Malice at the Palace (20 page)

I had no idea where to find someone who knew how to open a safe, but I knew someone who might. I made my way to Green Park tube station as quickly as possible and soon was heading out of town to Essex and my grandfather.

Y
OU WANT A
what?” he asked me after he had seated me in his warm little kitchen.

“I wondered if you knew how to open a safe.”

“Blimey, ducks. You haven't taken up burglary now as a hobby, have you?” He didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked.

“No, but I'm helping the authorities in an investigation I can't tell you about, and I've just discovered a safe in someone's bedroom. So I thought if you knew how to open it . . .” I let the rest of the sentence hang.

He laughed, a trifle nervously. “My job was apprehending criminals, love. Not joining them. But come to think of it I might know someone who can help us. Willie Lightfingers Buxton. He was reputed to be the best there was. And I know he's out of the Scrubs.”

“The Scrubs?”

“Wormwood Scrubs. Clink. Prison.”

I wasn't sure I wanted to extend my investigation to include convicted felons.

“A convict, Granddad? I'm not sure . . .”

“Salt of the earth, old Willie. One of the old-style cons. Looked upon safecracking as his profession, just the way a surgeon looks at his. No, you'd be all right with old Willie—if he'll do it. He's as old as me and retired and has no wish to go back to the Scrubs again.”

“Would you ask him anyway? I'm not planning to steal anything, just look at the contents and then shut it up again. And I do have the permission of someone really senior in the Home Office.”

“I suppose I could do that for you. Where do I send him when I find him?”

Oh golly. “You probably shouldn't send him to Kensington Palace,” I said. “I don't think the royals would approve. We'll arrange where to meet when you've contacted him.”

“Bob's yer uncle, ducks,” he said. He was looking at me with his head to one side. “You're not doing anything dangerous, are you? Not involved in any kind of funny business?”

“No, it's not dangerous, Granddad. More trying to avoid a scandal,” I said. “I'm afraid I can't give you any details. I'm sworn to silence.”

“You watch yourself, my girl,” he said. “You're too fond of dabbling where you shouldn't. I remember when you almost got yourself killed up on Dartmoor by poking your nose in something that should have been left to the police.”

“But I found the murderer, didn't I? They didn't.”

“I'd rather you stayed safe and sound,” he said. “The sooner you marry that young man of yours and have some little nippers, the better, if you ask me.”

“Oh, Granddad.” My voice cracked and I was horribly afraid I was going to cry. “I don't think I'll be marrying Darcy after all.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to share him with other women. I want someone who loves me and me only.”

He put a wizened old hand over mine. “Lots of young men, especially your sort, sow their wild oats before they marry. I suspect your Darcy is a decent bloke and once you're married he'll do the right thing.”

“But what if he doesn't?” I was crying now. “What if I never know where he is or who he's been with?”

“It all comes down to trust. If you can't trust someone, then there's no basis for a marriage. Simple as that. You have to decide.”

“That's just it,” I said. “I don't think I can trust him anymore.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently.

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone.” I attempted to get up. “I should leave. Go now. The princess is expecting me.”

He laid a firm hand on my shoulder. “It's dinnertime. Now, how about a nice bowl of stew to warm you up before you dash off again. I've just made a corker with a lamb bone from Sunday's joint. Lots of good carrots and parsnips and haricot beans.”

I nodded weakly. “Thank you. Yes. That might be a good idea. And it does smell heavenly.”

He ladled out a generous bowl and sat there watching me eat. Again I found myself wishing that I could live with him all the time and have him take care of me. And I could forget all about royal scandals and unfaithful men and be quite happy. But I knew that I couldn't.

NOVEMBER 7

Life just gets more and more complicated.

I arrived back at Kensington Palace just as it was starting to rain—the hard, stinging kind of winter rain that makes walking so miserable. I was about to open the front door, anticipating a roaring fire and tea to follow when I was conscious of footsteps behind me. I turned to see a large bobby coming toward me.

“Lady Georgiana?” he asked. “DCI Pelham has requested that you come with me. He'd like to speak with you again.”

“Oh really, this is too silly,” I said. “I've nothing more to tell him.”

“I couldn't say what it's about, my lady,” he said. “I was just sent to fetch you, and I've been waiting quite some time.”

“I didn't realize that I had to ask permission before I left the palace,” I said testily. Actually I wasn't feeling annoyed but scared. Had they found out somehow that I had gone to Bobo's flat this morning? Perhaps someone had heard that picture crashing down and called the police. And, more worrisome still, perhaps they wanted to trap me into saying something incriminating about Darcy.

I decided that haughty indignation was my best defense, so I strode down the corridors at Scotland Yard so fast that the young constable had trouble keeping up with me. I was shown into DCI Pelham's office and approached his desk with the same belligerence as my ancestor Robert Bruce Rannoch had displayed going into battle.

“Really, this is too tiresome, Chief Inspector,” I said. “What can you possibly need from me now? I thought I made it clear that I'd tell you if I came up with anything you should know about.”

His eyes were focused on me like a snake's, unblinking.

“Take a seat, Lady Georgiana.”

I sat. He leaned back in his big leather chair and folded his arms, never taking his eyes off me for an instant.

“I called you back here because I don't think you did quite tell me everything when we chatted last time. You kept some interesting snippets of information from me, didn't you?”

“Such as what?”

His expression didn't change. “You and Mr. O'Mara, for example. Not just a friend, is he?”

“My relationship with Mr. O'Mara has nothing to do with you,” I said, keeping my haughty stare rather well, I thought.

“Oh, but I think it's most important,” he said. “Most pertinent to this case.”

“That's ridiculous. In what way?”

He leaned back in his chair. “A motive for killing Miss Carrington, perhaps?”

“A motive? Whose motive?”

“Yours, Lady Georgiana. Jealousy is the strongest motive I've ever come across. That and fear.”

“And who is supposed to be jealous of whom?”

“You were jealous of Mr. O'Mara's relationship with Miss Carrington, obviously.”

“Since I didn't find out about it until after she was dead, I would say it's hardly relevant,” I said.

“That's your word.”

“Surely you can't think I had anything to do with Miss Carrington's death?” The laugh sounded a trifle uneasy.

He leaned forward again now, hoping to be intimidating, I suspected. “That's exactly what I might be thinking. But the one thing I'm not sure of—was it you alone, luring her to the palace in a fit of jealousy, or had Mr. O'Mara found that he needed to get her out of the way and you helped him to do it? Because, you see, he has an alibi for the whole evening she was killed.”

This time I did chuckle. “Oh, and I didn't? I think dinner at Buckingham Palace with the entire royal family is a pretty watertight alibi.”

“We're not sure exactly when she was killed,” he said. “It could have been earlier in the evening, given the bitter cold out there. And you were seen, you see.”

“I was what?” I looked up, startled. “I was seen where?”

“In the courtyard where the body was found.”

I gave another chuckle, this time of relief. “Of course I was seen. I believe I told you how I saw something and went to investigate and discovered the body lying there.”

“That was when you returned from dinner, and actually I've been puzzled about your statement. It didn't make sense at the time that you thought you saw something—because from the front of the house there is no possible way you could see anything under that arch.”

“I told you—I saw a glowing sort of light.”

“We checked. There is no light source under that arch, or in that courtyard, apart from a couple of windows. And the time you were seen was before you went to dinner.”

“Before?” I shook my head. “But I wasn't in that courtyard before we left. I came straight out with Princess Marina and got into the car. It was still raining. A footman held an umbrella over us.” I glared at him. “Who says they saw me?”

“The foreign lady. The countess. Sir Jeremy had a little talk with her today because you had told him you suspected her because her coat was wet. And the interesting thing was that she claimed she had seen
you
in the courtyard, prowling around, right before you went to dinner.”

“How utterly absurd,” I said. “I never went near the courtyard. What does she think she's playing at? And how did she explain away her wet jacket?”

“She says she went out later. She said the food was so bad that she decided to walk down to the town and have something to eat in a café. But she said that nothing was open except pubs because it was Sunday evening, and she wasn't about to go into a common public house.”

“That's interesting,” I said, “because she told me that she had spent the evening in, reading. And did she explain the knife in her pocket?”

“Miss Carrington was not stabbed, Lady Georgiana. She was drugged and then suffocated. If anyone carries a knife it seems to be irrelevant.” He gave an annoying half sniff, half snort through his nostrils. “And what possible motive could a foreign lady have for killing an Englishwoman she had never met?”

“The perfect motive, Chief Inspector,” I said. “She worships Princess Marina. She would do anything to protect her, and if she'd learned that Bobo Carrington had been Prince George's mistress and that he may be the father of her child, she would stop at nothing to prevent that news from becoming public.”

He was staring at me as if he was digesting this information and it was beginning to make sense.

“And she was alone all evening with servants who aren't the most attentive and who would have been having their own evening meal in a kitchen where they would not have heard or seen anything.”

Again I paused, letting him consider this.

I leaned forward in my chair. “Picture this, Chief Inspector. Bobo comes to the front door, demanding to see Princess Marina. Perhaps she has decided to come clean and tell Marina the truth about her and the prince. Perhaps her motive is not as pure and she wants money to stay mum about her story. But Princess Marina is not home so she tells the countess instead. And the countess decides she must not be allowed to leave. She puts Marina's sleeping drops in the coffee and then finishes Bobo off by suffocating her.” I paused, then went on, “And she has all the time in the world because the servants find her disagreeable and are keeping well away.”

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the loud tick of his clock on the wall. Then he nodded. “As you say, it does make sense.”

“While I, on the other hand, possess no Veronal and only discovered that Princess Marina uses it when the subject came up in conversation yesterday. So you have the motive, the knowledge of where to find Veronal,
and
a wet jacket. I'd say that adds up to something pretty compelling. And—” I paused again. Really, I should have become a barrister. I was rather pleased with myself. “She is so rattled that you are getting near to the truth that she tries to claim she saw me in the courtyard. She is jealous of me, Chief Inspector, because I have been assigned to be the princess's companion. And as you just said, jealousy is the most compelling of motives.”

Another long pause. “You do make a good case, Lady Georgiana,” he said grudgingly. “And I have to admit that it seems most likely that Miss Carrington was killed after your departure for Buckingham Palace.”

“And actually my maid was helping me to dress until I went down to join Princess Marina,” I said. “I don't believe there was a moment when I was alone, which I'm sure the others can verify.”

“Which still leaves us with Mr. O'Mara,” he said. “Given his close ties to the murdered girl and the fact that he has been so devilishly hard to find. Almost as if he'd gone into hiding.”

“Mr. O'Mara is always hard to find,” I said. “He has no London address. He never has a forwarding address. But I'm sure you can ask Sir Jeremy. He knows more about Mr. O'Mara than I do, apparently.” I stood up. “And if there is nothing else, I take it I have your permission to go now?”

“Yes, I see no reason to detain you further at this stage,” he said. “After all, we know where to find you until the wedding, don't we? And if the countess divulges anything else that might be of interest to us, you will let us know, won't you?”

I laughed. “One minute I'm the prime suspect, the next I'm working undercover for the police.”

It was his turn to give an uneasy chuckle. “Oh, I wouldn't go as far as prime suspect, Lady Georgiana. You were just helping us with our inquiries.” He paused as I stood up. “We may need to chat again at some stage. I suspect you know more than you're saying about this Mr. O'Mara. He's definitely not off the hook yet. I think he's a bit of a slippery customer. No known means of income but he lives well enough, moves in the right circles. When we start probing a bit deeper I think it may come out that he has connections to the underworld, possibly drug trafficking. So if you want my advice, I'd say you were well rid of him, Lady Georgiana.”

I wanted to tell him that I wouldn't want his advice if he was the last person on the planet, but I didn't dare open my mouth, afraid I'd let myself down. There was no way I was going to let the obnoxious chief inspector know how much Darcy had meant to me. This time I did not stride out ahead of my escorting policeman. I stumbled blindly behind him because I had realized that DCI Pelham had said something that made sense. Links to the underworld, possible drug trafficking. So that was how Darcy managed to survive. That was how Darcy was so thick with Bobo Carrington—the girl with the silver syringe. That was why he popped off so frequently to South America. He was involved in the buying and selling of drugs.

I felt physically sick. My mother and Belinda were always telling me how naïve I was. And it was true. Brought up sheltered in the wilds of Scotland, how could I possibly know how to be aware of things like drugs? It seemed that Darcy had deceived me on every possible level. Perhaps he even had killed Bobo Carrington because she was becoming a nuisance or had threatened to tell the police about his activities. As DCI Pelham had said, I was well out of it. A lucky escape. I could have been married to a dangerous criminal—a dangerous criminal who would be unfaithful to me and break my heart. I would do as Fig had suggested and try to meet a suitable member of European royalty at the wedding. Then I would live as my family expected me to, doing the right thing, producing the heir . . . but with a great empty hole in my heart.