The butler shooed the maid and raised an arm for everyone to follow him. “Will you wait in the salon, Majesty?”
Adele said, “Captain, please wait here.” Then she and Greyfriar trailed the old servant into a richly adorned sitting room.
The butler turned up all the gas lamps before returning to take Adele's topcoat with a bow. He folded it over his arm and paused before Greyfriar. “May I take your…wrap, sir?”
The swordsman tilted his head.
Adele chuckled. “He will stay wrapped, thank you.”
The butler paused at the door. “His Lordship will attend you presently. I will return with coffee.” And he was gone.
Adele sniffed and noticed a strong, sweet smell in the room. There were many vases stuffed with extravagant flower sprays. If the scent was that strong to her, Greyfriar must've been overwhelmed. She strolled around the room, studying the books and the shelves of vases and porcelain objects and photographs of Lord Aden with various celebrities. The walls were crowded with paintings. She stopped at one street scene and gave a low whistle. “This is a Rembrandt, I think.”
“And?” Greyfriar was pacing the room, parting the curtains on the French windows to peer outside into the back garden.
“It just means he's rich.”
“We knew that.”
“Yes. We did.” Adele smiled. “When he appears, let me take the lead in conversation.”
Greyfriar looked over his shoulder at her. “You're just going to talk?”
She pointed at him. “Remember, we have no idea if he's a criminal. He's not an assassin. We're just here to discuss issues of the day. It's all quite social and normal.”
“Of course. Because he won't be suspicious about the empress dropping in at three in the morning.”
“I want to throw him. He's far too smooth normally. I want him off-balance.”
“This should do it.”
The door opened and Lord Aden entered at a crisp pace, smiling and alert, fully dressed, not off-balance at all. Adele immediately noted the glint of the gold signet ring on his right hand as if it was a beacon.
“Your Majesty, what an enormous honor.” The young man bowed and took her offered hand. “You look amazingly well, but knowing you, I can't say I'm surprised. I haven't had time to see you since the terrible event at the opera. Let me say, as I wrote to you, that the nation is grateful for your well-being.” He nodded formally to Greyfriar. “And we are grateful to you for your aid to Her Majesty that night. May I say, welcome to my home, sir. It's a great pleasure to see you outside the palace. I'll have coffee brought in.” He turned and tugged a bell pull.
“Thank you for your sentiments, Your Lordship.” Adele hid her annoyance at how alert and awake he seemed. “Most fortunate that you were not at the opera that night. How odd. You rarely miss a premiere, as we recall.”
Aden closed his eyes in agreement. “True. I was away on the business of increasing our war-materiel production.”
“Ah. Well, we are terribly sorry to have roused you from sleep.”
“Not at all. I sleep only rarely these days. The issues of the day weigh on me. Won't you sit? What may I do for you? I hope there isn't some bad news about the state? Or the war?”
“Nothing like that.” Adele settled into a wingback chair with Greyfriar lurking behind her. She smoothed her navy skirt and tugged on the hem of her embroidered short-waisted jacket. She felt her heart beating with anticipation as she slowly drew out a sheet of paper and unfolded it with appropriate drama. “May I ask you to look at this?”
“Of course.” Aden reached for the pince-nez in his vest and set them on his nose. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he glanced at the paper, and then showed curiosity to Adele. “I'm confused, Your Majesty. What should I take from this?”
“Do you recognize it?”
“It appears to be a crude version of my own crest.” Aden lifted his right hand, and his ring caught the gaslight. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. “I fear I'm lost as to your meaning. Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.” Adele paused. Then she raised her eyebrows, and said with an unruffled professionalism she didn't feel, “That drawing was made by the man who wore the bomb at the opera.”
“What?” Lord Aden looked up rapidly in true alarm for a second before gathering his calm again and proceeding to tamp tobacco into his pipe. “I heard the bomber died of his wounds.”
“A little misinformation,” she replied. “He is alive and well, in fact.” She heard Greyfriar shifting behind her in response. Aden appeared completely serene, but began to breathe loudly through his nose.