Sunrise Song” as much as when she had listened to it in the theatre, knowing in her bones she’d won the competition and would marry Tom, but this was something else. Lancelot and Stella had a full orchestra backing them. Their voices and Mabel’s trumpet echoed upwards, weaving through all the ancient stone arches and battering at the stained glass. It sounded like a sweet wind sweeping over a field and seemed to tease the tassels of the military men, and rattle the jewels in the coronets of the aristocrats clustered near the new king. Then the new king smiled, possibly at their attempts to sing the song in the original Marakovian, and suddenly everyone was smiling.

The parties after the coronation lasted deep into the night. Jack tucked little Ruby up in her cot and kissed her head. Grace was at the dressing table, already in a nightgown and brushing her hair.

‘Do go out again, Jack,’ she said. ‘We’ll be perfectly all right and I’m too shattered to change my dress again.’

He looked out of the window; the night sky was bright with bonfires and the fireworks were still sparkling in the night sky over the castle.

‘You want to, don’t you? Go and find Lillian and dance with her.’

‘Do you think I’ll be able to manage the theatre without her for a while?’ he asked.

‘Naturally you will, without Constance working through her collection of nasty tricks. But for the moment the king still needs Nikolai, and Nikolai and Lillian have been missing each other terribly. So go and dance with her while you have the chance.’

He flopped down on the bed. ‘You can be brutally practical sometimes.’ He rolled over to admire his sleeping daughter again. ‘Did you ever read that note that Ruby left for you? The one Tom found?’

‘Yes. I look at it every day before I start work.’ She reached into her evening bag and pulled out a sheet of paper, then handed it to him.

‘You even travel with it?’ he asked, flicking it open.

‘Obviously.’

Have faith , Grace , it read. There are always more tunes, more songs, more stories.

‘Apparently simple, but perfectly balanced and very well phrased. Very Ruby. I miss her,’ Jack said, handing the note back to her.

‘We all do,’ Grace replied, tucking it carefully away.

‘And does the De Witte notice still bother you, Grace, when you work?’

She frowned slightly. ‘It bothers me a lot less, Jack. Not because Constance bribed him to do it, but just because I think I’m getting better as a writer. I have at least the courage to try and become better now. That feels like an achievement.’

‘And you’ve forgiven Stella?’

‘Of course. She felt much worse about it than we did. I never expected her to cut that man dead just because he’d given me a bad notice. He was far too important. How on earth could she have known what was going on? And she’ll be a very indulgent godmother to baby Ruby just to make up for it.’

‘Brutally practical again, I’m very proud of you.’ He rolled off the bed and put on his jacket. Grace turned her face up to be kissed. He obliged.

‘By the way, King Stefan has bought you an amusing present, so remember to be amused when you get it.’

‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘A case of Marakovian cold cream. I say it’s for you, but obviously it’s really for Harry.’

Jack let out a bark of laughter. ‘I welcome it. I’ve already removed everything vaguely resembling a rat trap from the theatre. Did you hear about Dixon’s postcard?’

‘From Italy? With a four leaf-clover and no signature? Yes, it must have been from Miss Chisholm, don’t you think?’

‘I’m certain of it. Discreetly removed from England and Marakovia. No trial in exchange for no fuss.’

‘A little like Tom sending his mother to Switzerland.’ She put down her hairbrush. ‘I dread to think what she’ll be plotting there. You know, when I was younger, I used to think I knew what was going on in the world because I read the newspaper. I must have a word with Wilbur. Now, go and dance with your mother.’

He turned the handle, then stopped, and looked back at his sleeping child and his beautiful wife. Nikolai had arranged for a room with a balcony, a decanter of whisky in every room, heavy glasses and comfortable chairs.

‘Actually, darling, I can dance with Lillian tomorrow. I think I’d rather watch the fireworks from here, with you and Ruby.’

She grinned. ‘Oh good! I mean, you can still go, I meant that. But Tom and I were looking through some of Ruby’s tunes, and I think I have quite a good idea for a new show. Do you want to hear about it?’

He took off his jacket again and fetched the whisky.

‘I’d like that very much.’