Crowned and Dangerous (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

by Rhys Bowen

  I make a big decision. I do hope it’s the right one. I just wish I knew.

  I arrived back to find Fig and Binky dressed and drinking sherry before dinner. Fig glared at me in annoyance. “Where have you been, Georgiana? You didn’t let anyone know you were going out, and we’re ready to go in to dinner at any moment.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I went to see my grandfather and the train back took longer than I anticipated.”

  “You went to see your grandfather?” She sounded exactly like Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest when she uttered those famous words “A handbag?”

  “Do I need to have your permission before I go to visit my relatives?” I said, the tension of the day making it harder for me to control my annoyance.

  “No, of course not, but you are a guest in this house and it is only common courtesy that you let your hosts know when you might be late for a meal.”

  “Please feel free to dine without me,” I said. “I’m not very hungry.”

  Binky came over to me then. “You’re obviously upset, old bean,” he said. “One can understand that. Why don’t you go and have a nice long bath and then Mrs. McPherson can make you something simple like an omelet.”

  “I don’t see why we should impose on Mrs. McPherson . . .” Fig began, but Binky cut her off. “Mrs. McPherson is dashed fond of Georgie. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to help her to feel better.”

  “You’re very kind,” I said to Binky. Then I pressed my lips together. I had a horrible feeling that I might burst into tears at any moment.

  “I sincerely hope you did not ask your grandfather whether you could stay with him, after our little discussion, Georgiana,” Fig said.

  Binky looked at her in surprise. “Why would she want to stay with her grandfather? Dashed inconvenient that far out of London.” He looked at me long and hard. “Are you not happy here, Georgie?”

  “Binky, you are so dense sometimes,” Fig said, before I could reply. “She’ll obviously need somewhere to stay when we go to France.”

  “Why can’t she stay on here?” Binky asked.

  Fig glared at him. “Because we are going to close up the house and send the servants back to Scotland,” she said.

  “Georgie lived here quite successfully without servants once before, I seem to remember. She cooked me a boiled egg for breakfast.”

  “When you were falsely accused and arrested for murder, if I remember correctly,” I said.

  “Quite right. You were splendid. Solved the whole thing.” Binky nodded to Fig.

  “In exactly the same predicament as Darcy’s father finds himself right now.” I drove home the point in case they hadn’t picked up on it.

  “Not exactly the same,” Fig said. “Binky was innocent and everybody knew it.”

  I was about to say that Darcy’s father might be innocent too until I remembered that Darcy himself believed his father to be guilty. A wave of despair swept over me as Binky went on cheerfully,

  “And Georgie did look after me jolly well, Fig. She was an absolute brick the whole time. I owe her my life, Fig, so I don’t see why we can’t let her stay on here.”

  “Binky, my dear, I must protest . . .” Fig began to say, but I cut in. “No, please don’t worry about me. I’m leaving in the morning. I’m going to stay with friends. It’s all arranged.”

  With that I made my way swiftly to my room. I had Queenie run me a bath and then she brought me a lovely tray of soup and an omelet. In spite of not wanting to eat, I managed to finish both and felt decidedly better. Tomorrow I’d be going to Darcy. And I was going to be firm and strong and not take no for an answer.

  “Blimey, up and down these ruddy stairs,” Queenie complained when she had taken my tray down again.

  “Yes, I realize you’ve had to work too hard recently,” I said. “So I’m giving you a break.”

  “We’re going somewhere nice and warm?” She looked hopeful.

  “I’m going somewhere horrible, but you don’t have to come,” I said. “You can go home to your family.”

  “Not to them, miss. Lord love a duck.” She grimaced.

  “Are you not fond of your family?”

  “Well, yeah, in a way, I suppose. But they won’t want me there. Not after last time. They’ll be afraid I’ll blow up the stove again. And my old dad spends his life telling me how useless I am and I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached to my body.”

  “I can see their point, Queenie,” I said. “You are hopeless, but your great-aunt, Mrs. Huggins, has said that you are welcome to come and stay with her until I get back. You can have a nice rest.”

  She didn’t look particularly grateful. “But my place is with you, miss,” she said.

  “I’m afraid I am going where there will be no room for a maid. And I don’t even know how long I’ll be away. Maybe only a few days, maybe longer. I’d be happier knowing you were safely with relatives.”

  “All right. If you say so.” The fact that she didn’t say “Bob’s yer uncle” underscored her reluctance to go home. I suspected that Mrs. Huggins made her work harder than I did.

  “If you could make sure I have sufficient clothes to last me for a week or so—my tartan skirt, my good cashmere sweater—and I’ll wear my tweed suit. And don’t forget my underwear and nightclothes.”

  “No evening dresses?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think they will dress for dinner where I’ll be.”

  “At least I won’t have to bother about finding any bleeding tissue paper,” she grunted as she went to start packing.

  My journey to Ireland did not start particularly auspiciously. When I came to get dressed I found that Queenie had packed all the items I wanted to wear, except for one stocking that couldn’t be found. This involved opening my big trunk and taking out most of my clothing, leaving us both feeling frustrated and annoyed. I was more cross with her than usual because my own nerves were at snapping point. In the light of day, with the journey a reality, I questioned whether I was doing the right thing. If Darcy really didn’t want me there, if my appearance only complicated the situation for him, he would not be pleased. I suppose I was hoping that he’d run toward me with his arms open, saying, “I couldn’t bear to live without you either.” But whatever the outcome I was determined to go through with it.

  The next complication came when I was preparing to leave. Queenie had become quite weepy, convinced that something terrible was going to happen to me and she’d never see me again. She had produced a large red and white handkerchief and traipsed around behind me blowing her nose at intervals like a foghorn. I had Binky’s permission to leave my excess luggage in my room to be collected either when I returned or when I knew where I would be staying. I had just seen a still-tearful Queenie off into a cab (a final treat from me) when Binky came out of his study.

  “You’re off, then? Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  I nodded, feeling a bit tearful myself. “I’ll be fine, thank you. And thank you for letting me leave my luggage here. That’s one less thing to worry about.”

  He looked at me long and hard. “You’re going to that chap O’Mara, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I am. He shouldn’t be all alone at this time.”

  “I’d imagine it will be pretty beastly.”

  “I expect it will, but I won’t give up on him because of something his father has done. Remember when you were accused of murder, Binky? Remember how horrid it was?”

  “And you stuck by me and got me out of prison. Brilliant, Georgie. I’ve been grateful ever since.”

  “I want to help Darcy in any way I can.”

  He put an arm around my shoulder. “You’re a splendid girl, Georgie. An absolute brick. True-blue. I hope O’Mara appreciates you.”

  “I hope so too,” I said.

  Binky rummaged inside his pocket. “I know that funds are tight, Georgie. I thought this might help a little.” He handed me what looked like several fol
ded five-pound notes.

  “Oh no, Binky. I couldn’t take your money,” I said. “I do have a little to get by on at the moment.”

  “No, I insist, Georgie.” He thrust the notes into my hand. “Take it. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Golly, Binky, are you sure you can afford it? Fig is always saying how hard up you are and I don’t want to deprive your family.”

  “Between you, me and the gatepost, that money from Fig’s aunt is going to come in jolly useful. I’m buying a new stock of Angus cattle for the estate. I want to make it profitable.”

  “Good for you, Binky. Good luck. I hope you have a lovely time in France.”

  “That is a matter of question,” he said. “But I must say I enjoy spending time with Podge on the beach. He’s a splendid little chap, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. I’m very fond of him.” I looked around. “I should be going, then. Good-bye and thank you for having me.”

  “Anytime. Always a pleasure.” He gave me an awkward hug. We did not go in for physical affection in our family. “And I’ll have Hamilton find you a spare door key so that you can come and claim your luggage.”

  “You’ll do what?” a sharp voice behind me asked.

  “Getting a front door key for Georgie so that she can collect her luggage when she returns.”

  “You’re giving her a key to our front door? So that she can come and go as she pleases?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “That’s because you don’t think, Binky,” she said. And she tried to give him a knowing look—the type of look that parents give each other when they don’t want to say something in front of the children.

  I had had enough of my sister-in-law. “Honestly, Fig. What on earth do you suspect? That I’ll hold orgies on the drawing room floor the moment your back is turned? Or do you really think I would sneak in and sell the silver spoons, or steal your precious coal? Maybe, God forbid, help myself to some tea from the caddy?”

  “Really, Georgiana, you go too far. Speak to her, Binky. She is insulting your wife.”

  She glared at him. Binky went rather red. “Dash it all, Fig. This is frightfully bad form, you know. It’s Georgie’s house as much as it is ours. I happened to inherit because I’m a chap, but this is the Rannoch family home and Georgie is welcome to come and go as she pleases. Furthermore it’s my home, and Georgie’s my sister, and it’s about time you try to get along with her. After all, I make a big effort to get along with your dismal crowd, don’t I?”

  “My dismal crowd?” There was a sharpness to her voice that would have cut glass.

  Binky, to my amazement, continued. “Come off it, Fig, you have to admit that your sister and brother-in-law are about as boring as they come, and yet I, being an easygoing kind of chap, have agreed to spend a whole winter cooped up with them. So if you want us to go to France, you’d bally well better learn to be a bit more civil to my sister, or there will be no more trips.”

  There was a stunned silence. I had to refrain from applauding. Binky’s face was now bright red, but he flashed me a triumphant grin. I rather suspect it was the first time he had ever stood up to her.

  “Well!” Fig said, her own face ashen white. “Well!” There was another long pause. “I’ll be going to the morning room if you need me.” And she stalked off, her grand exit spoiled only by the banging of her bony hip into the corner of a side table. She pretended it didn’t hurt.

  Binky and I stared at each other. “Well done, old bean,” I said.

  He looked sheepish. “There will probably be hell to pay later, but I must say it was worth it.”

  “You should have put your foot down long ago,” I said. “If she tries to start bossing you around, just put her over your knee and give her a spanking with the hairbrush.”

  He let out a delighted chuckle. “You know, I think I will. Damned good idea.”

  The fog had melted away to be replaced by drizzle as I came down the steps into Belgrave Square. I hailed a taxicab and was taken to Euston Station to catch the Irish Mail. But when I went up to the ticket counter I found out that the Irish Mail train did not leave until eight forty-five at night. How stupid of me not to have checked first. I certainly didn’t want to return to Rannoch House. But I didn’t want to sit in a station all that time either. I supposed I could deposit my suitcase at the left luggage and explore London a little, but I was in no mood to go exploring, and the weather certainly wasn’t inviting. I wanted to get the journey over and done with.

  “That is the only train to Ireland?” I asked. “I’m in an awful hurry to get there.”

  “It’s the only through train that goes right to the ferry,” the man at the ticket counter said. “But you can take a train to Chester and then change to the North Wales line that will take you to Holyhead, where you may be able to find an earlier ferry. I’m not sure how often they run in winter.”

  “I think I’ll try it anyway,” I said. “Better than waiting around here.”

  “That’s as may be.” He didn’t look convinced.

  “How long does the journey take?” I asked.

  “The Mail does it in twelve hours, but your way could take a lot longer, especially if you have to wait a while for a ferry.”

  “And this is definitely the quickest route?” I asked.

  “It’s the only route,” he said. “Unless you want to go up to Liverpool and across from there to Belfast, which takes a lot longer still.”

  Of course Belfast was no use to me. So I was forced to book a ticket on the next train heading for Liverpool and to change trains at Chester. I found the right platform and off we went. Four hours later we arrived at Chester. It was an hour before the next train on the North Wales line to Holyhead. I saw instantly why the journey took so long. We stopped at every little town along the Welsh coast. Darkness had fallen before we reached Chester. As we went deeper into Wales the rain intensified so that by the time we arrived at the dock in Holyhead it was bucketing down. That was when I realized that I had forgotten to bring a brolly. Not that it would have done much good at that moment. The wind would have turned it inside out in seconds. So I got absolutely drenched walking from the station to the quayside to find out about a ferry. Then it turned out I’d have a two-hour wait. I sat alone in a cold and miserable waiting room, wishing I was back in my grandfather’s warm kitchen, back at Kensington Palace, even back at Rannoch House with Binky and Fig, which shows you how low I was feeling.

  By nine o’clock, when we had to board the ship, the wind was howling and even in the darkness I could see the whitecaps on the Irish Sea. I decided I wouldn’t be able to sleep in that kind of weather so I didn’t take a berth. Instead I found a quiet corner in a lounge and tried to make myself comfortable. This wasn’t easy. As soon as we left port the boat bucked and rolled like a wild thing. Anything that wasn’t bolted down slid and rolled and crashed. There were almost no other passengers and I began to regret bitterly that I hadn’t waited for the Irish Mail and the daytime ferry. At least I would have had a good chance of arriving safely. After an hour I wasn’t sure we’d ever make it to Dublin and sat there, holding on for dear life and asking myself what use I’d be to Darcy if I perished at sea.

  When a large man wearing a sou’wester came up to me I was sure it was to instruct me to abandon ship. Instead of that he asked to see my ticket. He took one look at my face, which was by now positively green.

  “You want to get some food and hot drink in your stomach,” he said. “Best way to combat feeling seasick.”

  The notion that I should go to a restaurant and not to a lifeboat almost made me laugh with relief. I couldn’t stand the thought of food, but I did slither, stumble and grab my way to a snack bar and managed to drink hot cocoa without spilling too much.

  “Ah, but it’s a wild night, that’s for sure,” said the soft-voiced Irishwoman behind the counter. She didn’t look at all worried about this.

  “I’m surprised that ferries actually sail i
n such bad weather,” I said.

  This made her laugh. “Lord love you. If we stayed in port when there was bad weather, we’d never leave. I take it you’ve never crossed the Irish Sea before?”

  “Never,” I said.

  “So your first time in Ireland, then?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s a pity you’re not seeing it in spring the first time. At this time of year it can look rather bleak. Will you be staying in Dublin, then?”

  “Near Dublin. With friends,” I said, not wanting to give her more information than that.

  “And you’ll be with them for Christmas, I’ve no doubt.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “Lovely. That will be lovely. We celebrate a grand Christmas in Ireland.”

  The hot chocolate had started to spread warmth through my body and I found, as the seaman had predicted, that I was feeling better. Well enough, in fact, to have a toasted tea cake. Then I staggered my way to the nearest warm corner and miraculously nodded off.

  Chapter 11

  MONDAY , DECEMBER 3

  Arrived in Ireland early this morning. Golly, I’m terrified but no going back now. Courage, Georgie. Rannochs never give up in the face of adversity!

  I dozed fitfully and awoke to deep rumbles and crashes. For a second I couldn’t remember where I was, then my stiff neck reminded me that I had been lying against the hard wall of a ship’s lounge. I sat up, alarmed by the noises. Had we hit something? Was the boat breaking up? Then I realized that we were not being tossed around anymore. I got up and went over to a window. It was still quite dark but through the rain-streaked glass I thought I could make out occasional lights. Thank heavens. That meant we had come into harbor and those noises I had heard were the sounds of gangplanks being pushed up onto the boat. I peered at my watch. Four o’clock in the morning. An announcement crackled, telling passengers that the gangway was midships. I gathered my belongings and joined the hearty few who had braved the crossing with me, disembarking onto a windswept and rainy dock, apparently in the middle of nowhere. There were no signs of a city, no signs of civilization at all, and the wind was still driving the rain almost horizontally. If I hadn’t been raised at Castle Rannoch, where this weather counted as normal, I might have turned around on the spot and fled back to England. Except that I didn’t want to face that crossing again!