Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)

by Rhys Bowen

  I followed him through to the kitchen, then perched on a wooden chair while he filled the kettle.

  “I wish you’d told me you’d been ill, Granddad,” I said. “I could have come to take care of you.”

  “Very kind of you, ducks, but like I said, it weren’t nothing serious. Just a spot of the old trouble. These lungs have lived in the Smoke too long. Don’t work proper no more.”

  “I wish I had a house in the country, then I’d take you to live with me,” I said. “You’re so much better in good country air.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, my love.” He patted my hand. “I’ve had a good innings. Can’t complain.”

  I gripped his hand. He had always seemed so strong, so chipper before. The ex-policeman who had tackled everything in his life. It was worrying to see him almost giving up. “Don’t talk that way, Granddad. You’ve got to stay around for a long while yet. You have to come to my wedding and hold my first child.”

  “Either of those likely to happen any day now?” he asked with a cheeky smile. “That Darcy fellow still courting you?”

  “Hardly courting me.” I smiled. “And he’s not around at the moment. But one day . . .”

  “He’s the right sort, that Darcy,” Granddad said. “You stick with him and you’ll do all right.”

  The kettle boiled and he put three scoops of tea into the pot before pouring on the boiling water.

  “So what brings you down here today? Just come for a chat or was it something more?”

  “I’m always happy to come for a chat,” I said. “Seeing you always cheers me up, but actually I’ve come to reclaim Queenie and I find that I don’t know her parents’ address.”

  “You’ve come to take her back?” Granddad asked, then he gave a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. “Blimey, ducks, that won’t half be good news for her folks. Driving them up the pole, that’s what she’s been doing. Her own mum said she didn’t know how Queenie didn’t drive you round the blooming bend. Said you must be some sort of saint, she reckoned.”

  “So Queenie hasn’t actually been that much of a help?” I inquired.

  Granddad chuckled again. “You could say that. She tried to do the cooking and the gas cooker exploded. Then she knocked the fireguard onto her mum’s broken leg. No, I think I can safely say that they’ll want to kiss your feet for taking her away again.”

  “Poor old Queenie,” I said. “She does seem to be rather disaster prone.”

  “And yet you’re prepared to give her another go?”

  “Oh, Granddad.” I gave a sigh. “Who else would employ her? Besides, she is the only maid I can afford and most of the time she’s better than nothing.”

  “Well, if you’re really sure about this, she’s next door with her gran right now,” he said. “Her gran’s been trying to teach her to cook—without too much success, so I hear. Her dad claims she’ll poison the lot of them. Pity really, because her gran’s a lovely cook. Here, try the cake.”

  He took the lid off a cake tin and cut a generous slice of Dundee cake. It was rich, moist and fruity and I ate with relish.

  “Her grandmother is a good cook,” I agreed. “I’m surprised she hasn’t won you over with her cooking yet.”

  He grinned. “She’s certainly tried hard enough, and dropped enough hints. But between you, me and the gatepost, I like things the way they are. She’s there when I need her and but she’s not driving me round the bend with fussing over me too much. And if I ever married her, I’d be stuck with Queenie as another granddaughter. I don’t think you’d want that, would you?”

  “Oh crikey,” I said. “Queenie as a relative would be a bit much. She doesn’t do what I tell her now, when she’s only my maid. If she were a fellow grandchild, she’d be impossible.”

  We laughed.

  “So are you still at your friend’s place in the snooty part of Knightsbridge?”

  “I was until this morning,” I said, and told him the story.

  “You know you’d always be welcome to stay here,” he said, “but your lot wouldn’t like it.”

  “I know,” I said. “But don’t worry because things sorted themselves out rather well. My brother is in town and has invited me to stay. I gather there is to be a royal wedding so he and Fig are staying on in London for another month. By that time something may have turned up.”

  “Turned up? What sort of thing?”

  I sighed and stared out past him into the row of identical back gardens with washing flapping on clotheslines in the stiff breeze. “I wish I knew. I’m always hoping I can find a job. I must be employable in some capacity. I’m sure I’d be a better lady’s maid than Queenie.”

  He chuckled again. “I’m sure you would too, ducks.”

  I drained my cup of tea and finished my cake. “Oh well. I suppose I’d better go and face the inevitable and retrieve Queenie. My only consolation is that my sister-in-law is going to be livid when she finds that Queenie is coming back into her house.” And I gave him a wicked grin.

  Having given Granddad a good-bye kiss and promised to visit him again soon, I went to the house next door and rapped on the knocker. The door was opened fiercely and a face topped with hair curlers peeping from a scarf glared at me. “If you’re another of them Jehovah’s Witnesses telling me I’m going to hell, then I’ll tell you where to put this . . .”

  “Hello, Mrs. Huggins,” I said.

  She stopped and a look of utter horror crossed her face. She put her hand up to her mouth. “Blimey. Oh, your ladyship. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you for a second there and them ruddy religious lot were here again yesterday. I don’t know what they want from the likes of me. I ain’t got no money to give them and that’s what they’re normally after, ain’t it?” She made a gesture to smooth back her hair, then remembered she was wearing curlers, which clearly embarrassed her even further. “Here to see your granddad, are you, then? He’s been a bit poorly the last few days, but I think he’s on the mend. I’m just making him a good Irish stew and dumplings to build him up.”

  “Actually I believe Queenie is with you at the moment.”

  “She is, your ladyship. Helping me out in the kitchen, and turning into a lovely little cook too. It was ever so good of you to spare her to look after her poor mum. I suppose you want her back now?” There was a note of hope in her voice.

  “That’s right. If you think her mother is on the mend and you can spare her.”

  “Well, we have to let her go, don’t we, your ladyship? After all, you are her proper employer and it wouldn’t be right to make you have to look after yourself for longer than absolutely necessary. I expect it’s been hard for you, trying to get on without her.”

  “I’ve managed, Mrs. Huggins,” I said, “and if you really feel that her mother needs her longer, I’m sure I can survive—”

  “Oh no, your ladyship,” she cut in. “Right is right. Queenie needs to go back up west to you. No doubt about it. Come on in, ducks—I mean, your ladyship.”

  I could see where Queenie got it from. She had never learned to call me by my correct title. I stepped into a dingy hallway.

  “Queenie!” Mrs. Huggins yelled in a voice that would do any sergeant major proud. “Come and see who’s turned up for you then. Come all the way out here for yer. Missing yer, she was.”

  This was going a little far, but I didn’t say anything as the kitchen door opened and Queenie came out. She was wearing the same outfit as the first time she came to be interviewed—a purple hand-knitted jumper that hugged her generous curves a little too tightly and a bright red skirt. Her face broke into a big smile when she saw me.

  “Whatcher, miss,” she said. “I ain’t half glad to see you. Can’t do without me no longer, eh?”

  “Hello, Queenie,” I said. “Nice to see you too.”

  “Well, I won’t say I’m sorry to be
leaving,” she said. “I like my family all right, but they’ve run me off me bloody feet. It will be good to get back to a bit of peace and quiet with you.”

  “I’ve come to retrieve you because I need help packing all my things. We’re moving out of the mews cottage.”

  Her moon face looked at me expectantly. “So are we off somewhere nice again? The Continent? America? You should have seen my neighbors’ faces down our street when I told them I’d been to Hollywood. They wouldn’t believe me, but I told them, ‘You can ask Lady Georgiana, what’s my mistress, then. And see her in the picture papers in Hollywood with her famous mum what’s a film star.’”

  “We’re not going far this time. We’ll be staying at Rannoch House for the next few weeks.”

  “By ourselves?”

  “No. My brother and his family will be there with us.”

  “Bloody ’ell,” she said. “We’re moving in with your toffee-nosed sister-in-law?”

  Whatever I thought of my sister-in-law it was not up to servants to criticize her. I had tried to impress this fact upon Queenie before, but like most things it went right over her head. “Queenie, remember I told you it wasn’t your place to criticize your betters. I agree my sister-in-law is not the easiest person but if you did your job perfectly, she’d have nothing to criticize, would she?”

  “She don’t like me because I’m dead common,” Queenie said.

  “If you’d rather stay on here and keep looking after your mother, I’m sure I could do without a maid a little longer,” I said.

  “Oh no, your ladyship,” Mrs. Huggins said before Queenie could reply. And she shoved Queenie in my direction. “She has to do her duty. Her place is looking after you. Ain’t it, Queenie.”

  Queenie nodded. “That’s right. So why are we kipping over at your brother’s house, then? What was wrong with the mews place? I quite liked that. Cozy, it was.”

  “We’re moving because Miss Belinda has returned unexpectedly.”

  “That’s bloody annoying of ’er, ain’t it? I thought for sure she’d like it in America. Find herself a rich American bloke.”

  “I thought so too, but she’s home now and I have to move out. So go and get your things and meet me back at Miss Belinda’s ready to pack up my trunk.”

  “Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  OCTOBER 29

  RANNOCH HOUSE

  Golly, I was right! Fig’s face was positively puce when she saw Queenie. Loved it!

  As I had predicted, Fig was frightfully put out when she saw Queenie struggling with the footman to carry my trunk up the stairs, especially as she was dressed in her ancient and moth-eaten fur coat and red felt hat that made her look like an oversized hedgehog with a flowerpot on its head.

  “Don’t tell me you still have that awful creature as your maid, Georgiana,” Fig exclaimed in ringing tones, loudly enough for Queenie to hear. “Surely you could have found someone more suitable by now.”

  “I can’t afford anyone more suitable, Fig,” I said as the trunk disappeared onto the first-floor landing. “I am as completely penniless as you claim to be.”

  “If only you would do the right thing and marry well, Georgiana.” She turned away from the stairs and headed for the drawing room. “Heaven knows the queen has tried to put suitable young men into your path, but you have seen fit to turn them down for some reason.”

  “If you’re talking about Prince Siegfried . . .” I began.

  She spun back to me. “I can’t believe you turned down Prince Siegfried. He’s an oldest son, Georgiana. He’ll be a king someday.”

  “If the family isn’t assassinated first,” I said with a grin.

  “It is hardly a laughing matter.” Fig sank onto a sofa by the window, picking up a copy of Horse and Hound as if she already found me too boring to bother with. “You could have been a queen—far above the expectations of your lowly rank in royal circles.”

  “Siegfried was awful, Fig.”

  “I agree he was a little supercilious and arrogant,” she said. “Not the sort of person one warms to instantly. But don’t forget he has been raised and educated to rule. One expects that kind of behavior from European royals. After all, they still have peasants to rule over, don’t they?”

  “He prefers other men, Fig,” I said.

  “Lots of men prefer male company. They find women’s conversation to be tedious.”

  “I’m not talking about conversation. I’m talking about the bedroom.”

  She looked up, frowning. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He’s a fairy. A pansy boy.”

  Her eyes shot open at this. “Good heavens. Are you sure? I mean, one hears about such things, I suppose, but one never thinks . . .”

  “He told me that if I married him and produced an heir, he’d never bother me again. He’d turn a blind eye to my lovers and I’d turn a blind eye to his. A charming future, don’t you think?”

  Fig blinked rapidly. “Well, really. You were quite right to reject him in such circumstances. One does not expect that kind of deviant behavior in royal persons.”

  “Oh, I think that historically one finds it quite often in royal persons,” I said. “Too much isolation and inbreeding.” I grinned at her shocked face. I was going to mention Prince George but swallowed back the words at the last second. I liked George. He was pleasant and fun. I shouldn’t spread gossip about him, even if I had seen hints of his deviant behavior myself.

  Fig was now shaking her head fiercely. “No, no. I can’t believe that. Certainly not. Royal persons are raised to do their duty, Georgiana. Which you, even as a minor royal, should remember.”

  “My cousin David doesn’t seem to be doing his,” I said. “He’s still dallying with a married American lady.”

  Fig frowned. “He will shape up when the time comes. He’ll have to before his father dies. The country is counting on him.” She looked up and wagged a finger at me. “Which gives me an idea, Georgiana. I think you should stay on in London for the wedding. I’ll have Binky write to Their Majesties and make sure you receive an invitation to all the festivities. There will be a good sampling of foreign princelings and one of them must be good husband material. You must seize the moment, Georgiana. How old are you now—twenty-four? The bloom does start to fade, and I’m sure you don’t want to face life as a lonely spinster nobody really wants in their home.”

  “Thank you for the confidence in me.” I gave an uneasy laugh. “But don’t worry. I promise not to dump myself upon you as a maiden aunt. And I do have a chap in mind, actually.”

  “Not that awful O’Mara person. Surely you are no longer pining after him?”

  “He’s not an O’Mara person. He is the son of an Irish peer and therefore one of us. He will be Lord Kilhenny one day.”

  “But that family is bankrupt, Georgiana. The father had to sell the castle and the racing stables, so I heard, and your young man has nothing to offer you. And one hears things about his reputation with women too. He’ll be a bounder who breaks your heart, Georgie. You mark my words. Settle on someone steady and reliable, even if they are boring like Binky.”

  “Darcy may have lived a wild existence before he met me,” I said, “but now he’s working awfully hard so that he can provide for me someday. And I don’t want to marry anyone else. I’m prepared to wait for Darcy, as long as it takes.”

  “While he is no doubt dallying with other women around the world.” Fig smirked. “You are such an innocent, Georgiana. I’m only having this discussion for your own good.”

  “I’m sure you are,” I said. “Now if you will excuse me, I’ll go up to my room to make sure that Queenie is putting my clothes away properly. I may still have my old room, I hope?”

  “There is no one else occupying it at present,” she said.

  “And then I must go up to th
e nursery and say hello to my nephew and niece.”

  “Young Podge is fond of you, you know. He asks after you.”

  “I’ve missed him. And Adelaide won’t even know me.”

  “She’s turning into rather a willful child,” Fig said. “Absolutely refuses to come to her mother.”

  My opinion of Adelaide rose instantly. “Maybe she needs a little more loving and someone to play with her,” I said. “It can be lonely in the nursery. I certainly found it so. But then I had a really kind nanny.”

  “Children need a strict routine and discipline. One must not be soft with them, Georgiana, as you will find when you have some of your own.”

  “I thought I was destined to be a lonely spinster with my bloom gone,” I said with a grin as I headed for the drawing room door.

  As I reached the first landing I jumped as the lavatory door to my right opened about an inch and a voice hissed, “Pssst. Is that you, miss?”

  “Queenie?” I said, staring at the portion of her moon face visible through the crack in the door.

  “Come in here, miss. Sharpish.” She opened the door and almost dragged me inside.

  “What are you doing in a family bathroom?” I demanded. “You know you are supposed to use the servants’ facilities.”

  “Yes, well, I had to go in a hurry and they’re all the way down in the basement,” she said.

  That was when I realized that my feet were decidedly damp. The floor had a good inch of water on it and more was slopping over the sides of the lavatory. “What in heaven’s name?” I began.

  “Sorry, miss. I had a bit of an accident,” she said. “I finished me business, got up and pulled the chain, and the chain sort of flew up and knocked me hat off.”