The Chess Queen Enigma by Colleen Gleason Read Free Book Online

hour too early. And aside from that, Princess Alix had already arranged for a carriage to pick me up. Apparently, Her Royal Highness was determined I would attend, and in a timely manner.
    â€œHow many times must I remind you that coincidences simply don’t happen?” I continued, jabbing the pin into place at the back of my head. If only my hair wasn’t so thick and unmanageable . . . and if I had a lady’s maid like Miss Stokerdid. Mrs. Raskill was useless when it came to coiffures and fashion, and the one time she’d suggested my employment of her niece Kitty for such tasks had been an undisputed disaster. “It’s utterly impossible that statue
fell
by accident. The Arched Room is a library, and there are only
small
artifacts in cases. An Eighteenth Egyptian Dynastic statue—especially one of that size—doesn’t belong anywhere in a library, it belongs in the Egyptian Saloon! Someone put it there.
She
put it there.” And Lady Cosgrove-Pitt had been present at the Welcome Event, further strengthening my belief.
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œWhy would the Ankh leave a message? It’s a calling card, Miss Stoker. How can you not see that? It’s a message, a taunt, a tease. She knew we would see it. She’s sending us a message. It’s a
challenge
.”
    I had no doubt about this last statement, and I had even less doubt about to whom the Ankh was issuing her challenge: Holmes & Stoker. (Or, at least, Holmes. After all, it was I who had outsmarted her in the end, and I who had seen through her disguise.)
    â€œDo you think the Ankh stole the letter? What would she want with an old message?” Miss Stoker wandered through my small, book-cluttered bedchamber, brushing past the Easy Un-Lacer I was obligated to use to extricate myself from corsets when Mrs. Raskill had retired for the evening, and peered into my wardrobe.
    I followed my companion’s progress in the mirror as I struggled with my dratted coiffure. It was hard enoughto do my hair when I was alone, but while carrying on a conversation—especially one fraught with unnecessary and banal questions—while monitoring a guest’s nosiness made it even more frustrating.
    â€œI’ve been attempting to tell you precisely
why
the letter is important for two days now, Evaline,” I snapped, bending awkwardly to pick up another hairpin. “It’s from Queen Elizabeth—over three hundred years old—and in the letter it explains where she’s hidden the Theophanine Chess Queen.”
    The bored look in her hazel eyes told me all I needed to know. “You don’t understand the importance of the Theophanine Chess Set, do you? What
did
you learn in school, Evaline?”
    â€œI got my education in other ways . . . from other
people
. And though I may not have as much book-learning as you, I’ve been taught other, more useful skills.” Her eyes moved deliberately to the photograph of my mother, which I had recently moved into my chamber.
    My cheeks warmed and I looked away. I still hadn’t been able to come to terms with the realization that my mother, the beautiful, social, graceful Desirée Holmes, had secretly been a vampire-hunter trainer. (Less than a month ago, I hadn’t even fully believed in the existence of the UnDead creatures, but recent events had proven otherwise.)
    The knowledge that Evaline Stoker had known my mother—Siri, as she’d called her—in a way I couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t share or even imagine, caused an ugly combination of emotions to surge inside me every time I looked at her picture. I couldn’t name the emotions; I didn’t want totry. The very thought of the woman who’d birthed me caused my insides to twist and churn. And then left me feeling empty.
    Mother had disappeared, leaving Father and me more than a year ago, with no explanation and very little communication