by Rhys Bowen
He ladled out a generous bowl and sat there watching me eat. Again I found myself wishing that I could live with him all the time and have him take care of me. And I could forget all about royal scandals and unfaithful men and be quite happy. But I knew that I couldn’t.
Chapter 22
NOVEMBER 7
Life just gets more and more complicated.
I arrived back at Kensington Palace just as it was starting to rain—the hard, stinging kind of winter rain that makes walking so miserable. I was about to open the front door, anticipating a roaring fire and tea to follow when I was conscious of footsteps behind me. I turned to see a large bobby coming toward me.
“Lady Georgiana?” he asked. “DCI Pelham has requested that you come with me. He’d like to speak with you again.”
“Oh really, this is too silly,” I said. “I’ve nothing more to tell him.”
“I couldn’t say what it’s about, my lady,” he said. “I was just sent to fetch you, and I’ve been waiting quite some time.”
“I didn’t realize that I had to ask permission before I left the palace,” I said testily. Actually I wasn’t feeling annoyed but scared. Had they found out somehow that I had gone to Bobo’s flat this morning? Perhaps someone had heard that picture crashing down and called the police. And, more worrisome still, perhaps they wanted to trap me into saying something incriminating about Darcy.
I decided that haughty indignation was my best defense, so I strode down the corridors at Scotland Yard so fast that the young constable had trouble keeping up with me. I was shown into DCI Pelham’s office and approached his desk with the same belligerence as my ancestor Robert Bruce Rannoch had displayed going into battle.
“Really, this is too tiresome, Chief Inspector,” I said. “What can you possibly need from me now? I thought I made it clear that I’d tell you if I came up with anything you should know about.”
His eyes were focused on me like a snake’s, unblinking.
“Take a seat, Lady Georgiana.”
I sat. He leaned back in his big leather chair and folded his arms, never taking his eyes off me for an instant.
“I called you back here because I don’t think you did quite tell me everything when we chatted last time. You kept some interesting snippets of information from me, didn’t you?”
“Such as what?”
His expression didn’t change. “You and Mr. O’Mara, for example. Not just a friend, is he?”
“My relationship with Mr. O’Mara has nothing to do with you,” I said, keeping my haughty stare rather well, I thought.
“Oh, but I think it’s most important,” he said. “Most pertinent to this case.”
“That’s ridiculous. In what way?”
He leaned back in his chair. “A motive for killing Miss Carrington, perhaps?”
“A motive? Whose motive?”
“Yours, Lady Georgiana. Jealousy is the strongest motive I’ve ever come across. That and fear.”
“And who is supposed to be jealous of whom?”
“You were jealous of Mr. O’Mara’s relationship with Miss Carrington, obviously.”
“Since I didn’t find out about it until after she was dead, I would say it’s hardly relevant,” I said.
“That’s your word.”
“Surely you can’t think I had anything to do with Miss Carrington’s death?” The laugh sounded a trifle uneasy.
He leaned forward again now, hoping to be intimidating, I suspected. “That’s exactly what I might be thinking. But the one thing I’m not sure of—was it you alone, luring her to the palace in a fit of jealousy, or had Mr. O’Mara found that he needed to get her out of the way and you helped him to do it? Because, you see, he has an alibi for the whole evening she was killed.”
This time I did chuckle. “Oh, and I didn’t? I think dinner at Buckingham Palace with the entire royal family is a pretty watertight alibi.”
“We’re not sure exactly when she was killed,” he said. “It could have been earlier in the evening, given the bitter cold out there. And you were seen, you see.”
“I was what?” I looked up, startled. “I was seen where?”
“In the courtyard where the body was found.”
I gave another chuckle, this time of relief. “Of course I was seen. I believe I told you how I saw something and went to investigate and discovered the body lying there.”
“That was when you returned from dinner, and actually I’ve been puzzled about your statement. It didn’t make sense at the time that you thought you saw something—because from the front of the house there is no possible way you could see anything under that arch.”
“I told you—I saw a glowing sort of light.”
“We checked. There is no light source under that arch, or in that courtyard, apart from a couple of windows. And the time you were seen was before you went to dinner.”
“Before?” I shook my head. “But I wasn’t in that courtyard before we left. I came straight out with Princess Marina and got into the car. It was still raining. A footman held an umbrella over us.” I glared at him. “Who says they saw me?”
“The foreign lady. The countess. Sir Jeremy had a little talk with her today because you had told him you suspected her because her coat was wet. And the interesting thing was that she claimed she had seen you in the courtyard, prowling around, right before you went to dinner.”
“How utterly absurd,” I said. “I never went near the courtyard. What does she think she’s playing at? And how did she explain away her wet jacket?”
“She says she went out later. She said the food was so bad that she decided to walk down to the town and have something to eat in a café. But she said that nothing was open except pubs because it was Sunday evening, and she wasn’t about to go into a common public house.”
“That’s interesting,” I said, “because she told me that she had spent the evening in, reading. And did she explain the knife in her pocket?”
“Miss Carrington was not stabbed, Lady Georgiana. She was drugged and then suffocated. If anyone carries a knife it seems to be irrelevant.” He gave an annoying half sniff, half snort through his nostrils. “And what possible motive could a foreign lady have for killing an Englishwoman she had never met?”
“The perfect motive, Chief Inspector,” I said. “She worships Princess Marina. She would do anything to protect her, and if she’d learned that Bobo Carrington had been Prince George’s mistress and that he may be the father of her child, she would stop at nothing to prevent that news from becoming public.”
He was staring at me as if he was digesting this information and it was beginning to make sense.
“And she was alone all evening with servants who aren’t the most attentive and who would have been having their own evening meal in a kitchen where they would not have heard or seen anything.”
Again I paused, letting him consider this.
I leaned forward in my chair. “Picture this, Chief Inspector. Bobo comes to the front door, demanding to see Princess Marina. Perhaps she has decided to come clean and tell Marina the truth about her and the prince. Perhaps her motive is not as pure and she wants money to stay mum about her story. But Princess Marina is not home so she tells the countess instead. And the countess decides she must not be allowed to leave. She puts Marina’s sleeping drops in the coffee and then finishes Bobo off by suffocating her.” I paused, then went on, “And she has all the time in the world because the servants find her disagreeable and are keeping well away.”
There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the loud tick of his clock on the wall. Then he nodded. “As you say, it does make sense.”
“While I, on the other hand, possess no Veronal and only discovered that Princess Marina uses it when the subject came up in conversation yesterday. So you have the motive, the knowledge of where to find
Veronal, and a wet jacket. I’d say that adds up to something pretty compelling. And—” I paused again. Really, I should have become a barrister. I was rather pleased with myself. “She is so rattled that you are getting near to the truth that she tries to claim she saw me in the courtyard. She is jealous of me, Chief Inspector, because I have been assigned to be the princess’s companion. And as you just said, jealousy is the most compelling of motives.”
Another long pause. “You do make a good case, Lady Georgiana,” he said grudgingly. “And I have to admit that it seems most likely that Miss Carrington was killed after your departure for Buckingham Palace.”
“And actually my maid was helping me to dress until I went down to join Princess Marina,” I said. “I don’t believe there was a moment when I was alone, which I’m sure the others can verify.”
“Which still leaves us with Mr. O’Mara,” he said. “Given his close ties to the murdered girl and the fact that he has been so devilishly hard to find. Almost as if he’d gone into hiding.”
“Mr. O’Mara is always hard to find,” I said. “He has no London address. He never has a forwarding address. But I’m sure you can ask Sir Jeremy. He knows more about Mr. O’Mara than I do, apparently.” I stood up. “And if there is nothing else, I take it I have your permission to go now?”
“Yes, I see no reason to detain you further at this stage,” he said. “After all, we know where to find you until the wedding, don’t we? And if the countess divulges anything else that might be of interest to us, you will let us know, won’t you?”
I laughed. “One minute I’m the prime suspect, the next I’m working undercover for the police.”
It was his turn to give an uneasy chuckle. “Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as prime suspect, Lady Georgiana. You were just helping us with our inquiries.” He paused as I stood up. “We may need to chat again at some stage. I suspect you know more than you’re saying about this Mr. O’Mara. He’s definitely not off the hook yet. I think he’s a bit of a slippery customer. No known means of income but he lives well enough, moves in the right circles. When we start probing a bit deeper I think it may come out that he has connections to the underworld, possibly drug trafficking. So if you want my advice, I’d say you were well rid of him, Lady Georgiana.”
I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t want his advice if he was the last person on the planet, but I didn’t dare open my mouth, afraid I’d let myself down. There was no way I was going to let the obnoxious chief inspector know how much Darcy had meant to me. This time I did not stride out ahead of my escorting policeman. I stumbled blindly behind him because I had realized that DCI Pelham had said something that made sense. Links to the underworld, possible drug trafficking. So that was how Darcy managed to survive. That was how Darcy was so thick with Bobo Carrington—the girl with the silver syringe. That was why he popped off so frequently to South America. He was involved in the buying and selling of drugs.
I felt physically sick. My mother and Belinda were always telling me how naïve I was. And it was true. Brought up sheltered in the wilds of Scotland, how could I possibly know how to be aware of things like drugs? It seemed that Darcy had deceived me on every possible level. Perhaps he even had killed Bobo Carrington because she was becoming a nuisance or had threatened to tell the police about his activities. As DCI Pelham had said, I was well out of it. A lucky escape. I could have been married to a dangerous criminal—a dangerous criminal who would be unfaithful to me and break my heart. I would do as Fig had suggested and try to meet a suitable member of European royalty at the wedding. Then I would live as my family expected me to, doing the right thing, producing the heir . . . but with a great empty hole in my heart.
Chapter 23
NOVEMBER 7
Going to a gambling club this evening. Any other time I would have been excited.
I was not conscious of being driven home. I wanted to creep straight up to my room, but as I came into Kensington Palace the door to the sitting room was open and Marina and the countess were having tea.
“Lovely hot crumpets,” Marina called, waving at me. “Come and get warm. It’s horribly cold today, isn’t it?”
So of course I had no option but to join them. I saw Irmtraut studying me with a smug look on her face.
“Ah, you return at last, Georgiana. Her Highness wondered where you had gone. I hope you have had a pleasant day?” she said.
“About as pleasant as yours, I should think,” I said.
“Mine has been disagreeable,” she said. “Somebody in this place has been spying on me. What do you think of that? And saying bad things about me.”
“Surely not.” I leaned over and poured myself a cup of tea.
“Then why did that man wish to talk to me? He is part of your English police, I am sure of this. Do they think I have committed a crime? He would not tell me why he asks me stupid questions.”
“The English police are known to be fair. The innocent have nothing to worry about in this country,” I said. “I’m sure the questions were only routine. The police are naturally concerned for Marina’s safety.” I managed a bright smile.
As I drank my tea I studied her. Did she look worried? Was she more uneasy than usual? With her normal grumpy glare I couldn’t tell. But at least her plan to implicate me had backfired. That must have irked her.
We had an early dinner, then the major arrived to escort us to Crockford’s.
“I had a word with them today, Your Highness,” he said, “and they will be honored to waive their requirement that you must be the guest of a member. They look forward to your visit.”
“How kind.” Marina nodded graciously.
“But if you don’t mind, I will not come with you tonight,” he said. “The manager will be waiting for you and will make sure you are well looked after all evening. And frankly I would rather not be seen at a gambling club right now. I understand that I may be up for promotion to colonel and I don’t want to do anything that could be perceived as unsoldierly.” He gave an apologetic little smile.
He had dressed for dinner, of course. I couldn’t help thinking how smart he looked in civilian white tie and tails, rather than his army dress uniform. A good catch for some girl. But then I remembered that he had lamented trying to live on army pay. So not such a good catch. Probably a younger son who wasn’t going to inherit anything. They were the ones who were always sent into the army.
He ushered us into the motorcar and off we went. I have to confess I felt a thrill of anticipation as the car pulled up outside the white portico of the club on Curzon Street. It was the sort of place I had looked at wistfully from the outside and had only sneaked into once, when I was spying on someone. So I had never actually had the experience of gambling there, as a patron. And now I was being welcomed graciously in the presence of a princess. If I hadn’t been so enveloped in misery, I should have savored this moment.
“Your Royal Highness, welcome to Crockford’s.” The manager, looking rather regal himself, came forward to meet us. “And Lady Georgiana. Such an honor.” He gave us a warm smile and a bow before he ushered us across that grand foyer with its red carpet and chandeliers. “If you will be good enough to sign our book, please.” He stopped at a table with the open book and pen on it. When it was my turn to sign I noticed that people signed with their name and address. And I remembered Belinda telling me that Bobo had been seen looking distressed as she spoke with an American at Crockford’s.
“Someone told me that they had seen an American friend of mine here a few days ago,” I said. “I didn’t even know he was in the country. May I look and see if it really was he, and where he’s staying?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady.” The manager sounded shocked. “Our guest book is completely confidential. It wouldn’t do to let wives check on wayward husbands, would it?” And he gave a little chuckle.
“You wouldn’t happen to remember if an Ameri
can gentleman was here, probably last week?”
“Again our rules of confidentiality don’t allow me to reveal that, even if I knew,” he said. “We get American visitors all the time, of course. Crockford’s is one of the places one has to go when one is a visitor to London.”
“Of course,” I said and retreated with my most gracious smile.
He turned his attention to Princess Marina. “Let me give you a tour of what we have to offer and then I have arranged for some jetons to start you off, with our compliments.”
We entered the main gambling salon, with its sparkling chandeliers overhead and knots of men and women clustered around roulette and card tables. We were then taken to the cashier’s booth and handed a nice little stack of tokens, called in casinos by their French name of jetons—because one throws them onto the table, presumably.
“Now, feel free to try your hand at any table you choose,” the manager said. “May I have a bottle of champagne opened for you?”
“Most kind,” Marina said again. Actually she looked as much out of her depth as I felt as I gazed at the impossibly elegant and sophisticated men and women languidly placing piles of jetons on the roulette table. These were people to whom the loss of a hundred pounds meant nothing. I supposed my father must have been just like them. I never really got to know him well, because he spent his time in Nice and Monte Carlo and lost most of the family fortune at the tables. Luckily I had inherited the sensible side of my ancestors and was determined to make my free tokens last all evening. I was also determined to get a look at that guest book.
“What shall we play first, Georgiana?” Marina asked.
“I think most people play roulette,” I said. “And it’s not complicated.”
“I tried it once in Monte,” she said. “It’s rather fun, isn’t it?”
I glanced over my shoulder. I had a funny feeling that I was being observed. But then, of course there is always someone observing in a casino, to make sure that no cheating goes on. I turned back to the table and placed my bet on number six, which I’ve always liked for some reason. The wheel started to spin. The little ball clattered down until it fell into a slot.
