Malice at the Palace (21 page)

NOVEMBER 7

Going to a gambling club this evening. Any other time I would have been excited.

I was not conscious of being driven home. I wanted to creep straight up to my room, but as I came into Kensington Palace the door to the sitting room was open and Marina and the countess were having tea.

“Lovely hot crumpets,” Marina called, waving at me. “Come and get warm. It's horribly cold today, isn't it?”

So of course I had no option but to join them. I saw Irmtraut studying me with a smug look on her face.

“Ah, you return at last, Georgiana. Her Highness wondered where you had gone. I hope you have had a pleasant day?” she said.

“About as pleasant as yours, I should think,” I said.

“Mine has been disagreeable,” she said. “Somebody in this place has been spying on me. What do you think of that? And saying bad things about me.”

“Surely not.” I leaned over and poured myself a cup of tea.

“Then why did that man wish to talk to me? He is part of your English police, I am sure of this. Do they think I have committed a crime? He would not tell me why he asks me stupid questions.”

“The English police are known to be fair. The innocent have nothing to worry about in this country,” I said. “I'm sure the questions were only routine. The police are naturally concerned for Marina's safety.” I managed a bright smile.

As I drank my tea I studied her. Did she look worried? Was she more uneasy than usual? With her normal grumpy glare I couldn't tell. But at least her plan to implicate me had backfired. That must have irked her.

We had an early dinner, then the major arrived to escort us to Crockford's.

“I had a word with them today, Your Highness,” he said, “and they will be honored to waive their requirement that you must be the guest of a member. They look forward to your visit.”

“How kind.” Marina nodded graciously.

“But if you don't mind, I will not come with you tonight,” he said. “The manager will be waiting for you and will make sure you are well looked after all evening. And frankly I would rather not be seen at a gambling club right now. I understand that I may be up for promotion to colonel and I don't want to do anything that could be perceived as unsoldierly.” He gave an apologetic little smile.

He had dressed for dinner, of course. I couldn't help thinking how smart he looked in civilian white tie and tails, rather than his army dress uniform. A good catch for some girl. But then I remembered that he had lamented trying to live on army pay. So not such a good catch. Probably a younger son who wasn't going to inherit anything. They were the ones who were always sent into the army.

He ushered us into the motorcar and off we went. I have to confess I felt a thrill of anticipation as the car pulled up outside the white portico of the club on Curzon Street. It was the sort of place I had looked at wistfully from the outside and had only sneaked into once, when I was spying on someone. So I had never actually had the experience of gambling there, as a patron. And now I was being welcomed graciously in the presence of a princess. If I hadn't been so enveloped in misery, I should have savored this moment.

“Your Royal Highness, welcome to Crockford's.” The manager, looking rather regal himself, came forward to meet us. “And Lady Georgiana. Such an honor.” He gave us a warm smile and a bow before he ushered us across that grand foyer with its red carpet and chandeliers. “If you will be good enough to sign our book, please.” He stopped at a table with the open book and pen on it. When it was my turn to sign I noticed that people signed with their name and address. And I remembered Belinda telling me that Bobo had been seen looking distressed as she spoke with an American at Crockford's.

“Someone told me that they had seen an American friend of mine here a few days ago,” I said. “I didn't even know he was in the country. May I look and see if it really was he, and where he's staying?”

“I'm afraid not, my lady.” The manager sounded shocked. “Our guest book is completely confidential. It wouldn't do to let wives check on wayward husbands, would it?” And he gave a little chuckle.

“You wouldn't happen to remember if an American gentleman was here, probably last week?”

“Again our rules of confidentiality don't allow me to reveal that, even if I knew,” he said. “We get American visitors all the time, of course. Crockford's is one of the places one has to go when one is a visitor to London.”

“Of course,” I said and retreated with my most gracious smile.

He turned his attention to Princess Marina. “Let me give you a tour of what we have to offer and then I have arranged for some jetons to start you off, with our compliments.”

We entered the main gambling salon, with its sparkling chandeliers overhead and knots of men and women clustered around roulette and card tables. We were then taken to the cashier's booth and handed a nice little stack of tokens, called in casinos by their French name of jetons—because one throws them onto the table, presumably.

“Now, feel free to try your hand at any table you choose,” the manager said. “May I have a bottle of champagne opened for you?”

“Most kind,” Marina said again. Actually she looked as much out of her depth as I felt as I gazed at the impossibly elegant and sophisticated men and women languidly placing piles of jetons on the roulette table. These were people to whom the loss of a hundred pounds meant nothing. I supposed my father must have been just like them. I never really got to know him well, because he spent his time in Nice and Monte Carlo and lost most of the family fortune at the tables. Luckily I had inherited the sensible side of my ancestors and was determined to make my free tokens last all evening. I was also determined to get a look at that guest book.

“What shall we play first, Georgiana?” Marina asked.

“I think most people play roulette,” I said. “And it's not complicated.”

“I tried it once in Monte,” she said. “It's rather fun, isn't it?”

I glanced over my shoulder. I had a funny feeling that I was being observed. But then, of course there is always someone observing in a casino, to make sure that no cheating goes on. I turned back to the table and placed my bet on number six, which I've always liked for some reason. The wheel started to spin. The little ball clattered down until it fell into a slot.

“Six,” the croupier called, pronouncing it in the French way, and pushed a stack of tokens toward me.

“Well done,” Marina said.

“Beginner's luck.” I blushed.

Glasses of champagne were brought to us.

“It's warm in here,” Marina said, shifting her mink wrap to her arm.

“Would you like me to hang up our wraps in the cloakroom?” I asked.

“Good idea. Thank you.” She handed hers to me. One of the employees sprang into action. “Here, let me take those for you, my lady.”

“It's quite all right,” I said. “I need to powder my nose anyway.” And I carried the wraps out of the room, back into the foyer. The manager was nowhere to be seen, but there was a man in a rather splendid uniform waiting by the front door. He was facing outward, not toward me. I let my wrap fall over the guest book, then swept it up and walked swiftly into the ladies' room. Of course there was an attendant so I had to flee into one of the stalls before I looked at the book. About a week ago, it must have been. I leafed through the pages until I spotted Belinda's name. And Bobo Carrington's. And, a few lines above, one J. Walter Oppenheimer of Philadelphia, guest of Sir Toby Blenchley.

So Sir Toby had been there that evening, as well as this Mr. Oppenheimer, who had somehow upset Bobo. Then I glanced down the rest of the page and saw another signature—bold and black. Hon. Darcy O'Mara. Kilhenny Castle. Ireland. So Belinda
had
been going to tell me that she'd seen Darcy and Bobo together. I hurried out of the cloakroom and deposited the book back on the table without being seen.

J. Walter Oppenheimer, guest of Sir Toby, I muttered to myself, making sure I remembered the name. Right. Concentrate, Georgie. You are now going to go in there and have a good time. I came into the gaming room with my head held high and joined Marina at the table.

“Look, I've won ten pounds.” Marina beamed at me. “Isn't this fun?”

I took a glass of champagne and put a pile of jetons on the board without actually bothering where. The wheel was spun again.

“
Trente-deux
,” the croupier called out in French and pushed a considerable number of tokens in my direction.

“Georgiana, you are so lucky,” Marina exclaimed.

“Oh yes,” I said. “So lucky.” And I turned away so that she couldn't see the bleak despair on my face.

It was a night of irony. I won quite consistently. The pile kept growing. Strange men hovered around me, encouraging and congratulating. It should have been a heady experience to be the life of the party at Crockford's.

“Why haven't we seen you here before, you gorgeous creature?” a smooth young man said to me.

“You're Binky's sister?” another asked. “We had no idea Binky had such a divine sister. Has he been hiding you away? You have to come to a hunt ball with us next weekend. The Bedfords are giving it.”

“I'm afraid I'm helping to look after Princess Marina until her wedding,” I said.

“Oh yes. The wedding. I'd forgotten that. So old George is finally getting hitched. What a riot, eh, Monty?” And the two men laughed.

“Can we take you in to supper?” one of them asked. “They do a slap-up good meal here.”

“Thank you. I think I've pushed my luck enough for one night,” I said. “But I think I'd better go and cash these in first.”

“We'll help you.” My two new suitors picked up my tokens and carried them for me to the cashier.

“Would you please keep my winnings for me until I'm ready to go?” I asked. “I'm about to have supper and I've nowhere to put money in this purse.”

“Of course, my lady.” His face betrayed no reaction at all.

“I should check on Princess Marina,” I said. “I shouldn't leave her alone.” I was trying to think of a way to have her asked to supper too, but one of them beat me to it.

“Ask her to supper too, eh, Monty?”

“Oh rather,” Monty agreed. “Old George would want us to take care of his intended.” And they both grinned as if this was a good joke. I suspected they had seen George at Crockford's with many different partners over the years, and I rather wished that I had had more time to examine that guest book and see exactly whose name had appeared next to his.

I went in search of the princess, who was now playing vingt-et-un, and told her we'd been invited to supper by two young men.

“How terribly sweet of them.” She stood up from the table. “Frankly, I think I've tired of gambling for tonight. I don't seem to be winning recently. And supper with two nice young men does sound like fun. It might make George jealous.”

Our escorts were waiting and introduced themselves formally as Monty and Whiffie. We never did find out what Whiffie's real name was but we had a merry supper. I could see why Belinda liked it here. It was a world of fantasy. And I realized I had two habitués at my fingertips, who knew the club well.

“Did you happen to meet an American man who came here with Sir Toby last week?” I asked.

“With Sir Toby? Tall, serious sort of chap, wasn't he?” Monty frowned, trying to picture him. “Didn't seem to be having fun at all.”

“I heard he had some sort of argument with Bobo Carrington,” I said.

“You're right, Bobo was here that evening. But I didn't see any kind of confrontation. She was only here briefly. Actually we hadn't seen her in ages, had we, Whiffie, old thing?”

“That's right,” Whiffie replied. “We commented on the fact. Someone said, ‘Bobo's come back into circulation, I notice,' and we had a bet as to who she'd make a beeline for. But next time we looked around, she'd gone again.”

“And the American man too?”

“No, I think he stayed on. At least, Sir Toby did.”

“So you haven't seen Bobo with anyone else recently?”

“Haven't seen her at all. She must have been on the Continent.”

“Sir Toby went to America. Perhaps she tagged along,” Whiffie said. “I know his wife stayed home.” They exchanged another grin.

“Sir Toby? Was Bobo involved with him?”

“So rumor had it. Of course he was always very careful in public. Got an image to live up to, what?” The two men laughed.

“Sir Toby Blenchley?” Marina asked. “Is he not a member of Parliament here?”

“Cabinet minister, old thing—I mean, Your Highness.”

Marina looked around the room, where various couples sat together at tables. “I suppose powerful men do not always behave as they should,” she said thoughtfully. I wondered if she was wondering about rumors she had heard of her future husband. Irmtraut had definitely heard them and might have spilled the beans.