Page 80 of A Game of Scandal

“Laing,” I sighed.

“Yes,” Mrs Finch agreed. “We received some intelligence from an anarchist contact we’ve been cultivating, regarding their plot.”

“Of course I leave you alone for two weeks and there’s an anarchist plot,” Max groaned, pulling Izzy on to his knee.

“After the bomb at the Aviary, and the equipment we found at the warehouse, we can assume it will involve explosives,” Sylla said.

“There was a bomb?” Max looked alarmed.

“It was only a very small bomb,” Izzy, Sylla and I all said at once. It seemed by mutual agreement we decided not to mention that there had been a second one.

My brother closed his eyes, as if in pain.

“Our contact has indicated that the attack will be at a prominent social event, one attended by many notable figures…” Mrs Finch looked to me, and it took me a moment to understand what she was hinting at.

“You think they’re going to detonate a bomb at Queen Charlotte’s Ball?” I whispered, the words finally sinking in. “But it’s … it’s at Buckingham Palace! There will be hundreds of people there!”

Mrs Finch nodded gravely. “Politicians, a significant portion of the aristocracy, even members of the royal family.”

“As a target for anarchists, it makes perfect sense,” I finished her thought.

“An attack on the palace?” Max’s entire body was taut. “You can’t be serious. My people have heard nothing about this.”

Sylla raised an eyebrow. “Your people are not the Aviary. It seems this is a small anarchist group and that they’ve employed Laing to handle the logistics of the operation. Not a terrible plan, given how badly they have bungled things previously, and how efficient Laing seems to have been in the past.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head. “I’ll be at the ball, and Laing wants to marry me, not kill me.”

“Laing wants to what?” I was sure there was a muscle ticking under Max’s eye at this point.

“For heaven’s sake, Max” – Izzy poked him in the arm – “that’s hardly the surprising part of the story. Plenty of people want to marry Felicity.”

“I just don’t want to marry them,” I reminded him.

Max’s only response was to rub his temples with his hands.

“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” Sylla put in, “and he’s not worried about whether you blow up.”

“Thank you for that,” I muttered.

“On the contrary, I think it likely that Laing will try to extract you before the explosion, Felicity,” said Mrs Finch. “But we have no idea when that will be. We must infiltrate the ball and then locate and disarm the device as quickly as possible, without drawing attention to ourselves or alerting Laing. We’ll have Max arrest Laing at the palace, round up the anarchists and get them to turn evidence on him, save the future king of England, and all be home for supper.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. “Is that all?”

“Don’t worry, Felicity.” Sylla’s smile held a feral edge. “This is exactly what we do. I told you, the Aviary always gets her man.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The next day I stood in my bedroom being dressed for a ball that was the target of an anarchist plot. While my mother fussed over the exact position of one of the ten thousand white flowers that covered my gown, I mentally went over Winnie’s tutorial on bomb defusal.

It was a uniquely awful experience.

“I wonder if we should add another feather to your veil?” Mother fretted, standing beside me in front of the mirror.

I swallowed a groan. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand upright if we add anything else.”

The ensemble I was wearing was the most terrible thing I had ever seen. A white gown cut wide on my shoulders and covered in silk flowers. In contrast to the simple corset style of the top half, the skirts were a heavy, old-fashioned froth of so many layers of silk I wasn’t sure I’d fit through the door. Attached to the shoulders of the gown was a three-feet-long white train. It was three feet long because that was the absolute shortest the train was allowed to be and I had been clear that “the absolute shortest” was the only length I’d accept. The train too was made of thick layers of silk, overlaid with white tulle.

If the uncomfortably weighty gown wasn’t enough, I was also wearing a white veil, attached to the back of my head by a diamond clip with three curling white ostrich feathers in it. I looked ridiculous, but I was too busy worrying about Buckingham Palace being blown up to care.