The Blood Royal

by Barbara Cleverly

  ‘No!’ Joe snapped at the man who arrived with brush and tray to clear up the fallen crockery. ‘Leave everything as it is. We’ll have the screens gladly, but leave the rest alone. And have Honeysett move the other diners back into the ballroom.’ He exchanged a few words with Tuppy, nodded, and called the steward to his side. ‘Inform Princess Ratziatinsky, will you, that Prince Gustavus has had – no, say is having a heart attack. He’s receiving medical care and is on his way to hospital. The prince apologizes for the disturbance and has asked that the evening continue normally without him. And tell them to wind up the orchestra!’

  ‘Sir, we have a vehicle at the back that you can use for the gentleman,’ said Honeysett, as he set off. ‘My men know the routine.’

  Not the first time a guest had been carried out feet first with the utmost discretion, then. A moment later, after a short announcement in several languages by the princess in the ballroom next door, Cardew’s band swooped into the opening bars of the waltz from The Merry Widow, the one tune guaranteed to lure everyone back on to the floor.

  Becoming aware of the presence of Wentworth, who had squeezed through the closing barricade hand in hand with a second woman – oh, Lord! The man’s wife! – Joe beckoned them forward. He rose to his feet and said: ‘Heart attack. I’m looking for pills – medication – anyone know if he carries such a thing?’

  Zinia had been staring at the recumbent form of her husband with the expression of someone who has almost put a foot on the rotting corpse of some strange wild creature on the forest path, a blend of fear, disgust and fascination. She took a step forward and spoke to Tuppy, who was passing a hand over the staring eyes. ‘The man you are attending to is my husband. What on earth’s happened to him?’

  Tuppy straightened himself and replied, every inch the Harley Street doctor. ‘The prince was stricken by convulsions, accompanied by difficulty in breathing. He collapsed, as you see. A massive heart attack. There was nothing anyone could do to prevent his death.’

  ‘His face looks very … pink.’ Zinia voice was almost accusing. She peered again at the body. ‘Can you assure me that he’s perfectly dead?’

  ‘He is, indeed, madam. You have my commiserations. And my assurance that we did everything we could.’

  ‘His father went in just the same way,’ she said calmly. ‘No warning. It runs in the family. He fell off his horse in the forest, miles from the nearest doctor. Gustavus was fortunate indeed to have help at his side when his time came.’

  ‘Madam, I am most dreadfully sorry … Dr Thomas Tenby at your service. My card.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor. I am grateful for your efforts.’ Zinia was recovering her haughty demeanour. Still held firmly by Lily, she stared down at the body again.

  Joe scrutinized her closely as he murmured his condolences, and then at last he turned his attention to Lily. His eyes said: No. This isn’t the woman.

  He saw the relief with which Lily released Zinia’s hand. And was intrigued to note that the Russian instantly seized Lily’s back again and held on, her body beginning to tremble.

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat, madam?’ he said, taking in at last the girl’s emotional exhaustion and dishevelled state. ‘You’ve had a frightful shock.’ He led her over to a chair away from the table, then whispered in Lily’s ear: ‘Tate. Leave this and get him in here, will you? He’s needed.’

  The scene of crime photograph. Lily didn’t have to search for Cyril. He was standing, equipment in hand, just outside the folding doors, arguing with a footman. She pulled him inside.

  ‘All’s well. I mean, better than you might fear.’ Joe told him. ‘It could have been worse. Look, I want you to take some … er … professional shots. For my album. Have you any flash powder left? Can you do this?’

  Cyril took in the scene with a few swift glances, muttering, ‘Listen, I ought to warn you – they’re saying out there in the ballroom that the Prince of Wales has been murdered. Rumour’s going round like wildfire. They’re talking of storming the barricades to find out. Half the men are ex-soldiers, half the women ex-girlfriends! What I’d call an unstable mix. Concern is at fever pitch. Thought you ought to know. The princess is keeping the lid on it for the moment, but it can’t last.’

  He went into action, showing all the disciplined anticipation of a police photographer and responding smoothly to Joe’s every guiding gesture. When he’d done, he told Joe: ‘I’ll go straight back and get the night staff on to this. I’ll bring the results round to the Yard myself as soon as I have them.’

  Joe returned to the table, examining the dishes and glasses. Rupert went to stand at his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll get this lot sketched and labelled and then bagged up, sir,’ he said doubtfully. ‘It won’t be easy.’

  ‘The steward will lend a hand.’

  Honeysett approached, nodding understanding.

  ‘Honeysett, we need to convey the entire contents of the table back to the laboratory. A formality,’ Joe said, holding up a hand to forestall any protests. ‘No one is pointing the finger at your food. And your cooperation in the matter would be appreciated, if you understand me? No one, after all, would want to start an unhelpful rumour concerning the quality of the shellfish, now would they? Sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  Joe turned his attention to the Prince of Wales. ‘Sir, one last thing to ask, and it’s a tricky one. Please feel free to—’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of turning you down, Sandilands.’ Edward smiled. ‘I was just on my way.’ He tugged down his tails, adjusted his tie and extended an arm to Lily. ‘I think this is one corpse that had better get up and dance. May I have the honour of the last waltz with you, my dear? If you have the knees for it, that is?’

  ‘I’d be delighted, David.’

  Joe watched as the pair of them made their way on to the dance floor, where they were greeted by a wave of relief and pleasure from the crowd.

  Lily began to feel a rush of something she identified as euphoria. Whatever it was called, it carried her on the lightest of feet around the dance floor.

  Edward seemed to be experiencing the same elation. ‘I think we can crawl out of the bunker now,’ he whispered. ‘Danger past. Sandilands thinks he’s drawn the venom. Which is what all this is about, you know. Well, for this evening at least. All the same … I don’t know what your orders are, but I’ve been advised to make a swift exit if we ever reached this stage. So we must enjoy the last flourish. What an evening! You must let me lay on a motor car to take you home.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I think my evening is only halfway through. There was murder done tonight and the commander has no one in handcuffs. The snake has wriggled away.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Joe was waiting for them when they returned to the table. ‘Ah! There you are, Lily my dear. All done here for the moment. Time to say goodnight and thank you for having me to these nice people. I want you to come straight back with me now. You’re in for a sleepless night, I’m afraid.’ He took her arm and clamped it under his.

  ‘Good Lord!’ murmured Connie Beauclerk, watching their hurried departure with sly amusement. ‘Commander Sandilands is very direct, isn’t he? His Scottish cousin, did I hear someone say that girl was? Mmm … a fashionable thing to be, but I do wonder. David, it’s my opinion your new girlfriend’s just been snatched by the dashing detective from the Met – right from under your nose. She surrendered and went quietly – and, gosh! one quite sees why – but you’ve lost her.’

  Edward looked thoughtfully down at the wreckage of the table. ‘But I didn’t lose my life, Connie. And I think I was meant to.’

  He watched silently as the corpse was taken up in a tablecloth by four strapping young men and carried out of the room.

  The commander’s car drew up to the rear entrance as they came out and he handed an exhausted Lily into the deep comfort of the back seat, where she dropped off almost at once. She awoke with a start only minutes later a
s the car came to a halt at a junction. Guiltily she glanced about her, checking that in her unconscious state she hadn’t lurched into his iron shoulder but had come to rest against the padded upholstery.

  Joe thought he’d better reassure her that nothing indecorous had taken place: ‘Lord, Wentworth. You drop off faster than my old Labrador. But you don’t slobber and you don’t wuffle as loudly as he did.’

  ‘So sorry, sir. How shaming! It’s moving vehicles – they put me to sleep. Limousine or old rattletrap – it makes no difference. The conductor of the forty-two bus had to shake me awake once at the terminus. Are we there yet?’

  ‘No, not quite. We’ve just passed Chelsea Harbour. I thought we’d get out at Westminster and walk along the river for a stretch. Nice night. We’ll get a bit of fresh air into our lungs before we start work. Must stay sharp for the meeting.’ Moments later, he leaned forward and pulled aside the glass. ‘Sergeant – I want you to drop us off here and go home. Call for me at the Yard at six, will you?’

  The driver opened the door and helped Lily on to the pavement. A short way downriver, Big Ben boomed half past some hour or other. Taxis sped by full of people in evening dress; ahead of them a knot of shrieking revellers made a dangerous dash across the street to take a closer look at the Thames.

  ‘Half past one o’clock and London’s still open for business, lit up and roistering. This is an early night for HRH. Poor chap – he was looking quite done in, I thought, towards the end. Still – he played his part with some skill, don’t you agree? Not easy being the mealy worm on the hook at the end of the line.’

  ‘I thought him skilful, brave and – yes – charming, sir.’

  A mist was rising from the river and its deliciously chill breath made her shiver. She pulled her cashmere wrap more closely about her shoulders and watched as his car made a daring U-turn and set off in the opposite direction. She turned her head abruptly away from the road, annoyed but amused at what she saw, then looked up surreptitiously to see if he’d noticed the car tailing them.

  ‘I won’t offer an arm,’ he said easily. ‘I’ve noticed you like to stride out. Tell you what I will offer though … we’ve plenty of time before the team starts to assemble. In a hundred yards or so there’ll be another comfort available. Tell me when any food last passed your lips, Wentworth.’

  She had to think hard before she remembered. ‘I had a ham sandwich in the Strand, sir. At midday.’

  ‘Not good enough. I’m sorry for that. You must allow me to make amends.’

  She didn’t show any pleasure at his suggestion but pattered resentfully after him. He was about to rethink his offer of a supporting arm but decided against it. She wouldn’t welcome the gesture and wouldn’t quite know how to refuse it.

  They marched on in silence, the traffic becoming thicker as they neared Scotland Yard. Joe stopped suddenly when he reached the head of a taxi rank where a long, low building resembling a railway carriage had been constructed. Weatherboarded and painted park-bench green, it had a small black projecting iron stovepipe giving out a blast of coal, smoke and cooking food. A notice over the door declared it to be Licensed Cabman Shelter No. 402.

  He put his head round the door and shouted a question. Satisfied with the rumbling response from the interior, he opened the door wider. ‘It’s for cabbies,’ he explained. ‘A sort of revictualling station. These things are everywhere in London but people hardly notice them. They’re not supposed to let just anybody in – they’d lose their licence – but if they get to know you they’ll allow you eat here. Let’s go on board and see what we can find.’

  Joe took off his top hat and ducked through the low doorway. Lily followed, stepping from the chilly street into a welcoming fug.

  ‘Evening, Frank,’ Joe said to the whiskered man behind the counter. ‘I’d like something for this young lady to eat. She’s ravenous. In fact we both are.’

  ‘Evening, Captain!’ Frank looked pleased to see Joe and if he was taken aback by his white tie and tails he showed no sign of it. ‘Hungry, are you?’

  ‘I’ll say. We’ve just spent several hours in the restaurant at Claridges, toying with larks’ tongues and picking at plovers’ eggs.’

  Frank’s moustache bristled with distaste. ‘Ah. Well, you’ll be needing a Zeppelin in the clouds with onion gravy, then. That’ll stick your ribs together.’

  ‘That’s sausage and mash, Wentworth.’

  Suddenly the idea of sausage and mash made Lily’s eyes gleam. ‘Oh, yes please! That would go down a treat.’

  ‘Righto. That’ll be two Zeppelins, Frank, and what have you got on for pudding tonight?’

  ‘Figgy duff to follow, sir, with a dollop of custard?’

  Lily’s eyes lit on a cabby spooning up a richly scented pudding and she nodded.

  There were two other solid figures in the shelter, steadily eating their way through a substantial serving of something brown and glutinous. They both greeted Sandilands. ‘Evenin’, Captain!’

  ‘You’re up late,’ said one of them through the steam from a white china cup.

  ‘No rest for the wicked,’ said Joe, returning the expected reply and enjoying the expected guffaw it produced. And to Lily, ‘Shall we sit over there in the corner?’

  As soon as they settled, a large freckled hand descended between them and plates of sausage and mash appeared on the table.

  ‘Mustard with that, miss? Ketchup? Cup o’ tea?

  ‘Mustard and a cupper would be grand, Frank,’ said Lily. ‘Milk, one lump, please.’

  ‘Ah, supper!’ Joe exclaimed in anticipation, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Supper is one of man’s chief pleasures. The other three slip my mind when faced with a banger.’

  Lily grinned. She sliced off the crusty end of her sausage first and chewed it with satisfaction, then leaned over to ask, ‘You’re sure this is all right?’

  Joe swallowed his sausage and regretfully put down his knife and fork. ‘Well, it is a bit like school dinners, I suppose. But I rather enjoyed school dinners. If you really don’t fancy it, I can think of something else.’

  ‘No, it’s heavenly. Can’t tell you how much I prefer it to caviar. I meant we don’t risk ruining Frank’s reputation, do we? Look at us. Two refugees from the chorus line of Florodora, still in costume. I wouldn’t want to scare the customers away. It wouldn’t be polite.’

  Joe responded to the concern that underlay the light tone. ‘Don’t worry. They’re used to me and my strange ways here, though turning up with a delightful young lady on my arm is not usually one of them. I shall have to put up with a bit of heavy jocularity on that score, I’m afraid. They mostly look on me as a protective presence since I leaned heavily on a street gang that was giving them a bad time. And old Frank’s known me for … oh, it must be going on eight years.’

  ‘The army?’

  Joe nodded. ‘He was in my regiment.’

  ‘Ah, I understand. You saved his life and he repays you in figgy duffs?’

  ‘No. You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s to him I owe my life. He’s no more likely to forget it than I am and – I’ll tell you something – you can get rather solicitous and protective of someone whose life you’ve saved, Wentworth,’ he said and added: ‘You’ll find.’

  ‘I’ll find, sir?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’ll be for ever involved – at a personal level now – in the continued well-being of HRH. You’ll scan the Society pages of the press each day to check up on his health. You’ll be concerned by reports that he has a head cold; you’ll offer up a prayer when you hear that he’s strained a fetlock. It’s thanks to you he’s on his way home to York House tonight, hale and hearty, instead of the Royal Hospital, toes turned up, under a shroud.’

  She stared at him with sudden insight.

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t your waltzing feet or protective arms that saved his life – it was your quick thinking and your annoying habit of exceeding your orders that did it.’ Joe reached across the table and patted her
arm with a sticky hand. ‘I’m almost certain I know what happened tonight. I’ll say it now because I shan’t be able to pick you out for special commendation when we get to our meeting – well done! I’m not sure how gratified you’ll be to hear me say it – and probably better not tell your father – but this evening it’s my belief you handed the prince his life … on a plate!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joe spooned up the last of his pudding and eased back his chair, eyeing Lily silently. She’d been the subject of that calculating stare before and responded by pulling her stole higher over her shoulders, a gesture he acknowledged with amusement. ‘No need for alarm. I was trying to assess the effect you’re going to have on the rest of the male company gathered in the ops room. Yes! I want you to be there!’ He answered her look of alarm. ‘Your evidence is pivotal – but dolled up as you are … well, I’m concerned that the officers present may unwittingly consign to you a somewhat inconsequential role. You look the part, Wentworth – royal girl-friend – flapperish, fox-trotting gadabout. I don’t want to see my men reacting to that image. Most unfair. I’d like you to change.’

  ‘You mean they won’t take me seriously if I present myself dressed as I was ordered to dress, sir?’

  He ignored the rebuke. ‘I know these men. Effective and clever, but women haven’t played a significant part in their lives, I fear.’

  ‘Oh, I expect they all had a mother, sir,’ Lily said mildly.

  ‘One can never be certain about Bacchus … Oh, Lord! Bacchus! Give me your impressions when you’ve met him. He’s the handsome dark cove with the heavy moustache. Looks like a Sargent portrait of an Italian peasant, I always think – the hooded eyes follow you round the room saying, “I saw what you just did!”. You may wish to look away.’

  She was trying not to laugh at him. ‘Well, I don’t know what effect he has on the enemy, but by God, Bacchus terrifies you, sir. Has he any redeeming human features, this man of mystery?’