by Rhys Bowen
“Perhaps I should go with you,” she said. “Her Majesty is of the old school and would not like the thought of an unmarried woman going around without a chaperon.”
“Kind of you, but no, thanks,” I said. “I am not likely to be accosted going up Constitution Hill.”
“What can she possibly want?” Fig went on. “If she wanted to speak to anybody about poor Binky’s current situation, she’d speak to me.”
“I have no idea,” I said.
Actually I did have an idea. I suspected that she’d found out about Coronet Domestics and I was about to be dispatched to darkest Gloucestershire to hold knitting wool and walk Pekinese dogs. I put on my one smart black and white suit and this time I presented myself at the correct visitors’ entrance on the left of the main forecourt, having successfully negotiated the bearskins on guard. I was escorted upstairs and around to the rear wing of the palace, to the queen’s private study, overlooking the gardens. It was a simple, peaceful room, perfectly mirroring Her Majesty’s personality. The only adornments were some lovely pieces of Wedgwood and a small marquetry table. One wouldn’t speculate how or where they were acquired.
Her Majesty was sitting, straight-backed and severe, at her writing desk, with spectacles perched on her nose, and she looked up as I was announced.
“Ah, Georgiana, my dear. Do come and sit down. A bad business.” She shook her head, then turned her face for the obligatory cheek kiss and curtsy. “I was most distressed when I heard the news.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” I perched on the striped Regency chair opposite her.
“It’s not your fault,” she said curtly. “You can’t always be watching that fool of a brother. I take it he is innocent?”
I heaved an enormous sigh of relief. She hadn’t heard about my domestic adventures, then. “Of course he’s innocent, ma’am. You know Binky—can you imagine him drowning somebody in a bath?”
“Frankly, no. Shooting somebody by accident, perhaps.” She shook her head again. “So what’s being done for him, that’s what I want to know.”
“His solicitor has been notified. His wife has arrived and is currently tackling the police.”
“Then if they are his entire defense team, I don’t hold out much hope for a happy outcome,” she said. “I’d like to help but the king says we must not intervene. We must be seen to have complete faith in our country’s legal system and not pull rank just because it’s a family member.”
“I quite understand, ma’am.”
She peered at me over her glasses. “I’m counting on you, Georgiana. Your brother is a decent sort of fellow, but not overly endowed with brains, I fear. You, on the other hand, have always had more than your share of wit and intelligence. Use them on your brother’s behalf or I’m afraid he’ll end up confessing to a crime he didn’t commit.”
This was all too true. “I am doing what I can, Your Majesty, but it’s not easy.”
“I’m sure it’s not. This French person who drowned—do you have any idea who might have wanted to drown him in your bathtub?”
“He was a known gambler and blackmailer, ma’am. I suspect somebody took the opportunity to get out of a debt to him, but I don’t know how I could find out who that was. I have no idea about gambling dens.”
“Of course you haven’t. But it must also have been somebody who knew your family—on equal terms, so to speak. You don’t risk drowning somebody in a peer’s bathtub if you are a laborer or a bank clerk.”
I nodded. “One of our set, then.”
“It must have been somebody who had at least passable knowledge of the workings of Rannoch House. Someone who knew your brother reasonably well, I’d say. Do you know which of his friends has visited the house on a regular basis?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea, ma’am. I’ve rarely been in London apart from my season, and have hardly stayed at Rannoch House since my father died. But from what I know of my brother, he doesn’t come to London unless he has to. He much prefers pottering around his estate.”
“As did his grandfather,” the queen said. “The old queen had to practically issue a royal command to make him bring his wife to court to visit her mother. So you don’t know which of your brother’s friends is currently in London?”
“I’m afraid I don’t even know who his friends are. If he meets them it would be at his club.”
“Perhaps you could make discreet inquiries at his club, then. Brooks, isn’t it?”
“Easier said than done, ma’am. Have you ever tried to persuade a gentlemen’s club to tell you who is currently in residence?”
“I can’t say I ever had to, not having the wandering kind of husband, but I’m sure my predecessor, Queen Alexandra, had to do so on a regular basis. But this may be one area in which the palace can help. I will ask the king to have his private secretary visit Brooks on our behalf. I believe he’s a member. I hardly think they will refuse him the information, and if they do, he can always take a look at the membership book, can’t he?”
“That’s a splendid idea, ma’am.”
“And in the meantime, keep watch. The murderer may want to know how the investigation is going. He may be enjoying your brother’s current humiliation. They say murderers are vain fellows.”
“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
She nodded. “Well, let’s see what Sir Julian can unearth for us, shall we? We should know something by the time you return from Sussex on Monday.”
Sussex? I racked my brains to think of any royal relatives who lived in that county. Her Majesty frowned. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten about the small assignment I gave you—the house party at Lady Mountjoy’s.”
“Oh, of course. The house party. The Prince of Wales. So much has happened in the past few days that it had slipped my mind.”
“But you do still plan to attend? In spite of the current unhappy circumstances?”
“If Your Majesty wants me to, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“Of course I want you to, and a few days in the country will do you good, and whisk you away from the scrutiny of the gutter press. Everything I hear about this woman is repugnant to me. I must know the truth, Georgiana, before the king and I attempt to nip any hint of romance in the bud.”
“I have met her already,” I said.
She removed the spectacles and leaned closer. “You have?”
“Yes, she came to my friend’s clothing design salon.”
“And?”
“She was horribly unpleasant. I couldn’t stand her.”
“Ah. Just as I thought. Well, by the end of this house party I hope she’ll have laid out enough rope to hang herself. Oh, dear, not a good metaphor, given the current situation. Come to tea on Monday. I should be back from opening a mother and baby clinic in the East End by three. Shall we say four o’clock? Then we can exchange news.”
“Very good, ma’am.” I got to my feet.
“I’ll ring for Heslop to escort you out. Until Monday, then. And don’t forget—you are my eyes and ears. I am relying on you to be my spy.”
The moment I got home, Fig peppered me with questions.
“Her Majesty has a plan to rescue Binky, does she?”
“Yes, she’s going to disguise the king as Robin Hood and have him swing into Scotland Yard from Big Ben.”
“Don’t be facetious, Georgiana. Honestly, your manners have become appalling these days. I told Binky it was a waste of money to send you to that awful and expensive school.”
“If you must know, Fig, it wasn’t anything to do with Binky. It was something to do with the house party she wants me to attend on Friday.”
I could see right away that this really upset her. “A house party? Her Majesty is inviting you to house parties these days?”
“Not inviting me. Sending me on her behalf,” I said, enjoying every moment of this.
Fig’s face was positively puce. “You are now representing Her Majesty at an official function? You, with a mother who was
only a chorus girl?”
“Never a chorus girl, Fig. An actress. Maybe she thinks I’ve inherited my mother’s talent for being friendly and gracious in public. Not everybody has that quality, you know.”
“I just don’t understand it,” Fig muttered. “Your poor brother about to face the hangman’s noose and Her Majesty sends you off to enjoy yourself in the country. I am obviously the only one who is going to stick by poor Binky.” She put a lace handkerchief to her face and stalked out of the room in a huff. It was the only moment I had enjoyed in quite a long time.
But she was right. I really should be doing something constructive for Binky. If only someone could pay a visit to the gambling clubs de Mauxville had visited. Maybe something significant had happened there—he had cheated someone or he had collected blackmail money. Granddad had mentioned Crockford’s, but I couldn’t go to a place like that, could I? It needed someone with social ease and brilliance, part of that racy set. . . . Of course!
I set off for Belinda’s place right away. She was awake and dressed, sitting at her kitchen table with a pad and pencil in front of her.
“Don’t disturb me. I’m designing a new gown,” she said. “I’ve actually got a commission. Some owner of a motorcar factory is going to be made a peer and his wife wants the kind of dress that the aristocracy wears. And she’s going to pay me proper money for it too.”
“I’m happy for you, but I wondered if you had any plans for tonight.”
“Tonight, why?”
“I want you to go to Crockford’s with me.”
“Crockford’s? Are you taking up gambling now? Out of your league, my dear. They cater to the gambling elite—very high stakes.”
“I don’t want to gamble, but the doorman at Claridge’s said that de Mauxville frequented the place. I want to know who he met there and whether anything important happened—an argument, maybe.”
“I’d like to help, but I’m afraid I have other plans tonight,” she said.
I took a deep breath. “Then could you lend me a vampish outfit and I’ll go on my own.”
“Georgie, you have to be a member. They’d never let you in.”
“I’ll think of something. I’ll claim to be meeting someone there. It’s just important that I don’t look like me or they’ll recognize me. Please, Belinda? Someone has to do it, and my sister-in-law certainly can’t.”
She looked up at me, sighed, and stood up. “Oh, very well. I still think this is doomed to failure, but I suppose I could find something suitable to lend you.”
She took me upstairs, tried various dresses on me, and finally settled on long, black, and slinky with a red rouched cape.
“And if anyone asks you who designed it, you can hand them my card.”
She then found a black cap with feathers to hide my untameable hair and showed me the cosmetics on her dressing table to make up my face. The result that evening was startling. Surely nobody would recognize the sultry young woman with the bright red lips and long black eyelashes?
I stayed at Belinda’s place, leaving Fig to forage for her own supper, then at nine o’clock I paid out more hard-earned money on a cab and off I went, quaking in my boots—although I wasn’t actually wearing boots but Belinda’s high-heeled shoes, one size too big for me.
Crockford’s was one of London’s oldest and swankest gambling clubs, on St. James’s Street, only a stone’s throw from Brooks’s. As my cab pulled up, chauffeurs were assisting other gamblers from their Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. They greeted each other merrily and sailed in past the uniformed doorman. I did not.
“Can I help you, miss?” He stepped out in front of me.
“I’m supposed to be meeting my cousin here, but I don’t see him.” I pretended to look around. “He said nine o’clock and it’s already past nine. Do you think he could have gone inside without me?”
“Who is your cousin, miss?”
Obviously I couldn’t use the name of any of my real cousins. “Roland Aston-Poley,” I said, complimenting myself on my quick thinking. At least I knew he was in Italy on his honeymoon.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen Mr. Aston-Poley tonight,” the doorman said, “but if you’ll step inside, I’ll have one of the gentlemen look after you.”
He led me in through the door into a gracious foyer. Through an archway I glimpsed a scene of sparkling elegance—the wink of chandeliers and diamonds, the clatter of chips, the rattle of the roulette wheel, excited voices, laughter, clapping. For a moment I wished I were the kind of person who had the means to frequent places like this. Then I reminded myself that my father had been that kind of person, and my father had shot himself.
A swarthy little man in a dinner jacket came up to us. There were muttered words between him and the doorman. The small man shot sideways glances I didn’t much care for in my direction.
“Mr. Aston-Poley, you say?” He peered in through the doors. “I don’t believe he’s arrived yet, Miss . . . ?” He waited for me to supply my name. I didn’t. “If you’d care to take a seat, I will go and check for you.”
I sat on a gilt and satin chair. The doorman went back to his door. More members arrived. I watched them sign the book on a side table. The moment I was alone I jumped up and went over to the book. I started to turn back the pages. De Mauxville had been killed last Friday, so I would need dates before that. . . . I hadn’t expected so many attendees each night. I was astounded at how many people had a suitable income to gamble here. But I spotted one name I recognized: Roderick Featherstonehaugh had been here on several occasions. And then another name I hadn’t expected to see: the Hon. Darcy O’Mara had been here too.
Two men strolled past me, both smoking cigars. “I lost ten grand the other night,” one said in an American accent, “but if the oil keeps on pumping, who’s complaining?” and they both laughed.
My heart was beating so loudly I felt as if it must be reverberating around that foyer.
“I’m sorry, miss.” I jumped at the voice close behind me. The dark little man had come back. “But your cousin doesn’t appear to be here. I have just checked the salle prive. Are you sure you have the correct date?”
“Oh, dear, maybe I’ve made a mistake,” I said. “Was he here last night?”
He turned back the pages, allowing me to peek over his shoulder. “Not last night, or the night before. It doesn’t appear that he has been here at all this week. Not since last Saturday.”
“Last Saturday?” The words blurted out.
He nodded. So it appeared that Primrose Asquey d’Asquey, now Roly Poley, had been honeymooning alone, at least for part of the time. No wonder her mother felt that she needed cheering up.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t help you.” The little man was now ushering me toward the front door. “If he does come in later, whom shall I say was waiting for him?”
I tried to come up with a name, then I had a brain wave and produced a card. “Belinda Warburton-Stoke,” I said.
His expression changed to one of hostility and suspicion. “Is this some kind of schoolgirl prank?” he demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“That you are most certainly not Miss Warburton-Stoke. That young lady is well known to us here. Good night to you.”
I was deposited outside with my cheeks burning. Why hadn’t Belinda mentioned that she frequented Crockford’s? How could she afford to frequent Crockford’s? And what else had she neglected to tell me?
Chapter 24
Rannoch House
Thursday, May 5, 1932
Fortunately Belinda was out for the evening when I returned the garments to her. I went home to find that Fig had gone to bed and I curled up in my own bed, feeling thoroughly miserable. It seemed there was nobody I could trust anymore and in the darkness my suspicions ran riot. It was Belinda who had sat beside me on that boat. I seemed to remember that she had bent to straighten her stocking at some point. Could she have tied that rope around my ankle? But why?
In the m
orning I found that Fig had turned the boiler down to a level at which lukewarm water came out of the hot taps. Not that I fancied having a bath any longer anyway. I looked forward to a few days of luxury—extravagant meals, warm house, amusing guests, and all I had to do for once was keep an eye on a certain American woman. I took the invitation from my mantelpiece and was reminded that there was to be a fancy dress ball. I had neither time nor money to hire an expensive outfit at the moment so I hacked at the skirt of the maid’s uniform I had been wearing until it came up above my knee, found a white frilly apron, and decided to go as a French maid. Ooh la la.
I tried on the outfit and was rather pleased with my task when the doorbell rang. I answered it without thinking and found Tristram standing there. He opened his mouth in surprise. “Oh, I say, it’s you, Georgie. I thought you’d got a new maid.”
