Crowned and Dangerous (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

by Rhys Bowen

  “Well, one could hardly let Bertie do it, could one?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Can you imagine it?” Mrs. Simpson chimed in, looking around the company with a malicious gleam in her eye. “D-d-d-d-dear f-f-f-f-friends and f-f-f-family. The man is hopelessly embarrassing, isn’t he?”

  “He’s a very nice person,” I said. “He just gets flustered when he has to speak in public.”

  “Or to our father,” the prince said. “He never can speak to the king without stuttering.”

  “That’s because His Majesty gets so impatient with him and snaps at him. When he talks to people like me and his daughters he never stutters.”

  “That’s because you’re so nonthreatening, honey,” Mrs. Simpson said, giving me one of those condescending smiles she was so good at. “How are you, Georgiana? I haven’t seen you since we were on the same boat going to America. Did your mama get her divorce? I gather that was the reason for her trip.”

  “She did, thank you,” I said. “And I hope you managed to conclude your . . . spot of business properly.” Since the rumor was that she also wanted to set divorce proceedings in motion, she understood what I was hinting at.

  “Quite satisfactorily, thank you,” she replied, her face a mask of composure. “In fact I think I can say that everything is proceeding smoothly.” She looked around, then went on, an edge now to her voice. “Except for the fact that I don’t have a drink in my hand. David—find me a gin and tonic.”

  There was the slightest of gasps from the rest of the party. Only his family addressed him as David, within the confines of their palaces, and even a close friend like Mrs. Simpson should have addressed him as “sir” in public. And certainly not ordered him to fetch her a drink.

  “Allow me,” Princess Zamanska said hurriedly. “Pierre—a gin and tonic for Mrs. Simpson. And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the same. Thanks awfully,” he said. “So what have you been up to, Zou Zou? Any motor racing recently?”

  “The weather has been too beastly, hasn’t it?” she said. “But I do have a new toy. I have just bought an aeroplane. A dinky little two-seater. I thought flying was the next obvious thing to do.”

  “Good show!” The prince nodded enthusiastically. “We can go up together sometime. I enjoy flying planes myself, although Wallis hates going up with me, don’t you, old thing?”

  “Terrified he’s going to kill us both,” Mrs. Simpson replied.

  “Then you and I shall see if we can loop the loop together,” the princess said.

  “You’re both crazy, do you know that?” Mrs. Simpson said, raising her eyes in despair. “Actually we were just over in Germany. That country is doing so splendidly now, isn’t it, David? Herr Hitler has really got them back on their feet. So proud and prosperous and well organized. I was saying to David I wouldn’t even mind living there. A little house up in the mountains like Hitler’s. So charming.”

  “You would not find it so charming if you had to live there for long,” Princess Zamanska said. “Wild horses would not drag me to Germany again, and as a Polish woman I fear for my country.”

  The gong sounded and we went in to dinner. The Marquis de Chambourie was assigned to escort me. He tucked my arm through his a little too firmly for my taste.

  “So where have you been hiding until now, you delectable creature?” he asked as he took a seat beside me at a beautifully set mahogany dining table that glittered and sparkled in the light of two chandeliers.

  “Not exactly hiding,” I said. “I have spent a lot of time in Scotland.”

  “Scotland? Other people go there for the grouse shooting, but for me it is too wild and barbaric and boring. But then anything outside Paris tends to bore me. Until I meet a girl like you—so sweet and fresh. And then I feel quite alive again. You must call me Jean-Claude. Tell me, where are you staying in London? Claridge’s? The Dorchester?”

  “Actually I’m at Kensington Palace,” I said and was relieved to see that not even an ardent Frenchman would consider trying to gain entrance to my bedroom there.

  “You live at a palace? I did not realize that you are royal.”

  “Only a cousin,” I said. “The king and my father were first cousins. Does that make me a second cousin or a first cousin once removed? I never understand these things.”

  “But you are not a princess?”

  “No. Because my father’s mother was a princess, but the title doesn’t pass through the female line. If she’d been a boy it would have been different.”

  “So silly, all these aristocratic rules, are they not?” he said. “Myself I am glad that France is a republic and we do not have to bother with such trivialities.”

  “And yet you still use your title.” I had to smile at him.

  “It does open certain doors,” he conceded. “And provides for quite a pleasant lifestyle. I do own quite a nice town house in Paris close to the Seine, and a delightful little château near Bordeaux. You must come and visit me sometime. I would love to show you around my vineyards.”

  If Darcy could see me now, he’d be amused, I thought. I could picture him winking at me from across the table. Then reality overwhelmed me. Darcy was far away in Ireland.

  Chapter 7

  NOVEMBER 30, AND THEN SATURDAY , DECEMBER 1

  Back to Rannoch House and facing the dreaded Fig again. Oh dear.

  The food was exquisite, as only the French know how to cook. A lighter-than-air soufflé followed by duck breast that was crisp on the outside yet succulent within. Yet in spite of my hunger I found it hard to eat. I could not shake the feeling of impending doom from my mind. I was also battling double annoyances closer at hand. Jean-Claude’s hand kept straying to my thigh. On the other side of me the princess interspersed her accounts of parachute jumps, camel rides across the Sahara and fishing for shark with probing questions about me and Darcy. Her conversation seemed to have few boundaries.

  “Does it worry you that he’s a Catholic?” she asked. I thought she was hinting at the line of succession that forbade the royal family from marrying Catholics. But then she went on, “They don’t believe in birth control, do they? At least not after marriage. Before it is quite another matter, isn’t it?” She gave me a “we girls understand each other” look, then went on, “With Darcy’s ardent nature you’ll be popping out a baby a year, my dear.”

  I’m afraid I blushed bright red, making her chuckle. “You really are a sweet innocent, aren’t you?” she said. “I don’t believe you’ve even thought of such things. Being a Catholic myself I think of them all the time. Of course, we have a wonderful institution called confession. One can be very naughty and then pop into the confessional, say a few Hail Marys and all is forgiven. So much simpler than the Protestants and their hellfire.”

  She took another spoonful of meringue, licked her lips, then went on, “That’s how we first met, you know. Darcy and I. Several years ago. He was just a child, but such a handsome little boy. So mature for his age. We bumped into each other coming out of the confessional.”

  On the other side of me the hand was now sliding up my thigh.

  “Have you seen Zou Zou’s fine collection of etchings?” Jean-Claude whispered. “Upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I would love to show them to you after dinner. I don’t think we’ll be missed.”

  Suddenly I had had enough of being polite and being questioned about matters too close to my heart. I picked up my dessert fork and stuck it into the hand that was now squeezing my thigh as if testing a melon for ripeness. The marquis gave a little involuntary exclamation—“Ah!” Of course, good breeding required that he retain perfect composure and no more would be said. But the hand was removed.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I must have dropped my fork. How clumsy of me.”

  On the other side of me I saw a flicker of amusement cross the princess’s face. She knew exactly what I had done.

  “So where is dear Darcy?” the woman called Bubbles asked from across the table. “I haven
’t seen him in an age.”

  “My dear. Haven’t you heard?” Zou Zou said. “His father’s been arrested. The dear boy rushed to his side instantly.”

  “Good God,” Dicky said. “I did read something in the paper this morning. Saw it was some Irish peer and didn’t take any more notice. But it was O’Mara’s father, was it? Arrested for murder, no less.”

  “Those Irish always are a little too heated, I think,” Lady What’s-it, the banker’s wife, said. “Not quite civilized, you know. And they get aggressive when they’re in their cups.”

  “Wasn’t there some kind of scandal that involved him earlier this year?” the Prince of Wales chimed in. “Horse doping at the Gold Cup or something. The winning horse dropped dead and it was found it had been doped.”

  “That’s right. And O’Mara’s father was the trainer,” Dicky agreed. “There was a frightful fuss but nothing was ever proven.”

  I could hardly stand it a second longer. I wanted to jump up and yell at them to stop talking about it as if they were discussing the weather. This was my Darcy’s father, my Darcy’s whole future we were discussing. I desperately wanted to go home and was so glad when the princess suggested that we ladies retire and leave the men to their port. The moment we were out of the dining room I took her aside and told her I was not feeling well. Could she possibly have her chauffeur drive me back to the palace?

  Then she was terribly solicitous. “Of course. You’ve had such a tiring day. And you’re worried for Darcy. But I’m sure he will sort it all out. They’ll find it was a horrid misunderstanding and all will be well.”

  When I tried to thank her she took my hands. “Come and visit me again. Anytime,” she said. “And if you need to borrow the Armstrong, it’s yours.”

  Her kindness, more than anything, made me feel as if I was about to cry. I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  “I’ll make your excuses to the others,” she said. “Jean-Claude will be disappointed, of course. But it’s good for him to find he is not irresistible to every female in the world.” She glanced back to where the sound of male laughter came from the dining room. “Although I have to say he really is awfully good at it. You might have found it surprisingly fun.” Then she gave my hand a little squeeze.

  I was driven back to the palace and found that the fire in my room had not succeeded in making it much warmer. There was no sign of Queenie. I struggled with the hooks on my dress and climbed into a cold bed. Then I curled into a tight little ball and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. Had Darcy telephoned? I pictured him also lying alone in a cold bed, worrying and thinking of me.

  In the morning a hard-boiled egg and toast were brought up to my room. Queenie finished repacking my things and I went downstairs to send someone to find a cab for me. I looked up when I heard the brisk tap of feet and for a moment I thought I was seeing yet another ghost. Then I saw that this man was very much alive. He just bore a remarkable resemblance to the major who had been his predecessor at the palace and who had died in a tragic fall.

  “Lady Georgiana,” he said, in his fruity military tones, “I can’t apologize enough. I had no idea, you see. I understood from the servants that you had already departed and left your maid to have your belongings sent on. If I’d known you were still to be in residence I would have made sure that you were properly fed and looked after.”

  “It’s quite all right, Major . . . ?”

  “Halliburton,” he said. “Grenadier Guards.”

  “Major Halliburton,” I said. “Please don’t apologize. I had intended to be gone but I had to return unexpectedly. I’ll be moving to my brother’s house this morning, so I’ll be departing in a few minutes.”

  “No, no. Please feel free to stay as long as you want,” he said.

  “But I understood the place was to be closed up and the servants sent elsewhere today,” I said.

  He glanced around before lowering his voice. “That was to make sure a certain other lady went home to wherever she came from,” he said, giving me a conspiratorial grin. “I understand that she expressed an interest in staying on indefinitely, and as she was not the easiest of guests . . .” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. “But with you it is quite different. That lady invited herself, so I am told. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. Everyone was surprised when she showed up on the doorstep.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll both be out of your hair today, I promise,” I said.

  “What does this major have in his hair?” a voice behind us demanded, and there was Irmtraut, dressed for travel in a green Austrian cape. “I hope it is not fleas or lice. I do not think this place is cleaned very well.”

  “It is merely an expression, Countess,” the major said. “An English idiom.”

  “I am glad that I return to a country where people say what they mean. And no silly expressions like ‘toads in the cave’ and ‘raining cats and dogs.’”

  Then she swept past us and out the front door.

  The major and I exchanged a smile.

  A taxi was summoned, and the luggage was piled in for the short trip to Belgrave Square. It was still horribly foggy and we crept through Kensington Gardens, seeing only a few feet in front of us.

  “Blimey, if it gets much worse I’m going ’ome,” the driver muttered as he pulled up outside Rannoch House. Our butler, Hamilton, opened the front door.

  “Why, Lady Georgiana, what a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I was not informed that you were expected. Let me take your coat, then go and make sure that your room is ready for you.” He peered out into the street where Queenie was wrestling with the bags. “I’ll send a footman to help with your luggage.”

  “Is His Grace at home, Hamilton?” I asked.

  “At his club, I believe, my lady. But Her Grace is here.”

  He had only just said the words when Her Grace came down the staircase toward us.

  “Georgiana!” she exclaimed, a look of surprise on her face. “What are you doing here? We understood that you had moved into Kensington Palace.”

  “Only until the wedding,” I said. “I was invited to keep Princess Marina company and now she and the Duke of Kent are on their honeymoon, so the apartment is being closed up and I have returned here for a little while, if that’s all right with you.”

  Her eyes darted nervously. “Why yes, of course. Binky will be pleased to see you. He’s off at his club as usual. Goes there every morning to read the papers. Seems to prefer reading them there, which is silly because we have the very same newspapers here.” Turning, she said, “We’ll have coffee in the morning room, Hamilton.” She went through ahead of me and took up position in the best armchair beside the fire. I went over to the window seat, suitably far away from her.

  “How are the children?” I asked. “Both well?”

  “Podge has had a cold. I don’t think the London air agrees with his chest. I suggested to Nanny that she not open his windows at night, but she is of the old school. All children should sleep with windows open, no matter what.”

  “That’s how I was brought up,” I said. “As you know only too well, all the bedroom windows at Castle Rannoch are always kept open.”

  “Things may improve now that the new central heating is being installed,” she said. “You must come and visit sometime next summer. So where are you off to now? Another royal residence?”

  Fig deeply resented that I was royal by birth and she only tenuously by marriage. She resented even more that I had quite a chummy relationship with Queen Mary. Also that I had a rich mother. “Or perhaps it’s back to America with Mummy? You seem to lead an exciting sort of life.”

  “I’m not sure of my plans, Fig. For the moment I’d like to stay in London.” I heard the sound of luggage being dragged upstairs. “But don’t let me keep you from what you were doing. I should probably go up and supervise Queenie unpacking my things.”

  Fig sighed. “I can’t understand why you still have that dreadful creature as your maid. She
simply isn’t up to snuff, Georgiana. She discredits the whole family.”

  “You know why, Fig,” I replied. “I have no money. No allowance. Nothing. I cannot employ a decent maid. Queenie works pretty much for her room and board.”

  Fig scowled. “I don’t know why you are telling me this. It is not your brother’s duty to support a spinster female sister. The family paid for your season. You turned twenty-one. All our obligations ended there. It is not our fault that you have failed to make a suitable marriage. Heaven knows the family has tried hard enough on your behalf.”

  “Nobody that I would describe as suitable, Fig, as I told you once before.” I was referring to Prince Siegfried (usually known to my friends as Fishface), who’d made it clear to me that if I produced an heir he’d never bother me again.

  She sighed. “You didn’t happen to meet any good prospects at the wedding, did you? There were quite a few young Continental chaps in evidence from what I could see. Of course, we were not invited to the reception at the palace, but I understand that you were.” Another withering look.

  “I am capable of finding my own chap, thank you, Fig.”

  “You mean that O’Mara person? I hope his name will not be mentioned again in this house. You do know that his father is a murderer? A common criminal, Georgiana. You must put all thoughts of him aside.”

  “His father is accused of murder,” I said. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “You know what they always say: Like father, like son.” She nodded as if she had scored a point.

  “I think I’ll go up and see the children in the nursery,” I said.

  “So how long do you think you will be staying?” she asked as I stood up.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “My plans are a little up in the air, as usual.”

  “Only we won’t be here much longer ourselves,” Fig said with something close to a smirk on her face.

  “I thought you were having central heating put in at Castle Rannoch and you were going to spend Christmas in London.”