Stolen Remains Read Online Free PDF Page A

accumulated on Gladstone’s considerably wrinkled forehead.
    This was a delicate, political nightmare for them both, but Victoria refused to perspire so heavily and obviously over it.
    “As near as the commissioner can tell, it happened yesterday late at Lord Raybourn’s Mayfair townhome. The coroner believes he committed suicide, but Henderson has his best men interviewing the family quietly to be sure there was no foul play.”
    “Good man.” Gladstone pulled a stained, crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. Victoria swallowed her disgust.
    “Yes, we are grateful for his discretion. The question is what we are to do about it.”
    Gladstone offered several ideas, one more outlandish than the next. Have the viscount’s body whisked to Windsor, indeed! Imagine the public’s response to that .
    “We must not panic, sir. We must think.” Victoria once again resumed her stare past the prime minister’s moist, messy pate.
    Was it possible to keep this news out of the papers? Of course not. The Times was probably running an extra edition at this very moment. How could she and Gladstone learn more without raising too much curiosity on the part of the public as to why she had a personal interest in this?
    What would Albert do in this situation?
    He would involve someone who wouldn’t arouse anyone else’s curiosity.
    Victoria tapped Henderson’s note in her hand. Who would that be? Someone who would do the queen’s bidding without being too . . . inquisitive.
    Gladstone once again interrupted the blissful peace of her own mind. “Your Majesty, if I may, I believe our first concern is to prevent the family from burying the body.”
    True. Their family undertaker could not be permitted to—
    A thousand memories of Albert’s funeral flashed through her mind, not all of them entirely unpleasant. Of particular note was the undertaker’s assistant, who had been so helpful, and so very distressed at the loss of Britain’s cherished prince. Dear Mrs. Morgan.
    Except that it was Mrs. Harper now, wasn’t it? She’d married some American man and moved off to the U.S. wilderness after their civil war ended, hadn’t she? Had she gone away permanently or just to visit? Victoria would assign someone to find out.
    “Mr. Gladstone, we believe we have an idea. There is an undertaker with whom we are well acquainted. She took care of the prince consort. Very reliable, very discreet.”
    “You are proposing that an undertaker investigate this situation?”
    “Yes, she has pleased us in the past, and operates with utmost discretion.”
    Gladstone rubbed his forefinger across the skin beneath his nostrils, as though he’d inhaled a disagreeable odor and was trying to surreptitiously rub it away. It was his telltale sign that he disagreed with her, but was buying time while thinking up a reasonable objection.
    “Ma’am, the woman is not only a mere undertaker but, well, a woman . I know how you feel about women performing trades. Why do you endorse this one?”
    Victoria leaned back in her chair and fixed Gladstone with a steely gaze, the one she usually reserved for her children when they displeased her by, say, forgetting their father’s birthday. Or, in Bertie’s case, by merely entering a room smoking.
    For all of his jittery, sweaty behavior, though, Gladstone was not cowed. In fact, he smiled as though he’d just remembered a secret.
    “You’re right, of course, Your Majesty. In fact, may I leave it all in your capable hands? Obviously, I shall muck it up if it’s left to me. You will be much better at guiding the undertaker’s movements properly to ensure she gets to the bottom of things.”
    That was much more respectful. “Yes, we will deal with the undertaker directly, Mr. Gladstone. I’m sure she will uncover what happened with Lord Raybourn straightaway, and you’ll see my idea proved to be the best one.”
    An idea that must surely work, else some of the queen’s best-laid plans would