The Osiris Ritual

Epilogue

The morning was crisp and chil, and the sun had yet to poke its way through the hazy layer of yellow fog that still clung to the tree-tops and surrounding buildings, cloaking everything in a fine, gossamer web.

Newbury watched his breath plume in the frigid air. The cold was penetrating, bone deep, and he longed for the comfort of his Chelsea drawing room and the roar of an open fire. It was early – too early – and he had not slept. In truth he'd been unable to sleep properly for a week, not since the events in the Archibald Theatre and his conversation with Veronica in Knox's makeshift laboratory. He'd managed to lose himself in laudanum-inspired dreams, draped on the daybed in his study, but sleep – real sleep – had continued to elude him. Instead, he'd been reduced to lying on his bed, staring not at the ceiling but at an elaborate reconstruction of events, as conjured by his mind's eye. He kept replaying their conversation, over and over, attempting to tease meaning out of half-remembered looks and hastily spoken words. What had Veronica been trying to tel him? He thought he knew, now. The evidence was incontrovertible: her knowledge of Knox had helped to bring a swift conclusion to the case. But if he was right, why on earth would she reveal the truth to him in such an opaque fashion? What else was there that he stil did not know? There had to be another dimension to it, something that was staring him in the face.

Newbury hated the thought that he was working in the dark, and also that he was forced to resort to such clandestine activities as loitering outside her apartments and following her across town. The emotional conflict was enough to make his stomach churn. But he needed to know if he could trust her.

Still, he had little time to consider the implications now. He'd been following Veronica for over an hour, first by hansom cab, and then, for the last mile, on foot, ever since she'd abandoned her transport and taken instead to the footpath. He watched her slight figure sway from side to side with every footstep as he kept pace, careful to remain out of sight. It was clear she was still suffering with her damaged shoulder; her gait was a little awkward and she held her upper body stiffly, like a soldier, erect and alert. He knew if he asked her, later, she would tell him she had remained at home, convalescing under doctor's orders.

Ahead of them loomed the splendour of Buckingham Palace, towering out of the mist like a grey monolith. There could be no mistaking her destination.

Hanging back, Newbury watched Veronica approach the gates. To his surprise, she was acknowledged immediately by the guard, who pul ed the iron portal open and admitted her to the Palace grounds without a word. Newbury crossed the road and fol owed her progress through the tall railings, catching glimpse after stuttering glimpse as she strode, purposefully, across the courtyard. Newbury could see she was heading around the side of the building. He stopped in the shadow of an ash tree, watching, waiting, his heart in his mouth.

Moments later, he watched as she stopped before a familiar door and rapped loudly, three times. He heard the wooden panel slide open, and imagined Sandford, the agents' butler, peering out. A second later the panel clicked shut and the door swung open. Veronica disappeared inside.

And there he had it.

Veronica Hobbes: agent to the Queen.

Newbury felt a growing sense of tightness in his chest, like a dead weight had been laid upon him, forcing the air out of his lungs. So he'd been right. Veronica worked for the Queen. The duplicity made his head spin. To what end had it been kept from him? Did Charles know? He'd suspected it since their conversation in the cellar, but to have it confirmed.. He was surprised by the bizarre sense of vertigo he felt, standing there in the cold morning in the shadow of a tree.

Newbury didn't want to acknowledge what he knew in his heart to be true. Veronica had been employed by the Queen to spy on him, to monitor his actions and report back to the Palace. Even now, he could hear Charles's words, echoing around inside his head. "The Queen is worried.. Even the best of men are fallible."

Victoria was concerned he would turn out like Knox. He cursed under his breath. He didn't know where this left him, with the Queen, with Veronica. The feelings she'd intimated.. had they even been real? A ruse to draw him closer? The implication was too awful to bear.

Sighing, Newbury turned and walked away into the hazy morning. He could be at Johnny Chang's place within the hour, chasing the dragon, losing himself in the sickly-sweet vapours. The pull of it was like lightning in his veins.

Gathering speed, he allowed himself to be swept up in his cravings. He was tired, and after all, he had a great deal to consider.