Her Royal Spyness

by Rhys Bowen

  “Sit down and tell Aunt Belinda everything.” She patted the sofa beside her.

  I sat. “She can’t overhear us, can she?” I muttered. “This is strictly for your ears only.”

  “The kitchen’s at the back. So go on. Spill the beans.”

  “I’m in awful trouble, Belinda,” I blurted out.

  Her perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It was only just over a week ago that you expressed interest in losing your virginity. You can’t possibly be pregnant already!”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I said. “There is a body in my bathtub.”

  “A dead body, you mean?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Belinda was now wide awake. She perched on the edge of the sofa, and leaned in closer. “My dear, how absolutely fascinating. Anyone you know?”

  “Actually, yes. He was an awful Frenchman called de Mauxville, who was trying to claim ownership of Castle Rannoch.”

  “A long-lost relative, then?”

  “Good Lord, no. Nothing to do with us. He won the house from Father in a card game, or so he was trying to claim.”

  “And now he’s lying dead in your bath. Have you called the police yet?”

  “No, I didn’t want to do that until I could find Binky and now he’s vanished, so I don’t know if he had anything to do with it or not.”

  “It won’t look good—you both have an awfully good motive for killing him, after all.”

  “I know that.”

  “So what are you planning to do—dispose of the body somehow? Does Rannoch House have a back garden? Flower beds?”

  “Belinda! I couldn’t bury him in the back garden—it simply isn’t done.”

  “It would be the simplest solution, Georgie.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. For one thing he’s rather large and I don’t think even two of us could drag him out to the garden successfully. For another, someone is bound to be looking out of a window and see us, and then I’d be in worse trouble than I am now. At least at this moment I can face the police with true innocence. And don’t forget that the Rannoch family motto is Death Before Dishonor.”

  “I bet you’d have done it if he’d been a small man and you’d had a wilderness behind the house,” Belinda said, grinning.

  I had to smile too. “Maybe I would.”

  “Who else would know that this de Mauxville had come to claim Castle Rannoch?”

  “Our solicitors, unfortunately. Apart from them, I couldn’t say.”

  She sat frowning for a moment. Then she said, “I think your best approach is to play your trump card.”

  “Trump card?”

  “Your royal connection, my dear. You summon the police, acting with righteous indignation. You have just found a body in your bathtub. You have no idea who he is or how he got there. Kindly have it removed instantly. Think of your great-grandmother. The lower classes are always in awe of anything royal.”

  “And if they ask me if I know him? I can’t tell a lie.”

  “Be suitably vague. You think he came to the house once to see your brother. Of course you were never personally introduced to him, so officially you don’t know him.”

  “That’s true enough. I never was introduced.” I sighed.

  She patted my knee. “You do have a good alibi, don’t you?”

  “Me? Not one I can divulge to them. I was cleaning somebody’s house. I can’t let anyone know about that.”

  “No, of course you can’t. Oh, dear, then we’d better give you one. Let’s see. You and I went shopping at Harrods together in the morning and then we lunched together at my place, and arrived, together, at Rannoch House. You went up to change and discovered the body, after which we summoned the police immediately.”

  I looked at her with admiration. “Belinda—you’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. Think of what we went through together at Les Oiseaux. I’ll never forget all those times you covered for me when I was in a pickle. That time I got locked out and had to climb up the ivy—”

  I smiled. “Oh, yes. I remember.”

  “There you are, then. We’ll have some tea. I’ll get dressed and we’ll go to face the music.”

  Chapter 14

  Rannoch House

  Still Friday afternoon

  “There he is.” I pushed open the bathroom door and pointed dramatically at the body, which hadn’t moved since I’d seen him last.

  Belinda went over and eyed him critically. “What a nasty-looking man. Was he equally unpleasant in life?”

  “Worse,” I said.

  “Then you have obviously done society a favor. The world is less one horrid person.”

  “I had nothing to do with his death, Belinda, and I’m sure Binky didn’t either. We’ve just provided the bath.”

  She peered closely at him, utterly unsqueamish about the revolting spectacle. “So how did he get into your bath, do you think?”

  “I have no idea. I went out to do my domestic duties, leaving Binky in the house. I came home to find the front door unlocked, water all over the floor, and this man lying here.”

  “And what does Binky say about it?”

  “I’m afraid he’s done a quick getaway back to Scotland.”

  “How frightfully unchivalrous of him—leaving you to face the music. You don’t think this is his doing, then?”

  I weighed it in my mind. “I really don’t think so,” I said at last. “I simply can’t picture Binky drowning someone in a bathtub. He’s too clumsy, for one thing. He’d have slipped on the soap or something. And if he had made up his mind to do away with de Mauxville, he would hardly have left him lying in our own bathtub, would he?”

  “It’s certainly not the brightest thing to have done,” she said, “but your brother was never noted for his high intellect, was he?”

  “Even Binky couldn’t be that stupid, surely.” I heard the note of uncertainty creep into my voice. “Anyway, I suspect he’s on a train heading north at the moment. I’m waiting for him to arrive home in Scotland, so that I can telephone him and find out the truth. But in the meantime, what should I do? We can’t just leave de Mauxville lying there.”

  Belinda shrugged. “If you don’t want to try burying him in the back garden, which I personally think is an excellent idea, you’ll simply have to call the police.”

  “I suppose so,” I agreed. “After all, why should I be afraid? I am innocent. I have nothing to hide—”

  “Apart from the small fact that you dress up as a maid and go to scrub other people’s lavatories,” Belinda reminded me.

  “Well, apart from that.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here at your side,” Belinda said. “It would take a formidable policeman to get the better of the two of us.”

  I managed a weak smile. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  I went downstairs to the telephone, then we waited, perched side by side on the stairs, staring at the front door, listening to a clock ticking somewhere in the emptiness of the house.

  “Who do you think could have done it?” Belinda asked at last. “What was he doing here in the first place?”

  “I suppose he must have come to see Binky.”

  “But if Binky didn’t kill him, who did?”

  I shrugged. “Someone else. A stranger, I suppose.”

  She shook her head. “You want the police to believe that a complete stranger broke into your house while you were out and drowned somebody in your bathtub? That would take a great deal of nerve and planning, Georgiana, as well as a great deal of luck.”

  “I know. It hardly seems feasible, does it? I mean, who could possibly know that de Mauxville was coming here? Hardly anybody even knew we were in London. And surely de Mauxville can’t have many acquaintances here.”

  She stared thoughtfully at the chandelier. “This de Mauxville,” she said, “is he one of us, or strictly NOCD?” (Which, in case you don’t know, is shorthand for “not our class, dear.”)

&n
bsp; “I really couldn’t say. He was rather rude, but then I know plenty of rude peers and I expect you do too.”

  “Do you know where he was staying?”

  “Claridge’s.”

  “That does imply money but no club.”

  “He’s French, Belinda. Would a Frenchman belong to a London club?”

  “If he had London connections and made frequent trips across the Channel, he would. So staying at Claridge’s implies that he doesn’t know people here and doesn’t come here often.”

  “Not very helpful,” I said.

  “You need to find out all about him. If you found him unpleasant, he may have annoyed any number of people who were just waiting to drown him in somebody’s bath. So find out what he does when he comes to England—when he’s not trying to get his hands on your castle, I mean.”

  “I agree, but how?”

  “I know an awful lot of people,” she said. “Including people who spend half the year on the Continent. People who frequent the casinos in Nice and Monte Carlo. I could ask questions for you.”

  “Belinda—would you really? You are an absolute brick.”

  “I shall find it rather fun, actually. Belinda Warburton-Stoke, girl detective.”

  In spite of the tension, I had to laugh. “Girl detective,” I echoed.

  “I’m sure I shall be better at it than the dreary, plodding policeman they are bound to send to investigate.”

  As if on cue there was a thunderous knocking at the front door. I shot Belinda a look and went down to open it. Several blue uniforms were standing on the front steps and in their midst was one fawn raincoat and trilby. Beneath the trilby was a tired-looking face—a sort of fawn-colored, washed-out face with an expression that indicated life was always unutterably awful, and a fawn mustache that matched the raincoat. The trilby was raised halfheartedly.

  “Good evening, miss. Inspector Harry Sugg. I understand that somebody at this address reported a dead body on the premises.”

  “That is correct. Won’t you come in, Inspector?”

  He was regarding me suspiciously. “I take it there really is a dead body and this isn’t one of those pranks that you bright young people seem to find so amusing—like stealing policemen’s helmets?”

  “I can assure you there is a body and it’s not at all amusing,” I said.

  I turned and led the way back into the house. Belinda had stood up and was waiting halfway up the stairs. The trilby was raised to her. “Good evening, madam. Are you the owner of this establishment?”

  “No, she’s not,” I said shortly. “This is Rannoch House, owned by the duke.”

  “What duke would that be, miss?” he asked, taking out a notepad and pencil.

  “The Duke of Glen Garry and Rannoch,” I said. “My brother. I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch, great-granddaughter to the late Queen Victoria, cousin to His Majesty. This is my friend Belinda Warburton-Stoke.”

  He didn’t seem particularly impressed—not bowing and scraping as Belinda had suggested.

  “How do you do, miss?” He nodded to her. “All right then. Supposing you show me this body.”

  “This way,” I said. I realized I had taken an instant and completely irrational dislike to him. I led him up the first flight of stairs, across the landing, and then up the second flight. I noticed he was puffing a little by the time we got to the top. Not used to climbing Scottish crags, obviously.

  “He’s in the bath,” I said.

  He still looked as if he wasn’t taking me seriously and was dying to prove me an idiot. “In the bath, eh? Are you sure that one of your friends didn’t have a drop too much and is now sleeping it off?”

  “I doubt it. He’s underwater, for one thing. See for yourself.” I pushed open the bathroom door. He stepped inside, then visibly recoiled.

  “I do see what you mean,” he said. “Yes, he’s definitely dead, all right. Rogers! In here! You better get on the blower to headquarters and tell them we’ll want the fingerprint kit, the camera with the flash, the lot.”

  He stepped out of the bathroom and turned to me. “This is nasty. Very nasty indeed. Unless he decided to end his own life, it looks very much as if someone ended it for him.”

  “Why would he choose to end his own life in Lady Georgiana’s bathtub?” Belinda said.

  “And if he were going to do so, he wouldn’t have worn his overcoat,” I added.

  “Unless he found the water a trifle chilly, or he wanted it to weigh him down,” Belinda said, with the faintest of twinkles in her eyes. I could tell she was finding this rather fun, but then she wasn’t the prime suspect. I found myself wondering if those of royal blood still had the privilege of being hanged with a silken cord, then decided that having my neck irritated by coarse hemp would be the least of my worries.

  Inspector Sugg looked around, as if seeking inspiration. “Is there somewhere we can sit down and talk while I wait for my team to get here?”

  “The morning room is opened up,” I said. “It’s this way.”

  “The morning room,” he echoed. I wondered if he was playing with the word, or thought I had meant “mourning.” He followed me back down the stairs. We sat. I was wondering what the protocol was at this juncture and whether I should offer to serve tea. Since I had no servant and did not want to put myself into that role in front of the inspector, I declined.

  “Right, let’s get to business,” he said. “Who was it found the body?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “And I was right behind her at the time,” Belinda added for good measure.

  “What time was that, miss?”

  I was obviously still going to be “miss” to him even though I had told him that I was the duke’s sister. Perhaps he’d never learned to use “my lady” or even “your ladyship.” Perhaps he was a socialist of the most egalitarian brand. Perhaps he was just plain thick. I decided not to let it rankle.

  “We had been shopping together all morning, then we had a spot of lunch together, and came back here about fifteen minutes ago,” I said, repeating our carefully rehearsed plan. “I went upstairs to change, saw water on the floor, opened the bathroom door, and found the body.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “I started to rescue him, until I realized he was dead,” I said. “I had never seen a dead body before so it was rather a shock.”

  “And who is he?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I said. I couldn’t make myself tell an outright lie. “I believe I’ve seen him before, but I certainly was never introduced to him. An acquaintance of my brother, perhaps.”

  “Your brother, the duke?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he is where?”

  “In Scotland, I believe, at the family seat.”

  “So what was his friend doing here then?”

  That one I could answer. “He wasn’t my brother’s friend, I can assure you. And I have absolutely no idea what he was doing here. He certainly wasn’t here when I left the house this morning and when I returned he was lying dead in our bath.”

  “So who else was in the house?” The inspector chewed at his pencil—a nasty habit that Nanny had cured me of at four.

  I hesitated, just for a second. “Nobody,” I said.

  Then I simply couldn’t leave it at that. “My brother had been in London on business, but he had been staying mainly at his club.”

  “When did he leave London?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. He is a rather vague person and doesn’t communicate his plans to me.”

  “And what about servants? Where were they today?”

  “We have no servants down here,” I said. “The family residence is in Scotland. I came down alone. My Scottish maid didn’t want to leave her invalid mother and I haven’t had time to hire a local maid yet. I’m really only using this as a pied-à-terre, until I settle my future plans.”

  “So you are, essentially, living in the house alone?”

  “That’s
right.”

  “So let me get this straight: you left the house this morning, spent the day with your friend here, came back this afternoon to find a body in your bathtub—someone you don’t even recognize. And you have no idea who let him in or what he was doing here?”

  “That is correct.”