by Rhys Bowen
I managed to eat my way through a rich and creamy soup, a sauerbraten with red cabbage and some delicious dumplings stuffed with prunes and dusted in sugar. Then, the moment luncheon was over, I tried to intercept Prince Nicholas as he left the room.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” I said in a low voice. “There’s something I need to tell you privately, about Field Marshal Pirin.”
“Oh, right.” He looked startled, then glanced around. “I’ll get Anton.”
“No!” The word came out louder than I meant it to, and several people around us looked up. “No,” I repeated. “This is only for your ears. It’s up to you whom you decide to share it with when I’ve told you.”
“All right.” He looked amused if anything. “Where shall we go for this secret meeting?”
“Anywhere that obnoxious man Patrascue isn’t likely to overhear.”
“Who knows where his men are lurking?” Nicholas said. “It’s so easy to spy on people in a place like this. Oh, damn, speak of the devil—” Patrascue had come into the room and appeared to be making a beeline for us.
“You, lady from England,” he said. “You will come with me, please. I have something that I want you to explain to me immediately.”
“Do you want me along too?” Nicholas asked.
“Just the young lady,” Patrascue said.
I had no choice but to go with Patrascue, especially as he appeared to have two of his men in tow and I didn’t want to cause a fuss.
“I’ll see you later then,” I called after Nicholas, then I turned to Patrascue, who was standing close beside me. “What’s this about?” I asked.
“You will soon see,” Patrascue said. He marched ahead of me with great purpose, up the stairs until we came out onto my hallway. Then he flung open my bedroom door. A frightened-looking Queenie was standing by the bed.
“You will please explain this,” Patrascue said. He opened the chest and pointed at a small glass bottle lying there.
“I have no idea what it is or how it got there,” I said.
“I, on the other hand, have a very good idea,” he said. “I would like to deduce it was the receptacle that contained the poison.” He stepped closer until he was leering down at me. “I have had my suspicions about you from the beginning,” he said. “You were sitting opposite this field marshal. And why should the English king send you to the wedding? Why not send his own daughter, a princess, as would be more fitting?”
“Because Princess Maria Theresa personally asked for me to be part of her bridal procession, since we were old school friends. So the queen thought that it would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Do not worry, as soon as the telephone lines are restored I shall be calling the garden of Scotland to verify this.”
The garden of Scotland? I grinned. He meant Scotland Yard.
“Please do. Are you suggesting that I came all the way from England to kill a field marshal I had never even heard of until this week?” I tried to give a carefree laugh that didn’t quite come off. One heard rumors of the way justice was conducted in foreign countries, and I would certainly be an easy scapegoat for him. “What possible motive could I have? It is my first time in this part of the world. I never met any of these people before.”
“As for motive, I could think of several. The young Bulgarian princes, they did not like this fellow, I have heard. You are their cousin, are you not? Perhaps you are in a conspiracy together to kill him for them.”
“In that case,” I said, “we could easily have labeled his death a heart attack and nobody would have challenged it. But why should I wish to get involved in Bulgarian politics, even if these are my cousins?”
“Money,” he said with a horrible grin. “As I told you earlier, money can make anyone do evil acts. And you have none, so your mother’s companion confided to me.”
“I may not have been brought up with money, but certainly with plenty of integrity,” I said haughtily. “If I were so desperate for money, I could have made a good marriage by now. Your heir to the throne here has already asked me.”
“I know this,” he said, waving a hand airily. “I make it my business to know everything.”
“So if I married him, I’d hardly want to start off my marriage with a war between Balkan countries, would I?”
“But I heard you rejected him,” Patrascue said. He turned to one of his men and said something under his breath in another language. The man took out a handkerchief, then leaned forward and removed the little bottle. He handed it, still in the handkerchief, to Patrascue.
“I assure you, you won’t find my fingerprints on it,” I said. “And you’ll probably discover that it is an ordinary medicine bottle containing someone’s headache mixture.”
Using the handkerchief, Patrascue removed the stopper, sniffed, then backed away hastily. “This did not contain a headache mixture,” he said. “And I do not expect to find fingerprints on it. A clever killer will have wiped them away.”
“Even a stupid killer would have hurled the bottle out of the window, where it would have sunk into snow that’s not going to melt for ages,” I said. “By which time the killer would be back in his or her own country.”
Patrascue stared at the window, digesting this, the wheels in his brain working slowly.
“Isn’t it obvious, even to you, that someone is trying to frame me?” I said. Actually I said “attach the blame to me” because the only French word I knew for “frame” was the one that held pictures on walls and I didn’t think that would be right. “Why would the real killer not have disposed of the evidence? How easy that would be in a castle of this size, with so many nooks and crannies and gratings in walls and floors. Or why not keep it on his person?”
Patrascue said nothing for a while. “Because only a clever criminal would absolve herself from blame by making me think that she had been framed,” he said at last. “I will tell you what I think, English lady. I think that this is a clever plot between you and your fellow Englishman, who conveniently drove away with the body before I could examine it or question him.”
I grinned. “He’s not English, actually. He’s Irish.”
He waved a hand in a bored manner. “English, Irish, what is the difference. I have heard of this Mr. O’Mara before. He was involved in a scandal at a casino, I believe. And he is interested in making money. But don’t worry, I will send my men after him and he will be brought back here, and the truth will come out.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” I said. “The queen of England would be horrified if she heard I had been treated this way when I have been sent to represent my country. Princess Maria Theresa, my dear school friend, will also be horrified, if I tell her.”
He put his fingers under my chin and drew me closer to him. “I do not think you realize the spot you are in, young lady. I have the power to arrest you and lock you up, and I can assure you that our jails are not pleasant places—rats, disease, hardened criminals . . . and sometimes it takes months or years before a case comes to trial. But given that you are here for such a festive occasion, I will be gracious. I will merely inform you that you may not leave this castle without my permission.”
His fingernails were digging into my chin, but I wasn’t going to show him that I was scared. “Since I’m here for a wedding next week, I’m hardly likely to do that,” I said. “Besides, I understand it may snow again, in which case nobody will be leaving for a while.”
He leaned his face closer to mine. His breath was rank with garlic and worse. “Since you so emphatically insist on your innocence,” he said, “you must have some thoughts on who committed this terrible crime. Who do you think it was? Dragomir, for example? You say you saw everything—did you perhaps observe Dragomir slipping something into a glass? Think hard, young lady, if you wish to go home after the wedding.”
I saw then that he wasn’t as stupid as I had thought. His plan had been to make me so fearful for my own safety that I would be willing to poi
nt the finger at Dragomir. He was about to discover that British girls are made of sterner stuff.
They do not collapse in sobs when a fierce policeman threatens them with prison. Even though I did have my suspicions about Dragomir, I certainly wasn’t going to share them with this man.
“If you want my opinion,” I said, “I think you should consider the possibility of vampires.”
Chapter 25
“Ooh miss, I wasn’t half scared,” Queenie said as soon as the men had left. “Those horrid brutes, they barged in here and started going through your things. I didn’t half give ’em an earful. ‘Whatcher think you’re doing?’ I said. ‘Them things belongs to a royal person and she won’t want you mucking about with them and getting your dirty hands on them.’ But it wasn’t much good because they didn’t speak English. What was that man saying to you?”
“He thought I’d poisoned the man who was taken ill at dinner last night,” I said. “They found what looked like a vial of poison in that chest.”
“I bet they planted it there themselves,” Queenie said. “You can’t trust them foreigners, can you? That’s what my old dad says and he should know because he was in the trenches in the Great War.”
“Your old dad may be right on this occasion,” I said. Planting the evidence there themselves was definitely a possibility—but why choose me? Was it because I came from a faraway place and therefore would cause a local political problem if I was arrested? Or did he think that I looked vulnerable and would easily break down and confess or be willing to pin the blame on Dragomir? It was all too much like a gothic drama. I just hoped that his men didn’t catch up with Darcy. I didn’t think that was likely. The sky outside my window looked heavy with the promise of more snow. I glanced longingly at my bed. A quick nap sounded like a good idea, but I really couldn’t put off having my chat with Nicholas. He may still have been in grave danger. Why, oh, why did Darcy have to choose this moment to leave? He could have kept an eye on Nicholas and prevented another murder.
I made my way downstairs again. The hallways seemed colder than ever, with banners actually wafting in the wind. As I looked around me I realized that servants were everywhere. Usually one does not even notice the presence of servants, but at this moment I was particularly aware of them. Which made me think—if an intruder was in the castle, someone else must know about him. It wouldn’t be possible to sneak around without encountering a servant or two, so someone had to be feeding the intruder and keeping him safely hidden. That indicated that the assassin had to be from here, and not one of the guests from Bulgaria.
Of course then my thoughts turned again to Count Dragomir. I found that I was passing the door to the sitting room where I had spotted the portrait. I opened the door cautiously and found the room empty. I tiptoed over to the fireplace and stared up at the portrait. In the flickering light of the fire it looked almost alive.
“All alone, my lady?” said a deep voice behind me.
I gasped and spun around. Count Dragomir was standing there, in the flesh. “Is there something I can get you?” he asked. “Some tea, maybe? You English like your tea at this hour, I believe.”
“Er—no, thank you,” I stammered.
“Then perhaps you came in here to be alone or to take an afternoon snooze,” he said. “I leave you to sweet dreams.”
He bowed and was about to retreat when I plucked up courage.
“Count Dragomir,” I said, “I couldn’t help noticing that there is a bad feeling between you and the policeman Patrascue.”
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Dragomir said. “We were at the university together as young men. We took an instant disliking to each other. He was a sneaky, underhand sort of fellow even then.” I felt that there was more but he was not going to tell me.
I took a deep breath and risked the second question. “That portrait on the wall. Have you noticed—the resemblance to you is striking. But I’m sure you weren’t born in seventeen hundred and something.” I gave a gay little laugh.
“You’re right. The family resemblance is strong,” he said, examining it. “One of my ancestors. We used to own this castle, you know. In fact, we used to be rulers of Transylvania when it was an autonomous state and not part of Romania.”
“But I was told you came from Yugoslavia.”
“One of my ancestors decided to risk battle against the occupying Turks,” he said. “He was foolhardy and the Turks were all-powerful in those days. My ancestor counted on the help of his neighbors in what should have been a regionwide uprising, but I’m afraid my family had earned a reputation for brutality and ruthlessness. No help came. The castle was taken and my family had to flee into exile. So it is true I was raised in what is now part of Yugoslavia. I went to study in Vienna, where I met the present king of Romania, who was a fellow student. We struck up a friendship and later I was offered a government post when he came to the throne in his country. Times have been hard since the Great War and jobs not easy to come by, so I was glad to accept. Ironically I was put in charge of this castle, so I am now the glorified butler where my family once ruled. But that is life, is it not? Nothing is certain.”
I nodded. “My family has also lost all its money. My brother is just scraping by at the family seat. Times are hard.”
“I believe I would have risen higher in government circles had it not been for our friend Patrascue.” He came closer to me. “Tell me—Patrascue has enlisted you to trap me, has he not? That is the way he works—he decides whom he would like to be guilty, arrests them and then invents the evidence to prove it.”
“He did suggest to me that I might have seen you put the poison in a glass. I told him I saw no such thing.”
“The English, they can always be counted upon to behave like gentlemen and like ladies.” He smiled. “But do not underestimate this Patrascue. He wields considerable power in my country. There is a rumor that he is a puppet of Russia. They would like to extend their arm into this region, you know. I can understand why Prince Nicholas wanted to keep the death a natural one. The least little thing can spark off an international incident in these parts.” He straightened a bowl of flowers on a small table, then looked up suddenly. “So I would stay out of any unauthorized investigation or amateur sleuthing, if I were you. You are playing with fire, my lady. Enjoy your role as bride’s attendant and have a good time here. This is what young ladies should do, no?”
He nodded graciously and left. His tone had been pleasant enough but the threat had been real. Was he concerned for my safety or his own? So the castle was his ancestral home. And given his family history, he could well have an ax to grind with any of his Balkan neighbors. And a desire for revenge, going back generations. Maybe a little war between countries was just what he wanted.
I followed him out of the sitting room. If Dragomir were really the one who had administered the poison, why had he seemed so helpful when we met afterward? He had helped collect the utensils, handle the servants, get the body up to a bedroom and generally behaved the way a perfect butler would. Why? Was it that he wanted to appear above suspicion, or did he know that he had carried out a clever murder and would never be caught? Or was it that he felt guilty that the wrong man had died?
With these thoughts buzzing through my head I found myself in the long gallery, where afternoon coffee was being served. My mother had found the group of older countesses and was sitting eating torte with them. She waved as I approached.
“We’re about to play bridge, darling. Care to join us?”
“No, thank you, I’m useless at bridge. Is the princess still in the fitting room?”
“Oh, no, darling. She appeared about half an hour ago, poured herself a black coffee and looked with longing at the cakes. That child is starving herself, if you ask me. Now she’s definitely too thin. European men do like a woman to have a little meat on her bones.”
“And Prince Nicholas, have you seen him recently?”
“I haven’t seen him since lunch. I g
ather he and Anton went out to shoot, and I expect Max went with them. They’re only happy when they’re shooting something—apart from sex, of course.”
“Mother!” I gave her a warning frown.
My mother glanced around at the other women, who were tucking into their torte with abandon. “They won’t understand. Their English is hopeless, darling. Besides, it is about time you were acquainted with the facts of life. I’ve hopelessly neglected my duty in that area. Men only have two thoughts in their heads and those are killing or copulating.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of men with finer feelings, who are interested in art and culture.”
“Yes, darling, of course there are. They are called fairies. And they are quite adorable—so witty and fun to be with. But in my long and varied life I’ve found that the ones who are witty to be with are no use in bed, and vice versa.”
She took a final bite of her cake, licked her fork—curling her tongue in what would have been a seductive gesture had any men been present—and went to join the other ladies, who were setting up a bridge table. I helped myself to coffee and cake and sat alone on a sofa, feeling uneasy. So Nicholas had gone out hunting again, had he? I had seen from experience how easy it was to shoot at the wrong target, and hadn’t Darcy suggested exactly the same way to kill someone conveniently? But I could hardly go after Nicholas at this stage. I’d just have to wait until he returned. Dragomir had warned me against amateur sleuthing, but I was apparently the only one in the castle, apart from the killer, who knew the truth. I had to warn Nicholas as soon as he came back.
