Buckingham Palace Gardens (5 page)

“This is not ‘somewhere or other,'” Elsa pointed out. “It is a linen cupboard in Buckingham Palace, not twenty yards from my bedroom door, or yours, for that matter.”

“My dear,” Liliane said with elaborate patience, “it is as irrelevant to you as if it were in China! For goodness' sake forget about it, and concentrate on being charming to His Royal Highness. It's probably not good manners even to mention such a thing, let alone be seen to be disconcerted by it.”

“Positively vulgar!” Minnie said from the doorway. “A guest should never appear to find anything odd, no matter what it is. Good morning, Elsa, Mrs. Marquand, Mrs. Quase.” She looked superb. Her morning gown was a rich golden yellow with a long, two-tiered skirt that swayed when she moved and had ribbons at her throat and wrist. The bloom of youth was in her skin, her eyes were bright, and she had a kind of concentrated energy so delicately controlled that she seemed to be more alive than any of the others. It was an inner excitement, as if she knew something they did not. Elsa sometimes wondered if that were so.

“I suggest we don't refer to it,” Minnie added, moving toward the door into the dining room. “Where is everyone else?”

“It is more than a misfortune in domestic arrangements,” Elsa said tartly. Minnie's callousness annoyed her, as did everything else about her at one time or another. Minnie's father's intense admiration for her was almost a fascination, as if she were a reflection of himself. But most of all, of course, the spur to her dislike was that she was Julius's wife.

“No, it isn't,” Minnie contradicted her with a slight shrug. “People do die. It can't be helped. It is rude to make much of it. I should be fearfully embarrassed if one of my maids died vulgarly when I had houseguests.”

“Of course you would,” Julius agreed, coming in from the hall. “Dying vulgarly is a privilege exclusive to the upper classes. Servants should die decently in bed.”

“Don't be witty, Julius,” Minnie snapped. “It doesn't become you. Anyway, she wasn't a servant, she was a…”

“Where should they die, my dear? In the street?” he inquired languidly.

She opened her eyes very wide and stared at him. “I have no idea. It is not a matter I have ever considered.” She swung round, elegantly turning her skirt with a little flick, and walked away into the dining room.

Julius glanced at Elsa, a faint, rueful smile on his face, and then sighed and followed after his wife.

Elsa felt her throat tighten and her heart lurch.

Then the moment was broken by Simnel coming in. Although he was Julius's half-brother, they were not alike. Julius was taller and broader at the shoulders, and Elsa could see a greater imagination and more vulnerability in the line of his mouth than in Simnel's. But then she was more certain of her emotion than of her judgment. Perhaps that was only what she wished to see.

“What on earth is going on?” Simnel asked, looking around. “Who are the men asking questions and sending the servants into hysterics? I just saw one of the maids with tears streaming down her face, and she ran from me as if I had horns and a tail.”

Cahoon came in practically on his heels. “There's been an ugly incident,” he answered, as if the question had been addressed to him. “One of last night's whores was murdered. Regrettably we have to have the police in, but if they do their job properly, they may clear it up within a day or so. We must just keep our heads and go on with our work. Shall we go in to luncheon.” That was an order more than a suggestion. “Where is Hamilton?”

Elsa disliked the use of the word
whore.
It sounded so pitiless, particularly when her husband was being brutally frank. She had despised the women when they were alive, but now that one of them had been murdered she felt differently. It was uncomfortable, even disconcerting, but for the sake of her own humanity, she told herself that she needed to observe their common bond more than their differences.

Cahoon went into the dining room ahead, leaving her to follow, with Olga beside her. The Prince of Wales was obviously not joining them, so there was little formality observed. They each took the places at which they had sat the previous day, the women assisted by servants.

This room also was magnificent, but too heavy in style for Elsa's taste. She felt dwarfed by the huge paintings with their frames so broad as to seem almost a feature of the architecture. The ceiling stretched like the canopy of some elaborate tent, with the optical illusion of being arched. It was beautiful, and yet she was not comfortable in it. Certainly she did not wish to eat.

The soup was served in uncomfortable silence before Hamilton Quase joined them, taking the one empty chair without comment. He was tall and slender, and in his late forties. He had been handsome in his youth, but his fair hair had lost its thickness. His face was burned by the sun and marred by an absentminded sadness, as if he had forgotten its exact cause, or possibly chosen to forget it.

Liliane looked at him anxiously. The footman offered him soup but he declined, saying he would wait for the fish. He did accept the white wine, and drank from the glass immediately.

“You'd expect a place like Buckingham Palace to be safe, wouldn't you!” he said challengingly. “How the devil can a lunatic break in here? Can anyone walk in and out as they please?”

“Nobody walked in,” Cahoon told him. “Or out.”

Hamilton set his glass down so violently the wine slopped over. “God! You mean he's still here?”

“Of course he's still here!” Cahoon snapped. “He was always here!”

Hamilton stared at him, the color draining from his face.

“You're frightening the women,” Julius said critically to Cahoon. He glanced around the table. “Nobody broke in, and nobody will. One of the servants completely lost control of himself and must have hit her, or strangled her, or whatever it was. It's a tragedy, but it's none of our business. And there is certainly nothing for us to be afraid of. The police will deal with it.”

Hamilton raised his glass in a salute to Julius, and drank again.

Liliane relaxed a little and picked up her fork.

“Knifed her,” Cahoon filled in as the butler placed the fish in front of him. “Cut her throat and…and her body. I'm afraid this is going to be unpleasant.”

“How do you know?” Simnel asked with more curiosity than alarm. He glanced at Minnie, and then back at Cahoon.

“I found her,” Cahoon said simply.

Elsa was startled. The wineglass slipped in her fingers and she only just caught it before it spilled. “I thought she was in a linen cupboard!”

“What on earth were you doing in a linen cupboard so early in the morning?” Julius asked with a very slight smile. “Or at any time, for that matter.”

“The door was open,” Cahoon told him tartly. “I smelled it.”

Liliane wrinkled her nose. “If we must have this discussion at all, could we at least put it off until after we have finished dining, Cahoon? I'm sure we are grateful that you seem to be taking charge of things, but your zeal has temporarily overtaken your good taste. I would prefer to have my fish without the details.”

“I'm afraid we are not going to escape all of the unpleasantness,” Cahoon said drily. “The servants are bound to be useless for a while. Some of them may even leave.”

“One of them needs to,” Julius pointed out.

Elsa wanted to laugh, but she knew it was out of fear rather than amusement, and wildly inappropriate. She choked it back, pretending to have swallowed badly. No one took the slightest notice of her.

“It makes you realize how little you know people,” Olga murmured.

“One doesn't know servants,” Minnie corrected her. “One knows
about
them.”

“If they knew about him, they would hardly have employed him.” Julius looked at her coolly.

“I imagine they thought they did.” Cahoon began to eat again. “None of us know as much about people as we imagine we do.” He glanced around the table, his eyes for a moment on each of them.

“We have all known one another to some degree for years, but I have no idea what dreams are passing through your mind, Julius. Or yours, Hamilton. What do you wish for most at this moment, Simnel?”

“A peaceful luncheon and a productive afternoon,” Simnel replied instantly, but there was a touch of color in his cheeks and he did not meet Cahoon's eyes, still less did he look at Olga.

Elsa knew he was thinking of Minnie. Probably they all did. She stole a very quick glance at Olga, and saw the pallor of her skin and the pull on the fabric of her dress as it strained across her hunched shoulders. For a hot, ugly moment she hated Cahoon for his cruelty.

Minnie was concentrating on her plate, the shadow of her eyelashes dark on her cheek. She seemed to glow with satisfaction.

“Slashed with a knife?” Elsa said aloud. “Whoever takes a carving knife to an assignation in the linen cupboard? It doesn't make any sense!”

“Cutting a whore up with a carving knife doesn't make any sense wherever you do it, Elsa,” Cahoon said abruptly. “We aren't looking for a sane man. Surely you realize that?”

She felt humiliated, but she could think of nothing to say that would rebut his remark. Of course she knew it was not a sane thing to do. It had been an impulsive observation.

Oddly, it was Hamilton Quase who defended her. “Someone who is sane enough to pass as a Palace servant probably appears sane in most things,” he said with a casual air, as if they were discussing a parlor game. “If he were running up and down the staircases with wild eyes and blood on his hands, someone would have noticed.”

“Providing they also were sober,” Olga said waspishly. “And not doing much the same! Were any of you sober enough last night to have noticed such a thing?”

“Unkind, my dear,” Hamilton responded, picking up his glass again. “You should not remind a man of his lapses, especially in front of his wife.”

“She is the one person with whom they are quite safe,” Cahoon responded, looking across the table at Liliane.

Liliane's eyes were very bright and there was a touch of color in her cheeks. She too seemed to search for something to say, and not to find it. For a moment a shadow crossed her face with possibly hatred in it. Then, as if the sun had returned, it was gone. “Of course,” she said with her lovely smile. “Are we not all loyal to family and friends? Such a thing is hardly worth remark.”

Julius applauded silently, but none of them missed his gesture.

Minnie shivered. “It's a horrible thought.” She looked at her father, shrugging her shoulders elegantly, avoiding everyone's eyes but his. “I hope they find him very soon.”

“Don't make any assignations with servants in the linen cupboard in the meantime,” Julius told her. “You should be safe enough.”

Cahoon froze, his face red. “What did you say?” he demanded, his voice like ice.

Julius paled slightly, but he held Cahoon's eye and repeated his words exactly.

Cahoon leaned forward, knocking a water glass over and ignoring the mess on the table. Elsa knew she should intervene, but she was afraid of Cahoon when he lost his temper. She tried to speak, though her mouth was dry and her throat tight.

“You are speaking of my daughter, sir!” Cahoon said loudly. “You will apologize to her, and to the rest of us, or I will horsewhip you!”

“No, sir,” Julius corrected him. “I am speaking of my wife. I think sometimes you forget that. And undoubtedly sometimes she does.”

For once Minnie blushed.

Cahoon's face was still red, his eyes blazing.

“Calm down and don't be an ass,” Hamilton Quase said calmly and with a delicate derision. “Nobody is fooled by any of this. We are all afraid. There's a madman loose in the Palace, and he may be downstairs socially, but there is no bar on the stairway and he can come up anytime he wishes, as demonstrated by the fact that the wretched woman was found in the cupboard on our landing. Please heaven, let's hope this policeman is up to his job and takes the man away as soon as possible.”

Cahoon turned to regard Hamilton coldly. “Do you have any idea what you are talking about, Hamilton? I saw the woman's body! It was like nothing you have ever imagined. Or perhaps you have? How long were you in Africa?”

Liliane was gripping her fish fork as if it were a weapon, her knuckles white. She stared at Cahoon, hatred in her eyes. “Long enough to show courage and resolution in the face of tragedy, Mr. Dunkeld, and to know how to help people rather than make things worse by losing his temper and his judgment,” she said loudly. “How long were you there?”

Hamilton looked at her with some surprise, and a sudden, overwhelming tenderness in his eyes. Then he turned to Cahoon.

Elsa wondered what they were talking about. She could see Julius's eyes widen, and a faint flush on Hamilton's face. They were referring to something specific. They knew it. She, Minnie, and Olga were completely confused.

Slowly Cahoon sat back in his chair.

Elsa found herself shaking with relief.

The servants, who had stepped back, resumed their silent duties, and one by one everyone began to eat again.

Elsa's mind raced. What had Cahoon been referring to? It had been an attack on Hamilton somehow, and Liliane had leaped in to protect him, as she seemed to do so often. From what? What was she afraid of? According to Cahoon, a woman of the streets had been murdered here where they were guests, and everyone was afraid. But were they all afraid of the same thing, or was it different for each of them?

The main course was served. Cahoon introduced the subject of the great railway again. The men all contributed from their various skills and fields of knowledge as to the difficulties they might face and how they should be overcome.

Simnel was a financier, brilliant at attracting funds at the most excellent rates. What he had to say was in many ways dry: lists of bankers and wealthy men who would be willing to invest. It was the wealth of his knowledge and his memory for detail that impressed. He knew not only everyone's worth, but their history, and, if he chose to, he could be amusing in recounting it.