The Traitor in the Tunnel by Y. S. Lee

Author:Y. S. Lee [Lee, Y. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7636-5959-2
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2012-10-12T04:00:00+00:00

The kitchen staff was sour when Mary asked them to make up a last-minute breakfast tray for the Prince of Wales. Naturally, Mrs. Shaw was unwilling to intervene in this instance and so Lizzie, the most senior cook-maid, had her way with a curt “We’ve enough to do without that lazy young gent.”

Mary loitered, half impatient and half unwilling, until the tray was ready: nearly half an hour. She’d no desire to ingratiate herself with the prince and was rather afraid of what she might be forced to do if his interest in her continued as predictably as it promised to. Was it possible that he only wanted to talk some more, or were Mrs. Shaw’s suspicions correct? And if so, how did one refuse royalty?

Mary’s confidence sagged as she left the servants’ corridor — until she caught Mrs. Shaw’s vinegary look. At that, her spine straightened, her shoulders dropped, and she inclined her chin with frosty grace at the housekeeper, borrowing from the manner of touring royalty. One spoiled man-child was not going to upset her investigation. The person most likely to ruin that was Mary herself, through stubbornness and impetuous action — both traits she’d learned to temper over the past year and a half.

The prince’s equerries were, supposedly, wellborn companions of the wise and sober sort, a few years older than he. They were charged with giving the prince timely doses of advice. In practice, however, these were the same attendants who’d managed to lose the prince on that now-infamous night in Limehouse — rather a dubious testament to their good judgment and desirable influence on the prince.

As she arrived at the Prince of Wales’s apartments, Mary was unsurprised to see a pair of them lounging just outside the door. They leaned against the wall with a negligent air, staring rudely at Mary as she drew nearer. They neither spoke nor moved, although she nearly grazed one of them with the edge of the enormous tray. Naturally, they didn’t bestir themselves to open the door for her.

Mary kept her gaze low, unwilling to draw even more attention to herself. She didn’t like the expressions in their eyes. They were looking at her as they might a mildly interesting piece of horseflesh: not good for much, but perhaps worth having anyway. More than ever, she felt she was walking into a trap.

She shifted the tray, considering the pint or so of steaming coffee balanced thereon. That was certainly her best bet, if one of them made a grab at her. She didn’t know what the consequences of scalding a dishonorable honorable might be. Her tension was high enough that she didn’t much care. Yet they didn’t move as she turned the door handle and the heavy mahogany door slowly swung open.

Like yesterday, Prince Bertie was stationed at the far end of the room, half reclined in his favorite easy chair.

Like yesterday, he wore a silk dressing gown.

Unlike yesterday, however, there was a woman in the room. A tall

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