Malice at the Palace (27 page)

Darcy nodded solemnly and we left the flat, closing the door behind us. In the lift on the way down, Darcy had the foresight to tuck the evidence inside his greatcoat.

“Any luck, Mr. O'Mara?” William asked. “Find anything?”

“Nothing at all, William, except for an old dressing gown,” Darcy said. “Tell me, when did you see Miss Carrington last?”

“Let me see. It would have been four days ago,” William said, frowning as he tried to remember. “That's right. Sunday, I think it was.”

“Did she say where she was going? Did she have a suitcase with her?”

“No, the last time I saw her it was just like any other evening. She was dressed to go out, evening gown, long fur coat. I asked her if she wanted a taxicab but she said she was meeting someone, and off she went toward Park Lane. Of course, Frederick might have seen her since then.”

“Thank you, William,” Darcy said. “My best regards to your family.”

“We hope to see you again soon, Mr. O'Mara,” William said. “When this nasty old business is taken care of, whatever it turns out to be.”

How sad, I thought. Nobody knew that Bobo was dead and would not be coming back to her flat. Darcy hailed a taxicab and took me back to Kensington. I invited him to join us for dinner but he said he had better get straight back to Sir Jeremy so they could put together a plan of action. I wished he might have included me, but I understood that he couldn't. And I regretted not going with him even more so when I found out that Marina was dining with her parents at the Dorchester and my dinner companion was Countess Irmtraut.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 10, FOLLOWED BY SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 11

KENSINGTON PALACE

It feels strange not having anything more to do with the investigation into Bobo's death. Darcy will show the letters and photographs to Sir Jeremy and they'll know how to look into the lives of powerful men. I must put the whole thing from my mind and just help Marina prepare for her wedding.

Queenie was in my room, waiting to undress me. “I ain't going near that foreign lady no more,” she said. “You should have heard her shouting at me, and all because I used the wrong polish on a pair of shoes. Blimey, miss, you'd have thought I had just drowned her only child in a bathtub.”

I sighed. “I suppose you can't be blamed for not knowing how to treat suede. I don't possess any suede shoes. And it's probably a good idea that you stay away from her. I really don't want word of your behavior getting back to the princess or the major. They'd know you weren't a suitable maid and it might even get back to the queen.”

“I don't know why you think I'm so unsuitable,” she said. “I take care of you all right, don't I?”

I shot her an exasperated look. “Queenie, since we've been here you've left one evening dress behind and soaked another one. Since we've been together you have burned, ironed, singed or shrunk almost everything I own. You really aren't suited to any kind of work, but you have a good heart. You mean well and actually I've grown quite fond of you. The way one does with a dog that pees on the carpet.”

“I don't pee on the carpet,” she said indignantly and yanked my dress over my head.

I think I was smiling as I fell asleep.

The next day it was strange not to be rushing about worrying. I had posted my letter to Mummy, but I went over to Belinda's house, stocked it with some food for her and some flowers to cheer her up before she came back to London. And when I returned to the palace that afternoon I learned that I was invited to luncheon with Marina's parents at the Dorchester the next day. So was Irmtraut, who appeared at breakfast the next morning wearing some sort of hideous national costume with silver buttons down the front. I was thankful she had chosen to dress like this, as it made my outfit look normal and even quite smart. I was a little apprehensive about meeting European royals, even if they had been deposed and exiled. But they turned out to be charming. Marina's Danish-Greek father and her Russian-born mother both had a good sense of humor and spoke perfect English, and we had a pleasant luncheon together. I was even becoming accustomed to frequenting places like the Dorchester!

Marina told her mother about our shopping expeditions, as a result of which her mother declared she didn't want to miss out on all the fun and we should all go to Bond Street before the shops closed. Her father said that wild horses couldn't drag him to go shopping with a gaggle of women and retired to the bar. But we piled into a taxicab and had a spiffing time hunting down odd trousseau items like a blue garter, white silk stockings and a deliciously sinful negligee that made Irmtraut so upset in the shop that an assistant had to bring her a glass of water.

Marina's mother came back to Kensington Palace with us for tea. Marina took her mama up to show her her suite. I followed, and we were halfway up the stairs when I spotted Queenie coming down. She was carrying an empty tea plate and cup and her mouth was liberally decorated with jam. What's more, there were crumbs down the front of her black dress.

“Whatcher, miss,” she said, not batting an eyelid that she was passing two royal ladies.

“Queenie,” I hissed.

To my horror, Marina's mother turned around. Oh golly. She thought I had been calling her.

“Yes, my dear?” she asked, looking puzzled. “I'm actually only a princess, not a queen.”

“I'm so sorry, Your Royal Highness,” I stammered. “I was speaking to a maid. Unfortunately her Christian name is Queenie.”

Luckily both Marina and her mother thought this was awfully funny and an international incident was avoided. I noticed that Queenie took advantage of the laughter to escape down the stairs. I resolved to speak to her sternly next time we were alone.

While we were having tea, a footman appeared with a note on a silver salver. I half expected it to be from Darcy, but it was addressed to Princess Marina. She took it, opened it and smiled. “Oh, how kind. It is from Princess Louise. She says the aunts usually meet for Sunday luncheon at Princess Alice's apartment and they would love it if Georgiana and I were free to join them tomorrow.”

“That's very nice of them,” I said. “Are you free?”

She glanced at her mother. “I promised Mama and Papa that I'd go to church with them, but after that we had no plans,” she said. “I think I should meet my future relatives, don't you?”

“Absolutely,” her mother agreed.

“And I?” Irmtraut asked. “I am not invited?”

“I don't think they realized you were staying here. I'll send them a note back and ask that you may be included, Traudi,” Marina said. “Of course you should come with us.”

She was really a sweet-natured person.

“I think that perhaps you should not attend, Irmtraut,” Marina's mother said. “It is to be a family occasion for Marina to meet her new aunts.”

“Very well,” Irmtraut said stiffly. “I should not intrude on a family occasion.”

“Oh, but Mama, surely . . .” Marina began but Irmtraut interrupted.

“No, you are right. I should not attend,” Irmtraut said stiffly. “I should not feel comfortable and I do not wish to seem like the poor relation.”

“As you wish,” Marina said and I could tell even she was becoming exasperated with Irmtraut.

She turned to me. “Now you must tell me all about these aunts so that I get it right tomorrow.”

Oh crikey. I was clear enough about Princesses Louise and Beatrice, both Queen Victoria's daughters. Princess Alice, I understood, had married Prince Alexander of Teck, and was thus related to Queen Mary as well as the king. The last royal aunt, the Dowager Marchioness of Milford Haven, was a little more nebulous to me. I knew she was also a granddaughter of Queen Victoria and therefore cousin to my father, but not much else about her. It seemed that Queen Victoria had had enough children to populate the royal houses of Europe.

“But you know her, Marina,” her mother said when I mentioned the name. “Her daughter Alice is your aunt. She married Daddy's brother.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” Marina smiled. “Then her grandson must be Philip. The blond boy.”

“Such a handsome lad already,” Marina's mother said. “I wonder who he will marry one day?”

“Unfortunately too young for you, Georgie,” Marina said. “But you have someone else in mind, don't you?”

So we had a lovely Sunday to look forward to—luncheon with the aunts and then a glamorous soiree with Noel Coward. How easily one slips into the mode of thinking there is nothing extraordinary about this. If only Fig could see me now!

Marina was dining with her parents at Buckingham Palace so it was to be just Irmtraut and me at Kensington again. We were having sherry, prior to dining, when a maid appeared.

“Your ladyship, there is a gentleman to see you at the front door,” she said. “A Mr. O'Mara.”

“Thank you.” I felt my cheeks turning red as I went out to meet him. He was standing in the long gallery off the front entrance, looking around with interest.

“This place could do with a coat of paint,” he said. “Couldn't they have found anywhere a little less dingy to house a princess?”

“It was the only apartment that was vacant here,” I said. “There are several royal aunts in residence.”

“Ah yes. The Prince of Wales's Aunt Heap.” Darcy smiled.

“Will you come in for sherry? I could introduce you to the dreaded Irmtraut.”

He looked dubious. “I just stopped by to give you the latest news. We've found the birth certificate and no father is listed. It seems the child is already in America.”

“America?”

He nodded. “Sir Jeremy went to have a chat with Sir Toby. He was told that Sir Toby arranged the adoption with a wealthy American publisher while he was over in the States. He said there was a little unpleasantness because Bobo changed her mind at the last moment and didn't want to give up her baby. But he said he made her see sense.”

“So Toby Blenchley was the father?” I asked.

“Not according to him. She was just a young acquaintance, but he'd heard about her unfortunate circumstances and his mind went instantly to his friend in America whose wife was longing for a baby. So he helped arrange the adoption. End of story.”

“Would you go to all that trouble for a distant acquaintance?” I asked.

“Probably not.” Darcy smiled. “But Sir Toby hasn't been in government this long without learning a thing or two. I don't see any way we could prove he was the father. In fact he hinted to Sir Jeremy that everyone knew that Prince George was the child's father, but naturally, as good Englishmen, they would never express that thought in company.”

“But we know she has been seen around with Sir Toby. If she wasn't his mistress, then why?”

“Another idea that I don't think we'll be able to prove,” he said. “It's possible he brings in the drugs when he comes back from trade missions. It's unlikely the bags of a minister on government business would ever be searched. He might have been supplying people like Bobo.”

“But you'd never get anyone to talk.”

“We'll act as if we suspect nothing. Then next time he goes to New York, we'll go through every bag with a fine-toothed comb.”

I nodded. Then took a deep breath. “But we're no nearer to being able to find out who killed her. If he was supplying her with drugs, wouldn't he want her alive? On the other hand, if she was blackmailing him and had recently threatened to take incriminating evidence to the newspapers . . .”

I paused. “She may have become too much of a liability,” Darcy finished for me.

“Surely there is more that the police could do,” I said angrily. “I'd be questioning every hobo in Kensington Gardens, any constable who patrols the gardens. Someone must have seen a motorcar driving up to the palace.”

“So what? If you'd seen a big motor drive past, wouldn't you automatically think it was one of the palace occupants returning home? You wouldn't look twice, would you? And it was unpleasant weather. No late evening strollers. Everyone tucked up at home.”

“I hate to think that someone is going to get away with this,” I said.

“The problem is the need for secrecy,” he said. “In the case of a normal murder we'd be asking the public to come forward with anything they'd seen. We'd be asking for tips from those involved in the world of drugs. But we can do none of this. Ah well.” He ran his hand through those dark curls. “My money is still on Sir Toby. Maybe he'll slip up someday. Maybe someone will squeal. In the meantime go back and enjoy your sherry. I can let myself out.”

“Why don't you come have dinner with us,” I said, reaching out to take his hand. “Surely you can't be too busy on a Saturday evening?”

He looked around. “I have a few things that have to be done. But I'm not dressed.”

“It's only Irmtraut and me,” I said. “I'm sure she'll understand.”

He smiled then. “All right. Why not. I've no better offer.”

“I can tell how very keen you are to be with me,” I said.

He laughed and put an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, then. Introduce me to the formidable countess.”

I led him through to the sitting room. Irmtraut started, looking as if I'd brought a farm laborer in muddy boots into the place.

“Countess, this is my young man, the Honorable Darcy O'Mara, son of Lord Kilhenny,” I said.

“How do you do.” She held out a hand, giving him a “we are not amused” stare that would have rivaled one from my great-grandmother.

He took the hand and to my amazement brought it to his lips to kiss it. “
Enchanté
, Countess,” he said.

After that he had her eating out of his hand and I could witness the charm that had attracted me to him in the first place. Because the princess wasn't present, the dinner was solid family food—not as bad as toad in the hole but steak and kidney pie and cabbage followed by spotted dick. Irmtraut poked at it with her fork.

“And what is this?” she demanded.

“Spotted dick,” I said.

She peered at it. “Who or what is a dick and why is he spotted?”

Darcy and I stared hard at our plates to stop us from bursting out laughing.

“You certainly charmed the countess,” I commented when I escorted him to the front door after coffee.

He grinned. “Occasionally I need to prove that I still have what it takes. Perhaps she'll be nicer to you from now on.”