Malice at the Palace (29 page)

I glanced first at the major and then down the stairs. The front door was still open. If I ran fast enough down the stairs I might make it out of the door before him. But I was wearing an evening gown and dainty little slippers. He could outrun me. He could just as easily catch me in the darkness of the park.

If I went the other way—the way he wasn't expecting, into the royal galleries—I might have a chance. Plenty of places to hide, maybe a weapon of some sort with which to defend myself. And maybe another staircase I could slip down and out into the night. I lifted my skirt so that I could run more easily, then I turned and fled into the darkness. My footsteps clattered and echoed across the landing. After the dim lighting of the foyer it was pitch-black in there. I blundered into a glass case containing some kind of exhibit, felt my way around it, and around a second, and through to a second room. I heard him curse behind me as he obviously bumped into something too. Now I was used to the dark I could vaguely make out old furniture, a display of costumes. I didn't hesitate another second. I jumped up and took up position in the middle of the display among the mannequins.

Just in time. He came blundering past. His breath echoed loudly. “You can't go on hiding, you know. I'll find you. There's only one way out.”

I stayed perfectly still among the mannequins. There was a chance he'd think I'd gone through to the other rooms and then I could creep down the stairs.

Rats. He was coming back. I could hear his breath, ragged with agitation now.

“There's a light switch here somewhere,” he said.

I couldn't let him get to the light switch. Was there anything here I could use as a weapon? My hand touched the nearest mannequin's cold arm. Did it come off? I tugged gently but it didn't move. Then I felt the parasol in her hand. A parasol was dainty and probably not much use but it was better than nothing. And it had a solid handle of some kind of stone. I eased myself down from the podium and crept toward the sound of his breathing. There he was, his back toward me, still fumbling for the light switch. I lifted the parasol and brought it crashing down over his head. He cried out, staggered and reeled, but he didn't fall. Bugger.

I fled back through the doorway and out onto the landing. He'd catch me. Of course he'd catch me, but I had to try and run anyway. If I could make it across the landing and down the hallway on the other side, I'd hammer on Princess Alice's door. I'd scream. Someone would hear me. His feet were pounding close behind me. I was halfway across the landing when suddenly there was a gust of cold wind. It became icily cold. A shape appeared out of nowhere—a white shape that formed itself into a young woman. She swept past me, even before I realized exactly what was happening. I froze. The major had come out of the royal rooms and was advancing toward me across the foyer with a look of grim determination on his face. He stopped short at the top of the stairs as the apparition advanced on him. As she came closer she seemed to glow. The major took a step back. Still she approached.

“I don't believe in ghosts,” he said loudly. “You're not real. You can't hurt me.”

Then, from his other side and horribly close, came a burst of wild, maniacal laughter. It was so sudden that my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. The major reacted too. A boy had appeared, clad in green, his hair a mass of unruly curls, his face wild and excited. The major took another step backward as the boy leaped at him. It was his fatal mistake. He stepped into nothing at the top of the staircase, lost his balance and fell. I could hear the cries and thuds as he bounced down the stairs. The boy shot me a delighted look and vanished. The white woman also looked at me as she vanished into a wall. It was a look of recognition, of one family member to another.

LATE AT NIGHT, NOVEMBER 11

KENSINGTON PALACE

I rushed to wake up Princess Alice's servants.

“Come quickly. The major has fallen down the stairs,” I shouted. Princess Alice herself appeared in her nightclothes. “Call an ambulance, Hettie,” she said to her maid.

“I think that won't be necessary,” I said. One of the maids had turned on the main lights in the chandelier. I could see the major's face staring up at me, his head at a strange, unnatural angle.

Suddenly I wanted to cry. It was all for the best really, wasn't it? All so stupid that people had died like this. I was taken into Princess Alice's suite and given a brandy. I told her about the ghosts and how the major had been on his nightly rounds when one of them had appeared from nowhere and so startled him that he had stepped back and lost his footing. I didn't add that he had been trying to kill me.

“A wild child who laughs?” she said. “That would be Peter, the Wild Boy. I saw him once. He was a favorite of George the First, who had him brought back from the forests of Germany. I gather he's very protective of the royal family.”

And she looked at me long and hard.

Police and ambulance men came. I wanted to suggest that they summon DCI Pelham but I couldn't think of a reason to do that for what I was claiming to be a horrible accident. It was fortunate that I could say with complete honesty that I had seen Major Beauchamp-Chough at the top of the stairs when one of the ghosts had appeared from the wall. He had stepped back and lost his footing. It was terrible. So tragic. Nothing more was asked of me.

As soon as I could I slipped away, found a telephone and dialed Sir Jeremy's number. He told me to stay put. He'd come immediately. Then I rang the number Darcy had given me. Nobody answered there. I was on my way back to my own apartment, wanting nothing more than a hot drink and bed, when I heard running feet behind me. Darcy came charging up and grabbed me.

“Are you all right?” he said. “I got a garbled message from Sir Jeremy that the major had fallen down the stairs. Was anyone else involved? Was it really an accident? And why the major?”

I told him as calmly as I could. “Remember that one photograph I said looked like him, only younger and minus the mustache? It must have been him with a group of his, um, friends.”

“So you put two and two together and went looking for him? At this time of night?” He was shouting now.

“No. Nothing like that,” I replied. “Princess Marina asked me to deliver a message to the major. It was only when I was at his front door that I saw his card and realized his name was Gerald—the name in that love letter, remember? And the Black Cat is where . . .”

“I know what the Black Cat is,” he said curtly.

“And Princess Alice had said at luncheon today that she'd seen the major coming home, looking smart in his uniform, when she was going to bed. So I went up to her apartment to find out what time she went to bed and it was early. The major assumed I knew more than I did and he was going to kill me.”

“So you pushed him down the stairs?”

“No, I didn't. Two of the family ghosts made him step backward and he lost his balance. Princess Sophia and the Wild Boy.”

“You're not serious!”

“Deadly serious, Darcy. I'd seen Princess Sophia before, but she was wonderful. She came right at him as if she knew she was saving me.”

Darcy shook his head. “Amazing,” he said. “And to think it was Beauchamp-Chough all the time. I suppose we overlooked him because we thought his one motive would have been to protect the prince. And we thought he wouldn't be stupid enough to leave an incriminating body lying around at the castle, thus implicating Prince George.”

“He meant to kill her with a Veronal-laced drink,” I said. “I think he drugged her, then went out to his regimental dinner to set up his alibi. He planned to come back and find her dead, having taken her own life. Only she must have had a high tolerance for drugs and alcohol, so she woke up enough to try to escape. My maid said she looked out of the window and saw something wafting about in the courtyard. I think that must have been Bobo staggering around, half doped. The major returned and caught her just in time and had to suffocate her. Then he saw our motorcar approaching and rushed back into his suite to act as if he had just come in the door when we came to find him. Obviously he didn't think we'd go to look in the courtyard that night and believed he could spirit the body away before anyone found it.”

“So why did you go to look?” Darcy asked.

“I saw this greenish light glowing and I wanted to see what was causing it. It must have been the palace ghosts again because there is no light under that archway.”

“I don't know.” Darcy shook his head. “Why can't you ever leave well enough alone and behave like a normal young lady? Take up the pianoforte or embroidery, for God's sake. Don't always go looking for trouble. I can't spend my life worrying about you every time you're out of my sight.”

“There's an answer to that,” I said. “Don't let me out of your sight so often. And you'd be bored with me in five minutes if I took up embroidery.”

He took my face in his hands, looked down at me and smiled. “God, Georgie. I do love you.”

“I love you too,” I said.

And for the next few minutes neither of us spoke at all.

A
FINE OBITUARY
appeared in the
Times
two days later, listing all the accomplishments of Major Beauchamp-Chough and saying what a splendid chap he was. And I had to agree. He was a splendid chap in most ways. It's funny but I don't think I've ever met a truly evil murderer. Just desperate people backed into a corner so thoroughly that killing is the only way out.

At least we could now concentrate on the final preparations for the wedding. There were dress fittings and Queen Mary's tea for the young ladies in the wedding party—at which I didn't spill or drop anything, or even knock over a vase. I wondered if I might be growing out of my clumsiness. Could it be the added self-assurance of knowing that I was loved by Darcy? That I had a future to look forward to?

Belinda returned to London and I went to greet her, making sure she had enough supplies and didn't have to go out shopping for a while. She still looked frail, not the flamboyant girl I so admired.

“You're a peach, Georgie,” she said as I made her tea and crumpets. “Where will you go after the wedding?”

“I don't know. I might stay on with Binky and Fig in the London house at least until Christmas.”

“You could always come here,” she said. “I don't plan to hire another live-in maid. At least not until we've heard from your mother and I can start to plan for the future. So I could clear out the spare bedroom for you. Make it nice and cozy.”

“Wouldn't I cramp your style?”

“I don't plan to have that kind of style, at least not for the moment. And I'd welcome the company.”

“What about Queenie? I can't just abandon her.”

“We could set up a camp bed in the attic. If she doesn't mind climbing a stepladder.”

“Can you see Queenie climbing a ladder?” I asked and we both laughed.

“I'll make sure I'm nearby, whatever happens,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “It will all work out. You'll see.”

“Thank you, Georgie. You're such a good friend,” she said. “I hope you live happily ever after and have oodles of children.”

“I hope so too,” I said.

T
HE GREAT DAY
arrived. I decided to squander part of my casino winnings on a smart new royal blue two-piece and matching hat with a feather in it. Darcy received an invitation to sit beside me in St. Margaret's, Westminster. It was a fine, crisp day and the couple looked splendid, and happy. I hoped that their happiness would last. As Marina walked up the aisle with her train and veil flowing out behind her I couldn't help fantasizing about my own wedding. Would I someday be married in a place like this? With Darcy waiting for me up at the altar and the choir singing? I suppose it's every girl's dream, isn't it? I confess to taking an occasional glance at Darcy, sitting beside me. Once I found him looking at me and he smiled.

After the ceremony we went to Buckingham Palace for the reception. The Prince of Wales was there, looking sulky without Mrs. Simpson. She certainly would not have been welcome. When the happy couple came past him George clapped him on the shoulder. “Your turn next, old boy,” he said. “Or are you going to turn into a grouchy old confirmed bachelor?”

“You know very well what I want to do,” David said in a clipped voice. “If this blasted family would stop badgering me and trying to live my life for me.”

“Ah, but the big difference is that you're going to be king and the rest of us aren't,” George said. “I think it's time you buckled down and did your duty, old chap.”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.” David gave a brittle laugh. “I don't have nearly as much buckling down to do as you.”

“Ah, but I'm doing it. I'm going to be a thoroughly good boy from now on, and a devoted husband.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” David said. He looked around. Marina was being kissed on the cheek by some elderly Continental royal lady. “By the way, whatever happened to Bobo?”

“She's dead, old chap. Drug overdose, they say,” George said.

“That was a piece of luck for you, wasn't it?” David muttered. “Not the sort of thing one would want the blushing bride to hear about.”

T
HE HAPPY COUPLE
departed and the rest of us took our leave of the king and queen.

“Your turn next, eh, young Georgie?” the king asked.

“We'll have to see, sir,” I replied, trying not to sneak a glance in Darcy's direction.

Darcy and I took a taxicab back to Kensington. “It seems a pity to waste a free evening,” Darcy said.

“I'd better go and change out of this new outfit into something more eveningy,” I said. “And I'll hang it up myself before Queenie can ruin it.”