Buckingham Palace Gardens tp-25

by Anne Perry

  “So ’e knew wot room it would ’appen in,” she followed his reasoning, although it frightened her so she was cold in the depth of her stomach. “Wot if the Prince jus’ woke up an’ all the blood were over

  ’im, but not ’er? Then it wouldn’t matter where she were killed.” She gulped. “Mr. Pitt, I got an idea as she weren’t killed ’ere at all. That box wot were brought in ’ad another body in it, not ’er. An’ Sadie packed ’erself inter the box again an’ were taken out without no one knowin’ ’cept Mr. Dunkeld.”

  Pitt stared at her, a dawning understanding of the entire plan on his face. “Dunkeld was the one who hired the women!” he exclaimed.

  “They were allies in it. To blackmail the Prince of Wales into helping them with the African railway. Then he couldn’t afford not to be entirely on Dunkeld’s side, no matter what he actually believed.

  Dunkeld simply used the opportunity to get rid of Sorokine at the same time!”

  Gracie blinked. “Then ’oo killed Mrs. Sorokine? ’Oo did she accuse? It ’ad ter be ’er pa, because ’e were the one wot ’ad the dish.”

  His face creased in pity. “Poor Minnie. She was far too clever for her own survival. I dare say he didn’t mean to kill her, just lost his temper and-”

  “Yer don’ slit someone’s throat ’cos yer lost yer temper,” Gracie pointed out. “An’ yer certainly don’t slice their guts open.”

  “He had to make it look like the first crime,” Pitt reminded her. “And he had to make the first crime look like the one in Cape Town.”

  “ ’Ow’d ’e know wot that one were like?” she asked.

  “From someone who saw it, I don’t know who. But it fits, Gracie.”

  His voice took on a vibrancy again. “Dunkeld planned it for long before he came. He brought blood, and a replacement dish. He knew it was there. Someone must have shown it to him. He’s been the Prince’s guest here before.”

  Gracie shivered.

  “He had a dead woman brought in,” Pitt went on. “And you’re right, Sadie was part of the plot. It could be she who insisted on sleeping in the Queen’s bed!” He was speaking more rapidly, his voice eager now. “When the Prince was in a drunken stupor, perhaps aided by a powder of some sort, she slipped out and went to Cahoon.

  “Perhaps she even helped Cahoon take the dead woman out of the box, before getting into it herself. After the box was removed, Cahoon carried the dead woman, probably in a blanket or something, and put her beside the Prince, and splashed some of the blood around. He kept the rest to put in the linen cupboard, then went to bed. That’s why we could never find Sadie’s clothes-she was still wearing them. Cahoon had already arranged for a message to come, and went to waken the Prince himself, and make absolutely certain he was in the spot to see the mess, and offer to help!”

  “The bleedin’ bastard!” she said with profound feeling. “Wot yer gonna do? Yer can’t let Mr. Sorokine be put away for it!”

  “Of course not. I’m going to see His Royal Highness.” He rose.

  “Be careful!” she cried out. “Mr. Pitt, ’e in’t goin’ ter-”

  “When Mr. Narraway comes back, tell him what has happened,”

  he cut across her. “And ask him to wait until I return.” He left without even looking back to see if she would obey.

  She stood still, hands clenched, her body shaking.

  She was terrified for what would happen to him. Suddenly everything that mattered was falling apart. The people she had regarded with admiration were no wiser or braver than she was. The Palace itself was just like anywhere else, full of pettiness, ambition, and shifts of truth. And now Pitt was walking straight into disaster like a child going to feed lions, and she hadn’t stopped him, and there was nobody to ask for help.

  Hot tears scalded her eyes.

  Again Pitt had to wait until the Prince was willing to see him.

  Time was slipping through his fingers. Any minute Narraway would return with police to take Julius away. Of course he could be released afterward, but it would be far better not to make the error in the first place. People were loath to admit fault; the more important it was, the more reluctant.

  He wrote a short letter on a page from his notebook and handed it to the footman. All it said was, “I realize what Dunkeld has done to help. But now more help than that is needed. Pitt.”

  He was conducted into the Prince’s presence five minutes later, and the footman withdrew, leaving them alone. The Prince was white-faced, sweat shining on his brow.

  “What do you mean by this, sir?” he demanded, holding up the scrap of paper. “It looks like an attempt at. . at blackmail!”

  “No, sir,” Pitt said with as much respect as he could pretend. “It is an attempt to avoid blackmail. I believe Mr. Dunkeld went to considerable trouble, and ingenuity, to make you seem acutely vulnerable, sir, and I intend to see that he does not profit from it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. You are on dangerous ground, Inspector. Cahoon Dunkeld is a friend of mine, a gentleman of skill and honor, and very great loyalty. Far more than you, I may say, who are paid to be a servant to the Crown!” he accused him.

  “Yes, sir.” Pitt breathed in slowly, knowing the risk he was taking.

  If he was wrong, he would be ruined. He would not even walk a beat as a common policeman after this. “You entertained a prostitute of particular intelligence and skill, who insisted she would give her favors only if she could do it in the Queen’s own bed.”

  “How. . how dare you, sir?” the Prince sputtered.

  “You saw no harm in it,” Pitt continued. “You took her there, and after she kept her word, you fell asleep, probably assisted by a little laudanum in your drink. When you awoke there was a dead woman beside you, or possibly only a great deal of blood.” He stopped, afraid the Prince was going to have a heart attack or apoplexy. He seemed to be choking, grasping at his collar, and he had gone ashen gray. Pitt had no idea how to help. He had not foreseen this.

  He turned and strode to the door to call for assistance.

  “Wait!” the Prince cried out. “Wait!”

  Pitt stopped.

  “I didn’t kill her!” the Prince said desperately. “I swear on the Crown of England, I never hurt her at all!”

  “I know that, sir,” Pitt said quietly, turning back to face him. “She was dead before she was ever brought into the Palace.”

  “She can’t. . what are you saying? I lay with a dead woman? I assure you she was very much alive!”

  “Sadie was, yes. But the corpse beside you, and later in the linen cupboard, was not Sadie,” Pitt explained. “That is why her clothes had to be removed. The difference would have given it away. And there was probably no time. Dunkeld took care of it all for you, didn’t he? Ran a bath, told you to wash away all the blood, and he himself removed the body and the bloody sheets. Later, he had trusted servants clean up the mess, the blood on the floor, and replaced the broken Limoges dish, which you thought you had smashed in your rage with the poor woman.”

  The Prince simply nodded. He was still gray-faced, his eyes almost glazed. He was mortified with embarrassment at being exposed as such an incompetent libertine in front of Pitt, of all people.

  “He told you to say nothing, and it would all be all right. He would get in Special Branch, and they would keep the matter discreet,” Pitt continued.

  “What about Sorokine?” the Prince floundered. “If he wasn’t guilty, why did he kill his wife, poor woman?”

  “He didn’t,” Pitt said simply. “She worked out the truth, and must have faced Dunkeld with it. I don’t imagine he intended to kill her, he probably only tried to silence her, and they both lost their tempers.

  They were very alike. When he realized he had struck her too hard he had to make it look as if it were the same as the other crime, and the one in Africa too, of which he could not have been guilty. It must have been one of the hardest things in his life to have cut her like that, even though she was alre
ady dead.” He thought of Minnie’s body lying with that slit-open abdomen, but her bosom still decently covered. She had not been gutted as the other women were.

  The Prince was staring at him in undisguised horror.

  “He must have waited all night,” Pitt went on. “We can only guess how fearful that was for him, alone with her body. Then in the early morning he went in to accuse Sorokine, and fought with him, his purpose being to mark Sorokine as if from a fight with Mrs.

  Sorokine, and even more than that, to disguise the marks on himself where she had fought for her life.”

  “God in Heaven!” the Prince breathed out. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Arrest Dunkeld and release Sorokine,” Pitt replied. “And hope it is still possible to keep most of this quiet. But we will not be able to shut Dunkeld away and say he is mad. There will have to be a trial, at least for the murder of Mrs. Sorokine. I’m sorry, sir. If another way can be found, it will be.”

  The Prince swallowed with difficulty. “Please. . please try. .”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  Pitt returned to his rooms and found Narraway waiting for him, pacing the floor. Gracie was still present as if she were standing guard.

  “Is she right?” Narraway demanded as soon as Pitt had closed the door. His face was drawn, his eyes haggard.

  Pitt did not ask what Gracie had said; he knew she had understood it all perfectly. “Yes,” he said to Narraway. “I just confirmed it with the Prince of Wales. Not surprisingly, when he woke and found the corpse of a naked woman, covered in gore, beside him in the Queen’s bed, he panicked. He certainly didn’t look at her face long enough to see it wasn’t the one he went to sleep with-if he looked at her face even then!”

  Narraway blasphemed thoroughly and with intense feeling.

  “What a diabolical shame. A cold nerve, though!” He glanced at Gracie, wondering whether he should apologize to her for his language. In this situation she was not exactly a servant. A certain better nature won. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “ ’S all right,” she told him graciously.

  He looked startled, then nodded his appreciation.

  Pitt concealed a smile. “We should arrest Dunkeld for the killing of his daughter,” he said to Narraway. “Accidental or intentional.

  And free Sorokine. I’m looking forward to that.”

  “Just a moment!” Narraway jerked up his hand as if to hold Pitt back. “Can we prove it?”

  “Minnie knew the whole plot!” Pitt said impatiently.

  “Yes, but can we prove that?” Narraway insisted. “And not only that she knew it, but that she would have betrayed him by telling everyone. If we can’t do both those things, he could still say it was Sorokine, either because he killed Sadie, or simply out of jealousy over her affair with Marquand.”

  Pitt took a deep breath, his mind racing. He was certain in his own mind, but was there proof, beyond any reasonable doubt?

  “He was the one who arranged for the three women to come. It was his box of books the corpse came in.”

  “We know it was his box,” Narraway agreed. “We have deduced that the corpse came in it, and Sadie went, but there’s no proof.”

  “No books came,” Pitt told him. “Edwards carried something up in it, and something of similar weight down again.”

  “Servant’s word against Dunkeld’s,” Narraway said.

  “No books,” Pitt argued. “All the African books, of which there are not many, were here already. All the other men will testify to that.”

  “Moderate,” Narraway granted. “Who saw the Limoges dish, apart from Dunkeld’s wife, who hates him, and is in love with Sorokine? I think it hangs on that.”

  “His valet,” Pitt replied.

  “And he’ll testify?” Narraway said with heavy disbelief. “Even if he did, it’s his word against Dunkeld’s again. From your account the Prince of Wales never saw the dish broken, and he can’t be called to testify anyway.”

  “Tyndale!” Pitt exclaimed. “He knew the dish was broken because he helped clear it away and hid the pieces. He lied to me about it, and to Gracie.”

  “And you think he’ll implicate the Prince in any wrongdoing?”

  Narraway’s eyebrows shot up.

  “No, sir, but he’ll testify against Dunkeld, who tried to implicate and then blackmail the Prince.”

  Narraway’s face was bleak, his mouth tight. “The newspapers will have a field day with that! It’ll never come to trial, Pitt. Dunkeld knows it, and so do I. Perhaps we could prove it, with the dish, the box; we can’t prove that he brought the port bottles in full of blood.

  Certainly someone did a lot of cleaning up in the Queen’s room, and Sorokine’s never been in the Palace before. But it’s all academic.

  Dunkeld has us. The best we can do is at least not charge Sorokine.”

  “No, sir,” Pitt said in a hard, quiet voice. “Dunkeld was going to blackmail the Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne. If he didn’t do it explicitly, it was always implicit, for the rest of his life.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be a royalist after all this, Pitt,” Narraway said with irony and confusion in his voice.

  “I don’t have much respect for the man, but I do for the office,”

  Pitt snapped. “But that isn’t the point.”

  Narraway opened his eyes wide. “Blackmail is a filthy crime.”

  “Not blackmail,” Pitt said tartly. “Treason.”

  “Treason?” Then in a flash of fire in the mind, Narraway understood. “Of course. We charge him and try him for treason. Secrets of the State-a closed court. Thank you, Pitt. I am profoundly obliged.”

  Pitt smiled, the blood warming his face again.

  Gracie gave a long sigh of relief.

  “Who killed the poor woman in the linen cupboard?” Narraway asked almost casually.

  “God knows,” Pitt admitted. “Maybe He is the only one who ever will. She might be just some murder victim of the night.”

  “Exactly like the one in Africa?” Narraway asked sarcastically.

  “Who the hell brought her?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  Narraway raised his eyebrows. “I imagine you would like to find out?”

  “Yes, I would. First I would like to go and release Sorokine.” Pitt smiled. “I’d take help for Dunkeld, if I were you. He’s a big man with a very violent temper.”

  Narraway looked at him coldly. “I have no intention of going alone, Pitt! Do you take me for an idiot?”

  They reached the door together, then Pitt turned to Gracie.

  “Which one do you want to see?” he asked. “You deserve to take your choice.”

  “Thanks,” she said primly. “I think as I’ll come with you and tell Mr. Sorokine ’e’s free. ’E were real nice ter me. Let me read in a book by Oscar Wilde, like I were a real sort o’ person as could understand it.”

  “You are,” Pitt told her. “How perceptive of him. When we get home, I shall buy you a copy for yourself.”

  “Thank you,” she accepted.

  They went downstairs together and found Mr. Tyndale, who gave them the key to Julius’s room.

  “I’m very glad, sir,” he said gravely. “Mr. Sorokine was always very civil.” He glanced only briefly at Gracie, confused now as to exactly what her status was.

  She avoided his eyes too, so as not to make it even harder for him.

  Up the stairs again Pitt knocked on Julius’s door, then opened it and went in.

  “Your courtesy is very pleasant, if a trifle absurd,” Julius said quietly. He was fully dressed but ashen-faced. His hands were clenched by his sides and he stood so stiffly he swayed very little, concentrating on keeping his composure.

  Pitt held out the door key in his open hand, offering it.

  “I apologize, Mr. Sorokine. I am now perfectly certain that your account of events was a true one. I regret the extreme distress you have been caused.”

  Julius
stared at him, then at the key in his hand. Then slowly he reached for it, took it and held it, smoothing his fingers over it as if to assure himself it was real. Then he looked up at Pitt again.

  “Cahoon?” he asked hoarsely. “Why? He’s the only one of us who couldn’t have killed the poor woman.”

  Very briefly Pitt explained the main outline of the case to him.

  Julius sat down on the bed. “God Almighty!” He breathed out the words so they sounded more like a prayer than a blasphemy.

  “If you will excuse me, sir, I need to go and help Mr. Narraway.

  Arresting Mr. Dunkeld may not be easy. If there is anything you need, Gracie will get it for you.”

  Gracie moved forward. “Yes, sir,” she said with great satisfaction.

  “ ’Ow about a nice fresh cup o’ tea, an’ a toasted tea cake with currants in it an’ butter?”

  Julius smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said huskily. “I’ll admit, luncheon wasn’t much. I’d like that. . before I. . join the others.”

  She went to make it herself, choosing the tea cake with the most currants and sultanas, and being generous with the butter. When she took it up to him, he was delighted and ate the tea cake as if it was the first food he had tasted with any pleasure for days.

  She glanced over to the bedside table and saw Oscar Wilde’s book open on it.

  He saw her look. “Would you like it?” he offered.

  “I couldn’t!” she said intently, blushing that he had caught her looking at it.

  “Yes, you could,” he replied. “I can get another one. I would like you to have it. I have something to celebrate. Let me make a gift of it to you.” He reached out his hand, then saw the butter on his fingers and smiled ruefully. “Just take it. Please?”

  She picked it up, holding it tight. “Thank you, sir.”

  He was still smiling.

  Pitt and Narraway found Cahoon Dunkeld with the Prince of Wales. They were obliged to wait until he had finished his discussion and was walking back alone along the corridor toward his own room. They caught up with him at the door and followed him in, to his intense annoyance.