Malice at the Palace (2 page)

It was fortunate that the storm outside was making such a racket or her scream would have been heard all the way to Victoria Station and maybe even across the Thames.

“Belinda, it's all right,” I said, reaching out to touch her. “It's me. Georgie.”

“Oh God.” She was gasping now, her hand over her naked heart. “Georgie. Have you gone mad? What on earth are you doing hiding in my bedroom?”

“I'm sorry if I scared you, Belinda,” I said. “I didn't intend to hide, but by the time I'd woken up and heard you coming up the stairs it was too late to do anything sensible. And you were the one who pushed the door open so hard, trapping me behind it.”

Sir Toby was standing up beside the bed and had obviously just realized he was naked in the presence of a strange female. He grabbed a lace-trimmed, heart-shaped pillow and attempted to hold it over the important parts. He looked old and ridiculous and quite unlike the masterful, dapper man whose picture I had seen on newsreels and in magazines. “You know this person, Belinda?” he demanded. “Should we call the police?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Belinda said. “She's my best friend—Georgiana Rannoch.”

“Lady Georgiana, sister of the Duke of Rannoch?” Sir Toby said. “Good God. But what's she doing in your house? In your bedroom, for God's sake?”

“I've no idea, Toby.”

I'd had enough. They were both looking at me with horror and suspicion as if I were a dangerous cornered animal. “Perhaps in the heat of passion you forgot that you invited me to stay in your house while you were away, Belinda,” I said. “And you might have given me advance warning that you were coming back.”

Belinda had taken down one of the robes and was in the process of trying to put it on. I noticed that her body was curvier than when we had shared a room as teenagers at a finishing school in Switzerland. No wonder men were so attracted to her.

“I remember mentioning that you could use my house,” Belinda said as she successfully pulled on the robe and tied it at her waist, “but I'd no idea that you'd taken me up on it. You might have dropped me a note to tell me.”

“Dropped you a note?” I was fully indignant now. “Belinda, I wrote you two letters. And since I didn't know where you'd be staying, I addressed one to you, care of Golden Pictures, and one, care of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Do you mean to tell me you didn't receive either of them?”

“Of course I didn't receive them. I never went back to Golden Pictures. It's been virtually shut down by Mr. Goldman's widow; at least all work is halted for now. And my budget certainly didn't run to the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

Sir Toby cleared his throat. “Given the circumstances, Belinda, I think I should depart as rapidly as possible. So if you young ladies don't mind stepping outside while I get dressed . . .”

Belinda followed me out onto the landing. “Honestly, Georgie. You've spoiled everything.”

She stood there, glaring at me while I squirmed in embarrassment.

“I'm sorry, but you did offer and I did write to tell you. And I'm not about to walk out into the storm at this hour so that you can finish your little tryst with a cabinet minister.”

Sir Toby emerged, now looking more like himself in dark suit and old school tie. “I'll just be toddling off home then, Belinda,” he said. “I'm sure I'll pick up a cab on Knightsbridge. I'll see myself out.”

Belinda followed him down the stairs. “Will I see you again soon?”

He cleared his throat in that annoying way that some men have. “I don't really think that would be wise . . . much as I'd like to. Can't afford to risk bringing scandal to the party, you know. Let's just put tonight behind us. Forget all about it.”

And with that he grabbed his overcoat, opened the front door and stepped out into the storm.

I stood there at the top of the stairs, then came down slowly. We looked at each other in tense silence.

“Oh well, that's that, I suppose,” Belinda said. “Is there anything to drink in the house?”

“I could make you a cup of tea, or I believe there is cocoa,” I replied.

This made her burst into laughter. “God, Georgie, why do you have to be so damned pure and naïve all the time? When are you going to grow up and realize what life is all about and when people say they need a drink they mean a large whiskey, not bloody cocoa.”

“I think you have Scotch in your drinks cabinet,” I said. “And my life is very different from yours, Belinda. I don't bring cabinet ministers home for sex. As a matter of fact I don't bring anybody home for sex.”

Belinda sighed. “You really are a cocoa type of person, Georgie. God, and I was looking forward to that. There is something about powerful men that really attracts me. And he was obviously good at it too. And now I'll never know. . . .”

Another awkward silence. “I've said I was sorry,” I repeated. “I don't know what else to say. And you've used me often enough, including turning up out of the blue in Hollywood, so I do think you owe me the odd favor.”

There was a long silence as she went down the stairs and over to the cabinet in the corner. I heard liquor slosh into a glass. Or rather two glasses. She came back up the stairs, holding out a half tumbler of whiskey for me. “Here, drink this. You need it as much as I do. And you're right. I did offer you my house and I have used you shamelessly on many occasions. Go on. Down the hatch.”

I did as she commanded, feeling the fiery liquid going down my throat and spreading warmth throughout my body. I coughed and wiped my eyes. She laughed. “You must be the only Scot who can't take her whiskey,” she said.

“I'm only a quarter Scottish,” I said, managing a weak smile. “And I've never developed a taste for it.”

“You and your bloody cocoa,” she said, and she started to laugh again. “Oh well, I don't suppose it would have led anywhere. It was just one of those shipboard flings. And now he's gone home.”

“Back to his wife, if I remember correctly,” I said. “And wasn't he the one who gave that speech about the sanctity of the family and every proud Englishman being king of his own castle with his wife and children around him?”

She nodded. “He's a politician, Georgie. They say what people want to hear.”

“Belinda, I think I did you a favor. You could have caused real trouble. You could have brought down the government.”

“That might have been interesting,” she said. “At last people would know who I was then. I'd be a celebrity.”

“Of the wrong sort,” I said. “No respectable household would invite you for dinner, in case you seduced their husbands.”

“I suppose you're right as usual,” she said. “It did cross my mind that it might be nice to be someone's mistress, taken care of, set up in a swank flat somewhere.”

“With no security whatever, Belinda. Why not someone's wife? Your pedigree is as good as mine—well, almost.”

“But I'm soiled goods, darling. No top-drawer family wants their son to get hitched to someone like me. I'm clearly not a virgin, like you. I've a reputation now, and no fortune to go with it. And I'm stony-broke at the moment—no idea how I'm going to pay my maid and put food on the table, unless something good turns up.”

“So Hollywood didn't work out for you, then?” I said. “You said that Mrs. Goldman shut down Golden Pictures, but what about all the other studios? Didn't any of them want a talented costume designer? You had terrific contacts, after all—you swam nude with Craig Hart.”

Belinda frowned. “It seems there are too many talented people in Hollywood, fighting for too little work. And I didn't really feel comfortable over there. That sort of lifestyle wasn't for me. Too brash. Too artificial. Nobody means what they say. They talk big, make big promises and it's all fabrication.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I bet you'd have made a brilliant costume designer. You are very talented.”

“Kind of you to say so, darling.” She managed a weak smile.

“You have trained with Chanel, Belinda. And you're really good. You could easily start your own line over here. I know you could.”

“I know I could too,” she said, “except that it all takes money. I'd need premises, seamstresses, fabric . . . and remember what I found out before? Those who can afford good clothes want everything on credit. It's a constant fight to make them pay up.”

I sighed this time. “It's not easy, is it? My mother gave me a nice check when she went back to Germany but it won't last forever. And now that you're home I'm not even sure where I'll go. Back to Scotland, with my sister-in-law telling me what a burden I am, I suppose.”

Belinda put a hand on my shoulder. “I'd let you stay on here, but there's nowhere for you to sleep when my maid comes back. And it does rather cramp one's style having a friend asleep on a downstairs sofa.”

“Of course I realize I can't stay on here,” I said.

“But you have the family home on Belgrave Square,” she said. “Oodles of bedrooms. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except that Fig made it quite clear they couldn't afford to open it up just for me. Apparently even the small amount of coal I'd use to heat one bedroom is beyond their means.”

“Your brother is really as hard up as that?” Belinda asked.

“His wife claims he is. Actually I think she's just naturally stingy, and she doesn't want any of their money spent on me. She's told me over and over that Binky's responsibility for me ended when I had my season. It's my fault that I haven't married well.”

“Speaking of marriage . . .” She paused. “What news of Darcy? He's still in the picture, isn't he?”

“When he's around,” I said. I stared out past her, at the white painted front door. “I haven't seen him in a while. You know Darcy. He shows up, it's heaven and then he goes again and I never know where he is or when he'll come back. He's the most infuriating man, Belinda. He doesn't even have a proper London address. He borrows friends' houses when they are out of town, sleeps on their couches. And half the time he can't tell me where he's going.”

“Georgie, who does he actually work for when he takes these little jobs—do you know? Do you think it's something frightfully illegal, like drug running for gangsters?”

“Golly, I don't think so,” I replied. “Some of the things he does do tend to be remarkably hush-hush. I think he takes almost any assignment he's offered, but mostly on the right side of the law.” I looked around and lowered my voice, even though we were alone and the storm was raging. “In fact sometimes I think he might be employed as a spy by the government on occasion. He doesn't say and I don't ask. I know he's trying to make enough money so that we can get married. . . .”

“You're engaged, darling?” She grabbed my hands.

I felt my cheeks going red. “Well, sort of secretly. We can't announce an engagement until Darcy feels he can support me, and heaven knows when that might be. I've told him I wouldn't mind living in a little flat, but he's determined to do the thing properly.”

“Of course he is.” She was looking at me wistfully. “You're so lucky, Georgie. You've a wonderful future to look forward to with a terrific man who loves you.”

This was so unlike Belinda that I turned to look at her. “Belinda—you'll meet the right chap, I know you will. You've got a brighter future than I because you're so talented.”

“Dear Georgie.” She reached out to hug me. “You're so nice. You deserve to be happy.”

“Cheer up, Belinda. Everything will work out splendidly,” I said. “You'll find a job, or your father will relent and give you some money . . . and aren't you set to inherit something from your grandmother?”

She made a face. “My grandmother will live to a hundred. She still walks three miles every morning and takes cold baths. And I'll get no money from my father as long as my evil stepmother is in the picture. No, darling, I'm afraid it's back to Crockford's for me if I'm to survive.”

“Crockford's? The club, you mean? Do you really expect to make money gambling?”

“Actually I do rather well, darling,” she said. “I play up the helpless and innocent young girl act—you know—first time at the tables and it's all so terribly confusing. Kind men usually put in my stake for me. So I never actually lose my own money and I win remarkably often. Of course, some of the men expect something in return. . . .” She managed a bright smile. “But enough gloom and doom. There is room enough in my bed for two and in the morning we'll make plans.”

MONDAY, OCTOBER 29

CLABON MEWS AND THEN RANNOCH HOUSE, BELGRAVE SQUARE

Dear Diary: Belinda came home unexpectedly last night. Rather embarrassing, actually. Now I have no idea where I'm going to go. I hate living like this, relying on the kindness or pity or duty of others to take me in. When will I ever have a place of my own?

In the morning the storm had blown itself out. The world was bathed in bright sunshine. I got out of bed and went over to the window, savoring the morning quiet. The pavement below was littered with swaths of sodden leaves and even small branches, bearing testimony to the violence of the night's storm. Belinda sighed and muttered something and I turned to look back at her. She was still sleeping blissfully, looking remarkably innocent and angelic in sleep. I stood there, staring down at her. Belinda was usually the optimistic, opportunistic one, living rather well by her wits. She'd had affairs with glamorous Italian counts and Bulgarian royals. So it was quite unlike her to reveal a vulnerable side. I wondered if something had happened in Hollywood. . . .

Then I decided I should be more concerned about me. At least she had a place of her own to live. At least she didn't have royal family connections to live up to. I wondered where I'd go now. Would she expect me to move out immediately? In which case I'd have no choice but to take the next train back to Scotland. Oh golly, I thought. Castle Rannoch with winter coming, lashed by gales, gloomy beyond belief. I'd have to write to Fig to see if they'd have me, since it was now no longer my home. And if she said no . . . I turned away from the window, trying not to think about it. Mummy said I was welcome to stay in Germany, but I didn't fancy that either—not the way things seemed to be going there these days.

Either way, I'd have to start packing up my things. I'd need to collect Queenie from her parents' house, which would mean an excuse to visit Granddad. That thought made me smile. I'd been visiting my grandfather on a regular basis while I'd been in London. I suppose I should add that I'm talking about my mother's father, the retired Cockney policeman who lived in a semidetached with gnomes in the front garden, not the fierce Scottish duke who married a princess. The Scottish grandfather died before I was born, thank goodness, and it's said that his ghost still haunts the battlements of Castle Rannoch.

But my living grandfather was one of my favorite people. He always made me welcome, even though he had very little himself. Another thought crossed my mind: wouldn't it be lovely if I could stay with him for a while? I pictured waking to the smell of bacon cooking, sitting drinking tea in his tiny kitchen, chatting with him by the fire. I sighed. Unfortunately I knew this would be frowned upon. It had been made quite clear to me that it would create great embarrassment to the family if the newspapers got wind of it. Royal in Reduced Circumstances. Her Highness Eats Down the Fish-and-Chip Shop. I could see the left-wing newspapers would have a field day.

Really my family was too tiresome. I couldn't take a job that might embarrass them. I couldn't stay with the one person who wanted my company. And yet they offered me no financial support. How on earth did they expect me to live? I knew the answer to that one immediately: I was expected to make the right sort of marriage to some half-mad, chinless European princeling—the sort who get assassinated with monotonous frequency. They had introduced me to a couple of candidates and I had turned them down, much to everyone's annoyance. But there are some lengths a girl won't go to to put a roof over her head.

There must be something I can do, I thought as I tiptoed downstairs and filled the kettle for tea. The trouble was that I wasn't trained for anything except how to behave in the correct social circles. And in these days of depression there were people with real qualifications who were lining up for jobs. I sighed as I made the tea. If only I'd inherited my mother's stunning looks, I could have followed her onto the stage. But alas I took after my father—tall, lanky, healthy Scottish outdoor looks.

I cheered myself with the thought of going to see Granddad and made boiled eggs and toast before I went to wake Belinda. She looked rather the worse for wear as she sat at the dining table, sipping her tea and nibbling on a piece of toast.

“I feel terrible turning you out now, darling,” she said. “If only I had a spare room . . .”

“I know. It's quite all right,” I said. “Don't worry, something will turn up. I'll go and retrieve Queenie and she can pack up my things and if worse comes to worst I can stay with my grandfather for a few days.”

“I thought that was frowned upon by the family,” Belinda said.

“It is, but they aren't exactly offering me an alternative, are they? I'll pick up a copy of
The Lady
when I go out. There must be some job I could do.”

“Georgie, don't be silly. The
Lady
has advertisements for governesses and ladies' maids.”

“And things like companions and social secretaries. Anything's better than Castle Rannoch.”

“I agree with that. But feel free to sleep on my sofa until you find something. I don't want to turn you out into the storm.”

I smiled. “In case you haven't noticed, it's a lovely sunny morning.”

She glared blearily at the window. “Is it? I hadn't noticed.” Then she turned back to me and smiled. “Sorry. You should know by now that I'm not at my best in the morning. I'll cheer up as the day goes on. And I'll be in top form by the time I go to Crockford's.”

I thought about Belinda as I went upstairs to wash and dress. I had always envied her her confident worldliness, her savoir faire, her elegance and style. I had always thought if anyone knew how to survive, it was she. I put on my cashmere jumper—one of my mother's castoffs—and tartan skirt, topped it with my old Harris tweed overcoat, and out I went into the cold, crisp morning. I loved walking on days like this. At home in Scotland it would have been a perfect day for a ride through the heather, with my horse's breath coming like dragon's fire and the sound of his hooves echoing from the crags.

As I walked I began to feel more optimistic. Maybe Castle Rannoch wouldn't be that bad. I could go out riding and walking and play with my adorable nephew and niece. And even Fig couldn't object to my visiting for a week or so—long enough to scan the
Lady
and send out letters of application. After all, I had helped out at a house party last Christmas. Maybe I could do the same sort of thing this year. Lady Hawse-Gorzley would give me a good reference. Or I could perhaps be someone's social secretary. I might not be able to type properly but I could write a good letter and I did know the rules of polite society. Maybe someone newly rich would be tickled to have a secretary with royal connections who knew the ropes. And the family couldn't frown at that sort of job, out of London, away from the prying eyes of the press.

Then I had another encouraging thought. I could always go to stay with the Dowager Duchess of Eynsford. I had been a sort of companion cum social secretary to her, hadn't I? She had been grateful for my company earlier in the year and I was sure she'd welcome me back. Perhaps the young duke and his cousin had returned from Switzerland, in which case it might even be quite jolly. I strode out with renewed vigor along Pont Street. My head was so buzzing with ideas that I hardly noticed where I was walking. By the time I had to stop to cross Sloane Street, I realized I was in Belgravia, very close to our London home in Belgrave Square. I couldn't resist taking a look at it, although I had hardly ever stayed there as a child and it had never felt like home to me. I crossed and entered the quiet of Belgrave Square with its elegant white-fronted houses and the gardens in the middle, with trees standing stark and bare behind their iron railings.

Two nannies were walking their charges, talking together as they pushed prams. A maid was scrubbing a front step. A milkman was making a delivery, the bottles rattling as he carried them down to a service entrance. It was all so peaceful and domestic that I found myself staring up at Rannoch House with longing. It was in the middle of the north side of the square—the biggest and most imposing of the houses.

“I wish . . .” I heard myself saying out loud, but when I analyzed it, I didn't quite know what I wished. Probably that I had a place where I still belonged in the world. I was just about to walk past when the front door opened and none other than my brother, Binky, current Duke of Rannoch, came down the steps, adjusting the scarf at his neck as he came. He was about to walk past without noticing me but I stepped out in front of him.

“Hello, Binky,” I said.

He stopped, startled, then blinked as if he thought he was seeing a mirage. “Georgie. It's you. Blow me down. What a lovely surprise. We didn't know you were in town.”

“I didn't expect you to be in town either,” I said.

“We came down a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Fig's aunt just died and left her a nice little legacy, so we decided to have a central heating system put into Castle Rannoch. It can be beastly cold in winter, can't it? And little Adelaide gets such nasty croup. So while they're putting in boilers and pipes and things we decided to come down to London. We have to look for a governess for Podge anyway so it was really killing two birds with one stone. But enough of our boring lives—how about you? What have you been doing? The last we heard you were staying with the Duchess of Eynsford.”

“A lot has happened since then,” I said. A spasm of guilt passed through me that I should have written to my brother more often. Then I told myself that Fig would probably have burned the letters anyway. “But are you on your way to an appointment? I could come to visit when you have time and give you all my news, rather than standing here in the street freezing.”

“Come in now, if you're not too busy,” he said. “I was only going down to my club to read the morning papers and Fig would love to see you.”

This later was completely untrue, I was sure, but I wasn't going to turn down the invitation. “I'd love to see everyone,” I said. “It's been ages since I've seen Podge and Adelaide. Are you still calling her that, by the way? It doesn't seem the right sort of thing to call a baby.”

“I call her Dumpling, because she has round chubby cheeks,” Binky said, “but Fig doesn't like that and Nanny insists on calling children by their proper names. No baby talk and no nonsense.”

“You have a new nanny?”

“Yes. Fig's idea, actually. She felt that our nanny was too old and too indulgent. So she pensioned her off. Must say I don't quite take to the new one. Too modern and efficient and worries about germs.”

As we talked Binky went back up the steps and opened the front door. “Come in, Georgie.”

I followed him into the foyer. Binky had hardly had time to close the door behind us when our butler, Hamilton, appeared with that uncanny sense that butlers have when someone is going in or out.

“Back so soon, Your Grace? I hope there is nothing amiss,” he began, then he saw me and his face lit up in a most satisfying way. “Why, Lady Georgiana. What a pleasant surprise. It's been so long.”

“How are you, Hamilton?” I said as he helped me out of my coat.

“As well as can be expected, my lady. Rheumatics, you know, and a lot of stairs in this house. Should I serve coffee in the morning room, Your Grace, or would her ladyship prefer a proper breakfast in the dining room? It hasn't been cleared away yet although I believe Her Grace had a tray sent up this morning.”

“Jolly good kidneys this morning, Georgie. And you know what damn fine kedgeree Cook makes.”

“Sounds lovely,” I said. In an attempt to make my mother's check last as long as possible I had been living quite simply, apart from the occasional splurge of ready-made food from Harrods. And I didn't know how to cook kidneys.

“Go and help yourself,” Binky said. “I'll let Fig know you're here and then I might join you for another round, although Fig complains I'm putting on a bit of weight around the middle.” He patted his stomach, which was becoming a little like Father Christmas's.

“Should I have fresh coffee sent to the dining room, my lady?” Hamilton asked, hovering at the baize door that led down to the kitchen.

“That would be lovely, thank you, Hamilton,” I said. “I'm sure I haven't forgotten my way to the dining room.”

I started for the back of the house while Binky went up the stairs. I hadn't quite reached the dining room door when I heard a shrill voice say, “Here? Now? What does she want?”

“I don't think she wants anything, Fig,” Binky's voice answered. “We met on the pavement quite by chance and I invited her to come in, of course.”

“Really, Binky, you are too tiresome,” Fig's voice went on. “You don't think, do you? I am not even up and dressed. You should have told her to come back at a more suitable hour.”