A Royal Pain

by Rhys Bowen

  I coughed loudly. The effect was instant. The figure spun around and I was amazed to see that it was Irmgardt, Hanni’s maid.

  “Irmgardt, what on earth are you doing?” I asked, before I remembered that she spoke no English.

  “Die Prinzessin,” she said, “macht Spaziergang.”

  This much German I could understand. So the princess was out walking early.

  “Where is she?” I asked. “Wo?”

  Before she could answer there was a tramping through the bracken and Hanni appeared, looking red cheeked and ridiculously healthy.

  “Oh, Georgie, you are awake too. It is lovely day, is it not? The birds made so much noise that I could not sleep, so I go for walk. At home we walk much, up mountains. Here there are no mountains,” she added regretfully then glanced at Irmgardt, who was still following us. “But my maid does not allow me to go alone. Go back, Irmgardt. I do not need you.” She repeated this in German, shooing her away like a duck or a chicken. Irmgardt retreated reluctantly. “Old broad make her follow me,” Hanni muttered to me. “She does not trust me to go out alone no more. Now I’ve got two pain in necks.”

  At that moment we heard the thud of hoofbeats and Edward Fotheringay came riding toward us on a fine bay.

  “Morning, ladies,” he called, reining in his mount. “Lovely day, isn’t it? I’ve just been for a good gallop. Old Cromer-Strode keeps a fine stable. Where are you two off to?”

  “We both woke early and are taking a stroll,” I said.

  “Why don’t you come for a ride with me?” Edward said. “I’ll go and see about some mounts while you go and change.”

  Actually I was dying to get on a horse again but Hanni said, “I do not like to ride horses. I do not like my clothes to smell of horse sweat. But I would like to go for a ride in your new car, like the American girls. That would be real swell. I never went out alone in a motorcar with a man.”

  “Oh, right-o,” Edward said. “Always happy to put my new machine through its paces for a pretty girl. Give me a few minutes to take the horse back and change my clothes and then we’ll be off.”

  He urged his horse to a canter, leaving us to walk back to the house together.

  “Your baroness is not going to be happy about this, Hanni,” I said. “She won’t allow you to go out unchaperoned in a young man’s car.”

  “I do not care what she thinks or says.” Hanni tossed her head defiantly. “She is here as my companion, not as my mother. Besides, I do not wish to be with the baroness. She is in bad mood.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She says she is treated like servant here. Her rank is higher than theirs but they make her stand at back of line and they seat her with not important people like a bad married priest.”

  “I expect they didn’t realize who she is,” I said. “They probably think of her as just your companion.”

  “She says I must tell them and demand that she is treated with respect,” Hanni said. “But I do not wish to do this. It is rude, don’t you think? It is not my fault that she is old and ugly.”

  “Hanni, you really mustn’t talk like that, even when we are alone. You are a royal person. Whatever you say will be made public, you know.”

  “I know you won’t tell anyone because you’re my pal.”

  “But I really can’t let you go out alone with a young man,” I said.

  “You can come with us. You can watch me.”

  Did I really want to watch Hanni and Edward making cow eyes at each other, and more to the point, would they want me sitting there in the backseat watching them? But then a thought struck me. I was supposed to be doing a spot of sleuthing. In fact it was rather important that I begin sleuthing as soon as possible. Sometime within the next week there would be an inquest into the death of Sidney Roberts. Our involvement in that death would be made public. A royal scandal would ensue, Germany would react with horror, diplomatic messages would fly across the Channel and if we were really unlucky, a new world war would break out. I couldn’t turn down such a perfect opportunity to question Edward, away from the bustle of Dippings.

  “All right,” I agreed, “I’ll come along and play gooseberry.”

  “Play gooseberry?”

  “Another silly English term,” I said.

  “English is very silly language,” Hanni said.

  I had to agree with her.

  Edward didn’t seem to mind too much that I was being brought along. “The more the merrier,” he said. “So where do you want to go? Anywhere in particular? We could make a day of it.”

  A brilliant idea came to me. Cambridge—it seemed to be the one link between Edward and Gussie and Sidney Roberts. I couldn’t see how I’d find any clues there—no dropped note in the cloisters saying, Meet me by the river. Drug shipment due at dawn, but it would be interesting to observe Edward in his old habitat.

  “I think the princess might enjoy seeing Cambridge,” I suggested. “If it’s not too far to drive.”

  “Not at all. Always glad to show off the old college,” Edward said, smiling at Hanni.

  We made our getaway from Dippings before the general populace had stirred. The butler kindly arranged for some tea and toast so that we didn’t depart on an empty stomach, and the cook hastily made a hamper for the journey. It was all very civilized and a jolly day seemed to be ahead of us—if one didn’t count poor Sidney Roberts. Hanni seemed to have completely forgotten about him. He hadn’t come up once in conversation. Nor did she seem to have any worries about an upcoming inquest and the public attention that it would generate. Perhaps she wanted to be in the spotlight. It certainly went with her personality. She sat in the front seat of Edward’s natty little sports car, occasionally glancing up at him with obvious delight that she was finally (almost) alone in a car with a boy.

  “I bet your baroness wasn’t too pleased about this.” Edward turned to her with a wicked grin.

  “I did not wake her,” Hanni said. “She does not like to be awoken too early. Irmgardt will tell her where I have gone.”

  “You’ll probably be sent straight back to the convent when you get home,” Edward teased.

  “I have proper English lady, relative of king, in the backseat,” Hanni said. “She will make sure you behave well.”

  “Ah, but what about you?” Again Edward’s grin was flirtatious. “Can she succeed in keeping tabs on you? Not an easy task, I fear.” He glanced back at me and winked.

  I smiled back. “I’m really looking forward to seeing Cambridge,” I said. “I’ve never been there.”

  “Never seen Cambridge? Then you haven’t lived. It’s quite the most beautiful city in England. Far superior to Oxford, of course, which is nothing but a bustling country town.”

  “I detect prejudice.”

  He laughed. He had a most appealing laugh. I could see why the girls were drawn to him. I was a little drawn myself, but since I was clearly fourth in line after Fiona, Belinda and Hanni, not to mention my mother, there was no point in pursuing this. I wondered about Edward and Fiona. Did he know he was engaged to her, or was it one of those things that families arrange on the birth of their children? I could see the way he was looking at Hanni, and I had also seen him follow Belinda into the garden last night. Men who followed Belinda had only one thing on their minds.

  The fifty-mile drive through leafy byways was delightful. Dappled sunlight, the cooing of pigeons, the sound of a cuckoo and the wind in my hair in the backseat of the open car. Hanni and Edward chatted from time to time but as we gathered speed I couldn’t join in their conversation from the backseat, which gave me time to think. What had Sidney Roberts been doing at that party? He was clearly out of place, from the point of view of both class and views. Dedicated communists surely do not habitually frequent parties at which the sons and daughters of the decadent upper crust indulge in cocktails and cocaine—not unless he had come to convert us, which he didn’t seem to be doing. Instead he seemed remote and ill at ease, lurking on the balcony. />
  I replayed that balcony scene in my mind, but Sidney had given no indication of why he was there—unless, like many of the lower classes, he was flattered to have been invited. Or, like Darcy, he simply wanted some good food and drink. But he didn’t seem the type.

  I remembered that Gussie had seemed surprised to see him at the party. He’d asked Edward what Roberts was doing there and Edward had implied that he had to invite him and he was a good enough chap in his way. What did he mean by “had to” invite him? Were they somehow beholden to him? Another suspicion came into my mind. Was Sidney the one who supplied their drugs? Was the earnest communist character merely a façade?

  “So you were at Trinity College, were you, Edward?” I leaned forward from my backseat.

  “That’s right. Good old Trinity. One of the younger colleges, I’m afraid. Founded by Henry the Eighth. Those American girls yesterday laughed themselves silly when they heard that something founded in fifteen hundred and something was considered young. But it’s definitely one of the loveliest colleges. I’m going to give you a tour and you’ll have to agree.”

  We were entering the city of Cambridge. The view as we crossed the Cam and saw those golden stone buildings across spacious lawns almost took the breath away. On the river itself was a merry scene with students punting and sitting on the lawns, enjoying the sunshine. The occasional student cycled past, books under his arm and black gown flapping out behind him in the wind. A pair of female students, deep in heated discussion, strolled under the trees. I looked at them with interest, as one examines a new species in the zoo. I hadn’t really considered that women would also attend the university and felt a pang of regret that I would never have that kind of opportunity.

  We abandoned the car under the shade of a huge chestnut tree and started to walk. The glorious sound of boys’ voices floated out from King’s College Chapel, where it must have been time for matins. Edward played at dutiful tour guide, identifying each building that we passed until we came to an impressive arched gateway in a high wall.

  “You see,” he said, ushering us through the arch. “Quite the loveliest, don’t you think?”

  I followed them through the gate and into a vast courtyard bordered by richly carved yellow stone buildings. A lush green lawn covered most of the area and in the middle was an ornate roofed fountain.

  “This is the great court, the largest of any at Oxford or Cambridge,” Edward said. “They say the students used to wash in that fountain before there were proper bathrooms and of course this is the site of the famous great court run. The object is to run around the perimeter of the court before the clock finishes chiming noon. It’s only been done a couple of times, I understand. Come on. Follow me.”

  I fancied I could still hear those sublime voices from King’s College, until I realized that Trinity possessed a similar chapel, with its own choir. Sweet notes hung in the air. I almost began to believe that angels inhabited Cambridge.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” I said as we crossed the court.

  Edward laughed. “They’re all holed up studying for final exams,” he said. “You should see it on a normal Saturday night.” He opened a door for us to step into the darkness of a building. “This is the hall, where we take our meals,” he said, indicating a dark-paneled, high-ceilinged room to our left. “I probably shouldn’t take you inside. The chaps wouldn’t take kindly to visitors during exam time. And through here is another court, and you have to see the Wren library.”

  “Sir Christopher Wren?” I asked.

  “The very same.”

  Just as we were about to leave the building a young man in a far more impressive gown than I had seen so far came sweeping in through the door. He went to pass us with a cursory nod then stopped. “I say, I know you, don’t I?” he said to Edward. “Fotheringay, wasn’t it? You were an apostle, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “And you are Saunders,” Edward said. “So you’ve become a fellow, have you?”

  “For my sins. Too lazy to move out, I suppose, and the food’s good. What have you been doing with yourself?”

  “Been abroad mostly,” Edward said.

  “Have you, by Jove. Good for you.” He gave Edward a strange look that I couldn’t quite interpret. “Wish I weren’t so dashed lazy. Where did you go?”

  “Oh, here and there. All over the place.” Edward shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable in the other man’s presence.

  “And who are these delectable creatures?” the gowned man asked, suddenly turning to us.

  “Guests at a house party in Norfolk,” Edward said. “Lady Georgiana Rannoch and Princess Hannelore of Bavaria.”

  The other man threw back his head and laughed. “Good one, Fotheringay.”

  Obviously he thought his leg was being pulled. But Edward did not attempt to assure him. “Well, we’d better be getting along,” he said. “Good seeing you, Saunders.”

  “You’ll probably run into a few other angels if you keep your eyes open,” Saunders said, then nodded to us and went on his way.

  We stepped out into bright sunlight and continued across a second court, not as large as the first, but just as charming.

  “What are apostles?” I asked.

  “Oh, just some undergraduate club we belonged to,” Edward said carelessly.

  “Was Gussie a member too?”

  “Gussie? Good Lord, no.” He laughed. “Not Gussie’s cup of tea at all.”

  “How about Sidney Roberts?”

  “Sidney Roberts?” He sounded surprised. “He may have been. Can’t really remember. He was an unremarkable kind of chap, poor devil. Now that’s the Wren library over here.”

  He strode out ahead of us to a truly beautiful building with delicate columns and large arched windows, then opened the door for us to step inside. That distinctive smell of old books, furniture polish and pipe tobacco permeated the air. It reminded me of some other place. I tried to identify the room at Castle Rannoch before I remembered the bookshop. Which gave me an idea. I waited until Edward led us upstairs, then I turned back and slipped into the library proper. An elderly man sitting at a desk looked up in horror as I came in.

  “Young lady, what are you doing here?” he hissed at me, sotto voce. “Visitors are not permitted during finals week.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, “but we were being shown around and I do so love old books that I had to get a glimpse of the place for myself.”

  His expression softened. “You are fond of old books then?”

  “Passionately,” I said. “I collect them.”

  “Most unusual for a young lady.”

  “I often visit a wonderful old bookshop in London. It’s called Haslett’s, in the East End, down by the river. Do you know it?”

  He nodded. “A most eclectic collection. Have you made any major finds there?”

  “One or two.” I looked directly at him. “By the way, who are the apostles?”

  “I take it you don’t mean Matthew, Mark, Luke and John?”

  “I heard some undergraduates discussing them.”

  “It’s a sort of secret society, one gathers. Highly socialist in its leanings—rights for the workers and down with the old order. All that kind of bosh. Did you hear about them at the bookshop?”

  “No, I overheard a couple of chaps saying something just now. And angels?”

  “Ex-members become angels, so I’m told. I think it’s all perfectly harmless. Young men become so passionate, don’t they? Then they settle down, get married and turn out to be perfectly normal.” He chuckled. “I would love to show you some of our rarest editions, but as I said, no visitors are allowed during finals week, so I regret...”

  “That’s quite all right. Thank you for your time,” I replied and made a hurried exit.

  “We thought we’d lost you,” Edward said as I caught them coming down the stairs.

  “Sorry, I was daydreaming and wandered off in the wrong direction.” I gave him a winning smile. So
Edward and Sidney Roberts had both been members of the same secret society—a society with strong leftist leanings. But how could that be significant?

  Chapter 29

  Clouds were gathering in the western sky as we drove home. The air had become muggy, with annoying little midges flying around and the promise of a thunderstorm brewing. Hanni dozed in the front seat beside Edward. I stared speculatively at the back of his well-cut hair. Edward Fotheringay, alias Lunghi Fungy, enigma. He studied modern languages yet chose to go to India, where he drifted around, not doing much of anything apart from a spot of disorganized climbing, from what one gathered. He had been a member of a secret society with socialist leanings and yet he dressed expensively and enjoyed a life of luxury. He was supposedly engaged to one girl but openly and shamelessly flirted with others. God knows what he did with Belinda—and I’d almost forgotten his involvement with my mother!

  “So Edward,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, “which modern languages did you study?”

  “German and Russian.”

  “Interesting. Why those?”

  “I’m a lazy bugger, actually. My mother was of Russian ancestry so I didn’t have to work too hard.”

  “What did Gussie study?”

  “Classics, stupid idiot. I mean to say, what use are classics? He had a hard time of it too. He wouldn’t have got through Greek if that swat Roberts hadn’t coached him and done his translations for him.”

  I gave a merry laugh. “So that’s why he was beholden to Sidney Roberts. I wondered why he was invited to your party.”

  Did I detect a certain stiffening in his demeanor?

  “And what made you go to India?” I went on, chatting away merrily. “Did you have some family connection there too?”

  “Grandfather had been there in the police force in the Punjab, but that wasn’t the reason. I just had the desire to travel and India is an easy place to move around if one is English. Those nice free bungalows to stay at, and dinners at the officers’ mess and dances.”

  “It sounds like a fascinating place,” I said.