Peccadillo at the Palace

by Kari Bovee

  Mr. Ingle came into the room, cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at the doctor.

  “Yes, Ingle. What is it?”

  “Your presence is required in the yellow drawing room.”

  “By whom?”

  “The police, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, it’s been a pleasure serving you, Mr. Butler.”

  Frank shook the doctor’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your talent, Doc.”

  “Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Annie said, also shaking his hand. She wondered what the police wanted with him. Or had he requested they come to the palace? Did this have something to do with Mr. Patel and the tear catcher? How she would love to be a fly on the wall when he spoke with the police.

  The doctor took up his bag and left the room, Mr. Ingle behind him. Annie followed them to the door and let it click shut before she opened it again and peeked out to see if anyone was guarding the door in Mr. Ingle’s place. The hallway looked clear.

  “Where are you going, Annie?” Frank was right behind her.

  “I’m going to follow them. I forgot to ask the doctor something about my pregnancy.” She didn’t like lying to Frank, but she knew he would try to dissuade her.

  “What about it?”

  “I’ll tell you later, I don’t want to miss him. Please stay here with Hulda. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  Before Frank could protest, Annie dashed down the hall in the direction Mr. Ingle had led the doctor. She came to a marble stairway to her left. She thought she could hear voices down below. Tiptoeing so her boots did not clack on the marble, she descended the stairs as fast as she could and stopped when she reached the bottom, straining to hear.

  The staircase led to a great carpeted hall, with an arched glass ceiling and ornately carved wood-paneled walls. She heard muffled voices to the right, so she followed them. The voices grew louder, and she thought she recognized the voice of Inspector Granger.

  When she reached what must have been the yellow drawing room, she stopped.

  “Thank you for meeting me, Inspector. I have some news regarding the tear catcher that was found in Mr. Patel’s room.”

  “Let’s hear it,” said the Inspector.

  “The residue of the substance within the tube was indeed a toxin of some sort. I’m afraid the evidence against Mr. Patel is substantial. Unfortunate, but not surprising.”

  “What do you mean, not surprising?” the doctor asked.

  “Given his past as a young sepoy rebel. The authorities believe he manipulated Mr. Bhakta, a known favorite of the queen, into his position here at the palace. The rebels are known for their hatred of the English—and our queen, damn them all, the darkies—but she is so desirous of peace between our two nations, she sometimes does not see ill intent. We also believe Mr. Patel was in league with someone outside the palace.”

  “What makes you think that?” asked the doctor.

  “Because Dr. Adams was found dead this morning in Hyde Park.”

  Still reeling from the news about Dr. Adams, Annie opted to ride in the carriage with Hulda, Frank, and Miss Tessen back to Earl’s Court, instead of riding Buck. She didn’t want the distraction of the bustle on the street. The footman, standing on the back of the carriage, held Buck’s line as he trotted behind.

  Annie had shared the news of Dr. Adams’s death after they’d gotten into the carriage. She paid particular attention to Miss Tessen when she divulged what she had heard. The woman seemed nonplussed, which perplexed her. Emma had mentioned the relationship might be a secret for any number of reasons. Perhaps, one of them was married? Miss Tessen seemed a strong woman, but for her to show so little emotion gave Annie pause. The woman grew more mysterious every day.

  The four of them sat in silence as the carriage passed through the gates of Buckingham Palace and onto the street.

  “It’s a terrible thing,” said Annie. “It’s hard to believe Dr. Adams is gone.”

  Miss Tessen, sitting directly across from Annie and Frank, stared out the carriage window. Hulda, seated next to her, did the same. Annie worried about Hulda’s state of mind. She’d been so quiet since their altercation the previous evening. Annie couldn’t tell if her current mood was the result of leaving the palace or the shocking reality that another person had been murdered. Again, it gave rise to the thought that she should never have brought her sister to England.

  “Well, it looks like Mr. Bhakta’s killer has been found,” said Frank. “Perhaps the threat to the queen we feared has been has been eradicated. Now, we can focus on the show and enjoy this wonderful country.”

  “I don’t believe Mr. Patel guilty of either crime,” said Annie. “He insists someone has set him up.”

  “Convenient excuse. Of course he won’t admit to it.” Miss Tessen finally spoke, venom in her voice.

  At last, some kind of reaction, Annie thought.

  Miss Tessen turned toward the window again, anger lingering in her eyes. Perhaps she did mourn the death of the doctor—she just didn’t want to admit to the relationship, as Emma had suggested.

  Annie wanted to see Buck settled again, and also wanted to question Miss Tessen further about the nature of her relationship with Dr. Adams, thinking she might open up without Frank and Hulda present.

  She accompanied Miss Tessen to the stables. While Miss Tessen got Annie’s tack organized and put away, Annie led Buck to his pen. She then took the pitchfork leaning against the haystack, and scooped some hay for him to eat.

  Miss Tessen, finished with the tack, brought a bucketful of water to fill Buck’s trough.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Tessen,” Annie said.

  “Sorry? What for?” Miss Tessen swept a lock of errant hair behind her ear.

  “Dr. Adams. I saw you, you know.” Annie leaned against Buck’s shoulder. “In the mews courtyard. I saw the two of you kissing. You needn’t fear judgment from me.”

  Miss Tessen set down the bucket. “Oh, that.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Annie said. “He must have meant something to you.”

  “Well, he didn’t. It wasn’t like that.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “He—Dr. Adams—he made advances. I didn’t return his affections, and it made him angry. He figured a girl like me—without friends, without family—would be happy for his attention. But I wasn’t. So no, I’m not broken up about his death. Is that terrible?” She dropped her fists to her sides, but did not unclench them.

  Annie shook her head. “No. No, it isn’t terrible. I didn’t understand, but now I do. Thank you for telling me.” Annie was disappointed in herself for never considering the doctor might be pressuring Miss Tessen in some way. A poor woman being taken advantage of by an older, wealthier man. It happened all the time. “I’m sorry.”

  Miss Tessen waved a hand. “It’s over. I’ll go see if Hulda needs any help. Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Oakley?” she asked, her features and her hands relaxing.

  “No, thank you. I’ll just stay out here with Buck for a while.”

  Miss Tessen headed back toward the tents. Annie saw Emma coming toward her, crossing paths with Miss Tessen.

  “The prodigal daughter returns,” said Emma. “I’m surprised to see you back.”

  “It’s a long story. Make me a cup of tea?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Emma opened the gate to the pen to let Annie out. “It’s no palace, but you are welcome in my tent.”

  Annie stepped into Emma’s tent and took in a sharp breath, struck by the lavish furnishings. A large sleigh bed, angled in the corner and covered with a silk floral quilt, took up most of the space. A charming wooden tea table draped with a silk scarf and two floral cushioned chairs graced the opposite corner. Her desk, as large as the colonel’s and strewn with papers, took up another corner, while the last corner was reserved for a small, pot-bellied, wood-burning stove. All but the stove stood atop a finely woven, plush Persian rug.

  “I don’t know how
you do it, Emma. These furnishings are lovely. Not that what the colonel has provided for us is not, but you have outdone yourself.”

  Emma set a teapot on the stove and then threw some wood into its belly. Annie took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs. “Did the Chicago Herald provide this?”

  “Oh, heavens no, silly.” Emma spooned some tea from a tin into two cups. “My taste is too high for them. The stipend they give me barely covers the cost of my hats. A little trip to Tottenham Court Road and voila! Furnishings. Oh, I almost forgot.” She went to a small vanity next to the bed and picked up two letters.

  “This came for you.” Emma held out an envelope for Annie.

  She took it and turned it over. The seal on the back read L. L. “Must be from Mrs. Langtry, Mr. Wilde’s friend.”

  “And the prince’s paramour,” said Emma with a twist of her lips.

  Annie tore open the envelope. The tea kettle rumbled as the water boiled. Emma poured the water into a teapot, and brought it and two teacups over to the table.

  “It’s an invitation to dinner at the Ruben’s Hotel, Mrs. Langtry’s private suite,” said Annie, a sinking feeling in her stomach. The latent nausea returned. She felt she was about to be put on display—the quaint American little girl sensation. Even the princess had referred to her as “a clever little girl.”

  “I received one, too.” Emma held up the other envelope. “Oh, don’t look so mortified, Annie. It’s an honor. I, myself, feel quite privileged. She knows all of the important people. Artists, musicians, actors—you name it. She knows all the scuttlebutt around town.”

  “Do you think she knows about Dr. Adams?”

  “Everyone will know about Dr. Adams. I heard from some friends of mine at the Times that Mr. Frank Butler’s personal physician was found murdered in the park. The story will hit the papers tomorrow.”

  “Oh, dear,” Annie said. “The colonel won’t like the negative publicity.”

  “He will love it, dear. It will bring people to the show—not that you all need any help. The Wild West Show is a sensation. I understand there will be a performance for the queen next week.”

  “Yes. And did you hear about Mr. Patel?”

  “No. What about him?” Emma poured them each a cup of tea.

  Annie told him what had transpired the night before Dr. Adams was killed.

  “And they think Patel is responsible—for all of it?”

  “Yes. I would like to believe that we have found the murderer, and at least one threat to the queen, but, Emma, I don’t feel we have.” Annie spun her teacup in its saucer.

  “Annie, you have a strong intuition. It has served you well in the past,” Emma said, sipping her tea.

  “Not with Miss Brady, poor soul. I made a horrible mistake.”

  “You followed some evidence—not your intuition. Rely on your sensibilities, my dear. Did you track down Madame Mattei?”

  “No. I saw no sign of her.”

  “I, too, asked about her around the square,” Emma said. “I did speak with a man who might have seen her. He was quite drunk, though. Couldn’t be sure.”

  “Are people still railing against the queen?” Annie couldn’t discount the notion that whoever killed Mr. Bhakta could be associated with the angry mob.

  “Oh yes. Until some of these prisoners like Mr. Parnell are released, and the Irish problem is solved—they will continue to protest.”

  “Hello?” A voice came from outside the tent. It sounded like Bobby.

  “Entrez!” sang out Emma.

  Bobby stuck his head through the opening. “Oh, Miss Tessen said I might find you in here, Annie. Telegram for you.” Bobby came in, ripped off his hat, and handed Annie the piece of paper.

  “Join us for tea, Bobby?” Emma asked, giving him her most flirtatious grin.

  Bobby’s face flushed bright red. He mercilessly crumpled his hat in his hands. “Oh, no thank you, ma’am. The colonel and Mr. Salisbury need me to shoe their horses. I just wanted to bring Miss Annie her telegram.”

  “Another time.” Emma’s dimples sank charmingly into her alabaster cheeks.

  Completely flustered, Bobby nearly ran out of the tent.

  “Emma, you are cruel,” said Annie.

  “I like to have a little fun. I’m not getting any younger—approaching the spinster age far too rapidly. So are you going to open your telegram? Could be from an adoring fan.”

  Annie unfolded the paper and scanned the type. Her stomach folded in on itself. She handed the message to Emma.

  “Oh my goodness,” Emma said, grabbing hold of Annie’s hand. “You were absolutely right. Mr. Patel is not the murderer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Annie, clutching the telegram in her hand, walked up to Lillie’s tent.

  “Are you in there?” she called.

  Lillie came to the tent flap and folded it open. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Lillie, I need to speak with you. It’s of the utmost importance.” Annie didn’t have time to bicker.

  “Well, then I guess you’d better come in.” Lillie sighed, holding the tent flap open for her.

  Annie stepped through and was not surprised at what she saw. Clothes everywhere, guns strewn across the bureau next to a bottle of whiskey and two crystal glasses, powders and toiletries scattered across the vanity, and her bed an unmade, crumpled mess. Annie did not miss sharing living quarters with Lillie.

  “Want a cigarette?” Lillie asked, running a match across a flint stone and then holding it up to the cigarette she had placed in her mouth.

  “No. You know I don’t smoke.”

  “Yes. The prim Miss Oakley—no smoking, no drinking, no fun.” Lillie took a long drag.

  “I’m not here for trouble, Lillie. I need a favor.”

  Lillie walked over to her bed and lounged across it, holding the cigarette aloft. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Annie to continue.

  “I’ve received a disturbing telegram. Whoever sent it has threatened Hulda.”

  “What?” Lillie sat up, suddenly interested. “Whatever for?”

  “The sender said if I don’t stop investigating Mr. Bhakta’s murder, something will happen to Hulda. This proves that I’m on the right track, and also whoever this is—” she held up the note—“was on the ship, and is here in London, close to us. The note I found on Mr. Bhakta’s waistcoat alluded to a threat to the queen. We also found a note in a tear catcher containing poison on the ship, quoting the poet Blake, and this telegram contains another quote from him.”

  Lillie held a hand in the air. “Slow down, sister. What does this have to do with me?”

  Annie took a deep breath, hoping she would not regret what she was about to say.

  “I know we’ve had our differences, Lillie, but am I correct that you genuinely care for my sister?”

  “I do. She’s a nice kid.”

  “Remember when Twila died, how upset you were?” Annie asked. When Lillie’s adopted sister Twila took poison to end her sorrowful life, Lillie had been clipped at the knees. Annie had helped her through the stressful time, and the two had come to a temporary mutual understanding, although they never really liked each other. Annie hoped she could rely on Lillie’s memory of Annie supporting her through that difficult time. Lillie never really had a family, aside from Twila.

  “I can’t believe I am asking this, but, I’d like you to keep an eye on Hulda tonight. Don’t let her out of your sight. I have to attend a dinner party, and Frank will be with me, as well as Emma.”

  “I thought I am a bad influence on the girl.” Lillie smirked.

  “You don’t have to be,” said Annie. “Since you say you care for her— even though I don’t necessarily trust your influence on her—I am going to trust you with her safety. If not for me, then do it for Hulda. Keep your gun handy and loaded.”

  Lillie pulled the stub of the cigarette from her mouth and tamped it in a crystal ashtray lying on the bed. She leaned back against the pillo
ws again, never taking her eyes off Annie. Annie remained silent, waiting for her reply.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to her, you’re right. I’ll do it, Annie. Thanks for your trust in me.”

  “No drinking, no smoking, no cowboys, no Mr. Everett” Annie warned. “Just for tonight. Promise?”

  Lillie rolled her eyes. “Promise.”

  “I don’t want her to know she is in danger. I don’t want to scare her.”

  “All right, all right. I got it. Geez, Annie, you’re so bossy.”

  Mrs. Langtry’s suite at the Rueben Hotel was nothing less than Annie had anticipated.

  They entered into a brightly lit parlor with blue walls and a white, elaborately patterned ceiling, with a large crystal chandelier hanging in the center. A marble fireplace with a carved wooden mantelpiece dominated the room. Two powder-blue-cushioned sofas and several matching chairs surrounded the fireplace, creating a cozy place to relax and talk.

  The dining room, off to the back of the parlor, housed a large, round dining table laden with a white silk table cloth, silver place settings, a profuse floral centerpiece exploding with pink roses, and fine crystal stemware. Judging from the ten place settings, Annie gathered the party would be small. She, Frank, and Emma were the first to arrive. A smiling butler with coal-black hair and bright blue eyes showed them into the parlor and encouraged them to settle into the plush sofas.

  Emma, dressed in a dusty rose, pearl-beaded gown and a gigantic hat wrapped in chiffon with roses pinned to one side of the crown, made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. Annie and Frank sank into one of the sofas, making breathing for Annie even more of a challenge. She glanced over at her husband, who looked so handsome in his dark dinner jacket and burgundy waistcoat.

  “I do love society parties,” Emma said. The handsome butler, holding a tray of filled champagne glasses, offered one to her. “Don’t mind if I do. What is your name?” Emma asked, her dimples deepening as she gave the man a coy smile.

  The butler, clearly uncomfortable with the personal question, cleared his throat. “I’m Mr. Chaucer, ma’am.”