Blaze of Glory by Michael Pryor Page B

extraordinary work at Greythorn University.
Uncertainty Theory, if I'm not mistaken, Miss
Hepworth? Working with Winslow and Tremaine?'
    She nodded, but Aubrey saw wariness in her eyes.
'That's his field.'
    'I haven't read anything about his research for some
time,' he said. 'I hope I'll get the chance to meet him. It'd
be an honour.'
    Miss Hepworth glanced at George and added, 'My
mother is Ophelia Hepworth. Her works are hung in the
National Gallery as well as in major galleries overseas.
Her paintings are sought after by private collectors and
the Royal Family own several. She's a genius.'
    'I'm sure she is.' George smiled.
    She turned back to Aubrey, who was trying to keep up
with the mercurial Miss Hepworth. 'Your mother is Lady
Rose Fitzwilliam, the famous explorer and naturalist?'
    Aubrey was surprised. It was his father that most
people were immediately interested in. 'Indeed.'
    'I'd like to meet her. 'With that, she swept towards the
station exit, not looking behind to see if they'd follow.
    'A modern young woman,' George said, after a
moment's silence.
    'Certainly,' Aubrey said. 'Let's go and join her, George.
I'm sure she has more surprises for us.'
    The station was a tribute to the stationmaster's care,
with climbing roses growing along the picket fence and
up one side of the tiny house. The stationmaster himself
came bustling out, tucking his shirt into his trousers.
'Here, young sir,' he said to George. 'Let me take that.'
    George happily relinquished the trolley. The stationmaster
took the handles, and it was only a short distance
through the gate before they found Miss Hepworth.
    She was standing by a carriage, stroking one of the
matched pair of black horses that looked as if they'd been
prepared for dressage. The driver nodded approvingly at
her handling of the animals.
    The stationmaster frowned at the lightly sprung
carriage and then at the luggage. He pushed back his cap,
scratched his head and then shrugged. 'You go ahead.
When you get there, tell them they'd better send the
wagon down.'
    Aubrey offered his hand to Miss Hepworth, but she
climbed into the carriage unaided. Aubrey and George
sat opposite her. The driver clicked his tongue and they
moved off.
    George waved a hand. 'You've been to Penhurst before,
I take it, Miss Hepworth?'
    She had been studying the elms that lined the long
avenue leading from the station towards the house. She
looked at George and inclined her head a little. 'Father
has been working nearby. Prince Albert has made his
colleagues and him welcome a number of times. He says
that their living circumstances are too spartan.'
    'And are they?' Aubrey put in, leaning forward.
    'I wouldn't know.' Miss Hepworth returned her gaze to
the trees she obviously found more fascinating than
Aubrey and George. 'I haven't seen them.'
    'Ah,' Aubrey said, his mind racing. His curiosity was
pricking at him. A number of things Miss Hepworth had
said – or not said – were intriguing, but Aubrey knew
better than to force matters. He sat back and let his
mind work.
    After fifteen minutes travelling through woods and
well-kept fields, the avenue brought them to a large set of
gates in a tall stone wall that stretched as far as Aubrey
could see in either direction. The gates bore the coat of
arms of the Royal Family. 'The Big House,' Miss
Hepworth said, pointing.
    Still some distance away, well inside the walls, was a
huge, rambling building, four storeys, brownish stone,
many windows looking outwards. A flag flew from the
tower, indicating the Prince was in residence.
    Aubrey smiled, remembering the happy times he'd
spent at the Royal Family's favourite country estate. Its
popularity, no doubt, arose from the King's fondness for
shooting and Penhurst's possessing some of the finest
country in the land. Of course, the King had done a great
deal to improve its natural advantages. Much replanting
of coverts was undertaken, woods were cleared to suit
efficient beating, all with an eye to providing