“No, please don’t bother,” Louise said quickly. “I shall come straight to the point of our call. It’s been years since your father was involved with our household.”

“Yes,” Christian said.

“And I realize there were hard feelings at the time of his . . . departure.”

“My father was a difficult man. Many found it a challenge to live up to his view of perfection. Your family was not to blame.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Louise sent him a gracious smile. “But I have good memories too, about the times you visited with us, Christian. I remember your entertaining us with stories of your childhood in Germany. Your mother raised you there, did she not?”

“Yes. But as to the stories, more likely I bored you to death.” He gave a dry laugh. “Life at the queen’s court was so much more interesting to me. I wished my father had brought me there more often.” He turned to Byrne. “My father liked to keep his family and professional lives separate, or so he claimed.”

“You must have missed him,” Louise said in sympathy.

Christian winced, picked up a pen, and turned it end over end three times before placing it back on the desk blotter. “I’m not sure that is an accurate description of my feelings toward the man. I suppose I resented his being away, but I also felt relieved not to have him always hovering over us. He was, as you well know, Your Highness, quite the tyrant.”

Byrne said, “So your relationship with your father was strained?”

“That would be a mild descriptive.”

“And,” Byrne added, “I assume that means any perceived wrongs done to the baron would be of little concern to you?”

“Wrongs?” Christian asked, looking from Byrne to Louise and back again.

“His dismissal by my mother,” she said, her voice gentle.

The laughter that burst from Christian’s lips made Louise jump. “Oh, my . . . that is amusing. I’ve always thought it amazing he got as far as he did, using Albert’s family as his personal entrée to English society. You see,” he said, turning to Byrne, “my father had unlimited power in the English court because of his relationship with the Prince Consort. It’s my understanding Albert let him get away with just about anything, and gave him the money to do it with. No wonder Victoria hated the man. Didn’t she, Louise?”

Louise tipped her head in diplomatic acquiescence. “Mama pleaded with my father to send him away. As I’ve told Mr. Byrne, he was the cause of her losing her dear governess. Mama never forgave the baron for that.”

Christian shook his head. “But he lost everything when the prince died.”

Byrne looked around him. The furnishings in the room were of high quality. Several fine oil paintings decorated the rich wood paneling on the one wall not covered in book shelves. This was not the home of an impoverished man. “He died destitute, Louise tells me.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you seem to have been left with a more than modest income.”

Christian raised a brow. “If you mean these books and paintings, yes. They are all that my father was able to keep of his possessions. The rest of his belongings, including nearly all of his personal art collection, he was forced to sell. I inherited his estate, such as it was. But as to the house and anything else I own, I’ve earned it.”

Louise must have also heard the defensiveness in his tone. “Oh, Christian,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry if we’ve insulted you.”

“Don’t be. My education, as distasteful as it was to me at the time, stood me in good stead. I don’t often use my inherited title. To be called ‘baron’ means nothing to me, as there is no land and no money attached to it. I earn an adequate salary tutoring the children of several wealthy families. And I supplement that by writing books, several of which have done quite well. I don’t live off a royal pension, as my father did, and I’m happy not to. Within two months I will marry the daughter of a successful and very wealthy merchant. My fiancée’s dowry will add considerably to my comfort, and she is thrilled to become a baroness. Titles, it seems, are worth something.” He widened his eyes at Louise, who smiled back at him.

Byrne respected the man. Christian seemed practical and not unkind. He also didn’t seem the type to set rats loose to terrify young princesses or pass along information to radicals.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Byrne said, “and for being so forthright.” He was about to stand and leave when Louise stretched out a hand to touch his sleeve.

“I do not wish to be indelicate,” she began, her eyes resting on Christian with compassion, “but I wonder if you know of anyone else who might have resented the queen’s dismissal of your father.”

Christian’s eyes flared for a moment then settled back into calm, brown ponds. “I assume by that you mean a mistress?”

“Your father was away from Germany so much of the time. It seems not unlikely.”

The young baron sighed. “I am sure there were many women of various sorts with whom he kept company.”

Louise looked deflated, as if she too suddenly realized they were destined to come away empty-handed. “No one special?”

Christian looked down at his blotter then back up to her. “Every family has its, shall we say, black sheep?”

“True.” Louise exchanged a hopeful look with Byrne, and he wondered if she considered herself the black sheep of her family.

“After my father died,” Christian continued, “I had to go through his papers, pay off enormous debts, inform correspondents of his death.” He swallowed and looked away in pain, as if the words he was attempting to force past his lips had razor edges. “He had a bastard child.”

“I see,” Louise said.

“I suppose he would be about my age today. It seems Father gave the child’s mother support and arranged for the boy’s education. Before Father died, he used what influence he could to find my half brother a respectable position.”

“And you discovered all of this through his papers?” Byrne asked. Christian nodded. “Do you know his name?”

“If he’s kept the one I saw in the documents, yes.”

“Did you ever meet your half brother?” Louise asked.

“No.” Christian’s eyes widened in shock. “Nor do I ever wish to,” he nearly shouted, and seemed stunned at the sudden silence when he stopped speaking. “I’m sorry. This is unpleasant and embarrassing family history. I should have said nothing.”

“If you never met him,” Louise said gently, “I don’t suppose you know how he might have felt about the baron’s fall from power.”

Christian considered this as if it were an entirely new thought to him. “I suppose his view of our father might have been very different from mine. He certainly saw our father more often than I did.”

And, Byrne thought, this other son might have been grateful for the education and other benefits he and his mother received over the years.

“Will you tell us his name?” Louise asked.

“Philip Andrew. His mother was Irish, her family from County Cork, from what I’ve been able to learn. I assume he took his mother’s name, since my father never publicly acknowledged him. Prince Albert, you see, knew my mother and considered Father morally irreproachable. He wouldn’t have tolerated the scandal.” Christian drew a breath, let it out, picked out a spot on the wall and seemed intent on studying it.

“And the mother’s name?” Byrne pressed. His hopes rising, he could hear his own pulse thumping encouragement in his ears.

“The documents and letters I found mentioned a Mary Rhodes.”

Byrne frowned. Where had he heard that name before? It clanked in his head, begging for him to remember. Rhodes . . . Rhodes . . . Rhodes.

When he glanced at Louise, he saw her face had gone as white as the pearls at her throat. She blinked at him, warning him to silence.

“Thank you, Christian,” she said. “We will bother you no longer.”

Forty-two

Louise felt as though the air in the room suddenly had turned to porridge. It was far too thick to breathe. Her head spun. She stood up from her chair and reached blindly for Byrne’s arm. Somewhere in the distance she heard Stephen thanking Christian Stockmar for his time. She barely felt him guide her outside and into the carriage.

“To the palace,” Byrne called up to the driver then turned to her, looking worried. “Are you all right?”

She waved off his concern and concentrated on taking as deep breaths as her horrid corset stays allowed.

“Rhodes,” Byrne said. “He’s one of your mother’s staff?”

“No.” She shook her head violently. “Philip Rhodes is the prime minister’s secretary. He has access to all of our residences, either while accompanying Mr. Gladstone or when transporting documents to and from my mother.”

“The day of the rats, was he—”

“Yes, both Gladstone and Disraeli were there that afternoon. Gladstone had his secretary with him to take notes of their meeting with my mother.” Her mention of the former prime minister’s name set off another suspicion. “Oh lord, the murder of the two clerks—one resembled Disraeli.”

“But Rhodes would have nothing against the former PM,” Byrne said.

“True, but his employer does. They are bitter political opponents. Do you suppose Mr. Gladstone himself might have ordered Rhodes to kill Disraeli? That he also might have wished to terrify my mother and all of us by delivering the rats?”

Byrne was shaking his head before she finished talking. “Gladstone seems to me a cold, calculating, and ruthless man, politically. But I can’t see him sending anyone to knock off his Tory foes. Aside from that, there’s no love lost between Gladstone and the Irish rebels. He’d never do anything to aid the radicals’ cause. And remember, they claimed responsibility for the murders.”