Malice at the Palace

by Rhys Bowen

  When we reached Worthing I asked for directions to Goring-by-Sea at the ticket office.

  “It’s about two miles out of town, miss,” the man said. “There’s a bus goes once an hour.”

  I decided that I couldn’t wait for a bus and for once would make use of my newfound wealth and take a taxicab. I told the cabdriver that I was looking for a clinic or convalescent home in Goring-by-Sea. Did he know of it? He thought he did. “Big white place, isn’t it? Posh looking.” That sounded like it. So off we went. In summertime and in good weather it would have been a charming drive along the seafront with its rows of white, bow-windowed guesthouses and its long pier and bandstand. But today a fierce wind whipped up a slate gray sea and the promenade was deserted. At last the town gave way to big houses set amid spacious grounds, sports fields, and on the front the occasional seaside bungalow. Then the taxicab slowed. “This is it, I believe,” he said. “Yes, there you are.” And a sign said, The Larches. Convalescent Home. We turned in through white gates, followed a drive lined with larch trees and pulled up at a portico outside a big white Georgian house. I paid the taxi driver and rang the doorbell.

  I was greeted warmly by a young woman in nurse’s uniform when I said that I’d come down from London and wanted to see the matron or the person in charge. I couldn’t believe how smoothly this had gone so far.

  “Here to see a relative, are you, dear?” she asked as she escorted me down the front hallway. “Your grandma maybe?”

  We were passing a common room. The door was open and inside I saw nothing but old people, sitting in armchairs. This was clearly not the right place.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” I said. “I was told the clinic was in Goring-by-Sea but I was expecting a place for much younger people. Younger women.”

  Her expression changed to part disgust and part pity. “The clinic?” she said. “This is a convalescent home, my dear. You’ll be thinking of Haseldene. It’s about a mile from here along the road to Findon.”

  As I thanked her she followed me to the front door. “It’s a good walk,” she said. “Are you up to it? Should I call a taxicab for you?” And I realized then that she thought I was a potential patient, not a visitor. Also that she knew full well what went on at Haseldene.

  It was not what I’d usually call a long walk. But today the wind whipped off the Channel and rain threatened, making the going unpleasant. I asked the only two people I met if they knew where I’d find a house called Haseldene and at last I came to it. It was set back in well-landscaped grounds and looked like any other white and modern seaside house with the curved lines of art deco design. The brass plaque on the white surrounding wall said Haseldene, but nothing else. No mention of its function.

  During the train ride I had tried to think of what on earth I could possibly say. I was sure such places prided themselves on confidentiality. Should I pretend to be a patient and then see if I could slip into the office to see the records? That was too risky. If they examined me they’d know I did not need their services. I decided that the best course of action might be to come clean. I’d tell the matron who I was and that a scandal about Bobo’s child was threatening the royal family. Had she named the father?

  It had seemed possible as I journeyed down through Sussex. Now it seemed like frightful cheek, even if I was a royal relative. I fully expected to be thrown out on my ear. I was about to knock on the door when I noticed that it was slightly open. A new idea crept into my head. Maybe I could sneak in, undetected, and have a chance to look at their records. If I was caught, I’d say I’d come to check out the place for a friend.

  I pushed open the door and stepped into a thickly carpeted foyer. The place was decidedly warm and felt more like a comfortable private house than a clinic. There was none of that disinfectant smell that lingers in hospitals. There was a vase of chrysanthemums on a polished table and a grandfather clock ticking away solemnly. Otherwise there was no sound. I stood listening and thought I detected a distant radio. I began to wonder if I’d come to the right place. I knew I had to work fast. There were several doors around that foyer, a flight of stairs leading up to a second floor, and behind them the hall narrowed and led to the back of the building.

  I had no idea where to start. Surely one of the rooms at the front of the house would be the office, while rooms for more medical purposes would be upstairs. I went to the door on my left—the room with one of the bay windows—and opened it cautiously. It was a sitting room. A fire was burning in the grate and there were sofas and armchairs arranged around it. Magazines were scattered over a low table. It looked like anyone’s sitting room and at first glance I had thought the room to be empty. Then I noticed that someone was curled up in one of the armchairs, facing out toward the fields and the sea. She was looking at a magazine and hadn’t heard me enter. I went to back out again but as I turned my overcoat sleeve must have brushed against the table, knocking a newspaper to the floor. The girl looked up and we both gasped at the same time.

  It was Belinda.

  Chapter 26

  NOVEMBER 8

  AT A CLINIC NEAR WORTHING-ON-SEA

  Belinda looked pale and somehow delicate. She was staring at me in astonishment. “Georgie, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” she demanded. “I didn’t tell a soul.”

  “I had no idea,” I stammered. “I came here checking on someone else.” I went over and sat down beside her. “Belinda. Why didn’t you tell me? I could see you were upset and not your normal self.”

  “I didn’t think you’d understand,” she said. “I know you don’t approve of my lifestyle. You’d think I got what I deserved.”

  “But Belinda, I’m your friend,” I said. “I’d have stood by you, no matter what.”

  She gave me a weak little smile. “You’re a nice person, Georgie.”

  “So that’s why you came home from America. You found out you were going to have a baby.” I came over to her and perched on the arm of her chair.

  She nodded. “I was such a fool, Georgie,” she said. “Such a bloody fool. There was this man, you see. He was just perfect—handsome, debonair, big motorcar, lots of money. A Hollywood producer, or so he said. You know how they talk over there. He made me think he was so successful and he knew everybody. I suppose it was being out of my own environment, but I fell for him rather hard. It was all wonderful and I actually believed he loved me. I really thought he wanted to marry me.” She put her hand up to her mouth and turned away from me, taking a moment to collect herself before she continued. “Well, now that I look back on it, he didn’t actually say the word ‘marriage,’ but he certainly implied it. Or implied that he wanted us to be together, and I believed him.” She turned away again, staring out at rain that was now streaking the windows. “I’ve always made fun of you for being so naïve. I can’t believe how stupidly naïve I was. I bloody well believed him, Georgie.”

  I nodded, to show that I understood.

  She sighed. “I was usually so careful, you know. Took the right precautions. So good about my little bowler hat. But I suppose I let my guard down with him. And when I found out that I was—you know—I thought, ‘Well, so what? He’ll marry me.’ So I told him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He was completely offhand. He said it wasn’t really his business, but since I was such a nice kid he knew of a doctor who took care of these things. Wouldn’t charge me too much.”

  “Belinda, how horrid. So you came home.”

  She nodded. “I came home. I didn’t know what to do. I realized I couldn’t have the baby, of course. There was no way. My family would cut me off completely. So I had no alternative. I’d heard other girls talk about this place, so I made up my mind in the middle of the night, and I bolted. Didn’t want to tell a soul. I thought I could take care of it and be back in London and nobody would be any the wiser.”

  “You came here to
have an—?” I couldn’t make myself say the word out loud.

  She nodded. “I was supposed to have it yesterday. But when it came to it I couldn’t do it. I simply couldn’t do it, Georgie.”

  “So what’s going to happen now?” I asked. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. They have been very kind here. They told me that many girls go through the same panic as I did and I should stay on for a few days and think it over. They also said that if I decide to have the baby I can come back here when it’s closer to my time and they’ll help with finding a family to adopt it.” Her whole body shook with a huge sigh. “But I simply can’t afford their prices, and I can’t ask anyone for money.”

  “I’d ask that rat in America,” I said with such vehemence that she looked up at me and actually smiled.

  “No use in asking him,” she said.

  “There is no one in your family you can approach?” I asked. “Your grandmother is rich, isn’t she?”

  “My grandmother is the most correct lady in the world. She would do the whole ‘do not darken my door again’ routine.” She sighed again. “I suppose I have come to think that an abortion is the only option.”

  “You could go abroad to have the baby. Lots of girls do, so I hear.”

  She nodded. “I suppose so. One can live cheaply in Italy. Part of me would really like to keep the baby, but that’s stupid, isn’t it? I can’t make enough to support myself and if the family found out about it, I’d be cut off from my inheritance—which will be considerable when Granny dies.”

  I smiled at her. “If we were back in America, we could hire a hitman to bump her off.”

  She had to laugh then. “Georgie, there is a wild side to you I’d never noticed before.”

  “I’m just trying to think of all possibilities, Belinda. There must be something.”

  “No, I think you’re right. Abroad it must be. I’ll stick around until, you know, it starts to show and then I’ll rent out my London place and retreat to a small village in the mountains or on a lake somewhere. God, it sounds pretty bleak, doesn’t it?”

  The words “on a lake” had triggered a thought. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea, Belinda. My mother. She has that villa in Nice and the new one on the lake in Lugano and she’s never there. I bet she’d let you stay at either one if I asked her. She’d understand what you’re going through. She’s probably been through it herself, knowing the way she has lived.”

  “But why would your mother do anything for me?” she asked.

  “Because I’d ask her to.”

  She turned eyes brimming with tears up to me. “Gosh, Georgie. You’ve given me a sliver of hope for the first time. I’m going to pack my things and go back to London.” She reached out to me. “Will you write to her immediately?”

  “On the train going home, I promise.”

  She took my hand and hugged it to her. I suppose I’d always secretly admired Belinda for the fearless and reckless way she lived. She was someone who knew how to take care of herself, who took risks, who never considered consequences. This was the first time I had ever seen a chink in her armor.

  She sat up suddenly and brushed tears from her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What must you think of me?”

  “You’ve had a really bad experience. You’ve had your heart broken. But it will all work out. You’ll go away to the Continent for a few months, then you’ll come back to London and get on with your life.”

  “I know one thing. I’m going to stay well away from men. I’m done with men forever.”

  “You were prepared to be rather chummy with Sir Toby Blenchley not long ago,” I couldn’t resist saying.

  “Stupid of me. I was really flattered that a powerful man like that would want someone like me. It did cross my mind that he might set me up as his mistress and I’d be safe. But when he left I came down to earth and realized he just wanted someone for uncomplicated sex. I just happened to be willing and available. But no more, Georgie. I’m going to live like a nun from now on. In fact I may enter a convent.”

  This made me start to laugh. I couldn’t help myself. “I’m sorry, but the thought of you in a convent, Belinda . . .”

  She looked at my face and began laughing too. “I’d certainly shake the place up, wouldn’t I?” she said. Then she grew solemn again. “What am I going to do with my life, Georgie? In Hollywood I really thought I’d get married and settle down. But after this, who would ever want me? I’ll never shake off my reputation and I have virtually no money that any man would want.”

  “You’ll meet a nice chap one day who won’t care,” I said. “And in the meantime you will hide yourself away in Mummy’s villa somewhere and you’ll go back to your fashion designs. You’re a good designer, you know. You could return to London with a complete collection.” I waved my hands as I became more enthusiastic. “Design something that Mummy would wear. She’ll show it off for you and get you orders. She may even find you people who will pay up and not want things on credit.”

  She gave me a wet smile. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. I have to do something. Thank you, Georgie. I’m so glad you know now. It will make things easier.” Then she looked at me curiously. “So tell me. Why are you here? Who did you come to see?”

  “I came to check whether Bobo Carrington was ever here,” I said.

  Her face lit up. “She was.”

  “How do you know?”

  “One of the maids is rather chatty. I don’t know how Bobo’s name came up but she said to me, ‘She was here, you know. Under another name, but I recognized her from her pictures.’”

  “Brilliant,” I said. “Do you think there’s a chance I could talk to this maid?”

  “I’ll go and see if I can find her,” she said. “Wait here. And if anyone asks, you’ve come to visit me.”

  “Of course.” I watched her get up and walk to the door. I was still finding her news hard to take in. I felt shivery and moved closer to the fire. I was sitting with my hands extended toward the flames when Belinda returned with a sheepish-looking redheaded girl.

  “This is Maureen,” Belinda said. “She’s from Ireland.” She turned to the girl. “This lady is a friend of Bobo Carrington’s.”

  “Are you, miss?” she asked. “I was ever so fond of her. Of course, she didn’t use her proper name when she was here.”

  “She was called Kathleen, wasn’t she?”

  “That’s right, miss. That’s how we got friendly. She was originally from Ireland too. We talked about it and she knew the place I’d come from. Fancy that.”

  “Maureen, I don’t suppose the child’s father came to visit, did he?”

  “Oh no, miss. You rarely see a man in here.”

  “And did she ever let on who the father was?”

  “She didn’t say a word. But someone important, I know that. I got the feeling he couldn’t marry her because he was already married. But she did say it was all over between them. I know she wanted to keep the baby, which most of the ladies don’t. She said she’d like to buy a little house in the country and keep the baby out there. She said she’d got money saved up. Nobody need know. And you know what, miss? She suggested I might like to come and work for her—help take care of the baby.”

  “Did she?”

  “She did. But I haven’t heard from her since, so I have to think that she’s found someone better. A real nursemaid, maybe.”

  She looked incredibly disappointed.

  “Maybe someone in her family is looking after the baby,” I suggested.

  “That may be right, miss. I know her mum knew about it.”

  “Maureen, would you know where the office is? Do they keep copies of the birth certificates?”

  She was looking at me strangely now. “No, miss. The birth certificates go straight to the county. We do
n’t keep many records here . . . and you can understand why, can’t you? The ladies come here because it’s private.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” I sighed. I didn’t think I had time for a trip to county hall. Nor did I think they’d be willing to release birth records to someone turning up from out of the blue with no authority. A long trip for nothing. Or at least, not for nothing, because I had found Belinda, and now had a chance to help her. Also I had found that Bobo planned to keep the baby at a little house in the country. And I’d have information to share with Sir Jeremy. Birth certificates would be up to him now.

  “Thank you, Maureen. That will be all,” I said.

  Her face gradually lit up. “I know who you are too,” she said. “I’ve seen your picture in the papers as well. You’re the lady who’s related to the royal family, aren’t you? My, what an honor, Your Highness. And here was me, calling you ‘miss.’”

  I smiled. “My fault for not introducing myself.”

  She curtsied before she left. I turned to Belinda. “I have to go. But I’ll come and see you as soon as you get back to London. And I’ll write to Mummy immediately.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Georgie.”

  I took her hand. “It will be all right. I promise.”

  She squeezed my hand fiercely. “God, I hope so. You must have enough optimism for the both of us.”

  Chapter 27

  STILL NOVEMBER 8

  BACK IN LONDON

  It was still raining hard when I arrived back in London. On the train journey home I had carefully composed my letter to Mummy. Then I had jotted down the things I wanted to tell Sir Jeremy. That Bobo was really Kathleen Boyle from Ireland and had a mother living in Deptford. That the baby had been born near Worthing but she had said she wanted to keep it in a little house in the country. That Sir Toby had signed in an American called J. Walter Oppenheimer who had seemed out of place at Crockford’s and who had upset Bobo when he spoke with her. That Sir Toby was known to have been pally with Bobo. I toyed with that. So who was the American and why was she upset by him? Had he threatened her in some way?