Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

by Rhys Bowen

  Granddad wagged a finger at me. “That’s another good reason for you to stay out of this. If someone in the house is a murderer and discovers you doing your own little investigation, then you might be next.”

  “Oh, no, surely not,” I said, but I did see his point. Someone who has killed once has nothing to lose by killing again.

  “So my advice to you would be not to go back.”

  “But the queen sent me there, and the dowager duchess wants me there. I can hardly do a bunk. And Darcy is driving me back tonight.”

  Granddad gave one of his knowing grins. “Oh, so he’s at the house too, is he? You failed to mention that so far.”

  I blushed.

  “Well, that ain’t so bad if he’s there to keep an eye on you. But leave the detecting to the police, my love. They may look slow and bumbling, but in my experience they get it right in the end.”

  I sighed. “All right. But tell me, in your experience what would give away a murderer? Would there be any small signs that he was guilty?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve known murderers cool as a cucumber. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Of course, some of ’em are so cocky that they offer to help the police with the investigation. It’s sheer vanity, of course. They’re having a good chuckle that the police are getting it wrong. In my experience, that’s what separates criminal types from the rest of us—an exaggerated idea of their cleverness and a feeling that the world revolves around them and everyone else is put there for their benefit.”

  I thought then shook my head. “There’s nobody I can think of at Kingsdowne who behaves like that.”

  “I said criminal types,” Granddad said. “That wouldn’t include someone who killed out of desperation. Someone who killed because it was the only way out may well be showing signs of stress.”

  “The only one behaving in that way is Edwina, the duchess,” I said. “Oh, dear. I really don’t want it to be her.”

  “You’re showing signs of cracking up yourself, my love,” he said. “You’ve got two nasty frown lines over your eyes. Not good for your beauty, you know!” He ruffled my hair. “Now, what say we have something to eat? I’ve got some nice, cold lamb and I can do some mashed potatoes and pickles. Her next door gave me some lovely pickled cabbage.”

  “So she’s still ‘her next door’?” I asked.

  “She’d like to get me to the altar, but I ain’t going,” he said. “There was only one lady in my life, and that was your grandma. I see no sense in marrying again.”

  With that, he started peeling potatoes for lunch.

  Chapter 30

  IN LONDON AND THEN BACK TO KINGSDOWNE

  It was always with regret that I left my grandfather’s house. I wished he could play a bigger part in my life but there was such a huge social gulf between us. I hadn’t even known he existed until I grew up. He had been kept away from me. I thought about how stupid the rules of society were as I took the train back to London.

  Darcy was waiting for me at the appointed time.

  “So, did your grandfather solve the case for us?” he asked as he helped me into the little sports car.

  “He didn’t want to get involved,” I said. “He instructed me to leave it to the police.”

  “Very sensible.”

  “What about you? Any luck at Scotland Yard?”

  “I came up empty too,” he said. “The chap I was hoping to see is off in Yorkshire on a case, and I was told firmly that Scotland Yard will never intervene unless the local police have requested it.”

  “I was going to say a wasted day,” I said, looking out of the motorcar window as we drove over Westminster Bridge, “but at least I saw my grandfather and I’m spending some time alone with you.”

  “Should we not go back to Kingsdowne but drive off together to a little hotel on the coast? Or take the boat to Paris?” he asked, his eyes teasing me.

  “Both sound divine, but we are in the middle of a murder investigation. Edwina is expecting us back and we should be there.”

  “That famous Rannoch sense of duty again.” He laughed. “But you’re right. I feel I owe an obligation to Jack. I did bring the poor blighter here, and he was enough a fish out of water before this happened.”

  “I feel the same,” I said.

  “Let’s hope the cook has been left in peace by the police and a splendid dinner awaits us,” Darcy said. “I must say the food there is rather good, don’t you think?”

  “Heavenly.”

  A watery sun sank low in the sky as we left the city behind. Smoke curled up from cottages hidden among the trees, and we passed a ploughman leading a giant horse home for the night. The countryside seemed peaceful and serene. It was hard to think that murders happened in such a setting. I tried to follow Granddad’s advice and push the whole thing from my mind.

  “I wonder if the dotty aunt will want another séance tonight,” Darcy said. “I must say that my experience of a Ouija board has always been that it spells out nonsense.”

  “But Princess Charlotte does seem to have some kind of psychic ability. She has had interesting dreams,” I said. “Before Jack arrived, she dreamed about a cuckoo coming to the rooftop. That was significant, don’t you think?”

  I looked up as Darcy pulled the car close into the hedge. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Because we’ll soon be back at the house and I won’t have a chance to do this,” he said, and leaned across to kiss me. It was a long, wonderful kiss and was followed by another.

  “I hope to God I can come up with enough money for us to marry in the foreseeable future,” Darcy said. “This waiting and not being able to make love to you properly is driving me insane. My appetites are too healthy for a chaste life.”

  As we came up the drive and turned into the forecourt, two small figures dropped from the big, copper beech and came running toward us.

  “You’re back,” Nicholas said as Darcy opened the motorcar door. “We thought you’d gone for good. Now perhaps we can find out what’s going on. We’ve been dying to do some real detective work all day but that rotter Carter hasn’t let us out of his sight.”

  “You seem to be out of his sight at this moment,” I said, “or is he up the tree too?”

  The twins grinned. “He was summoned to talk to the policeman. We escaped instantly,” Kat said. “We wanted to listen in but Mama caught us and banished us. Nobody will tell us anything. Mama says it’s too gruesome for young ears.”

  “Quite right,” Darcy said. “There is nothing fun or exciting about a murder. Taking a life is the very worst thing that a human being can do. And your mother wants to keep you safe. If there is a murderer around, you might put yourselves in danger with your snooping.”

  “We’ll be very careful,” Kat said. “We’re awfully good at snooping, aren’t we, Nick? So do tell, Georgie, who do you think did it?”

  “I have no idea,” I said as we walked toward the house with a bouncy child on either side of us. “And if I did have an idea, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Spoilsport,” Nick said. “We’ll just have to go back to our secret snooping, Kat.”

  I noticed the black motorcar parked outside the garages. “So the inspector is back again, is he?”

  “He arrived a little while ago. He told Grandmama he wants to speak to everyone again. And he wanted to talk to the servants first. That was when the dreaded Carter went, and we seized our chance to slip off.”

  “I think you’d better slip right back to your own quarters,” Darcy said. “Among other things, you should keep an eye on your sister.”

  “On Sissy? Why? She couldn’t have done it. She can’t walk,” Nick said scornfully.

  “She looks out of the window,” Darcy said. “The murderer might think that she saw something that implicates him. She may be in danger.”

  “Golly,�
�� Nick said. “You might be right. We’d better get back up there, Kat.”

  “Oh all right, I suppose.” Kat sighed. “But I’d much rather be detecting. Why don’t you protect Sissy and I’ll try to sneak down to hear what the inspector says. I do wish we’d found that secret passage. If only it went behind the Long Gallery, we could listen in on everything.”

  We were met in the front hall by Huxstep. “Welcome back, my lady, Mr. O’Mara,” he said. “Perfect timing. Her Grace wants everyone assembled in the Long Gallery at five thirty. And you young scamps should be back in your nursery. Nanny was worried about you. Off you go!”

  “Yes, Mr. Huxstep,” Nick answered meekly and off they went.

  Huxstep gave me a knowing look as he took my overcoat and hat.

  The family was already assembled in the Long Gallery. I took in the two sisters on the sofa, each with a glass of sherry in her hand. On the other sofa, Irene sat close to her mother. The Starlings were off to one side. They looked tense and nervous. So did Jack. He was sitting alone on a high-backed chair. Edwina greeted us. “The police inspector wishes to address us again,” she said. “From the look on his face, I think he’s found out something significant. Maybe our former footman has confessed. I must say I’d be surprised if it were he—always such a steady boy, I would have said. I’ve known him all his life.” She motioned to a drinks tray. “Do have some sherry, and Mrs. Broad’s cheese crisps are delicious.”

  Darcy poured me a glass. I had just taken a bite of a warm cheese crisp when Chief Inspector Fairbotham marched in, accompanied by his sergeant and a constable in uniform.

  “Ah, good. Everyone here,” he said, rubbing his big hands as he looked around us. “Splendid. Well, I’ve some news to impart to you . . . or perhaps one of you at least already knows what I’m going to say.”

  “What are you talking about?” Edwina snapped. “How can we possibly know what you’re going to say? Speak up, man. Out with it.”

  The inspector was still rubbing his hands. It looked as though he was enjoying this moment. “Well,” he said dramatically, “the medical officer has performed a preliminary autopsy and has told me something quite unexpected.” He took a deep breath. “The MO is sure that Cedric Altringham was already dead when he was stabbed in the back.”

  “So that’s why there was so little blood!” I blurted out. The others turned to look at me in surprise. “I knew that something wasn’t right,” I added.

  “And you were spot on, Lady Georgiana,” the inspector said.

  “Why on earth would anyone want to stab a dead man?” Edwina demanded.

  “Why indeed?” Fairbotham said.

  “So what did kill my son?” Edwina asked. “Do you know that?”

  “Not exactly yet, Your Grace. I can tell you that he was poisoned, but I don’t yet know what poisoned him. Maybe you can shed some light for me. The night before he died—did he dine with you?”

  “He did,” Edwina said.

  “And you all ate the same food?”

  “We did. And furthermore, we were all served from the same dish,” she said, “and drank wine poured from the same bottles.”

  “Do you know whether your son might have eaten or drunk anything after dinner, then?”

  “I cannot tell you that. My son stormed out of the room in a huff, Inspector.”

  “Was he prone to these ‘huffs,’ Your Grace?”

  “I don’t see what my son’s temperament has to do with his being poisoned.”

  “I would say it had everything to do with it,” Fairbotham said. “Your son upset or scared or annoyed someone so much that the ultimate step was taken to silence him.”

  Edwina seemed to consider this for the first time. She looked around the room. “You mean one of us? Someone in this room poisoned Cedric?”

  “Almost certainly someone in this house,” he replied. “When we get the results from the medical chappies, we’ll be able to tell more—whether it was administered to him that morning or the night before.” He looked around us again. “So nobody in this room saw him the morning he was killed? Is that correct?”

  There was silence. Fairbotham turned to the constable. “Would you go and fetch his valet, please?”

  “That’s it,” I heard one of the Starlings say in a stage whisper, “talk to the valet. I’ve always thought he was a suspicious character. Too good to be true, if you know what I mean.”

  Edwina bristled. “You wish to speak with a servant in the Long Gallery? In front of us? That is most unseemly, Chief Inspector.”

  “Murder is an unseemly business, Your Grace,” Fairbotham said, “and at this moment, everyone in this house is equally a suspect in my mind—from you down to the lowest scullery maid.”

  “Well, really!” Edwina muttered.

  We waited and soon the constable returned with a worried-looking Marcel.

  “I understand that you were the duke’s valet.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” Marcel replied, looking down at his feet.

  “You speak English?”

  “A little, monsieur.”

  “Your name?”

  “Marcel Leclerc, monsieur.”

  “How long were you in the duke’s service?”

  “About one year, monsieur. The duke took me on when he was staying with friends in Monte Carlo last year. I was very ’appy to work for him. He treat me very well.” He spoke with a heavy, French accent.

  “I bet he did,” came a mutter from one of the Starlings behind me.

  Fairbotham paused, and I could tell he was sizing up the valet, obviously not liking what he saw. “Right, Marcel. I’m going to ask you some important questions and I want you to think very carefully. Understood?”

  Marcel nodded. I noticed his Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed hard.

  “Now, Marcel. What time did your master come up to his bedroom on the evening before he died?”

  Marcel frowned then said, “About ten o’clock. That was very early for him. I was surprised.”

  “Did he say why he’d come up early? Was he not feeling well?”

  “He said, ‘You’re a good fellow, Marcel. You’re worth ten of the others. Bloodsuckers all of them.’ He was not in a happy mood, but I do not think he was feeling unwell.”

  “Did he ask you to bring him any kind of hot drink or medicine?”

  Marcel shook his head.

  “So that night, before he died, did you see him eat or drink anything?”

  Marcel frowned. “He had no drink, monsieur. I did not see him take any kind of medicine, although sometimes he takes an iron tonic at night.”

  Fairbotham turned to his sergeant. “Get the iron tonic analyzed. And any other bottles of medicine in his bathroom.” He focused on Marcel again. “So you didn’t see anything pass his lips on the night before he died?”

  “I did not see, no. But I do not know what he ate or drank before he retired for the night.”

  “And the next morning—did he have a cup of tea brought to him in bed?”

  “No, monsieur. He arose early. He seemed agitated, nervous. He dressed quickly and told me he was going down to his study to write a letter. I was to bring him a cup of black coffee.”

  “And you did this?”

  “Of course. I went to the kitchen and brought him the cup of coffee to his desk.”

  “You poured the coffee yourself?”

  “No, monsieur. The cook poured the coffee and handed it to me. It would be quite wrong for me to help myself in her kitchen.”

  “Did you see the cup before she poured it?”

  Marcel frowned. “The cup, monsieur? It was waiting with all the other cups, stacked on a tray.”

  Fairbotham frowned. “And you carried it straight to his study? You didn’t leave it anywhere for someone to drop something into the coffee?”
/>
  “Monsieur—” Marcel bristled. “When the duke required his coffee, it was my job to fetch it for him immediately. I placed it on his desk beside him. He was busy writing. I went away again. I did not see him drink it.”

  “And then he went out?”

  “I do not know this, monsieur. I was back in my master’s chamber. I did not see him again. I knew nothing of his death until Frederick came and told me that Her Grace wishes to speak with all the servants. I can tell you that this news broke my heart. I had to fight to hold back my tears. My tears return now, as we speak of it again.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Chief Inspector Fairbotham coughed at this un-British display of emotion.

  “That will be all, Marcel,” Edwina said sharply. As he left the room she said, “The sooner that young man is out of this house, the better. If you want my advice, Jack, you will find yourself a reliable English valet, not some flighty foreigner.”

  “Ah, but Mama, my French maid is wonderful,” Irene said. “She has a way with clothes that no English girl ever had.”

  She was silenced by Edwina’s withering look.

  “Is that all, Chief Inspector?” Edwina asked.

  “For now, Your Grace. My men will test anything the duke might have drunk from. When we know exactly what poison killed him, then we’ll be able to take the next step.”

  “Maybe now somebody will take the attempt on my life seriously,” Irene said. “It’s obvious that the same person who poisoned Cedric tried to kill me.”

  “I don’t see what more we can do in your case, Countess,” Fairbotham said, “since you didn’t remember how many packets of sleeping draft you had in the first place. Of course, someone could have acquired an extra packet or two, from a doctor in London, maybe . . . but my men came up with no unidentifiable fingerprints on your glass or in your bathroom.”

  “Just as there were no fingerprints on that knife!” Irene said, wagging a finger at him. “You see, we’re dealing with a clever killer, Chief Inspector.”

  “Certainly with a thorough killer,” Fairbotham said. “He hasn’t made any slips yet, but he will. They always do.”