Nefertiti's Heart Read online

  Luckily, she located the notebook, and would tell the family solicitor to advertise for a tenant. She only had to remove what few items she wanted and move to smaller rooms elsewhere, while she finished her business of breaking up and selling off the priceless collection. There was no need to retain staff to attend a non-existent resident. Certainly, the house wouldn’t care, though Cara suspected it would sulk at the lack of attention.

  She rose early, and dressed casually in beige, buckskin pants and brown, lace-up riding boots. Her corset was her only external extravagance; the rich brocade of swirling green and blue hues had laced ties at the shoulders and a short collar, echoing the tailoring of a man’s jacket. The corset laced up the front, so she had no need for a lady’s maid to pull the laces tight. The colouring of the corset perfectly offset her cream undershirt. She picked up her gun belt from the bed and slung the brown leather loosely around her hips. The shoulder holster went over the top of her corset, and the pistol nestled by her armpit. To complete her outfit, she shrugged on a dark brown, morning coat.

  Having no staff cluttering up the hallways also made it easier to avoid the social callers; without a butler to answer the door and take cards, a plucky few thrust their cards through the mail slot. Cara duly ignored the multi-coloured pieces of heavy paper, as they piled up on the entranceway floor. She stepped over the confetti on her way out and locked the door behind her. The key disappeared into a small leather pouch hanging off her gun belt.

  She stood on the bottom step, taking in the hustle and bustle of the late spring, London street traffic. Soon, a heat shimmer would rise from the cobbled streets. Horses pulling a variety of different carriages worked alongside the new steam-powered coaches, which puffed black smoke as they were fed coal to keep them moving. Cara didn’t know which she preferred, the equine droppings on the road or the noxious fumes of their steam replacements. She glimpsed one of the rare, new mechanical horses, powered internally by batteries containing stored electricity. With an exorbitant price tag, they seemed mere playthings for the most wealthy. The metal horses, a beautiful sight to watch, glistened in the morning sunlight, with gleaming copper and brass accents. The horses silently passed by and were soon swallowed up from view by the natural equines and more economical steam counterparts.

  Cara jumped off the bottom step, then headed down the road at a cracking pace. With several errands to run, she hoped to avoid the society gossipmongers. They were curious for a glimpse of her face and hungry for details of her scandalous life for the past seven years. Though, she doubted any would recognise her. She bore little resemblance to the fourteen-year-old who last trod these pavements and who had scampered in and out of the London shops.

  “Cara!” a voice called. Familiar, it tugged a memory from the back of her brain. Cara halted and turned; her eyes scanned the multitude of people ebbing and flowing along the pavement.

  She spied a pretty brunette, dressed in tonal greens and a hat topped with peacock feathers. The woman waved an arm madly and in a completely unladylike fashion as she pushed her way through the crowd toward Cara.

  “Amy?” Cara said, as long dormant memories stirred and rose to the surface of her mind.

  “Cara. It is you.” Amy threw her arms around Cara. “I heard you had returned, but were closed to callers. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Cara stiffened; she disliked physical contact. She steeled herself before briefly returning the hug. This woman posed little threat to her safety, so she was able to endure the embrace. Amy had been her childhood friend, a lifetime ago, when she was once innocent.

  Amy held her old friend at arm’s length and scrutinised her face.

  “Oh, Cara, your beautiful hair,” she said on taking in the shorn locks. She reached out a gloved hand to touch an auburn tendril curling softly around Cara’s ear.

  “Don’t,” Cara said, pulling Amy’s hand down. “That’s what he said. My hair was the only part of me I could hack off and burn.”

  Amy swallowed her words, her eyes widened in distress. “I heard about your father. I won’t say I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m certainly not.” She spat out the words. Glancing around, she noticed their conversation affected the flow of pedestrians. Their position in the middle of the pavement acted as a blockage. The foot traffic behaved as worker ants who found a leaf dropped in the middle of their track; they became frantic at the loss of their regular path.

  She took Amy’s arm and pulled her to the side, closer to the buildings and out of the way. The ants quickly resumed their original route, and their activity reminded her she had her own share of tasks to complete.

  “I have to get going, Amy. It was nice to see you again.” She turned, but Amy took her hand, forcing her to stay.

  Amy held Cara’s gaze.

  “We were friends once.” There was something imploring in her tone and in her large brown eyes. Amy had never been able to conceal anything on her face, always so expressive and easy to read. Amy’s openness was probably why Cara ended up in so much trouble. Amy could never lie to an adult to conceal the mischief her friend sought out.

  She shook her head. “We were girlhood friends such a long time ago, Amy, and much has changed.”

  Amy softened her tone. “I never stopped being your friend. I wrote you hundreds of letters.”

  Cara frowned. “I never received any letters.”

  Her friend coloured. “I couldn’t get them out of the house. My father wouldn’t let me contact you … .” she trailed off. Undoubtedly, her father hadn’t wanted any taint of scandal to touch his daughter. It didn’t matter that Cara bore no fault, and events were inflicted on her. She was irredeemably sullied, just the same.

  “I thought you didn’t want to hear from me,” Cara said quietly.

  Amy retained her friend’s hand, heedless of her discomfort at the contact.

  Cara longed to snatch it back, but another part of her missed such a simple act. Her view of physical contact distorted, she had forgotten the gentle reassurance the touch of another could convey.

  “Come with me for a coffee. You can’t think you will escape me so easily after all these years.”

  She was torn. Amy had been her childhood friend, but there were so many things she would rather forget, and Amy reminded Cara of her previous life. “I don’t know, Amy. I’m not here to re-establish my life. I don’t intend to stay long in London.”

  Amy clutched Cara’s hand like a lifeline, refusing to let her friend escape. “I lost you seven years ago, Cara. How long are you going to punish yourself for something that was never your fault?”

  She fought an internal war, but given the early hour, the coffee houses would be full with the sort of bustle she could survive. The majority of aristocrats wouldn’t even be out of bed yet, let alone ready to face the public.

  “All right. But I’m starving, so food is a must. I’d kill for a bacon butty.”

  Amy laughed. “I know just the place.”

  “What are you doing out and about at this hour anyway?”

  A broad smile broke over Amy’s face.

  “I am engaged and have much to plan.” She squealed in excitement.

  “Well, we do have some catching up to do,” she said, allowing Amy to dictate their course through the morning crowd.

  They strolled along the cobbled lanes and streets of Soho for some distance, before turning toward the square. Cara remembered the area; the face of London constantly changed, but a few things remained constant. The Soho Bazaar bustled with activity, noise, and aromas.

  The heavenly smell of coffee and baking wafted down the street and resonated with Cara’s stomach, which let out an impatient growl. I need to stock the pantry, she chided herself.

  The two friends skirted the enormous building that housed the bazaar and, instead, headed for a smaller coffee shop on the southern end of Soho Square. Cara paused on the pavement; an urchin nearby held a wedge of papers under his arm and yelled the morning’s headlines. A name caught Cara’s attention. She stopped and fished in her pocket. Her fingers found a coin, and she tossed the copper to the boy. He caught it with a grin and in return, held out a paper. She flicked her eyes to the headline as she entered the shop behind Amy. She paused to raise her head and take a deep breath of the heady aroma of coffee and yeasty bread. Her stomach growled again, reminding her she hadn’t stopped for breakfast.

  The coffee shop bustled with noise and bodies, every inch of space occupied. Lower-class people queued at an open window to grab warm bread rolls before heading to work. Middle-class gents sat at round tables, loudly discussing the day’s business or arguing over chess and backgammon moves. A couple of ruddy-cheeked girls in smart blue and white uniforms with matching aprons dodged amongst the patrons. They expertly balanced large trays on their outstretched arms as they delivered orders to those lucky enough to have claimed seats.

  Amy spied a waitress cleaning off the tabletop of a booth and waved her hand to catch the girl’s attention. The girl smiled and beckoned to the two friends, flicking her cloth to shoo away a young man who tried to steal the table first. Amy pushed a distracted Cara through the crowd, in the table’s direction, and gave their order to the girl.

  Cara scanned the newspaper headline: Jennifer Lovell, beautiful debutante, found murdered.

  Recently stirred memories snagged on the name; Cara knew her. She was of a similar age to her and Amy. Cara would have come out with them, if she hadn’t been ruined beyond redemption. She took a seat and flung the paper onto the table while she settled.

  Amy shrugged off her jacket and dropped the expensive garment on the bench. Glancing at the paper, she raised a hand to her face in horror.

  “Jennifer?” Lowering herself slowly into the seat, sh
e craned her neck to read the article upside-down.

  Cara nodded and scanned the rest of the article. “Scant detail. It just says she appears to have been stabbed. The Enforcers are making enquires to find the person responsible, but appeal for anyone with any pertinent information to come forward.”

  “I saw her only a few days ago.” Amy’s brow furrowed. “She had so many suitors. We’ve all been on tenterhooks waiting to see who she would pick. My money was on the Bulgarian Prince hanging off her, so dashing in his Hussar’s uniform.”

  “I remember her; a pretty little blonde with quite unusual eyes. They were a pale blue. We used to go to the same parties when we were all little.” Cara had forgotten the tea parties and picnics they hosted to occupy their time between lessons. When Cara wasn’t climbing trees or stowing away on boats and airships, or generally trying to escape her existence. She lost count of how many times either a governess or the Enforcers had to retrieve her and return her home. Those days seemed sunnier and easier, before dusk fell upon her and dragged her from the light into the dark.

  “We debuted together nearly three years ago. All the eligible men chased her. They swirled around her like minnows after bread thrown in the water. The rest of us had to fight over her discards. She certainly had her sights set high. She wanted to snag at least an Earl.” Amy dragged the paper around with a fingertip to read the article for herself.

  Cara mentally blew dust off long-forgotten faces. “Her family will be devastated. If I remember correctly, she was an only child?”

  Amy looked up and muttered thanks to the waitress as she delivered their coffee and food.

  Cara fell on her bacon sandwich like a woman who kept forgetting to eat, which she did when preoccupied. She discovered the one downside to dismissing the staff: there was no cook to cater to her appetite. Or scullery maids to restock the pantry, ensuring there was at least bread and cheese to snack on when hunger reminded her to seek sustenance.

  “Her parents doted on her. Gave her everything she desired. I think that’s why she aimed high. She had a certain lifestyle she wanted to maintain, once married.” Amy poured cream into her coffee and spooned in sugar before stirring absentmindedly. “She ruled supreme these last couple of years, and she had every intention of continuing to dominate society after her marriage. She would only consider anyone lower than an earl if they had a suitably enticing fortune with which to support her.”

  So much for love; material possessions win every time for some girls. Cara took a break from her sandwich to lick the bacon fat off her fingers. The advantage of being scorned by society—she didn’t care what they thought of her and she could lick her fingers in public. She added cream and sugar to her coffee before taking a large swig. She savoured the moment as the sweet caffeine fix introduced itself to the bacon-y goodness waiting in her stomach. Bliss.

  Cara let Amy’s conversation wash over her, as she looked around the busy café and wondered if the rooms above were to let. Living in this area was an appealing thought, being lost in the surrounding bustle every morning. The bakery and coffee shop occupied the bottom floor of a three-storey building, and often the top floors housed small apartments. It would solve her problem of feeding herself in the mornings.

  Although, if I start eating bacon and croissants every morning, I’ll need longer laces for my corset.

  Amy watched her friend polish off her sandwich and nurse her coffee lovingly between her long fingers. “Where have you been, Cara? No one has heard from you for seven years, apart from the odd rumour of you being in some foreign country or another.”

  “I’ve been travelling. Grandmother was rather indulgent, once I recovered. She sent me to Europe, Asia, and America. Wherever I wanted.”

  Large doe eyes regarded her over the rim of a coffee cup. “So many years of running and keeping everyone at a distance. Aren’t you lonely?”

  Cara stared into her coffee mug. The steam circled inside, trapped by the porcelain boundary until it rose high enough to escape, freedom coming at the price of evaporation. Watching the wisps of heated air reminded her of travelling. Roaming the globe, Cara felt free, but insubstantial. No one shared her travels.

  Lonely? She pondered the word. She always thought loneliness implied being empty. Something that was empty could sit, passive, waiting to be filled. She wasn’t empty; she contained a vacuum deep inside, spinning constantly with an aching hunger. Reaching out, desperately trying to pull something, anything, into the nothingness. But at the same time, terrified of what might draw near. The vacuum attracted and repelled at the same time, a never-ceasing vortex of constant activity, never resting. No wonder I’m hungry all the time.

  “I don’t know if I could trust anyone to let them close enough to relieve the pain.” Cara raised her eyes to her friend’s face. “It’s too easy to be hurt.”

  She met Amy’s concerned gaze.

  “God never intended us to be alone, Cara, we’re just not made that way.”

  She decided it was time to change the subject. Early morning in a coffee shop didn’t seem quite the right place to become too introspective about the life-sucking black hole in her gut. “Tell me about Jennifer. Who was she seeing?”

  “There were so many, and all so similar—handsome, titled, wealthy.” Amy frowned, remembering something. “She was so secretive about it, keeping us all guessing. She knew how to play the game. But I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her, she was so beautiful.”

  Perhaps someone got tired of the game and being kept dangling on the line for so long. Cara didn’t voice the thought aloud. “Well, I’m sure the Enforcers will figure it out.” She dismissed the headline to move to more interesting matters. “What about your suitor? Who is this mysterious fiancé?”

  Amy’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll have to meet him. Come for lunch with us, next Monday.”

  Cara raised an eyebrow. Society had turned on her, and the scorn was mutual. Front and centre at feeding time was the last place she wanted to be. Her friend must have read her mind.

  “He’ll love you as much as I do, and to hang with what everyone else thinks.”

  “All right.” Cara was curious, and hoped any suitor of Amy’s would be as genial and easy-going as her friend.

  “And for goodness’ sake, wear a dress, please. Do try to remember you’re a lady in London and not an adventurer exploring some remote corner of the world.”

  Cara resisted the urge to poke out her tongue. “Technically, that’s all I’ve been for the last seven years.” Seeing Amy’s distressed look, she thought, perhaps for the sake of old friendships, she should humour her friend. “All right, if it will make you happy, but I’ll have to buy a dress first.”

  Tuesday, June 25

  Hamish Fraser took a slurp from his tea and scowled at the liquid.

  Cold. When did that happen?

  He remembered the piping hot brew being set down in front of him a few minutes ago. Or, was it an hour? He glanced up at the large, round clock on his office wall. Its gleaming brass face boasted a riot of gauges and dials. An enthusiastic creator had included temperature, barometric readings, seconds, and, somewhere, lost in the middle—the time, on a twenty-four hour cycle. He squinted and changed the focus of his eyes after hours of reading fine print, to make sure he looked at the correct dial.

  Oh, two hours.

  He tossed the report he’d devoured onto his desk and sighed. Pulling off his wire-framed spectacles, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair before donning the specs once more and returning to the pile of reports scattered over his desk. For a methodical and meticulous man, his workspace was a disaster. His desktop included a disordered mess of paper, files, and the occasional paper-wrapped sandwich. He refused to tidy up; he always found exactly what he needed, despite the surrounding chaos.

  Hamish had been an inspector with Her Majesty’s Enforcers for only five years. He joined the ranks after college and a brief stint of military service. While the discipline and order of military life appealed, it lacked the intellectual stimulation he sought. The role of inspector seemed custom-made for him. He quickly rose through the ranks of the Enforcers with his keen mind and methodical approach. His gentle demeanour put people at ease. Many a criminal had been hanged by his own words, saying too much around the inspector, lulled by his genial manner.