On Her Majesty's Frightfully Secret Service

by Rhys Bowen

  “Buongiorno,” he said, giving a nodding bow. “I came immediately. I am Assistant Chief Romeo Stratiacelli of the Stresa Municipale.” He rolled the r on “Romeo” almost as if he was an actor delivering a line. Even I could understand the Italian words because he delivered them so forcefully and with such dramatic gestures. “I come because this is a delicate matter, a matter that cannot be entrusted to the Carabinieri.”

  Romeo, I thought. The most unlikely Romeo I’d ever seen. And I had a sudden desire to giggle. Nerves, I suppose. Paolo stood and addressed the man, introducing each of us in turn. Camilla was sitting beside me.

  “At least he’s the assistant chief,” I whispered to her. “Someone high up. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s terrible. Assistant chief is almost the lowest rank in the police force here. Only one rank up from agent, which would be our humble bobby at home. I don’t think he’ll have had any detective training.” She stopped to see the assistant chief staring at her, realized that she was now the subject of the introduction and nodded politely.

  “Will you be asking for assistance from Milan, Assistant Chief Stratiacelli?” she asked him. “An inspector, perhaps? Or a superintendent?”

  “That will not be necessary, Contessa,” he said, reverting to Italian. “I myself can handle this simple matter. I and my team. I have brought with me the esteemed dottor Falco, who will examine the body. And my men will examine the room for clues and take the fingerprints of everyone in the house. Do not worry. By the end of today we shall have this unpleasant business sorted out.”

  I didn’t quite get the gist of that one, but Camilla translated for me. “Odious little man,” she muttered.

  “And your instructions are as follows,” Stratiacelli continued. “Until I have solved this unspeakable crime, nobody is to leave this house until I give my permission. Nobody is to telephone to the newspapers. Nobody is to approach the room of the deceased. Is that clear?”

  Paolo translated. “Most of our guests do not speak our language,” he said to Stratiacelli. “Do you have any facility with English?”

  “Ingleesh? I ’ave a little,” he said. He turned to us. “No leave ’ouse. No go to room of dead mans. Capiscono?”

  Paolo’s uncle cleared his throat. He had been sitting, silent and brooding, in his usual chair. “Assistant Chief, I should remind you there are some very important people present in this room. The heir to the English throne. A trusted general of Herr Hitler. And I myself enjoy the confidence of our beloved Mussolini. Any mishandling of this case would be reported to him, I can assure you.”

  The assistant chief turned a little pale, and swallowed hard, making his stiff collar bounce up and down, but in the bulldog manner of small men went on pugnaciously, “Me, I do not care if you are the Holy Father himself. A murder is a murder and justice is justice, whether it be in the backstreets of Napoli or here in a palace.” He turned to Paolo, ignoring Paolo’s uncle. “Now, Count di Martini, please have me escorted to the scene of the crime.”

  The moment we heard his footsteps going up the marble stairs Camilla went over to her husband’s uncle. “Uncle Cosimo, can we not telephone Milan and have them send someone else? This man is a fiasco, and I’ve always found small men who think a lot of themselves are dangerous.”

  Uncle Cosimo shrugged expressively, then put a hand on her arm. “Give him enough time to shoot himself in the foot, eh? Which he will most certainly do rapidly.”

  Camilla came to sit beside me again. “It’s only just beginning to sink in that somebody killed Rudi. Someone in this house. It seems impossible.” And she looked around the room, from one face to the next.

  “Everyone is capable of murder, given the right circumstances,” Paolo’s mother muttered darkly, looking up from her rosary.

  There was another awkward silence. I too looked around the room. My mother certainly had a good reason for wanting Rudolf dead. And if Max had found out what he was doing, he’d also have a good reason. And why had Camilla been sneaking out of Rudolf’s room yesterday evening? If Rudolf was a blackmailer, who knew what he had found to use against the other occupants of the room? And yet, I thought, these were powerful people. Surely they would hire a lesser mortal to do their dirty work for them. One of them could have thrown Rudolf out of the speeding boat yesterday.

  I looked up as we heard the tap of feet coming back down the stairs. Assistant Chief Stratiacelli returned, followed by Paolo.

  “You people have called me here under false pretenses,” he announced in Italian. Paolo translated. “This man was not murdered. He took his own life. Did you not see that the gun was still in his hand?”

  “We did observe the gun,” Paolo replied, “but it was pointed out by one of our guests that the gun was held in his right hand and that Count Rudolf was known to be left-handed.”

  The little man looked at us with a smirk on his face. “Have you never heard of people being ambidextrous?” he asked. “Some people they have the facility to write with one hand, to shoot the gun with the other hand. There. We solve the problem, do we not?”

  I could see relief cross the faces of those in the room.

  “So, now,” he continued, “the body will be removed. My doctor will examine it to determine the time of death. My men will see if there are any other fingerprints on his gun. If not, we can conclude that no crime has been committed, except against God.” He switched to speaking English. “So no worry. All is well. This poor man took his own life. May God have mercy on his soul.”

  With that speech he strode out of the room.

  Chapter 22

  STILL TUESDAY, APRIL 23

  AT VILLA FIORI

  In the middle of a difficult session and trying not to think what might possibly happen.

  For a while nobody spoke. Then Mummy said in a tentative voice, “I suppose it is possible that he was ambidextrous. People are, aren’t they?”

  “Some people are,” Camilla agreed.

  Mrs. Simpson stood up. “Good. Well, that’s settled, then. Unpleasantness over.” She glanced at the gold Cartier watch on her wrist. “And still plenty of time to go into Milan. Claire, honey, are you still up for it?”

  The Prince of Wales looked a little stunned. “I say, Wallis, there has been a death in the house. And the police chappie did say we were not allowed to leave without permission.”

  “That was when he thought it was murder, David. Now that he’s decided it’s a suicide, we’re all off the hook and free to come and go as we please.”

  David cleared his throat. “I just think it would be bad form to go shopping at this moment. Give the wrong impression, you know.”

  “I think it would give the right impression. Show the press that his death was nothing to do with any of us.” She started to cross the room.

  “Why should it have anything to do with any of us?” Camilla asked sharply. “He was only a casual acquaintance, after all.”

  “You invited him, Camilla, honey,” Wallis Simpson said smoothly.

  “I don’t think I did,” Camilla said. “In fact, I’m not even sure why he was invited. Certainly not a friend of mine. Paolo just told me some Germans were coming and I had the maids make up rooms.”

  “Uncle Cosimo told me he wanted some friends from Germany invited,” Paolo said.

  “Rudolf was a friend of yours, Uncle Cosimo?” Camilla asked.

  Cosimo shrugged. “I invited my good friend the general. He brings his own friends.”

  General Spitz-Blitzen stood up abruptly. “That young man was not a friend of mine. If anything I would say he invited himself when he found out who would be on the guest list. I brought only Klinker with me, who as my aide-de-camp naturally accompanies me everywhere. Actually, I am becoming worried about Klinker. Has nobody seen him? He has been gone a long time.”

  It just dawned on u
s that nobody had seen Klinker. I could tell what was going through other heads in that room—that Klinker was responsible for Rudolf’s murder and had fled back to Germany. Wonderfully convenient.

  “Did he mention where he was going?” Paolo asked.

  “Just out for a walk, I believe,” the general replied. “He is a very fit man. He prizes his fitness highly, you know.”

  “I will have the gardeners search the grounds,” Paolo said. “If he has gone beyond that, up into the hills, then we will just have to wait.”

  “Is it possible that he left in a hurry?” Mummy asked sweetly. When the others turned to look at her she said innocently, “It does seem coincidental, doesn’t it? That someone is killed and Klinker is nowhere to be found. The train from Stresa does have a good connection to Basel and then into Germany.”

  General Spitz-Blitzen’s face turned beet red. “You cannot believe that Klinker would do such a thing,” he said. “He is a man of honor, of the highest integrity. That is why I selected him for my aide. And besides, what possible motive could he have for killing Count Rudolf? He had never met the man before we arrived here.”

  “Calm down, General,” Mrs. Simpson said in that lazy drawl of hers. She was now leaning against the doorpost, and took another long puff on her cigarette. “Anyway, I thought we all agreed that good old ambidextrous Rudi shot himself.” She looked around the room. “And for God’s sake let’s do something rather than sitting around here like a bunch of ninnies. If David is going to be a spoilsport and not let me go shopping, there has to be some other form of entertainment. What do you suggest, Camilla?”

  “Cards, perhaps? Or we could set up bowling or badminton in the ballroom if you like.” Camilla still looked uncomfortable.

  “Bowling in the ballroom. How delightful,” Mrs. Simpson answered in such a sarcastic tone that the Prince of Wales stood up too and said hurriedly, “That sounds like it could be fun. Come on, Wallis. Buck up. Give it a try, what?”

  He went over to join her and took her arm. As he led her from the room she said, clearly enough for us all to hear, “I can’t think why you dragged me to this dreary place, David. I’ve been bored since the moment I got here. Let’s leave right now. We can be back at the Riviera in time for dinner.” Her voice grew fainter as they went down the long hallway.

  “I’d quite like to leave too,” Mummy said. “We could go back to our villa, Max, since the house party seems to be breaking up. What do you think?”

  Max was frowning. “I do not think we should go anywhere yet, mein Liebling. We should not desert the count and countess in their hour of need. It is at times like this when friends should stick together, ja?”

  Camilla shot him a smile. “Very kind of you, Max. I’m sorry I’m being such a lame hostess, but frankly Rudolf’s death has completely shocked me. I mean, one never expects . . . in one’s own house . . . does one?”

  Paolo came over to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It will all be sorted out soon, I promise you. Come on. Let’s get the games in the ballroom started, shall we?”

  “Are you coming to play with us, Georgie, darling?” Mummy said. She held out her hand to me and pulled me to my feet. “You go ahead, Max,” she said. “I want to have a comforting word with Georgie. She is clearly still upset.” She held me back with a grip of iron. “What’s that, darling? Of course you are feeling queasy. It’s only to be expected,” she said, her theater voice projecting down the hallway. “A young girl like you should never have to witness anything as horrible as that. I feel quite queasy myself. Why don’t you go and have a lie-down? I’ll take you up to your room.” As the last of the other guests disappeared down the hallway she whispered, “Quick. They’ll all be occupied in the ballroom. This would be a good time to see if the police have taken the body away and to search that room.”

  “Mummy, you can’t,” I whispered back in horror. “Besides, it’s all right now. They think he shot himself. They won’t be searching for clues.”

  “All the same, someone will find the pictures eventually and I’d much rather have them back in my possession before Max can see them.”

  “At least he can’t blackmail you anymore,” I pointed out.

  “That’s true,” she said.

  For a second it did cross my mind whether she might have been the one to shoot him. Then I had to smile. My mother was horribly squeamish. I couldn’t picture her holding a gun to a man’s head and firing, and frankly I didn’t think she was bright enough to plan a murder and make it look like a suicide. Such a crime took a skilled and devious person. I allowed her to walk me along the upstairs hallway.

  “Who sleeps in these other rooms?” I asked.

  “We have this one close to the stairs,” she said. “Then the Prince of Wales and that woman have the big suite in the middle, then Rudi and then you. I believe the door at the far end leads to Paolo and Camilla’s quarters.”

  “Yes, I think it does. My maid always appears from that direction,” I said. “But what about the others, the general and Klinker?”

  “In another wing, I believe, on the other side of the staircase. And I’ve no idea where Uncle Cosimo and the dreadful mother go at night. Or that priest. To hang by their toes in the belfry, I expect. Don’t they give you the creeps?”

  “They do,” I agreed. “And what do you think about Klinker, by the way?”

  “I’m not quite sure what to make of Klinker. Do you think he’s actually human and not an automaton? I haven’t heard him say a word or even change his facial expression since we arrived.”

  “I saw him smile once,” I said. “A sort of little secret smile.”

  “I expect he’s Hitler’s spy, sent to keep an eye on the general, or on Max,” she said. “I wonder if he did shoot Rudi.”

  “If so, why would he flee and thus point suspicion at himself?” I asked. “He’d made it look like a suicide. All he had to do was to stay put and act calmly. Instead of that he is nowhere to be found.”

  “Perhaps he’s also been knocked off,” Mummy said happily. “I expect we’ll find the body stuffed in a fountain or something.”

  Before we could reach Rudi’s room the door at the end of the hall opened and Gerda came out. “Lady Georgiana, is something wrong?” she asked. “You are not feeling well?”

  “She is naturally upset,” my mother said. “I thought she should lie down for a while.”

  “I suggested this when she came in from walking in the rain,” Gerda agreed. “It is not wise to subject the body to stress when the mind has already been shocked. I will take care of Lady Georgiana, have no fear. You are free to join the rest of the party.”

  “No, I don’t want to lie down,” I said firmly. “I really don’t. I don’t want to be alone at the moment. I’d rather be with people.”

  “As you wish,” Gerda said. “You only have to ring for me and I will be there.”

  She turned and went back through the double doors at the end of the hallway.

  “Now!” Mummy hissed to me. She made a beeline for Rudi’s door. She was only a foot away from it, with her hand on the handle, when it opened and a young policeman emerged. He looked as shocked as Mummy did to find a strange person standing inches from his face.

  “Signora?” he asked and then rattled off something in Italian.

  “Sorry. Don’t speak Italian,” Mummy said. “English lady. I lent Count Rudolf one of my books and I wanted to retrieve it from his room before it is lost. My book. Gave to count. Want back. Understand? Might I go in?”

  This subterfuge was in vain. The young man clearly spoke no English. He shushed her away, closed the door and turned the key firmly in the lock. Then he walked away down the hall.

  “Drat,” Mummy said. It was mild for her, given the circumstances.

  “I don’t suppose we could find the key that the servants use?” Mummy sug
gested.

  “I really don’t think you could slip into the servants’ quarters unobserved in the middle of the day. Besides, if you gained access to his room and turned the place upside down looking for those photographs and they decided to take fingerprints, think what that would look like.”

  “Then let’s just pray that it is called a suicide and nobody does anything more. But to be on the safe side, I think Max and I should slip back to the safety of Switzerland. Such an orderly country, isn’t it? So clean. And so kind to one’s money. Boring as hell, but safe.”

  It occurred to me that I could do the same. Excuse myself and go straight back to that nice little room near Belinda in the safety of Switzerland. After all, I had no reason for being here. I had recounted to Darcy what I had overheard. And I certainly wasn’t about to get involved in solving Rudolf’s murder. But then Darcy was still here and I wasn’t going to abandon him. Maybe he had learned all he needed to know and could quietly melt away as well. I’d have to wait until tonight when he came to my room to make plans.

  We arrived at the ballroom to find that a long runner had been laid and indoor bowling was taking place. It was strangely eerie in there with the tall velvet curtains half drawn back and the far corners of the room still in shadow. The clack of ball against skittles echoed from the high painted ceiling while Roman statues glared down on us disapprovingly. Nobody seemed particularly enthusiastic.

  “Ah, here are Georgie and Claire now,” Paolo said, trying to sound cheerful. “We should make teams.”

  “Oh goodie. Teams,” Mrs. Simpson said dryly.

  Paolo had just finished dividing us into two teams. I found myself with the reluctant Mrs. Simpson, the general and Uncle Cosimo, hardly a combination likely to win anything. I had just picked up the ball to have my first bowl when Umberto, the butler, appeared. He made an announcement in Italian.