Malice at the Palace

by Rhys Bowen

  “The world is changing, I suppose,” I said. “Although it’s rather galling to think that she can get a job just like that when you and I are unemployable.”

  “You wouldn’t like to make me some tea, would you?” Belinda said. “You’re so good at domestic things.”

  “All right.” I smiled as I went through to the kitchen. I’d had to learn the hard way how to survive on my own. If Belinda didn’t find a new maid soon, she’d also have to learn how to look after herself. I lit the gas and spooned tea into the pot. Belinda came to stand in the kitchen doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d like to move back into my box room, would you? I am hopelessly undomestic.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve got better digs at the moment,” I said. “I’m living at Kensington Palace.”

  “What on earth for? Have you been given a grace and favor apartment because of your royal connections?”

  “No. I’ve been asked to look after Princess Marina until her marriage and she’s staying there.”

  “To Prince George? Poor girl. Does she know what she’s in for?”

  “Not exactly. I did say he had been a bit of a playboy.”

  “That is a classic understatement,” she said.

  “Maybe he’ll reform. He seems to be fond enough of her.”

  Belinda took the cup of tea I had just poured for her. “I doubt he’ll change. Maybe long enough to produce the heir and the spare. But then in most royal marriages it’s back to the little wife turning a blind eye to the husband’s wandering, isn’t it?”

  “It does seem to be. Although the Duke and Duchess of York seem happy with each other.”

  “Well, he’s never been exactly the playboy type, has he?” Belinda took a tentative sip of tea. “I needed that,” she said. “Georgie, you’re a godsend. But what exactly are you doing here this early?”

  “Two things,” I said. “I discovered to my chagrin last night that Queenie had left my blue evening gown hanging in your wardrobe. I had to wear the bottle green velvet to dinner at Buckingham Palace.”

  “Not the one that Queenie ironed the wrong way?” Belinda looked horrified. “Darling, how utterly awful. Didn’t you die of embarrassment?”

  “I think I managed to drape my mother’s fox fur stole effectively. At least I hope I did.”

  “Darling, has it ever occurred to you that you’d be better off without a maid?”

  “Many times. But unfortunately if I go and stay at Kensington Palace it is expected that I bring my maid with me.”

  Belinda looked up from her tea with horror. “You are letting Queenie loose in a palace? With royal persons?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve told her she is not to leave my quarters and I’m having meals sent up to her on a tray.”

  Belinda shook her head. “You’re living with a ticking time bomb. Do go up to my room and retrieve your gown. I saw it hanging there last night and wondered when I had ever bought that shade of blue. It’s just not me.”

  I went up and retrieved it. When I came down Belinda was examining herself in the mirror.

  “God, I look a sight, don’t I?”

  “Are you well, Belinda?” I asked. She did look a little hollow-eyed and I wondered if too many late nights were finally catching up with her.

  “Me? Of course. Yes, I’m fine. I probably picked up a little chill on the ship. You wouldn’t like to be an angel and make me some toast, would you?”

  I laughed. “Belinda, surely you know how to make toast! You’d better find yourself a new maid before you starve.”

  “The problem is that I don’t know whether I can afford to pay one. A proper maid, I mean. Not another Queenie, although God forbid that there are two of her in the world.”

  I went back into the kitchen and sliced bread to put under the grill. “The other reason I came to see you was that I need a favor,” I called through to her. “I’ve been asked to take Princess Marina around London. She’s frightfully chic and I realized I don’t know any of the smart shops or evening spots. So can you give me some pointers? My experience of clothes shopping stops with Harrods and Barkers.”

  She looked up in horror. “Darling, you can’t take a visiting princess to Barkers, especially not a chic one. Barkers is for elderly matrons of the county set. All right for tweeds to wear between hunts. But one doesn’t take a visiting princess to a shop.”

  “One doesn’t?”

  “No. Of course not. You take her to a designer and let her view their collection. Much more civilized—gilt and brocade sofas, chandeliers, champagne and privacy. It’s what I’d do all the time if I could afford it. And London has some wonderful designers’ salons now. Schiaparelli has a salon here now, you know. And darling Molyneux.” (She pronounced it Molynucks, as one does.) “And Norman Hartnell is an up-and-coming who is worth visiting. I know some of the other royals like him. A little too stuffy for me, but then, I design my own clothes.”

  “But what if Princess Marina wants to shop for undergarments?”

  “Then you go to a designer who makes those things. Lucile still is the one, I suppose. Really, Georgie, you haven’t a clue, have you?”

  “I’ve never had the money to have a clue,” I said. “When I came out we had our dressmaker copy from pictures of fashionable gowns. The result wasn’t always successful. Golly, I should find out if Marina has the money to afford designers. I was told that her family was not at all well off, but she looks stunningly chic to me.”

  “Anyone who has lived in Paris knows how to look chic by nature. They take a little black dress, throw on a scarf and voila,” Belinda said. “If ever I can open my own salon I’ll show British matrons that they don’t have to be dowdy.”

  “You just have to marry a rich husband, Belinda,” I said.

  “Just like that,” she said, turning away. “One doesn’t always get what one wants in life, does one?”

  “No, I suppose not,” I said, upset by the note of bitterness in her voice. “But why don’t you come with us when I take the princess around London. You know all the chic places and where to buy cosmetics and get one’s hair done. And then there are nightclubs. What if she wants to go out on the town at night? I’ve never even been to a nightclub. Where does one start?”

  “Don’t take her to the Embassy,” Belinda said quickly. “She’s likely to meet her future husband there, and God knows who he might be with.”

  “Not the Embassy,” I repeated.

  “Ciro’s is safe, I suppose. Usually has a good cabaret. And then there’s the Kit-Cat and El Morocco. Also safe. But it’s not really done to go to a club without an escort. Only ladies of the night do that.”

  “I suppose her future husband might want to come with us,” I said.

  “I doubt it. He’d be bound to run into one of his past conquests who might say the wrong thing. He has been far too friendly with far too many people.”

  “Bobo Carrington, for example,” I said, realizing I might have a mine of information in my friend. “You move in smart circles. What do you know about her?”

  “Who doesn’t know everything about Bobo?” Belinda laughed. “She’s one of the most visible people in London. So now that I think about it, you might not want to take Princess Marina to any nightclub. The risk of running into Bobo is just too high and Bobo is not always discreet in what she says, especially after she has had a few cocktails and has injected herself with something stronger. She’s quite likely to breeze up to Marina, introduce herself as George’s mistress and offer her some cocaine.”

  “Do you think she was”—I corrected myself, not wanting to reveal the truth to Belinda just yet—“is still his mistress or has the relationship ended?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t follow the ups and downs of Prince George’s sex life.” And she laughed.

  “Have you seen Bobo with him recently?” I asked. “Is the
re anyone else she’s involved with?”

  Belinda looked up, amused. “Why this interest in Bobo?”

  “Oh, simply because someone at Kensington hinted that she’d been involved with Prince George and suggested that we try to shield Princess Marina from gossip,” I said hastily.

  “Darling, Bobo has always been just one of many. There was Poppy Baring, the banking heiress. And let me see, who else? He’s worked his way through the top layers of London society, both male and female.”

  “Bobo is in the top layer then, is she?”

  “She likes to pretend she is. Between ourselves I think she started life more humbly and has learned to reinvent herself. She’s a great opportunist, our dear Bobo, I’ll tell you that much. Has a nose to sniff out anyone with money and then makes a beeline for them, turning on the full force of her charm.” She paused, thinking, then added, “One hasn’t seen her around as much as one used to. But then she’s not as young as she used to be. And drug use does take its toll.”

  “So you haven’t seen her with anyone else recently, then?” I asked.

  “Of course I’ve been away, but I hadn’t seen her for some time, until I bumped into her at Crockford’s the other night. She was being frightfully gay and witty as usual. Almost as if she was trying too hard. But then she went into another room and I saw her talking to some American. I don’t know who he was. I hadn’t seen him before, but Bobo suddenly started acting differently around him. Awkward. Uneasy. Maybe she had him in her sights and was playing the ‘innocent little miss and it’s my first time at a gambling club and I need a big strong man to show me what to do’ routine.”

  “As you often do,” I reminded her.

  She grinned. “It usually works wonders.”

  “Did she go off with the American?”

  “I can’t tell you. I think he left soon after. He didn’t look as if he was enjoying himself. Not the usual Crockford’s type. Didn’t look comfortable in evening dress, if you know what I mean.”

  A strange look came over her face. “In fact the odd thing is I thought I saw her leaving with—” She broke off suddenly, then shook her head. “No, it couldn’t have been.”

  “Who?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand expansively. “Take Princess Marina to the Café de Paris. That’s grand enough and staid enough that none of George’s or Bobo’s cronies will be there.”

  “I’d better be getting back to the palace. I’m supposed to be at the princess’s beck and call,” I said. “Will you come with me when I have to take her around? It could be fun, shopping for a trousseau at all the salons.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure if I’ll have time.”

  “What do you mean? You’ve just come home. Of course you have time.”

  As I stood up to walk to the front door I turned back suddenly. “And I have a brilliant idea—you could design her an outfit. If she wears it, it would really put you on the map.”

  I didn’t get the response I expected. “I suppose I could,” she said hesitantly.

  I’d expected her to jump up, hugging me and yelling, “Darling, you’re a genius.”

  “Come on, Belinda,” I said. “This could be your big chance. If Princess Marina wears your clothing, everyone will want it.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. I wonder if I have time to pull it off.”

  “Time to pull it off? What else are you doing right now? Buck up and get on with it!”

  “Right.” She gave me a resolute smile. “I will. She’s tall, isn’t she? About my height?”

  “Wait until you meet her and then you’ll get an idea of what she likes to wear. I’ll keep you posted on what she wants to do,” I said. A sudden dreadful thought struck me. “Crikey, Belinda. What if she says she wants to mingle with London society and I can’t take her to nightclubs?”

  “Lunch at the Savoy Grill, darling. That’s a good start. You’ll see everyone you know if you sit there for half an hour. And bring her to the new Noel Coward play—oh, I know, all those rumors about Noel and the prince, but who could resist Noel’s charm, and you know him quite well, don’t you? Feather in your cap.”

  “He did stay with my mother last Christmas, so I know him a little,” I said.

  “There you are. You introduce her to the great man. She’s impressed. Noel will invite you both for cocktails and you’ll meet everyone who matters. Situation solved.”

  “Belinda, you’re brilliant,” I said. “Now let’s hope the palace has allotted sufficient funds for all this. Designers and the Savoy aren’t exactly cheap.”

  “They surely don’t expect you to pay to host her?”

  “They did when that princess came from Bavaria, remember?” I said. “The queen has no clue about money, or that some of us don’t have any. But this time Major Beauchamp-Chough is in charge at Kensington and I suspect he’s the keeper of the purse.”

  “Major Beauchamp-Chough,” she said. “That name rings a bell.”

  “Life Guards. Recently Prince George’s private secretary. Frightfully stiff upper lip. But quite good-looking.”

  “Married?” she asked.

  “I’ve no idea. There is no Mrs. Major at Kensington and he hasn’t mentioned one, but that doesn’t mean she’s not happily at home in Shropshire with the children.”

  “I don’t think a military man is my type,” Belinda said. “Even if he is good-looking. Too bossy and correct. And I couldn’t exist on a major’s pay.”

  “I’ll let you know when shopping sprees are planned,” I said. “This could be a lot of fun.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “A lot of fun.”

  Chapter 13

  STILL NOVEMBER 5, GUY FAWKES DAY

  BACK AT THE PALACE

  When I arrived back at Kensington Palace, my cheeks burning from the strong north wind that swept across Kensington Gardens, I found that Princess Marina had finished breakfast and was sitting in the morning room, reading the newspapers. Countess Irmtraut sat at the desk in the window, writing a letter.

  “So many pictures of me,” Marina said, holding up a paper with a look of incredulous delight on her face. “Even in the Daily Mirror, which I gather is rather socialist in leanings. I had no idea my arrival would be such big news.”

  “The world has been rather short of good news for some time,” I said. “A royal wedding is something everyone can look forward to.” I poured myself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the tray and sat down beside her.

  “It’s rather nice being the bringer of good news to people, isn’t it? Makes one feel useful. I’m looking forward to taking on royal duties with George as soon as we marry. The queen said how glad she was that we could relieve them of some of the burden. The poor king looks so fragile now, doesn’t he, and Queen Mary doesn’t like to leave him.”

  I sighed, because I too had noticed how old and drawn he looked. “He never really recovered from that bout of pneumonia he had,” I said. “And I think worry about his oldest son is also contributing.”

  “But I’ve met David,” she said. “He seems delightful. Why should his father worry?”

  “Because he refuses to marry someone suitable, like you. And an awful American woman has him in her clutches.”

  “I did hear a rumor to that effect,” Marina said, glancing across at Irmtraut, who had looked up. “Isn’t she still married to someone else?”

  “I believe so, but she wants to divorce him. And she’s been divorced before too.”

  “Quite unsuitable,” Irmtraut sniffed. “Why was this man not brought up to put duty first? We all were.”

  “So was I,” I said. “And so was the Prince of Wales, I’m quite sure. He just prefers to put himself first.”

  “You’ve been out for a walk,” Marina said.

  “Yes. I went to visit a friend of mine who
knows all about fashion,” I said. “I asked her which designers she would recommend for you to visit. She suggested Norman Hartnell and Molyneux. Schiaparelli has a salon here now too.”

  “Molyneux is designing my wedding gown,” she said, her face lighting up.

  I must have shown surprise, having been told how poor her family was since they were ousted from Greece.

  “I met him when he was in Paris. He said he’d be honored to design the gown for a royal wedding,” she said. “He’s sent me sketches, but I haven’t tried anything on yet. But he’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

  I didn’t answer, having no idea what his designs looked like. So she went on. “I have to arrange for my fittings with him. But what I really wanted to do was to go to ordinary shops. I’ve heard about Harrods and Selfridges. I think shopping there would be such fun. I have most of the important items for my trousseau. It’s just the little things I still need. Cosmetics and undergarments and a sinful negligee, maybe?”

  There was an intake of breath from Countess Irmtraut. Marina turned to her. “Traudi, don’t be so stuffy. I will be a married woman, after all.”

  “I can certainly take you to look for those sorts of things,” I said.

  “And a theater, maybe? I want to make the most of being an invisible person.”

  “After all those pictures in the newspapers, I rather suspect you’ll be recognized,” I said. “But I’m happy to take you to Harrods. And even Selfridges, although my friend would say it’s a shop for housewives up from the country and typists.”

  “Then I’ll pretend to be a housewife up from the country,” she said. “Mrs. Smith.”

  We laughed.

  “My friend suggests we start by lunching at the Savoy Grill,” I said. “It’s the sort of place one goes to see and be seen.”

  “All right. I’ll go up and change into something a little smarter then,” she said. She put down the newspaper and left the room. I was about to follow when I remembered Irmtraut. Oh crikey. She’d have to come too, wouldn’t she?