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

by Rhys Bowen

  Chapter 17

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6

  KENSINGTON PALACE

  I don’t want to think anymore. Everything is just too horrible. I just wish I could get away from here, go to Granddad, curl up in a nice warm bed and never get up again.

  Needless to say, I did not sleep well. There were still odd shouts and explosions from Guy Fawkes Night revelers. I awoke several times from vague nightmares with my heart pounding. When I got up and pulled back the curtains to look down onto the courtyard and the archway I was peering into blackness. Only in the major’s bathroom window at the far end did a light still glow. Maybe he too was worried about what had happened and could not sleep. He probably realized more than any of us what was at stake if the press got hold of the story and dragged Prince George’s name through the mud. Did he secretly suspect the prince? I wondered. Did he actually know whether the prince had fathered Bobo’s child and where it was now? Was I really being kept in the dark while I was expected to help the police to solve the case?

  In the morning I was up early again. The early November rain had turned to the more classic November fog and I looked out onto a sea of swirling whiteness. This would have been better weather in which to dump a body, I thought. It could have lain there for ages before it was discovered. Which made me wonder about the time of death. I hadn’t asked that question, had I? The only doors leading from that courtyard were the back doors to Princess Louise’s suite and to that of the major. I was sure that both exits were hardly ever used and it was possible that a body could have lain unnoticed for a good while under that archway. I’d have to ask the servants if any of them had had to pass the entrance to the courtyard at any time during that day.

  Naturally there was no sign of Queenie. I had bathed the evening before so I dressed and went downstairs. The house was in the normal bustle one finds before its upper-class occupants have arisen. Fires were being laid, floors were being swept, maids were staggering under scuttles full of coal. They looked up in horror when they saw me, murmuring, “I’m sorry, my lady,” as if it were their fault that I had interrupted them at work.

  “Please don’t mind me,” I said when a skinny young girl looked as if she might pass out on encountering me while she carried in the coal. “I couldn’t sleep and my maid isn’t awake yet.”

  “Should I ask one of the parlor maids to bring you tea?” the girl asked. “In your bedroom or the morning room, perhaps? The fire is already going in there.”

  “There’s really no hurry,” I said, “and I don’t want to disturb your work. But you can tell me one thing: whose job is it to answer the front door?”

  She frowned. “We don’t have a proper butler, so it would be Jimmy, the first footman. But Elsie, the parlor maid, she’d also do it if she heard a knock.”

  “And if you heard a knock, while you were cleaning, maybe?”

  “I’d go and find one of them, my lady. It’s not my place to answer doors, especially not if I’m wearing a coarse apron like now.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Ivy, your ladyship.” She studied her toes as she muttered the words, probably scared she’d now be in trouble.

  “Well, Ivy, I wonder if you can think back to Princess Marina’s first evening here. We went to dine at Buckingham Palace, and the countess had dinner alone here.”

  She looked up, a relieved smile on her lips. “Oh yes, my lady. Of course I remember.”

  “Do you know if anyone came to the door that evening? Or was anyone seen outside at all?”

  “I wouldn’t know, my lady. I was put to polishing silver and didn’t leave the kitchen. And I go to bed early on account of having to be up at five.”

  “Thank you, Ivy. You can get on with your work. But tell me, what time do the servants have their breakfast?”

  “At seven thirty, my lady.”

  “Would you please pass along the message that I’d like a word with them at that time?”

  She looked terrified and I decided I should go back to my room for a while, rather than alarming more of the maids. I sat there, waiting impatiently, staring down at the fog swirling through the courtyard. This morning I would try to pay a visit to Prince George’s garage at St. James’s and see if his chauffeur would let me take a look at the motorcar. I wondered if he had driven himself that night or if the chauffeur could verify the crash. And if I could get away from my duties to the princess, I’d really like to take a look at Bobo Carrington’s flat for myself. I was sure DCI Pelham would have gone over it, and probably removed anything incriminating or interesting, but you never know what might still be lying around. Wouldn’t there be correspondence with the father of the child? A photograph of the baby? A rattle or a bootie lying somewhere? The problem was, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. All I knew was that somebody must have planned to kill Bobo Carrington. One does not carry Veronal in a pocket unless one means to use it. I made a mental note to ask Countess Irmtraut whether she had trouble sleeping and if she had a sleeping aid she could perhaps let me use.

  At seven thirty, with still no sign of Queenie, I went downstairs again and found my way through the back door of the dining room then down a dark passage until I heard the sound of voices and the clatter of pots and pans. I pushed open a door and found myself in the sort of old-fashioned kitchen we have at Castle Rannoch (although not quite as cavernous). Seven people were seated at a long scrubbed pine table while a scullery maid went around serving them porridge and a cook hovered watching critically in the background. They all rose to their feet as I came in.

  “Please sit down and get on with your meal,” I said. “I must apologize for interrupting but I just wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Yes, my lady?” The cook still glared, perhaps thinking that her cooking was about to be criticized.

  “On the evening after Princess Marina arrived, she and I went to dine at Buckingham Palace,” I said. “Countess Irmtraut was left here alone. Now, a friend of mine heard I was staying here and decided to pay me a surprise visit. She tells me that she knocked on the door but nobody answered so she assumed I must not be in residence.”

  Guarded faces stared at me, still waiting to find out whether they were in trouble.

  I smiled at them. “I can see now that, the way this apartment is built, it would be hard to hear a knock at the front door from this room if you were all having your supper.”

  “There is supposed to be a bell, my lady,” the footman said. “But it doesn’t seem to be working. We’ve got an electrician coming to take a look at it.”

  “So none of you heard a knock that evening?”

  Heads were shaken. “No, my lady,” was murmured.

  “And nobody saw anybody walking around outside, or heard the sound of a motorcar?”

  “Your maid said she saw someone in the courtyard,” one of the girls said. “But that was right after we told her about the ghosts. Ever so upset, she was.”

  I smiled again. “Yes, my maid tends to be rather impressionable. So nobody else saw the white figure in the courtyard?”

  “We don’t have any windows that look out on the courtyard, my lady,” the same girl replied. “And I don’t think we’d have heard a motorcar outside either. I’m sorry we didn’t answer the door to your friend. Please tell her about the bell not working.”

  “Of course. It’s certainly not your fault and my friend only paid a surprise visit on the off chance she’d see me. No harm done. But one more thing, before I let you get back to your porridge. Did any of you go out that evening?”

  “No, my lady,” the footman said. “It was raining, if you remember, and we wouldn’t have been allowed an evening off when royalty was in the house.”

  “What about Countess Irmtraut? What did she do all evening?”

  “We served her dinner and then she had coffee in the salon,” one of them said. “She wasn�
��t very happy. Didn’t like the food.”

  “I take it she didn’t go out in the rain either?” I asked.

  Heads were shaken but one girl said, “She must have popped out for a minute. I don’t know why. But when I came to clear away the coffee she was standing by the door. I could see raindrops on her hairnet and she was wearing a jacket.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Must have been about nine, my lady.”

  I smiled at them all then. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted your breakfast.” And I left them glancing at each other uneasily.

  WHAT REASON COULD Countess Irmtraut have had for going out into the rain? And why had she denied it? I realized I should pass this information along to DCI Pelham, but I was loath to cast suspicion until I was absolutely sure. I think it must have had something to do with sticking up for my own kind and an instinctive dislike of the DCI. Should I confront Irmtraut and tell her I knew she had been out? I’d have to wait for the right moment, but it was looking more and more as if I might just have a plausible suspect. But as to the opportunity to slip Bobo a drink with Veronal in it—when could that have happened? The servants did indicate that they could hear nothing from the kitchen if they were eating their meal. And if Irmtraut answered the front door, could she have invited Bobo in, fed her a drink, killed her and dumped her body outside all without being seen or overheard? I supposed it might be possible. The servants clearly weren’t enamored with Irmtraut and probably stayed as far away as possible without being obviously rude. However, Irmtraut wasn’t to know that. If she’d invited Bobo in and then killed her, she was taking an enormous risk.

  I HAD A cup of tea brought to me in the morning room, read the newspapers, which included pictures of myself with Princess Marina at the play the previous night, and waited for the others to show up. Eventually they both did. Irmtraut looked rather bleary-eyed.

  “I did not sleep well last night,” she said. “This place does not feel agreeable to me. I hear it is haunted. I myself spotted a ghost, I think.”

  “You did? Was it a white lady?” I asked.

  “No. A fat man,” she said shortly. “He walked through a wall.”

  “I think that would have been King George the First,” I said.

  “I don’t care which king he was, I do not want him walking through my walls.”

  “I also found it hard to sleep last night,” I said. “So how did you get to sleep in the end? Do you have any sleeping drafts with you?”

  “The draft in my room does not help me sleep,” she said angrily. “It blows in under the door and hits me in the face. It is most disagreeable.”

  Marina smiled. “She means medicine to help you sleep, Traudi. I have some Veronal if you need some. I always carry it when I travel because it’s hard to sleep in strange houses, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you, but like Irmtraut I try not to take those things,” I replied. “It makes me rather groggy in the mornings.” I was watching Irmtraut’s face. Was she looking away on purpose?

  “So what would you like to do today, Marina?” I asked.

  “You promised to take me shopping,” she said. “Let’s start with Harrods, shall we?”

  “Absolutely. If the car can find its way there in this fog.”

  She looked out of the window. “Goodness, it is quite dense, isn’t it?” she said, then added, “There’s a car pulling up outside now. Is it for us, do you think?”

  I went over to look, worried it might be more policemen, which would certainly alarm the others or at least make them suspicious. But instead Marina said happily, “Oh, it’s George. How lovely.”

  And Prince George himself headed for the front door. The knock was answered promptly, I noticed, and a rather flustered maid came in to announce, “His Royal Highness, the Duke of Kent.”

  George came striding into the room looking remarkably jaunty and debonair. “Well, that’s what I call a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “The Three Graces.”

  “You should have warned us you were coming, George,” Marina said. “We are not yet dressed to receive visitors.”

  “Ah, but I’m not really a visitor. I’m a husband-to-be and will soon be gazing upon you in your night attire. Besides, you look absolutely charming.” He went over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve come to whisk you away, my dear. I’m meeting the decorator at the house and I thought you’d want to see his suggestions for wallpaper before he puts it on the walls.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” Marina looked pleased. “But we can’t take too long. Georgiana and I have a shopping spree planned for my trousseau.”

  “Ah well, we can’t get in the way of your buying dainty little things, can we. Just make sure they can be taken off easily.” He gave her a wicked grin.

  There was an intake of breath from Irmtraut, and Marina said, “George, we’re at the breakfast table, with young ladies present.”

  “Sorry, old thing.” He didn’t look particularly sorry. “Didn’t mean to offend. I promise not to keep you from your shopping too long.”

  “You must let me finish my breakfast first and then go and change. I’m not appearing in public unless I’m looking my best. Too many cameras around.”

  “Yes, you have become the darling of the press, haven’t you?” George said. “I’m pleased they’ve taken to you so well. The public is glad that at least one prince is doing the right thing. And my brother is glad because it’s taking the spotlight off him. So come on. Eat up and off we go.”

  “And I’ll go and round up my friend,” I said, rising from my seat. “The one who knows all the best places to shop in London.”

  “Splendid.” Marina smiled at me. “We’ll meet back here at eleven, shall we?”

  “And I? What am I to do?” Irmtraut asked.

  “Oh, you can come shopping with us, of course,” Marina said as if she’d only just remembered that Irmtraut was in the room with us.

  “Shopping is of no interest to me. I do not have money for clothes,” Irmtraut said.

  “Then you could go and feed the swans in the Serpentine,” George said. “Or take out a rowing boat.”

  Irmtraut looked at him as if he was an imbecile. “In case you have not noticed, there is thick fog. I do not wish to walk through the park in thick fog. I might lose my way or bump into undesirable persons.”

  “I always find it quite fun bumping into undesirable persons,” George said, with the hint of a wink to me.

  Marina looked out of the window. “The fog is lifting a little. Is that your motorcar outside or do we need to summon a car?”

  “No, that’s my old banger,” George said.

  “A banger—is that not an exploding sausage?” Irmtraut asked and I’m afraid we all laughed.

  I HURRIED UPSTAIRS to put on my coat and hat, because I realized what a great opportunity I had. Prince George’s car was actually outside the front door, and it was foggy so I wasn’t likely to be seen. I slipped out into the cold, damp air. The black shape of the Bentley loomed in front of me. I started to inspect it, walking around it carefully. I was bending to examine the front mud guard when a voice asked, “Can I help you, miss?”

  I jumped up guiltily to see a chauffeur standing over me. Oh golly, I hadn’t thought Prince George would have his chauffeur with him.

  “I’m Lady Georgiana, the prince’s cousin,” I said, just to establish that I wasn’t a deranged stranger. “And I was at dinner at the palace with him the other night when he told us his motorcar had been in an accident. I was on my way out and was curious as to what sort of damage the motorcar might have sustained.”

  “An accident, my lady?” He looked perplexed. “The prince was driving himself that night and he certainly didn’t mention any accident to me. And I’ve polished the motor since. There’s no damage that I can see. But then these Bentleys are good solid motors, aren’t they?
It was probably the other vehicle that came away with a dent or a scrape.”

  “Yes, I expect so.” I smiled at him then. “I’m glad his lovely motorcar wasn’t scratched. Now I must be off to visit a friend.”

  And away I went. So there wasn’t a mark of any kind on the prince’s motorcar. Surely if it had been involved in an accident there would have been some trace—a chip of paint gone, a small scratch at the very least. But the chauffeur would have noticed when he polished the motorcar. So either he was not revealing any damage out of loyalty to his master or Prince George had not been in an accident that night. Which of course made one wonder what else might have made him arrive late at dinner.

  I REALIZED IT didn’t look good for my cousin the prince. Means and motive, wasn’t that what they said in the police force? He clearly had both. I realized I should inform DCI Pelham of my suspicions—both about Prince George and about Countess Irmtraut. But I worried that the DCI’s approach might be heavy-handed, and I could see the press would have a field day if Prince George was dragged into a police motorcar. That would make newspaper reporters start digging deeper and who knew how much they might find out. At the very least it could upset the wedding plans.

  And if he did it? I asked myself. If he really did kill Bobo? Wasn’t it my job to help bring a murderer to justice? I sighed. Then I remembered Sir Jeremy. He had given me his card with a personal telephone number on it. He would be the one to tell. And it would be up to him if and when he informed Scotland Yard. I came out of the southern gates of the park and saw a red telephone box glowing through the fog. I went inside and dialed the number. A strange voice answered but when I asked for Sir Jeremy I was put straight through.

  “Lady Georgiana—you have something for me?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “There are two things you should know about.”