Malice at the Palace

by Rhys Bowen

  They were looking at me suspiciously, not quite sure who I was.

  “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to barge in, but I’ve been trying to find out where Bobo disappeared to. I’m Georgiana Rannoch, by the way,” I said. “I brought Princess Marina tonight.”

  The frowns eased into smiles. “Oh. You’re Binky’s sister. I didn’t realize you knew Bobo.”

  “Oh yes. Doesn’t everyone?” I gave them a bright smile.

  “Everyone in trousers, darling,” one said.

  “Yes, I was thinking about that the other day,” I said. “She doesn’t really have any close female friends, does she? If she does, I’ve never met them. One sees her at a party. One exchanges pleasantries, and that’s about it.”

  “As you say, that’s about it,” one of the women said. “I never really took to her myself. Cold and calculating little minx.” She looked at her friend, who nodded agreement. “And I don’t condone that whole drug business. I know plenty of people at this party would disagree with me, and if the new little princess was not here tonight I can tell you there would be sniffing in the kitchen at this moment. But we’re all on our best behavior. And most of them aren’t stupid enough to inject themselves the way Bobo does. She’s heading for an early grave, I’m afraid.”

  “So tell me.” I moved closer. “If she really was preggers, does anyone actually know who the father of the child is?”

  “Bobo does, presumably. But she’s keeping a low profile,” the first woman said.

  Her friend looked around before saying, “Of course it’s quite possible it was one of your royal relatives. But he says not. And he may not always be the best behaved, but he’s as honest as any Boy Scout. So any one of the other candidates. Bobo isn’t always too choosy after a night of booze and the other stuff.”

  “The other candidates? Any ideas who they might be?”

  “Darling, she has worked her way through every male under sixty-five in London society. I suppose we’ll just have to see who the poor little thing looks like.”

  “So she’s never had one particular sugar daddy—someone who takes care of her?”

  The two women laughed. “If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Bobo. I hope I’m not putting my foot in it, running her down. She’s a friend of yours, is she?”

  “Not really a friend. Someone I’ve bumped into from time to time and we had a good laugh at a house party last year,” I said, trying to keep my acquaintance with Bobo suitably vague. “I can’t say I know her well or that she’s ever shared confidences.”

  “She doesn’t,” one of the women said. “She’s good at that. She gets other people to talk about themselves but shares no secrets.”

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” I said. “Does anyone know who she really is? I mean, family background and all that? I’ve never met anyone who was presented with her.”

  “Rumor has it that she comes from Argentina,” the first woman said. “That would explain the Catholic leanings. And there are plenty of ne’er-do-well sons of English aristocracy over there, presumably having their way copulating with local girls. But if you want my personal opinion”—she leaned closer—“I think she’s a little upstart, pretending to be what she’s not.”

  “Why do you think that?” I asked.

  “One just gets the feeling that she’s not really one of us. Of course she’s very good at hiding it, and she’s very lovely, and funny, and generous, and I’m sure she’s divine in the sack, so nobody probes too deeply. But one day it will all come out, mark my words.”

  She broke off as a noisy group came into the room, laughing uproariously at something one of them had just said. I helped myself to more caviar, this time unfortunately letting a couple of beads drop down my cleavage, then moved away from my gossipy new friends. It seemed that nobody knew any more about her than the police had already found out. If I were to do my job well, I should dance with the various chaps here and see what reaction the mention of Bobo’s name produced from them.

  There was no sign of Marina as I came out into the foyer. Presumably still dancing with the Prince of Wales. It didn’t seem I knew anybody else here from the crowd that milled around me, trying to get to the bar. And then Belinda popped into my mind. One might have expected her to be here. This was her kind of party, as it would have been Bobo’s. Half the rich young men of London were attending. So why wasn’t she here? Again a shiver of apprehension went through me. Bobo had gone to Crockford’s and was seen to be agitated and talking to a strange American. And Belinda frequented Crockford’s and wasn’t at home this morning. I was determined to visit her mews place first thing tomorrow. What’s more, I still had a key. I could let myself in.

  I found myself in the line for the bar, even though I wasn’t too keen on having another cocktail. But it was something to do, rather than standing around, feeling like a wallflower.

  “Another sidecar for you, my lady?” Albert asked.

  “Georgie?” said a surprised voice behind me. I spun around to see Darcy standing there.

  Chapter 20

  LATE NOVEMBER 6

  Darcy was looking ridiculously handsome, dressed in a white tuxedo, his unruly dark curls tamed for once, and his face lit up. “There you are. I’ve been hunting all over for you. Someone said you’d gone to Germany with your mother.”

  He took my hand and attempted to drag me out of the line.

  “I’m waiting for my cocktail, thank you,” I said, stone-faced. I was too conscious that Princess Marina and the Prince of Wales were in the next room and I couldn’t afford to have a scene. My hand was shaking as Albert handed me the glass. I started to walk away.

  “Well, that’s not what I’d call a warm greeting,” Darcy said. “How about, ‘Darcy, my love, I’ve been pining for you’?”

  I moved with him out of the flow of traffic.

  “Maybe I’d say that if I were your only love,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me one thing, Darcy.” I turned to face him. “Have you slept with Bobo Carrington?”

  “Bobo? Well, yes, but . . .”

  “No buts,” I said. “That confirms everything I’ve been told, I’m afraid. I wish I were wearing the silver pixie instead of these stupid sapphires, then I could have thrown it in your face.”

  I was horribly close to tears. I pushed past him through the crowd until I found Marina, now dancing with our host.

  “Gussie, I’m not feeling at all well,” I said. “One of my headaches, I’m afraid. I’ll take a cab back, if you could make sure Princess Marina is escorted to her motorcar. Please forgive me, Marina, but I have to go home now.”

  “Georgiana, I can come with you—” She reached out to touch my arm. That simple act of kindness was too much. I felt a fat tear squeeze itself out of my eye and run down my cheek.

  “No, you stay. Have fun, but I simply must go.”

  Then I fled.

  “Georgie, wait.” Darcy tried to force his way through the crowd to me. Luckily a lift had just arrived. I leaped in and pressed the button. The doors closed and I descended to the street. A taxi was just disgorging more passengers.

  “Kensington Palace, please,” I said to the driver as I climbed in. “As quickly as possible.”

  It wasn’t until I was back in my own room that I allowed myself to cry.

  I didn’t even care when Queenie arrived. I let her undress me and bring me a basin and face flannel.

  “Can I get you a nice cup of hot milk, my lady?” she asked, proving that she knew perfectly well how to address me if she tried.

  “Yes, that would be very . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  I crawled into bed and soon Queenie reappeared with a tray with hot milk and digestive biscuits on it.

  “Get that down yer. That will perk you up no end,” she said. “I had the cook ad
d some brandy to it. ‘She ain’t half upset,’ I told the cook. ‘I don’t know who done it to her, but I won’t half give him a piece of my mind if I ever catch him.’”

  The thought of Queenie giving this Cockney address to a royal cook would normally have appalled me. You can tell how deep in my own misery I was that I didn’t even care. Queenie went over and adjusted the curtains. Then she stopped, peering out of the window.

  “’Ere,” she said. “There’s that ruddy ghost again. Just like before. Something white moving around the courtyard.”

  Curiosity got the better of despair. I climbed out of bed and went to join her at the window. It was pitch-black in the courtyard, apart from the thin sliver of light shining down from my window. The archway itself was in absolute blackness but I could just vaguely see something white drifting about.

  “Give me my overcoat, Queenie,” I said. “I’m going down to see.”

  “Oh, miss, you don’t want to go down there. I don’t trust them ghosts,” she said.

  “You can come with me to keep an eye on me. Come on.”

  “Me, miss?” she asked as I was already heading for the stairs. “I ain’t going out there for love nor money. And you shouldn’t either. What if you get haunted or possessed?”

  “You can stand in the doorway and call for help if I yell.”

  She followed me unwillingly down the stairs. And grabbed my arm as I was about to go out into the darkness. “I don’t think you should go out there. If it’s one of them ghosts, just leave it to mind its own business.”

  “I have to see for myself, Queenie,” I said. I didn’t add that I was wondering if the ghost was Countess Irmtraut prowling around or snooping. Nobody had any good reason to be in a courtyard that went nowhere at this time of night.

  It wasn’t until I approached the arch and was swallowed into complete darkness that I began to have second thoughts. It’s all very well to be brave when looking from a lighted window. Going under a dark archway where someone was recently murdered is another matter. I told myself that Bobo’s murder had nothing to do with the palace, but all the same my nerve almost gave out as I peered into the gloom. The gap between the curtains in my own window painted only a small stripe of light across the far side of the courtyard. Not enough to cut through the total blackness ahead of me. I stopped in front of the archway. No, I wasn’t going to venture in there. If a ghost or a person was moving around, it was none of my business.

  “It was probably only a maid returning from an evening off,” I thought. “Going into the back door of the princess’s apartment.” And I laughed at my own terror.

  Then without warning I was grabbed from behind, spun around and pushed up against the cold, damp wall of the archway. Before I had time to cry out, cold lips were kissing mine. It only took a second of terror in which my heart stopped beating before I recognized those lips.

  I struggled, broke free and tried to push him away. “Don’t you dare try to win me over in such an underhanded fashion, Darcy O’Mara.” I could make out his eyes now, glinting at me like a cat’s. “And what do you mean by following me here and then skulking around?”

  “I followed you because I had to set things straight,” he said. His eyes were flashing dangerously now. “And I was skulking, as you put it, to see if there was a way in without alerting the entire household. I never have got the hang of this place. It’s like a warren. I didn’t want to burst in on one of your aunts by mistake.”

  “You can’t set things straight,” I said. “It’s over, Darcy. I know our kind of people like to go in for bed-hopping, but not me. I don’t ever want to play that sort of game. I’m not prepared to share you. I’d rather marry Prince Siegfried. At least I know where I’d stand there.”

  He was still holding me fiercely, his fingers digging into my arms. “Look, Georgie, you knew when you met me that I wasn’t a saint. I’m a healthy, red-blooded male, and as you said, our sort are not prudish. Bed-hopping is a recognized sport. But I don’t know why this is upsetting you so much now.”

  “You don’t know? You and Bobo Carrington, and I shouldn’t be upset?”

  “Of course not. It’s all old hat. She meant nothing to me.”

  “Oh no? You leave your dressing gown behind her door? And that means nothing? That to me indicates more than a spur-of-the-moment fling. What’s more, it indicates an affair that is still going on when you are supposedly engaged to me.”

  He gave a nervous little laugh. “Oh, so that’s what’s worrying you. You are silly. That was only there because . . .”

  The sentence was never finished. We hadn’t heard the approach of a motorcar, or we had been so intent on ourselves that we hadn’t paid attention to it, but we were suddenly blinded by headlights shining directly on us.

  Darcy shielded his eyes. “What the devil?” he asked. He released me and spun around.

  Men were coming toward us. Policemen.

  And leading the charge was DCI Pelham. “Well, well. Mr. O’Mara, isn’t it?” He looked pleased with himself. “We’ve finally caught up with you. And you said you had no idea where he was, little lady.”

  “I’m not a little lady. I am addressed as ‘my lady’ and I tell the truth,” I said. “I didn’t know until tonight.”

  “What the deuce is this about?” Darcy demanded. “What do you think you’re doing, man?” This to a copper who had now grabbed Darcy’s arm.

  “It means we’re taking you in for questioning concerning a very serious matter, sir.”

  “What serious matter?”

  “Let’s wait until we get to Scotland Yard, sir. Now come quietly. We wouldn’t want to make a fuss outside a royal residence and disturb the occupants, would we?”

  “Georgie, listen,” Darcy called out to me as he was led away. “I didn’t do anything.”

  He was bundled into the motorcar, the door slammed. The motor reversed, then the car screeched away, spraying gravel. I stood watching, feeling sick and scared. However angry I was with Darcy, I knew he wouldn’t have killed Bobo. What if the police thought he did? What if DCI Pelham was determined to pin this crime on somebody, thus removing any possibility of scandal for the royals?

  There was nothing more I could do but go back to the front door.

  “Someone trying to break in, was it?” Queenie asked. “Lucky the police arrived then.”

  I couldn’t find any words to answer her. I trudged up the stairs, drank my milk and went to bed. Needless to say I didn’t sleep very well. I tossed and turned. I got up and stared out of the window, looking down at that archway I could just make out in the darkness. And when I did doze off it was to frightening dreams of Darcy, wearing a dressing gown, with a noose around his neck saying, “You have to save me, Georgie.”

  In the morning there was a buzz going around the apartment that the police had caught an intruder trying to break in.

  “Shocking business,” the major said, as he came to check on us at breakfast. “A burglar, I suppose. It’s too bad my regiment doesn’t guard this palace the way they do the king’s residence. We’d have dealt with any nasty little crook in a way he’d never forget.” He gave me a meaningful look and I could tell he was wondering whether the intruder could have anything to do with Bobo’s murder.

  “I’m afraid I have a fitting for my wedding dress today, Georgiana,” Marina said. “Don’t feel you have to come. I’m sorry you weren’t feeling well last night. Those cocktails were awfully strong, weren’t they?”

  “It wasn’t that,” I said. “I bumped into an obnoxious young man and had to get away from him.”

  “Oh dear. A rejected suitor?”

  “Something like that.” I tried to smile. “But I do have some important errands to run, if you’re sure you don’t need me.”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “And you don’t need to come either, Traudi. Why don’t you go to a museum o
r something? There is so much to see in London.”

  “Perhaps I will.” The countess nodded. “I should like to see the exhibit with the large dinosaur bones. Most educational.”

  “That’s the natural history museum,” I said. “It’s not too far from here. Perhaps Princess Marina’s motorcar can drop you on the way to her fitting.”

  Irmtraut looked horrified. “Drop me? Onto the pavement?”

  “I meant give you a lift.”

  “A lift? I do not wish to be raised up either.”

  Oh dear. This was so tiresome when my nerves were already in shreds.

  “English expressions again,” I said. “I meant her motorcar can take you to the museum and then continue on to the dress fitting. All right?”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding.

  “Maybe we can go to a nightclub tonight, do you think?” Marina looked first at me and then at the major, who was hovering in the doorway, having not yet been dismissed from a royal presence. “Or a gambling club? I hear there are good ones in London and it is something I have done so seldom.”

  “Gambling is a sin,” Irmtraut said.

  “Nonsense. A little flutter never hurt anyone.”

  The major gave an embarrassed cough. “I’m afraid those places are outside my territory, Your Royal Highness. I don’t frequent nightclubs. Not on an army officer’s pay. And also the regiment is strict on our behavior code. Doesn’t do to be seen drinking or gambling. So I can’t say which establishment I’d advise.”

  “I know fashionable people go to Crockford’s to gamble,” I said. “But I think you have to be a member to get in. And my friend who knows about these places suggested Ciro’s or El Morocco as a nightclub. Both have good floor shows.”

  “Let’s do both!” Marina clapped her hands like a small child. “Or rather all three.”

  “But again my friend says that ladies don’t usually go to nightclubs without an escort.”

  “The major can be our escort.” Marina’s eyes sparkled. “What do you say, Major? Your chance to live the glamorous life too, for one evening, and to keep us out of trouble.”