9308-3953

Trevor could think of nothing to say to any of this, which was just as well, since the
Queen continued. “So I am quite aware of your friendship with Miss Bainbridge, a woman I met
years ago. I gather that she also made acquaintance with Anthony Weaver in her girlhood?”
At least she had dropped the “we,” and, in fact, was looking at him with sympathetic
interest, but Trevor was unsure of how much of Geraldine’s story he should share with the Queen.
“Not exactly girlhood,” he said, aware that he was avoiding the key issue. “Miss
Bainbridge was thirty-five.”
“And this strikes you as an age too advanced for romantic intrigue? How old are you,
Detective?”
“Thirty-four,” he admitted.
“Then you must hurry. The clock is surely about to strike.”
Was she making a joke? Trevor had never known the Queen to joke.
“Geraldine traveled to India in 1856, the year before Roland Everlee’s death,” he finally
said. When in doubt, best to stick to the barest of facts. “Rose Everlee was her chaperone for the
voyage and introduced her to Anthony Weaver on the ship, during the weeks that they were in transit
between London and Bombay.”
It was an incomplete explanation, to be sure, but the Queen seemed to grasp the
implications behind his words at once. She nodded briskly and reached for a paper on the table
beside her. It bore a grand blob of maroon-colored sealing wax on the back, a detail which struck
Trevor as odd.
“It is quite fascinating how matters sometimes converge,” she said. “For I received just
this morning a letter from Michael Everlee on this same subject. Do you know the man?”
“Only by reputation,” Trevor said.
“Indeed,” said the Queen. “Cambridge educated, the young hero of the Conservative
Party and thus a rising figure in the House of Commons. Or so they tell me.” Peering down, she read
aloud:
Your Majesty:
I turn to you in humble request. My stepfather, the retired Secretary-General Anthony Weaver,
has been unjustly arrested for the murder of my mother, Rose Everlee Weaver. Your majesty knows
the details of my true father’s death. Mr. Weaver married my mother shortly after my birth, and he
is the only man I have ever known as a father. A finer or more honorable man could not be found
and thus I know he could not be guilty of such a crime.
I am traveling to India at once and shall be in route to Bombay by the time you read this. I am
humbly writing to ask that you encourage the local authorities to welcome my intrusion into this
matter and to assist me as I endeavor to prove my stepfather’s innocence.
With deepest humility,
Michael Everlee
The Queen folded the letter. “What do you make of that?”
Trevor's first thought was that any man who claimed to be humble three times in a row
was probably anything but, and that nothing in the graceless phrasing of the letter suggested that the
author was a Cambridge man, much less a rising star in political circles. But presumably the poor
chap was in shock over recent events and, just as he said, rushing to pack and travel. So instead of
critiquing the tone of the writing, Trevor took a different tack.