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since she had come here, or allowed herself to remember that smile.
    Several hours later she had looked in every drawer of the desk, every cubbyhole of every cabinet, and rifled the pages of all the books on the shelves. She took a stolen apple from her pocket and climbed onto the window seat. She had found nothing. No hint of what her mother had been researching nearly six years ago. And none of the diaries, address books or old letters contained the name ‘Bettina’. There was still the laboratory, she comforted herself. Surely she would find something there. If Mr Moleglass kept his promise about the locksmith.
    The apple was old and tasted of cloth, but she worked steadfastly at it and had nibbled it nearly to the core when she heard footsteps clattering down the hall towards her. ‘Blast and botheration!’ Charlie squeezed behind thenearest curtain. It pressed against her, shrouding her in cold and mildew, clinging to her face like damp cobwebs. The curtains had been eaten into a filigree of holes by sun and moth. She found that if she bent over slightly she could see the room through a halo of frayed fabric.
    Martha, the parlour maid, bustled into sight. Trotting at her heels was a maid Charlie had never seen before, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, with brown hair neatly tucked beneath her cap. Martha marched to the desk and swiped at it with a grimy cloth. ‘You have to dust and sweep the carpet and clean the window, mind. Dusting’s once a week; sweeping once a fortnight, cleaning glass once a month.’
    ‘There’s a mort of glass in this place,’ the girl grumbled, shrugging her shoulders as if they were already sore from polishing. She picked up a feather duster and dabbed at the bookshelf.
    ‘Well, it’s gotta be done.’ Martha rubbed at the desk. ‘Waste of time. She’ll not come back.’
    ‘The Queen?’
    ‘Dead!’ Martha stopped rubbing and looked at the new maid with narrowed eyes. ‘Some say murdered.’
    Inside the curtain, Charlie gasped. It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Martha hitched up her skirt and sat on the desk. The new maid left off dusting. ‘Really?’ she asked, her eyes wide. She clutched the feather duster to her bosom. ‘Who would want to kill the Queen? She was so beautiful.’
    ‘Jealousy does funny things to a man’s mind,’ said Martha.
    ‘You don’t mean…’
    Charlie couldn’t breathe. She watched Martha shrug her shoulders and smile. ‘Everyone knows the Kingdom’s cursed,’ she said. ‘All the bad things started happening after the Queen disappeared. That’s also when a certain person lost his marbles. You figure it out.’
    Charlie yelled. She roared. She tore the curtain open and rushed at Martha, fists flying. The parlour maid caught her wrists. Charlie kicked out, and Martha grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Stop that! You little tyke! If you don’t want to hear nasty things then don’t hide in the curtains and eavesdrop.’
    Charlie stopped screaming and stood still. She thought she might be sick. She glared at Martha, shivering.
    ‘Who on earth is that?’ gasped the new maid.
    ‘That?’ Martha asked. ‘Believe it or not, that is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte.’ They stared down at Charlie.
    ‘ My father did not murder my mother! ’ Charlie’s voice was barely a whisper and she was shaking worse than ever. She looked at Martha until the parlour maid’s eyes flickered and dropped. The new maid did not look away. Charlie saw pity in her face and, at the sight of it, she turned and ran from the room.
     
    She castled too soon. As soon as she switched thepositions of her king and rook, she knew she had made a mistake. Mr Moleglass’s eyes glowed with delight. His bishop swooped out of nowhere and captured her remaining knight.
    ‘When’s he coming?’ she asked for the tenth time.
    ‘Patience, Charlie,’ chided Mr Moleglass. ‘He will come as soon as he can. It is your turn,’ he said,