Bloody Royal Prints

by Reba White Williams

  “So far, you’re doing better than my dreams,” she said.

  •••

  In fact, the experience was far more delightful than she had imagined: high up in the air, the dark blue sky scattered with stars, the blue lights of the Eye, the lights of London below. Tony pointed out sights, saw that she was thoroughly wrapped in cashmere, and served her tea sandwiches and hot chocolate.

  •••

  Back at Heyward’s late that night, Coleman and Tony stood in the foyer to say goodnight.

  “It was a perfect evening. I didn’t want it to end,” Coleman said.

  “Good,” he said. He kissed her hand, then very lightly, her mouth.

  “I’ve arranged the hedgehogs and the badgers for tomorrow night,” he said. “You’ll see some bluebells, but not very well—it will be too dark. We’ll make a daytime trip to another place to give you a better bluebell view. I’m working on the nightingale. We’ll have to go out of London to get it. We’ll go on Tuesday, if that suits you?”

  “Of course. I can hardly wait.” Coleman, still dazzled by the London Eye experience, couldn’t believe it. “No! Really? You’ll have to tell me how you arranged the hedgehogs and the badgers. Didn’t they object?”

  He laughed. “No, not when I told them it was for you. Dress warmly, wear walking shoes, take gloves. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll have an hour’s drive to the place where we’ll see the animals. We’ll go to a pub for a meal later—I think you told me you’ve never been to one? There’s a very good one near where we’ll see the animals.”

  “Sounds like a great evening,” she said.

  “What are you going to do all day tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Maybe shop a little. Buy some books. Write in my diary everything about the Eye. Worry about poor Rachel’s problems,” she said.

  “Be careful,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six. When I come I’ll have a surprise for Dolly.”

  •••

  Coleman knocked on Heyward’s door. “It’s me,” she said.

  Dolly made a small hello noise, and Heyward said, “Come in.”

  Dolly ran to greet her, and Coleman leaned over to pick her up.

  “I don’t have to ask whether you had a good time. You’re glowing.”

  “It was the best night of my life,” Coleman said.

  “I bet you’ll have even better nights,” he said. “Sleep well.”

  •••

  Coleman lay in bed, reliving the evening. Tony had said she was an unusual woman. He was unique in her experience. He seemed to think only of her wishes, her comfort, making sure she had a wonderful time. No grabs, no pushiness, no demands. She was sure he’d had more than enough of the Eye long before he met her, but he hadn’t ruined the experience for her by acting bored, or talking about something else when she was trying to absorb everything.

  Would he be as considerate, kind, and gentle as a lover? Or if they became lovers, would he turn possessive and demanding, like all the other men she had known?

  “Dolly, I’m thinking like a schoolgirl. One date and I’m worrying about what kind of lover he would be. He hasn’t even hinted that he feels that way about me. Rob was always all over me, wanting to possess me, send me to the suburbs . . . so much so I had to break off our relationship. I knew as soon as I met Jeb that we’d be in bed that night if I didn’t put on the brakes.”

  She sighed. “Tony is the nicest man I ever met, and one of the best-looking. Could he be gay? Or is he just being nice to me because he’s a friend of Heyward’s? What a fool I am, lying here fretting. What will be, will be. I’ll know soon enough.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rachel

  Sunday, May, London

  The telephone woke Rachel a little before seven. Who would call her so early? She reached for the phone, and was not altogether surprised to hear Julia. She was talking so fast Rachel at first couldn’t understand a word she said.

  “Slow down,” Rachel said. “Say it again?”

  “Stephanie,” Julia said. “She’s been murdered.”

  “What?” Rachel said. “How—why? Where?”

  Julia couldn’t seem to explain. She sounded rattled, couldn’t pull herself together.

  “Shall I come over there?” Rachel asked.

  “No,” Julia said. “No, it’s chaos. Don’t come, but I had to let you know. I expect the police will want to ask you some questions. You saw her yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Rachel said, not asking how Julia knew this. The Little Palace was a gossip center. “I sent her home with Isobel Strange. She was upset, but she seemed glad to go. Are they sure it’s murder? Who would want to kill that poor creature?”

  Julia said, “I don’t know, I don’t know! I don’t—I can’t—I’ll call you later.”

  It was too early for Rachel to call Heyward, or her solicitor. But going back to sleep was impossible. The girl she had sworn to help was dead. Rachel could do nothing for her now. Rachel’s guilt would never vanish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Coleman

  Sunday morning, May, London

  Coleman was deeply asleep and dreaming about Tony and the Eye when she heard knocking on her bedroom door. She was slow to wake, until she heard Heyward’s voice: “Coleman, I need to speak to you right away.”

  She called, “Come in,” and he entered, followed by Mrs. Carter with a tray of coffee and orange juice. The housekeeper set the tray down on the table near the door, and disappeared. Heyward poured Coleman a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

  “I have to tell you something terrible. I thought it best to tell you right away: Princess Stephanie was murdered last night.”

  Coleman sat up, and took a swallow of coffee. She had to wake up, she had to give Heyward her full attention. This was awful news. Heyward, normally so calm and cheerful, looked distressed. “What happened?” she asked.

  “The usual: heroin overdose at the Little Palace. It’s time for me to give you some background. We—a number of us concerned with the drug problem in London—have known for some time that Stephanie sold drugs. She had a very active social life, and knew many drug users. She went everywhere, and she was very successful at what she did, but she couldn’t have been the brains of the outfit. Someone was telling her what to do.

  “We hoped to learn from her who her boss or bosses were, but she wouldn’t talk to us. We think she was too afraid of the people she reported to to tell us anything. Jeb was in London assisting me with some of my projects. I suggested he would be a good person to get information from her: attractive, charming, unknown in London, and able to pose as a wealthy catch. I couldn’t tell you about it; we were all sworn to secrecy. I’m sorry the subterfuge made you think badly of Jeb. His association with Stephanie was very hard work.”

  Coleman listened attentively, but she didn’t comment. She wasn’t sure Jeb saw his time with Stephanie as work. She had seen the way he looked at Stephanie. He had looked at Coleman that way during their brief association.

  “Stephanie wasn’t about to confess, nor was she telling Jeb anything useful,” Heyward continued. “Her behavior became more and more erratic. We feared her bosses might see her as a loose cannon and kill her to prevent their exposure. We saw her breakdown as an opportunity to put her in the clinic where we could help and protect her. As you know, she was to go to the clinic this morning, but someone made sure she didn’t get there.”

  “How terrible,” Coleman said. “What now?”

  “Only a few people knew she was going to the clinic. Unfortunately, one of them was Rachel. I’m afraid poor Rachel will continue to be a suspect. I’d hoped we could get her off the list, but that was not to be. There’s a lot to cover, and I want to discuss everything with you. Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs? We’ll have some breakfast and decide what to do next.”

  Coleman took a shower, and pulled on her black jeans, a black turtleneck, and flats. She’d considered a brighte
r outfit, which might lift her dark mood, but rejected it. She felt the need for some kind of mourning for that poor foolish girl. She took Dolly downstairs and let her out in the garden.

  Heyward was waiting for her at the dining room door. They went into the room together, and sat down at the table in their usual places: Heyward at the head, Coleman on his right. A maid whose name Coleman didn’t know came in and poured coffee, and waited silently by the table for their orders.

  “What would you like?” Heyward asked Coleman.

  “Just a muffin, blueberry if there are any, but anything will do,” she said.

  Heyward ordered dry toast and scrambled eggs. When the maid left the room, he turned to Coleman. “Tony called early this morning with messages for you: He said he’d hoped to see you today—to take you to lunch, or tea, but something has come up and he may not be able to, but he’ll call later. I suspect that what came up is Stephanie’s death. He left a package for you. I brought it in here—here it is.” He handed her a small package wrapped in green paper.

  “He also said he’ll pick you up tonight at six. It’s ‘hedgehogs and badgers’—does that make sense to you? And the nightingale is set for Tuesday.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s all great news—things I’m really looking forward to. They’ll cheer me up,” Coleman said. “That poor girl’s death is so depressing. How old was she?”

  “I don’t think anyone knows. She may not have known her own age. Maybe twenty-something? About her death: as I said, only a few people knew she was going to the clinic today. I’m sure that’s why she was killed. Once she was in there, we could protect her. They’d have no control over her, and she’d probably talk to us. You, Dinah, and Rachel knew she was going to the clinic, and—what’s her name?” Heyward asked.

  “Isobel Strange. She says she’s known Stephanie since she was a child. They were in a group home together. She accompanied Stephanie to the Little Palace yesterday. Rachel said Isobel was devoted to Stephanie—that’s why Rachel called her to come over when Stephanie was hysterical. It’s hard to believe she would harm Stephanie. Anyway, I’d bet everyone in the Little Palace knew Stephanie was there. She was making such a fuss at Rachel’s. I’m sure she was still making a scene when she arrived at her destination,” Coleman said. “Where was she killed?”

  “Her body was on her bed. The policemen I spoke to said she looked as if she was asleep. The police have interviewed everyone in the Little Palace, and they have no suspects except Julia—Lady Fitzgerald—and Rachel. The only new information they’ve discovered is Roberto what’s-his-name’s will. He, too, left everything to Stephanie. She died well-to-do,” he said.

  “That’s sad in a way—she was so poor all her life, when she could have enjoyed the money. Who inherits it?” Coleman asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s probably too soon to have found her will, if she has one. I don’t even know if she had a lawyer.”

  “Has anybody searched her apartment?” Coleman asked.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know who found the body either. I’ll call the police officer I’m dealing with, and try to get more details.”

  Coleman went to the garden door to let Dolly in. When she came back Heyward had put aside his cell phone.

  “I learned a little,” he said. “The concierge found her. He had flowers for her. When he took them upstairs to deliver them, the door to her apartment was ajar. She didn’t come to the door when he rang the bell, so he went in to check on her, found her body, and called the police. A police officer accompanied Julia and Isobel all through the apartment to see if anything was disturbed or missing, but they said all was as it should be. The police say there was no paper, no books in the flat.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Coleman said. “Isobel told us she could barely read or write.”

  “The concierge told the police that Julia and Isobel were in Stephanie’s flat constantly. She was hardly ever out of their sight.”

  “I suppose they felt she was helpless and they had to watch over her,” Coleman said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Coleman

  Sunday night, May, London

  Tony arrived at exactly six o’clock, carrying a package wrapped in pink paper and pink ribbons.

  “This is for Dolly. Where is she? Who’s taking care of her tonight?” he asked.

  “Heyward again. They settle down in the library and he works while she naps,” Coleman said. “Come on in, you can give it to her yourself. She likes to unwrap packages.”

  Coleman knocked on the library door, and asked Heyward if she and Tony could come in. He opened the door for them, and Dolly rushed to greet Coleman. Tony handed Dolly the package. She took it in her mouth, but looked at Coleman for approval. When Coleman nodded, she ripped off the ribbons and paper. She began to gnaw the box, and Coleman rescued it. Inside was a new pink leash and a new pink collar. Attached to the collar was a gold medallion. Coleman held it up. “My goodness,” she said. “Dolly, you got a medal!”

  “Let me see it,” Heyward said, and reached out to take it. “For Dolly, with thanks from a grateful nation, including all its dogs,” he read aloud.

  Coleman saw Heyward and Tony exchange glances.

  “Approved at the highest level,” Tony said. “If Dolly was a corgi, I suspect the Palace would have adopted her, or given her a title.”

  •••

  The car flew along the highway in the cool night air. Coleman was glad she had worn her black wool pantsuit. She’d worn it with the thought that the night would be cold, and that night creatures might be frightened by bright-colored clothes. She’d read that in Africa one shouldn’t wear bright colors or white—the animals would be startled and run away. Her walking shoes were black, too, as were the heavy socks she wore with them. Even her gloves were made of black wool, and she had pulled a black knit cap over her blonde curls.

  Tony laughed when he saw her, but when she told him why she was dressed as she was, he said she was probably right.

  The car turned sharply into deep, thick woods. In minutes they were in complete darkness. He drove further into the woods, and stopped by a small clearing, where a little light broke through the trees. When he helped her out of the car, she was standing on closely cut grass. She could smell it, and the evergreen and other woodsy scents she’d noticed when the plane from France landed on the Duke of Omnium’s property. Was that where she was?

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “A putting green on my father’s land. Hedgehogs like it. I see them here often. It’s very dark tonight. You may have a hard time seeing them, but that’s good for the hedgehogs. If the moon comes out from behind the clouds, they’re in danger of predators. I’ve brought you a torch. Keep it pointed towards the grass, and you should see one or maybe more. You said you don’t have hedgehogs in the United States?”

  “No, although my friend Susan told me there’s a South American hedgehog that people can keep in a cage as a pet. She said they’re unpleasant. The one she’d seen slept all day and hissed all night, so they’d named it Hiss. It hated captivity, I guess.”

  “That doesn’t sound at all like our hedgehogs. How do you even know about them?” Tony asked.

  “All I know is from Beatrix Potter’s stories,” she said.

  She saw a dark spot in the grass and leaned over to look at it. “Is that a hedgehog?” she whispered.

  “Yes, it is. Since you have on gloves, you can pick it up. Just slip your hand under it. It won’t mind.”

  The little creature lay in her hand, perfectly still, apparently unafraid. Coleman could have stood looking at him all night, but she spotted a much smaller one. She pointed it out to Tony.

  “Is that a baby?” she asked.

  “Yes, you can pick it up, too. Put the one you’re holding down carefully. It will go about its business. Pick up as many as you like one at a time, but always from underneath. I’m going into the woods to the place where we’ll see the badgers, just
to make sure they’re there. I’ll be right back.”

  Coleman leaned over to put the hedgehog in the grass, and was about to pick up the smaller one when a strong arm grabbed her from behind. She tried to stand up, but the man holding her was forcing her body down. He had a hand over her mouth, and the arm that was holding and pushing her had encircled her body, including both of her arms. He knocked the flashlight out of her hand. The man smelled horrible, of unwashed body odor, pigs, chicken pens, horse manure, tobacco, and beer. He was mumbling to her, but she couldn’t understand him. She wasn’t sure he was speaking English. Her mind was all over the place as she tried to think of a way to escape his grasp. She was wearing sneakers, so stamping on his feet was useless, but she tried it anyway. She tried and failed to bite the hand he held over her mouth. He was trying to push her to the ground and rape her, and she was helpless to stop him.

  Without warning, Tony was beside her. He didn’t hesitate, but hit her attacker on the head with the heavy torch he was carrying. The sound of the blow was horrifying, but the man didn’t cry out or fall. The man’s head must be made of stone.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Tony said to the man. “You’re off limits. Get off this property, and if you’ve set traps in this area, take them with you. If I ever see you here again, you’re going to jail. I’ll send someone to see you tomorrow. You’ll have to be punished.” The man disappeared into the woods and Tony pulled Coleman into his arms.

  “Are you hurt?” he said.

  “No, but I think it was a near miss. Who was that?”

  “A traveler—some people call them gypsies. His name is Fred. My father allows the travelers to camp not too far from here, but they aren’t allowed in this part of the grounds. Fred would not have touched you if he’d known you were with me. He’s backward—has the mental capacity of a six-year-old, but the sexual desires of an adult. He saw a woman alone and struck. No wonder you were frightened. He’ll be appropriately punished. We’ll report him to the elders in his family who are supposed to see that he behaves. Forget him, if you can. Are you sure you’re okay? Are you still up for badger watching? We can do that another night, if you’d rather?”