Buckingham Palace Gardens

by Anne Perry

“Come down and you’ll find out,” Charlotte told her. “I’m not carrying a message down to the head of Special Branch to say you won’t see him!”

  Gracie thought about her hair, which was straight as rain, screwed up in a knot at the back of her head, and her dark blue dress, which was more than a little crumpled. She would be putting a clean one on tomorrow anyway, so she had not bothered about sitting on it.

  “Just as you are.” Charlotte must have read her thoughts. “He will mind a few wrinkles far less than he will mind waiting.”

  That was alarming. Gracie smoothed her skirt once, ineffectively; her hands were shaking. Then she followed Charlotte down to the landing, past the bedroom doors of Jemima and Daniel, the two Pitt children, then on down the next flight to the hall.

  Narraway was waiting in the front parlor. He looked extremely tired. His face was lined and his thick, dark hair with its sprinkling of gray was definitely less neat than usual. He was apparently too restless to sit down.

  Gracie stood to attention. “Yes, sir?”

  Charlotte closed the door and Gracie hoped to heaven she had remained inside, but she dared not look round to find out.

  “Miss Phipps,” Narraway began, “what I am about to tell you, you will keep with the same absolute discretion you do all things you learn in this house. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir! I know what discretion is,” Gracie said indignantly. “I don’t talk about things to no one wot in’t their business.”

  “Good. Mr. Pitt was called this morning because there has been a murder at Buckingham Palace, where the Queen lives. Although she is not there at the moment, fortunately. However, the Prince of Wales is.”

  Gracie stared at him speechlessly.

  “A prostitute was knifed to death,” Narraway continued. “And her body was left in the linen cupboard in the guest wing, where there are presently eight people staying. They are on extremely important business with His Royal Highness.”

  “An’ Mr. Pitt’s gonna find out ’oo killed ’er,” Gracie finished for him. “Don’t worry, sir. We can take care of things ’ere.”

  “I’m sure you could, Miss Phipps.” Narraway nodded very slightly, the briefest possible flash of humor in his eyes. “However, that is not what your country requires of you.”

  Charlotte let out her breath with a sigh.

  Narraway colored faintly, but he did not turn to look at her.

  “Wot d’yer mean, ‘my country’?” Gracie asked, completely bewildered. “In’t nothing I can do.”

  “I suggest you get to the point, Mr. Narraway,” Charlotte cut in at last. “If I may say so, you are wasting time, and it is late.”

  Narraway looked uncomfortable. There had been a distinct edge to Charlotte’s voice, and Gracie was sorry for him. Her awe of him vanished. She had heard it said that no man was a hero to his valet. Perhaps he wasn’t to any servant who could read emotions in him that were so oddly vulnerable.

  “Wot is it yer’d like me to do, sir?” she asked gently.

  A flash of gratitude crossed Narraway’s face for an instant, then vanished. “I would like you to take temporary employment at Buckingham Palace, Miss Phipps. The position is already secured for you, as a general between-stairs maid. No one will know that you are really working for Special Branch, assisting Mr. Pitt, except Mr. Tyndale, who is in charge of the servants in that wing. It is a difficult job, and possibly dangerous. One of the guests there is a murderer. We need someone whose skill and discretion we can trust absolutely, and I have no man at all who could pass himself off as a servant. He would be found out in half an hour. You would not. Pitt says you are observant and trustworthy. It will be for only a few days at the most. We have to solve this crime before Her Majesty returns from Osborne.”

  He looked at her very steadily. “If this becomes public, the scandal will be appalling. Will you do it? You will report to Mr. Pitt and do whatever he tells you, to the letter.”

  “You don’t have to, Gracie,” Charlotte interrupted quickly. “It’s dangerous. This man has already killed a prostitute, by cutting her throat. You are quite free to say no, and no one will think less of you.”

  Gracie’s voice trembled. “That in’t true, ma’am. We’ll all think less o’ me. Specially I will. I got ter go an’ ’elp Mr. Pitt.”

  “And Her Majesty,” Narraway added.

  Gracie squared her shoulders and stretched to her full height of almost five feet. “An’ that poor cow wot were killed. ’Oo’s gonna get justice for ’er if we don’t, eh?”

  Narraway swallowed and cleared his throat. There was only the slightest trace of a smile on his face. “No one, Miss Phipps. We are greatly obliged to you. Will you be so good as to pack a bag with whatever you require? Uniforms will be provided for you. I shall wait and take you tonight. The sooner you begin, the better.”

  Gracie turned at last to look at Charlotte fully, to try to make certain from her eyes rather than her words that she really wished her to go.

  “Please look after yourself, Gracie,” Charlotte said softly. “We shall miss you, but it won’t be for long.”

  “What about the laundry then?” Gracie said anxiously in a last grasp for safety.

  “I’ll get Mrs. Claypole to come in an extra day,” Charlotte replied. “Don’t worry. Go and help Mr. Pitt. I think he may need you far more than I do, just at the moment.”

  “Yes. O’ course I will,” Gracie agreed, her heart beating suddenly high in her throat. “Observant and trustworthy,” he had said. That burned like a flame inside her.

  AN HOUR LATER Gracie was in Buckingham Palace being introduced by Pitt to Mr. Tyndale. They were in the housekeeper’s room, but Mrs. Newsome herself was absent. She was not to know Gracie’s purpose here. Only Mr. Tyndale was to be aware of it, and that delicately balanced situation was going to require some skill to maintain. At the moment Mr. Tyndale was explaining Gracie’s duties to her, and the basic rules of behavior to be followed by servants.

  “This will be entirely different from any other post you may have held,” Mr. Tyndale said carefully, seeing her ramrod-straight back and figure so small that all dresses had had to be taken up to prevent her from tripping over the skirts. It obviously took him some effort to conceal most of his disbelief that she could really be here on behalf of Special Branch.

  “Yes, sir.” She had no intention of telling him that she had come to the Pitts when she was thirteen and had never worked for anyone else. He was not so very big himself, and he too squared his shoulders and walked an inch or two taller than he really was.

  “You will not speak to any of the guests unless they first speak to you, do you understand?” he continued gravely.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And in no circumstance at all will you speak in the presence of His Royal Highness, or, if she should come through to dine with the guests, the Princess of Wales, or to any other member of the household. And that includes ladies-or gentlemen-in-waiting.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You will perform ordinary household duties such as sweeping, dusting and polishing, fetching and carrying as you are asked. You will wear your cap and apron at all times. You will speak to the menservants only as necessitated by your duties, and there will be no giggling, flirting, or generally making a nuisance of yourself—”

  “Miss Phipps is here from Special Branch, Mr. Tyndale,” Pitt cut across him coolly. “She needs instruction regarding Palace etiquette, not in how to conduct herself with dignity. You might remember, sir, that you require her assistance in this unfortunate matter, and she requires and has a right to expect your protection as she helps me to learn the truth as rapidly and discreetly as possible.”

  Tyndale colored. “You may count on me, Inspector,” he said stiffly. “If I offended you, Miss Phipps, I apologize. Ada will show you to your room. I have seen to it that you do not have to share. I imagine that might have made your task more difficult.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tyndale.” She
was indeed very grateful. It was going to be hard enough to take orders all day without having to share a bedroom as well. She realized with a jolt how accustomed she had become to doing her duties as she pleased. It seemed like a very long time ago that she had first come to the Pitt house, a scruffy and awkward child needing to be taught almost everything. Now fully in charge, able to read and write, and engaged to be married, she was on the brink of becoming a thoroughly respectable woman.

  She turned to Pitt. “’Ow do I tell yer if I larnt summink, sir?”

  “I’ll find you,” Pitt promised. “And…thank you, Gracie.”

  She gave him a huge smile, then, aware of how inappropriate it was, she turned on her heel and went out into the passage to wait for Ada, who would show her up to bed.

  ADA PROVED TO be a pretty girl with flaxen blond hair and clear, fresh skin. She regarded Gracie with only a mild interest. The look on her face suggested that she thought anyone so small and thin was not going to prove a threat to her place in the hierarchy, nor was she likely to be a companion of much fun.

  “Come on, then,” she said briskly, in one phrase establishing her superiority in the order of things.

  The narrow bedroom, actually designed to accommodate two people, was right at the top of the stairs. It was quite well appointed, and the window looked out over a vista of treetops toward the distant roofs of the city. Gracie thanked Ada, and as soon as the door was closed behind her, unpacked her meager belongings to put away in the chest at the bottom of the bed. She was barely finished when there was a knock on the door again. A different maid, who introduced herself as Norah, brought a dark uniform dress, which looked to be the right size, and a freshly starched cap and apron, handsomely trimmed in lace.

  “I’ll call you at six,” she said cheerfully before leaving and closing the door behind her.

  But tired as Gracie was, sleep was almost impossible. She lay on one side, then the other, then on her back staring up at the ceiling. She was in Buckingham Palace! She, Gracie Phipps, was on a special mission for Mr. Pitt. Someone had knifed a prostitute to death in a linen cupboard in the guest wing a couple of floors down from where she lay, and she was to help him solve the case. How on earth was she going to do that? Where should she even begin?

  She had not had time to tell Samuel about it, and perhaps she shouldn’t anyway, not until it was over. But what a story she would have then! She could imagine his face as she described it. She’d wager a week’s money he had never been inside Buckingham Palace in his life.

  All the same, she would rather have told him now. He was a good sleuth, really good. He would have done this far better than she. But he despised being in service. They had had lots of arguments about it. She thought it was just silly pride to prefer being cold and hungry, living in some rot-smelling rooms and drinking water from a well that might not even be clean, just to say for yourself whether you came or went. Better to have a warm room, good food every day, and be as safe as anybody is, at the price of being told what to do.

  Everybody had to obey rules, no matter who you were. They were just different sorts of rules. He couldn’t see that. Stubborn, he was. But then she wouldn’t really want him much different, even if more sensible. She smiled in the dark as she thought of him. She would be able to tell him all about it soon. She would make notes, just to remind herself—about the Palace, not the detecting. That was secret from everybody—except Mr. Pitt, of course.

  She must have finally gone to sleep because she was jolted awake by a knock on the door, and a moment later Norah was standing by her bed with a candle in her hand. She waited until Gracie actually climbed out and stood up in her nightgown, bare feet on the floor.

  “Can’t ’ave yer late on yer first day,” she said cheerfully, and, satisfied, turned to leave. “Breakfast’s in the servants’ ’all at ’alf-past six. Don’t miss it or yer’ll be ’ungry.”

  Gracie thanked her, then she poured the water she had fetched the night before. She set about getting ready, as well as she could, in both body and mind.

  The uniform dress was a trifle large, especially around the waist, but with the apron tied it looked very smart. It was perfectly ironed, with not a suspicion of a crease, and the lace was as good as a lady’s. The cap felt uncomfortable, but when she peered at herself in the small glass on top of the chest of drawers, she was surprised how much she liked the look of it. She was self-conscious, but rather pleased all the same.

  The servants’ hall was less grand than she had imagined it, and considerably more utilitarian, but then she had never worked anywhere but in the Pitts’ house. Her visions of large and wealthy establishments was based solely upon Charlotte’s sister’s house, where she had stayed briefly several years ago. The Palace was somewhat similar, and that was in a way comforting. The large beams across the ceiling were also hung with dried herbs, and there were polished copper pans and utensils on the farther wall.

  There were a dozen other people there, including Ada, who was pretty and very smart in a clean black dress, which flattered the curves of her figure. Her lace-edged apron was tied tightly around her waist. Gracie was shown her place at the table and joined them silently. Mr. Tyndale stood at the head, Mrs. Newsome at the foot. Mr. Tyndale waited a moment while everyone composed themselves, then he offered the daily prayer. He hesitated before the end, and Gracie, with her eyes closed, wondered if he was going to mention the dead woman, but had changed his mind.

  They all obediently sat down and were served with porridge, then toast and jam and tea. She had expected more conversation. Were they always as subdued as this, or was it because of the murder? How much did they know about it? She watched them guardedly as she ate, trying not to be observed doing so.

  “Is them police still ’ere?” one of the maids asked nervously.

  “’Course they are!” a dark-haired footman told her. “They’re gonna be ’ere till they find which o’ the guests killed ’er, aren’t they!” That was a challenge, not a question.

  “An’ ’ow are they goin’ ter do that, then?” Ada asked him. “Nobody saw it, or we’d know already, wouldn’t we!”

  “I dunno!” the footman said sharply. “I in’t a policeman, am I! They gotta ’ave ways.”

  Gracie plunged in. “I ’spect they’ll ask questions.”

  “Well, you don’t ’ave ter worry.” The footman grinned. “It weren’t none of us. One o’ the gentlemen’s gentlemen was up ’alf the night, an’ ’e swears as none of us came down the stairs.”

  “You watch yourself, Edwards,” Mr. Tyndale said warningly. “You’re a bit too free with your comments.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Tyndale,” the footman apologized quickly, but he was looking at Gracie under his lashes.

  “Of course it wasn’t one of us,” Mrs. Newsome added. “Nobody ever entertained such an idea.”

  “I entertained a few ideas,” Ada said under her breath.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Newsome put down her knife and regarded Ada coldly.

  “I wouldn’t entertain the idea, ma’am,” Ada replied with practiced innocence.

  Someone giggled.

  “Am I going to have to require you to leave the table?” Mrs. Newsome said frostily.

  “No, ma’am,” Ada whispered.

  The rest of the meal was concluded in silence. Finally they were told they might leave. Gracie excused herself, aware that both Mr. Tyndale and Mrs. Newsome were watching her, although for entirely different reasons.

  It was Ada’s task to look after her, tell her what to do and show her where to begin. Either she was fortunate or Mr. Tyndale had seen to it that she was employed in the guests’ area of the wing rather than the kitchens or the laundry. First they collected all the appropriate brooms, brushes, pans, dusters, and polish they would need, then went up the stairs to begin.

  “We gotta clean the sitting room and the bedrooms,” Ada told her. “’Course, we gotta be sure as the guests in’t in there, nor their maids neither.”
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  “Do they all have their own maids?” Gracie asked.

  Ada gave her a withering look. “’Course they do! Where d’yer come from then?”

  Gracie wished she had bitten her tongue before she spoke. She changed the subject very quickly. They were in the long upstairs corridor. She looked around in awe, not quite sure what she expected. It was spacious, with a higher ceiling than anywhere she had been before, and all decorated with elaborate gilded plaster, but other than that it was not unusual. There were no crowns in the plaster molding, no footmen in their dark livery and white gloves waiting for orders; in fact, no one else at all. It was completely silent. One of the doors was narrower than the others.

  “Is that the cupboard there?” she asked in a whisper.

  Ada gave a convulsive shudder. “Yeah. We can’t go inter it, thanks be ter Gawd. I’d faint at the thought, I would. But it means we gotta bring all the linen up fresh from the laundry every day, which is all more work.” She looked Gracie up and down. “You in’t never seen nothing like the work there is ’ere. We gotta do the sittin’ room first, before any o’ them gets up an’ wants it.”

  She started walking again. “Come on, then! The gentlemen was in it last night an’ we never got to finish it ’cos o’ bein’ asked questions all day by that police. Scruffy lookin’ object ’e is, an’ all. Must ’ave a wife wi’ two left ’ands, by the look of ’is shirt collar. Still, I s’pose ’e were clean enough, an’ that’s more’n ’e might a’ bin.”

  Gracie resented the slur on Pitt’s shirts bitterly, but she could hardly say so. She had ironed them herself, and they had been perfect when he put them on.

  They were in the sitting room now and Ada looked around critically. “Smells summink awful, don’t it? It’s them cigars Mr. Dunkeld ’as. I dunno ’ow ’is wife stands it. ’E must taste like dirt.”

  “I don’t s’pose she’s got no choice,” Gracie replied. Pitt did not smoke and she was aware of the heavy, stale odor here. It was a beautiful room, floored with ancient wood worn rich and dark with time and polish. Rows of huge, gold-framed portraits and still-life paintings hung on the walls. There was a magnificent fireplace with an ornate, carved, and inlaid marble mantel and a considerable number of heavy sofas and armchairs. There were small wooden tables here and there for convenience, and their polished tops were as bright as satin, except for the odd one soiled by wet glasses or ash. There was also ash in several places on the carpet, and at least one stain as if something dark like wine had been spilled.