by Rhys Bowen
I went to the nearest telephone box at Waterloo Station and rang Sir Jeremy’s number. Again he answered in his noncommittal manner and said he was tied up at the moment but would send a car for me in an hour. This made me realize what a dangerous implement the telephone can be. Anyone manning a switchboard could theoretically listen in on a conversation. Might it be worth talking to the girls who operated the Mayfair switchboard and would have connected Bobo’s calls?
I made my way back to Kensington Palace. A maid greeted me in the front hall. “There have been some messages for you, my lady,” she said. “On the tray over there.”
My heart gave a little leap of joy. Darcy would have left me his telephone number. The first one was a telegram and I opened it with trepidation. It was from my grandfather. It said, Lightfingers don’t want to do it. Sorry. I looked at it and had to laugh, even though I was disappointed at not being able to crack Bobo’s safe. Still, the police would surely have their own contacts among safecrackers and could take it from here.
The second message was from Noel Coward. Have set up a little soiree on Sunday, if you and the charming princess are free. Chez moi. And he added his address. Shall we say cocktails at six? I read.
What a glamorous life I was leading these days. I thought back to the time of baked beans on toast and how easily one adapts to messages from luminaries like Noel Coward saying “Cocktails at six.”
But that was it. No message from Darcy. I had just gone upstairs to change my clothes, which were now rather rain-sodden, when I heard my name being called. Irmtraut came stomping out of her bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Where have you been? I do not see you all day.” It sounded more like an accusation than a friendly inquiry.
“I had to visit a sick friend,” I said. “She’s in a convalescent home on the south coast.” It is so much easier when one doesn’t have to lie.
“Ah so.” She nodded as if she couldn’t find anything to criticize in this behavior. “So you did not go to meet a man?” She glared.
“A man?”
“I saw you with a man last night,” she said. “You were in an embrace with him outside the front door.”
“That was my intended.”
“I do not wish to hear what you intended to do,” she said.
“No, I meant that I plan to marry him.”
“He is suitable? Of the right social class?”
“Quite unsuitable in most ways,” I said. “But yes, he’s of the right social class. Son of a peer.”
“A pair of what?”
“No, a peer. An aristocrat.”
“Ach so. This is good.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I said. I had had enough of being polite to her. “And speaking of snooping, may I ask why you told the authorities that you had seen me in the courtyard when you know that wasn’t true?”
Her face went red then. “Because they try to accuse me of something and they won’t say what. They keep asking me why I go to the courtyard and I tell them no, I do not go to the courtyard. And they say Lady Georgiana thinks that you did. So this is why I tell them because I find it so disagreeable.”
I wanted to ask why she carried a knife in her pocket but I couldn’t find a good way to do so without admitting to being in her room. But then she went straight on. “I wish that you dismiss your maid immediately.”
“My maid? What has she done?” A horrid sinking feeling came into my stomach. I had thought it would be only a matter of time before Queenie created a major disaster.
“I will tell you. She has been snooping in my room.” She pronounced it “schnooping.”
“Oh no. Surely not.” Queenie was many things, but probably the least curious person on the planet.
“Ja.” She nodded so violently that a hairpin came loose and clattered to the stone floor. “I had her come to my room and take my washing downstairs,” she said. “I left the bundle ready to be carried. But later, when I looked in my garderobe, I saw that she had been there. I leave my shoes in neat rows on the floor of my garderobe but when I look they are in disarray. Somebody has disarranged them.”
“Good heavens,” I said. “When was this? Today?”
“No. A day or so ago.”
Oh dear. I couldn’t let Queenie take the blame for my snooping in her wardrobe, could I? But I also couldn’t think of a good explanation for the shoes in disarray.
“I’m sure Queenie would never do that,” I said. “Maybe something fell off a hanger and displaced your shoes.”
“Nothing fell.” Her face was stony.
“Was something missing?” I asked.
“No. Nothing was taken.”
“Then I think we have to overlook simple curiosity, don’t we?” I said. “Unless you have something to hide, that is?” I smiled at her sweetly. “You haven’t got the crown jewels or a body in there, have you?”
She tossed her head proudly and another hairpin bounced to the floor. “I have nothing to hide,” she said. “I do not touch your crown jewels.”
I was still dying to ask about that knife in her pocket.
“That is not the only fault of your maid,” she said. “Today I asked her to clean my shoes, since she has no work to do and I have no maid of my own here.”
“And she didn’t polish them well enough for you?” I asked as the sinking feeling returned.
“Yes. She polished them.” She went ahead of me into her room and appeared with a pair of highly polished shoes. “Look at them.”
“They look very nice,” I said. “Queenie did a good job. Why are you unhappy with her?”
“Because they were green suede,” she said. “And she has polished them with black boot polish.”
Oh dear. I didn’t dare laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I have a very simple wardrobe and Queenie has not come across green suede shoes before. She meant well.”
Irmtraut snorted. “You English. You do not know how to train and discipline servants. This girl is a disgrace. Do you know what she called me?”
Oh golly. Nothing too rude, I prayed.
“She called me ‘miss,’ when she is told I am a countess. Miss. Like a common shopgirl. And then she insulted me even more by telling me I had an uncle called Bob.”
This time I did laugh. “She must have said ‘bob’s your uncle,’” I said. “It’s an expression Londoners use to mean that everything will be taken care of.”
“How can ‘Bob is your uncle’ mean that everything will be taken care of? It makes no sense. This English language is very stupid.” And she stomped back into her room and slammed the door.
I CHANGED MY clothes, wrote out the letter to Mummy, handed it to a servant to post and was just about to snatch a quick tea when the car arrived. Regretfully I put down my uneaten crumpet. I went to get my coat and hat and was soon being driven through rush-hour crowds as offices emptied out at five. I had no idea where we were going but it seemed to be in the general direction of Scotland Yard. However, we drove past the familiar black and white building and turned into a side street, stopping outside a row of Georgian houses like those on Downing Street not too far away.
The chauffeur helped me out, then led me to the front door. A bell sounded from within and the door was opened by Sir Jeremy himself.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said.
“This is your house?” I asked, stepping into a deliciously warm entrance hall.
“One of the perks of being a civil servant,” he said, smiling. “Come through to the sitting room.”
This was clearly a room of a man who liked his comforts. Thick Axminster carpet with a white bearskin rug in front of a marble fireplace. There were old prints on the walls and Chinese vases on a shelf. In one corner was a drinks cabinet stacked with bottles and gleaming glasses, and a glass-top
ped table displayed a collection of paperweights. To my delight a low table was set with a tea tray. I realized I hadn’t eaten all day (unless one counted the dry and unappetizing cheese sandwich I’d bought at Worthing Station).
“I expect you’d like some tea,” Sir Jeremy said. “Do take a seat. Beastly old day, isn’t it? I don’t know why anyone stays in England during November.”
I sat in one of the big red leather armchairs. It was so big and so soft that it was hard to sit upright and when Sir Jeremy handed me a cup of tea I had a moment’s panic that I’d tip over backward and deposit the contents all over myself and the chair. I managed to put the cup down on the table and perched myself at the front of the chair to avoid future accidents. Sir Jeremy let me work my way through some smoked salmon sandwiches, a scone and a slice of Dundee cake before I realized that he was an important man and probably didn’t want to waste his time watching me eat.
“I should probably tell you why I called you,” I said.
“No rush. I’m expecting another visitor,” he said.
Almost on cue the doorbell rang. I heard a manservant’s voice say, “Good evening, sir. Sir Jeremy is in the sitting room.”
And to my surprise the visitor was Darcy.
“You made it.” Sir Jeremy held out his hand. “I believe you two know each other. Take a seat, O’Mara. Tea or are you ready to move on to whiskey?”
“Nothing right now, thank you, sir,” Darcy said. He pulled up a padded upright chair beside me and gave me a cheeky little smile, one that said, “You didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”
“Lady Georgiana, I invited O’Mara to join us as he might be able to look into some aspects of this case that would not be possible for you. He had already been observing Miss Carrington’s connections to drug trafficking as part of an ongoing project for my department.”
I nodded.
Sir Jeremy turned back to Darcy. “But as yet you’ve not found what we’re looking for?”
“Not yet, sir. We know about the smaller players but we still don’t know how the drugs get into the country.”
“Too bad she died when she did. She needed a regular supply. She might well have led us to the big boys.” He sighed, then got up, walked across to the drinks table and poured himself a generous amount of Scotch. He came back to his chair and sat down before he said, “Lady Georgiana has some news for us, I believe.”
“I have,” I said, and I recounted my visit to Worthing, and to Bobo’s mother. I was pleased to note that both men looked impressed.
“So now you’ll be able to take a look at the birth certificate and see if she listed the father,” I said. “Oh, and a servant told me that she planned to keep the child at a house outside London.”
“Well done,” Sir Jeremy said. “I don’t really know where we go from here. We’re still fishing around in the dark as to how she died, aren’t we? Was it the father of the child? Was it to do with her drug habit? Someone had a very good reason for killing her and dumping her body at Kensington Palace.”
“And there’s still Countess Irmtraut,” I said.
Sir Jeremy shook his head. “She might well be capable of violence but I don’t think she’s capable of lying. She was most outraged and insistent and I can usually tell when someone isn’t telling the truth.”
“There is one more move we can make,” I said. “There is a wall safe in Bobo’s apartment. I discovered it.”
Sir Jeremy looked at Darcy, inquiring whetherhe knew that I had been breaking and entering. Darcy’s face remained impassive.
“My grandfather is a former London policeman,” I went on. “I asked him if he could find someone who could open a safe. He thought he knew an ex-convict who was an expert with safes, but the man wouldn’t do it.”
Sir Jeremy put down his whiskey glass, shaking his head. “Lady Georgiana, you never fail to surprise me,” he said. “You calmly talk about dead bodies and now finding an ex-convict to crack a safe. Most young ladies in your position would have swooned at the mention of such things.”
“I suppose I take after my Rannoch ancestors,” I said. “They were known to be fearless and reckless. And I’ve had my share of being involved in unpleasant matters.”
“We can turn this knowledge over to DCI Pelham,” Sir Jeremy said. “I’m sure he must have access to safecrackers and I don’t think he seems to be getting anywhere either. He was most annoyed when we told him he had to release O’Mara because he had been working undercover.”
Darcy shifted uneasily on his chair. “If you want the safe opened without telling Pelham, I could give it a try,” he said. “I’ve opened a couple of safes in my dubious career and I suspect that a wall safe in a woman’s flat wouldn’t be too complicated. But how do we get in without going past the hall porter?”
“I have a key. I obtained it from her former cleaning lady,” I said. “I think it works for the servants’ entrance.”
Sir Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I have not heard a word of this conversation,” he said, “but if you find anything of significance in that safe, I’d like to know about it.”
“Of course,” we said in unison, looked at each other and smiled.
Chapter 28
LATE ON NOVEMBER 8
A spot of safecracking.
It was quite dark by the time we left Sir Jeremy’s and Darcy hailed a taxicab. Luckily I had Bobo’s key in my purse. Darcy had the cab drop us on Park Lane rather than outside Bobo’s block of flats. I felt rather proud of myself when I led Darcy around to show him the back entrance, but the pride vanished when we found the entrance locked for the night. I tried both my keys but neither worked.
“Bolted from the inside for the night. That’s torn it,” Darcy said. “Now we have two options. Either we go away and try during the daytime tomorrow or we bluff our way past the doorman.” He looked at me and grinned. “I say the latter.”
“You do the talking,” I said. “That Irish blarney of yours might get us past.”
“As it happens, I don’t even think we’ll need too much blarney,” he said. “Come on, let’s go and present ourselves to William.”
We went around to the front of the building and Darcy marched ahead of me through those glass swing doors and up to the doorman’s cubby. A ginger-haired man started to come out when he heard us, then stopped.
“Good evening, William,” Darcy said, going up to him with a jaunty stride. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”
The man’s face lit up. “Mr. O’Mara. How nice to see you. It has been a long time. In fact we were just talking about you the other day and saying that we had expected you to come and stay when Miss Carrington was away during the summer.”
“Unfortunately I couldn’t make it this time, although I always enjoy staying here,” Darcy said. “I was in America, as it happens.”
“America? Fancy that. Is it all that they say it is?”
“And more,” Darcy said. “But a terrible depression is going on there just like here.”
William nodded. “There’s not a day goes by that I’m not thankful I’ve got a job, Mr. O’Mara. When you see all those poor wretches on street corners, don’t you? And at the soup kitchens in the stations.”
“You do indeed.” Darcy paused for an instant. “You’ve been keeping well? And the family? Growing up fast?”
“Indeed they are, Mr. O’Mara,” William said. “Eating us out of house and home.” Then his smile faded. “But I’m afraid Miss Carrington isn’t in residence, if that’s who you’ve come to see, sir. Hasn’t been home for days now.” He leaned closer to Darcy. “And between ourselves, there’s something funny going on. Frederick says the police were here. They didn’t identify themselves as police, but you can always tell, can’t you?”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Darcy said. He moved over until he and William were standing very close tog
ether. “I heard about the police, you see, and it occurred to me that I might have left some items in Miss Carrington’s flat. Now, I suspect the police raid must have something to do with drugs. We all know that Miss Carrington has a nasty little habit, don’t we? Well, I’ve never touched a drug in my life and I don’t want the police putting two and two together and making five, if you get my meaning. So I thought I’d take a quick look around and make sure there’s nothing of mine up in the flat. If that’s all right with you, of course?”
William wrinkled his nose, deliberating. “I’m not sure about that, Mr. O’Mara.”
“Did the police actually tell you nobody was to go up to the flat?”
“It was Frederick they talked to, not me. But he didn’t say that.”
“So then there would be no reason for me not to take a quick look, would there?” Darcy said. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you can always look the other way, you know. I’ve still got my key, so theoretically I can let myself in whenever I want.”
“So you can, Mr. O’Mara.” William nodded. “Why not?” Then his gaze turned to me. “But the young lady—I don’t think Miss Carrington would like that.”
“This is my fiancée, William. Lady Georgiana Rannoch. The king’s cousin. Quite beyond reproach.”
“Blimey, so it is,” William said. “Well, then, in that case . . . you ain’t the first royal we’ve had here.”
And he gave us both a knowing nod. I thought it wiser not to ask any questions, but followed Darcy over to the lift.
It wasn’t until we were safely ascending that I asked, “Was it wise to tell him so much? Won’t he spill the beans to DCI Pelham?”
“You heard him. The Cockney’s inbred distrust of the police. And we are old friends. I’ve always tipped him generously.”
“You amaze me sometimes,” I said.
