by Rhys Bowen
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ll have the heir and the spare.”
“That was one of the reasons for deciding to spend the winter in London this year,” Binky said. “Fig hasn’t been having an easy time of it and the doctor recommends feet up and nothing to upset her. And she’s got a bit of a thing about our lack of money, I’m afraid. I feel like an awful failure, if you want to know the truth.”
I felt sorry for Binky. “It’s not your fault that Father shot himself and saddled you with crippling death duties on the estate.”
“I know, but I should be able to do more. I’m not the brightest sort of chap and unfortunately I’m not equipped for any kind of work, apart from mooching around the estate and that sort of thing.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Look, don’t worry about the maid,” I said. “I’ll find one somehow. I’ll go and see Belinda. She knows everybody. She travels to the Continent all the time. And you better go up to Fig.”
He sighed and plodded up the stairs. I didn’t like to go out again, in case Darcy telephoned or turned up in person only to be met by the hostility of my sister-in-law. But as I had no way of contacting him and I had learned from experience that Darcy was, to say the least, unpredictable, I decided I needed to get to work on the maid situation immediately. Perhaps Belinda had returned to London now that the fog had lifted. I decided it would probably not be wise to upset Fig even further by using her telephone so I walked through the rain to Belinda’s mews cottage.
To my delight the door was opened immediately by Belinda’s maid. “Oh, your ladyship,” she said, “I’m awful sorry, but she’s taking a rest. She’s going out tonight and she said she wasn’t to be disturbed.”
I had trudged all this way in a bitter rain and wasn’t about to go back empty-handed.
“Oh, what a pity,” I said in ringing tones, projecting as we were taught to in elocution class. “She will be sorry that she missed me, especially when I came to tell her about the royal wedding I’m to attend.”
I waited and sure enough there was the sound of shuffling upstairs and a bleary-eyed Belinda appeared, satin sleep mask pushed up on her forehead and wearing a feather-trimmed robe. She made her way gingerly down the stairs toward me.
“Georgie, how lovely to see you. I didn’t realize you were back in London. Don’t keep Lady Georgiana standing on the doorstep, Florrie,” she said. “Ask her in and make us some tea.”
She staggered down the last of the stairs and embraced me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. “I came by a couple of days ago and the place was all shut up.”
“That’s because Florrie couldn’t get here through the fog,” she said, glaring after the departing servant. “Left me in the lurch. No sense of duty, these people, and no backbone. You and I would have made it, wouldn’t we? Even if we had to walk from Hackney? I tried to survive without her, but in the end I had no choice, darling, but to check into the Dorchester until the fog lifted.”
She led me into her delightfully warm sitting room and I peeled off outer garments. “I’m actually surprised to find you here. I should have thought Italy was so much nicer at this time of year.”
A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. “Let’s just say that the climate in Italy turned decidedly frosty all at once.”
“Meaning what?”
“Paolo’s horrid fiancée learned about me and put her foot down. She announced that she wants to get married right away. So Paolo’s father told him to shape up and do his duty, or else. And since Pappa controls the purse strings it was arrivederci to poor little moi.”
“You know, you’re beginning to sound like my mother,” I said. “I hope you’re not turning into her.”
“I think she’s had a divine life,” Belinda said, “all those playboys and racing car drivers and Texan oil millionaires.”
“Yes, but in the end what does she have?”
“Some lovely jewels at the very least, and that little villa in the south of France.”
“Yes, but in terms of family? Only Granddad and me and she ignores us both.”
“Darling, your mother is a survivor like me,” Belinda said. “I was upset for a day or so when Paolo showed me the door, but then I decided there are plenty more fish in the sea. But enough about me, what’s this I hear about a royal wedding?” She sank into the art nouveau armchair. I perched on the most uncomfortable modern sofa. “Don’t tell me you’ve been forced to say yes to Fishface.”
“Not if he was the last man on the planet,” I said. “No, much more exciting than that. I’ve been asked to attend a royal wedding in Romania, as official representative of the family. And I’m to be in the bridal party.”
“I say.” Belinda looked suitably impressed. “What a coup! That’s a step up in the world for you, isn’t it? One day you’re living on dry toast, the next you’re representing our country at a royal wedding. How did this come about?”
“The bride specifically asked for me,” I said. “Since we are old school friends.”
“Old school friends? From Les Oiseaux?”
“It’s the only school I ever went to. Until then it was all governesses.”
Belinda frowned, trying to think. “An old school friend, in Romania? Who was that?”
“Princess Maria Theresa,” I said.
“Maria Theresa—oh, God. Not Fatty Matty.”
“I’d forgotten you used to call her that, Belinda. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“Darling, one was only being honest. Besides, she wasn’t a very nice person, was she?”
“Wasn’t she? I know she was annoying, following us around and wanting to be included in everything. I used to call her Moony Matty, I remember, for the moon face and the way that she drifted around one step behind us all the time.”
“And she was always pestering me to tell her about sex. Utterly clueless. Didn’t even know where babies came from. But don’t you remember, when we did include her, she betrayed our trust and ratted on me to Mademoiselle Amelie. Nearly got me expelled.”
“She did?”
“Yes, that time I climbed out of the window to meet that ski instructor.”
“That was Matty who told Mademoiselle?”
“We were never quite sure, but I always suspected. She had this smug look on her face when I was hauled into Mademoiselle’s study,” Belinda said.
“Well, let’s hope she’s improved by now. She’s bringing in a couturiere from Paris to design our gowns.”
“Oh, God. She’ll look like a bally great meringue in a wedding dress,” Belinda said. “Who is she marrying?”
“Prince Nicholas of Bulgaria, apparently.”
“Poor Prince Nicholas. I’d forgotten she was a princess, but then I suppose a lot of our classmates were some kind of royalty, weren’t they? I was one of the few commoners.”
“You’re an honorable. Hardly a commoner.”
“But not in your league, darling. I say, what a scream—a bridal attendant to Fatty Matty. Let’s hope the other attendants aren’t her size or you’ll be squished to death among them.”
“Belinda, you are awful.” I had to laugh. We broke off as tea was brought in. I watched Florrie serve it efficiently then depart.
“Your maid,” I said, “she doesn’t have a sister, does she?”
“Florrie? I’ve no idea, why?”
“Because I have been instructed by Her Majesty to take my maid with me to Romania. And since I don’t have a maid to take with me, I’m going to have to beg, borrow or steal one from someone else, or hire one from an agency. I don’t suppose you could do without Florrie for a week or so?”
“Absolutely not,” Belinda said. “I nearly starved to death during that fog. If I hadn’t been able to make a run on Harrods’ food hall for pâté and fruit, it would have been the end of me. Besides, if Florrie wouldn’t dare to cross London during a fog, I don’t think she’d have the spunk to make it across the Channel, let alone to Romania.”
“Wha
t about when you go abroad?”
“I leave her behind. I can’t really afford a second ticket. There are usually enough servants to take care of me at the sort of villas I like to visit.”
“Then do you have any suggestions as to where I might find a maid? Anybody you know who might be going on a cruise or to the south of France and leaving their maid behind?”
“People with money never leave their maids behind,” Belinda said. “They take them along. You could probably pick up the right sort of girl in Paris, if you go a few days ahead.”
“Belinda, I have no idea where one would find a maid in Paris. My mother took me there a couple of times when I was little and we went once with the school. Besides, I’d have to pay a French maid money that I don’t have.”
“That’s true,” Belinda agreed. “They are frightfully expensive. But worth it. If I wasn’t living this miserable existence, I’d have a French maid like a shot. My dear step-mother has one, but then Daddy gives her everything she wants.” She dropped a sugar cube into her teacup. “Speaking of mothers, why don’t you ask yours to cough up the money for a French maid?”
“I never know where to find my mother,” I said. “Besides, I don’t like asking her for things.” A thought crossed my mind. “We could try asking Florrie if she knows any girls who are looking for work and want a taste of adventure.”
“Anyone Florrie knows wouldn’t want a taste of adventure,” Belinda said. “She must be one of the most boring creatures on earth.” But she rang the bell.
Florrie came rushing back into the room. “Did I forget something on the tea tray, miss?” she asked, anxiously clutching at her apron.
“No, Florrie. Lady Georgiana has a request of you. Go ahead, Georgie.”
“Florrie,” I said, “I am looking for a maid. You don’t happen to know of any suitable girls who are out of work, do you?”
“I might, your ladyship.”
“And would be up for a little adventure, traveling abroad?”
“Abroad? What, like France, you mean? They say it’s terrible dangerous over there. Men pinch your bottom.” Florrie’s eyes opened wide.
“Farther away than France. And even more dangerous,” Belinda said. “All the way across Europe on a train.”
“Ooh, no, miss. I don’t know no girls who’d want to do that. Sorry, your ladyship.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy and fled.
“You needn’t have played up the danger,” I said. “We’ll only be on a train and in a royal castle.”
“You don’t want one who’s going to lose her nerve halfway across Europe and beg you in tears to be taken home,” Belinda said. “Besides, what if the train is attacked by brigands—or wolves?”
“Belinda!” I laughed nervously. “Things like that don’t happen anymore.”
“In the Balkans they do—all the time. And what about that train buried in an avalanche? They didn’t dig them out for days.” She looked at me, then burst out laughing. “Why the somber face? You’re going to have topping fun.”
“When I’m not suffocating in an avalanche or being attacked by brigands or wolves.”
“And Transylvania is part of Romania these days, isn’t it?” Belinda was warming to her subject. “You might meet a vampire.”
“Oh, come on, Belinda. There are no vampires.”
“Think how intriguing that would be. I understand it is utter ecstasy to be bitten on the neck. Even more of a rush than sex. Of course, I believe one then becomes one of the undead, but it would be worth it just for the experience.”
“I have no wish to become undead, thank you,” I said, laughing uneasily.
“Come to think of it, I’m sure Matty told us that their ancestral home was actually in the mountains of Transylvania, so there you are. Vampires everywhere. How I envy you the experience. I do wish I were coming with you.” Suddenly she sat up straight, nearly knocking over the little tea table. “I have a brilliant idea. Why don’t I come along as your maid?”
I stared at her and started to laugh. “Belinda. Don’t be absurd,” I said. “Why on earth would you want to be my maid?”
“Because you’re invited to a royal wedding in Transylvania and I’m not and I’m bored and it sounds as if it could be loads of laughs and I’m dying to meet a vampire.”
“Some maid you’d be.” I was still grinning. “You don’t even know how to make tea.”
“Ah, but I know how to press things, thanks to my clothes design business. That’s the important part, isn’t it? I could press and dress you. And in case you have forgotten, I played the part of your maid once before and I did it jolly well,” she said. “So why not? I’m itching for an adventure and you’re providing one. You wouldn’t even have to pay me.”
I have to admit I was sorely tempted. It would be fun to be in a strange country with Belinda beside me.
“In other circumstances I’d take you up on your offer like a shot,” I said, “and it would be a lot of fun, but you’ve overlooked one small detail—Matty would recognize you instantly.”
“Nonsense,” Belinda said. “Nobody looks twice at servants. I’d be in your room or in the servants’ quarters. Her Highness and I would never have to meet. Come on. Do be a sport and say yes.”
“I know you too well,” I said. “You’d soon tire of being left out of the fun and festivities, wouldn’t you? You’d only be there ten minutes and you’d find some good-looking foreign prince, reveal your true identity and leave me in the lurch.”
“I am cut to the quick,” she said. “Here am I, making you a generous and unselfish offer, and you keep finding reasons to turn me down. Wouldn’t it be a lark to be there together?”
“A fabulous lark,” I agreed, “and if I were going as an ordinary person, I’d take you along in an instant. But since I’m representing the royal family and my country, I have to observe protocol in every aspect. Surely you can see that?”
“You are becoming as stuffy as your brother,” she said.
“Speaking of my brother, you’ll never guess in a million years. Fig is in the family way again.”
Belinda grinned. “I suppose in their case it’s he who has to close his eyes and think of England when he does it. So you’ll be bumped back to thirty-fifth in line to the throne. It doesn’t look as if you’ll ever make it to queen.”
“You are silly.” I laughed. “It will be good for Podge to have a brother or sister. I remember how lonely it was to be a child living at Castle Rannoch.” I put down my teacup and got up. “Anyway, I must go on my quest for a maid. I’ve no idea where I’m going to find one.”
“I’ve offered my services and been rejected,” she said. “But the offer still stands if you can’t come up with anyone better by the end of the week.”
Chapter 7
A semidetached in Essex with gnomes in the garden
Still Thursday, November 10
This was turning into a tricky problem. There was nobody else in London I knew well enough to ask to borrow their personal maid. I realized when I reconsidered that it would be the most frightful cheek to turn up on somebody’s doorstep and ask to borrow a maid, even if I did know them well. I wondered if I might get by with traveling alone and telling the dreaded chaperon that my maid had come down with mumps at the last moment. Surely they’d have enough servants at a royal castle to spare me an extra one. And I had become quite good at dressing myself. But probably not dressing myself in the sort of gown to be worn at weddings, with a thousand hooks or so down the back. There was nothing for it. I’d have to find an agency and hire a suitable girl, hoping that I could find some way to pay her at the end of the trip.
I was still dressed in my visiting-the-palace clothes so I set off again, scouring Mayfair for the right sort of domestic agency. I didn’t dare return to the one that had supplied me with Mildred once before. The proprietress was so impossibly regal that she made the queen look positively middle class. I wandered along Piccadilly and up to Berkeley Square. Luckily the rain had s
lowed to a misty drizzle. I finally found what looked like a suitable agency on Bond Street. The woman behind the desk was another dragon—perhaps it was a requirement of the profession.
“Let me get this straight, my lady. You wish to employ a lady’s maid to accompany you to Romania?”
“That’s right.”
“And when would this be?”
“Next week.”
“Next week?” Her eyebrows shot upward. “I think it would be highly unlikely that I could find you the right sort of young woman to fill this position within one week. I can think of one or two who might be persuaded, but you’d have to pay her a premium.”
“What sort of premium?”
Then she named an amount that I should have thought sufficient to run Castle Rannoch for a year. She must have seen me swallow hard, because she added, “We only handle the highest caliber of young women, you know.”
I left in deep despondency. My brother could never find that sort of money, even if Fig would ever let him hand it over to me. It would have to be Belinda or nobody. As I walked through the growing twilight I pictured Belinda and all the sort of things that could go wrong with that arrangement. I was doomed whatever I did. Then I heard a newsboy calling out the headlines of the day in broad Cockney. That immediately made me think of the one person I had not yet turned to. My grandfather always had an answer for even the toughest problems. And even if he couldn’t conjure a maid out of thin air, it was like a tonic just to see him. I almost ran to the Bond Street tube station and was soon speeding across London into darkest Essex.
I suppose I should explain that whereas my father was Queen Victoria’s grandson, my mother had started life as the daughter of a Cockney policeman. She had become a famous actress and left her past behind when she married my father—only to bolt from him again when I was two.
The tube train was packed by the time it left central London and I emerged rather the worse for wear. It was raining hard again as I left the train. I was always glad to see my grandfather’s little house, with its neat, pocket handkerchief- sized lawn and its cheerful garden gnomes, but never more so than that evening. A light shone out of the frosted glass panes on the front door as I trudged up the path. I knocked and waited. Eventually the door opened a crack, and a pair of bright boot-button eyes regarded me.
