Malice at the Palace (3 page)

“Dash it all, Fig, she is my sister,” Binky said. “This is her home.”

“This is our home now, Binky. Your sister has been off for months, God knows where, making her own life—as well she should, since she's no longer your responsibility.” A heavy sigh followed. “Well, go downstairs and entertain her and I suppose I'll have to get up. I was looking forward to a long lie-in with
Country Life
this morning too.”

I tiptoed through to the dining room as Binky came down the stairs again.

“Fig will join us in a minute,” he said, managing a bright smile. “Slept in late today, don't you know. But do go ahead and tuck in. I'm sure it's all still hot.”

I did as I was told and sat down with a plate piled with kedgeree, kidneys, scrambled egg and bacon. It was a feast such as I hadn't had in a while and it made me wonder whether Fig's legacy had been big enough to have improved their standard of living. When I had last been at home at Castle Rannoch, Fig's catering had been decidedly on the mean side, to the point of replacing the Cooper's Oxford marmalade with Golden Shred.

Coffee was brought and I had almost cleaned my plate when I heard footsteps tapping down the hall and Fig came in. “Georgiana,” she said in a clipped voice, “what a surprise. How lovely to see you.” She looked older than when I had seen her last and permanent frown lines were beginning to show on her forehead. She'd never been a beauty but had once had that healthy if horsey look of country women, with a perfect complexion. Now she looked decidedly pasty faced and I felt renewed pity for Binky that he was stuck with someone like this for the rest of his life. If things went as planned I would have Darcy to look at across the breakfast table every morning—a far more desirable prospect.

Fig poured herself a cup of coffee then sat down across the table from me. “We didn't even know you were in town or we would have had you over for a meal. In fact we had no idea where you were, had we, Binky? Your brother was quite worried that he hadn't heard from you.”

“The last we heard was when you went to stay with the Eynsfords,” Binky said, “and there was that spot of bother, wasn't there? That unpleasant business with poor old Cedric.”

“Georgiana does seem to attract unpleasant business,” Fig said. “You've been abroad since you left the Eynsfords? We met the dowager duchess at Balmoral and she mentioned something along those lines.”

“I went to America with my mother,” I said.

“What on earth for? Is she looking for a rich American husband now?” Fig stirred her coffee fiercely.

“Oh I say, Fig, that's really a bit much,” Binky interrupted.

“On the contrary. She went there to divorce one.” I smiled at her sweetly. “She is planning to marry the industrialist Max von Strohheim.”

“A German?” Fig frowned at my brother. “You hear that, Binky? Georgie's mother is going to marry a German. How people can forget the Great War so quickly I just do not understand.”

“I don't suppose Georgie's mum's beau had much to do with the Great War,” Binky said in his usual affable manner. I didn't like to say that I thought he had probably made a fortune in supplying arms. His industrial empire was certainly wide reaching. “So did you have a good time in America, Georgie? Were you there long?”

“Parts of it were lovely, thank you,” I said. “The crossing on the
Berengaria
—”

“You hear that, Binky?” Fig interrupted. “She sailed on the
Berengaria
—the millionaires' ship, they call her. Something I'll never be able to do. Obviously I went wrong in life. I should have become an actress and had dalliances with all kinds of men, like Georgie's mother.”

“You don't have the looks, old thing,” Binky said kindly. “You have to admit that Georgie's mum is an absolute corker.”

Fig went rather red and I tried not to choke on my coffee.

“She is little better than a high-class tart,” Fig snapped.

“Steady on, old thing,” Binky said. “Georgie's mum may have led a somewhat colorful life but she's a thoroughly decent sort. Really kind to me when she married Father. She was the only one who could see I was miserable at boarding school.”

Fig saw that this battle wasn't going her way. “You were missed at Balmoral, Georgiana,” she said. “The king and queen both commented on your absence. Quite put out that you weren't there.”

“Oh, I'm sure my presence hardly made a difference,” I said, secretly pleased that they even noticed I hadn't joined the house party this year.

“Quite put out,” Fig repeated. “The king actually said to me, ‘Where's young Georgiana then? Had enough of putting up with us old fogies? Rather spend time with the bright young things, what?'”

“And the little princesses missed you too, Georgie,” Binky said. “That Elizabeth is turning into a damned fine horsewoman. She said she was sorry you weren't there to go riding with her.”

“It's probably not the wisest thing to snub the king and queen, Georgie,” Fig said. “They are the heads of the family, after all. And you know how the queen absolutely expects one to show up at Balmoral.”

That was true enough. It was hard to find any excuse good enough to get out of it. It was even reported that a certain member of the royal clan timed her pregnancies so that she could miss Balmoral biennially. Actually we Rannochs didn't mind it. We were used to freezing cold rooms and the piper waking everyone at dawn, not to mention the tartan wallpaper in the loo.

“We had a lovely time there this year, didn't we, Binky?” Fig drained her coffee and got up to help herself to a piece of toast.

“Oh rather,” he agreed. “Of course, the weather wasn't too kind. Rained every bally day, actually. Missed every bird I shot at. Apart from that it was quite jolly. They've a new piper who plays at dawn.”

“I'm sorry I had to miss it,” I said with a straight face. I turned back to Fig. “So I hear you've come into a legacy, Fig, and you're having central heating put in.”

“Only a small legacy,” Fig said hurriedly. “My aunt lived very simply. No luxuries. She was very active in the Girl Guides until she died.”

“And you're just down here until the new boiler is put in?”

“Actually we thought we might as well keep on here until the wedding,” Binky said and got a warning frown from Fig.

“The wedding?” I asked.

“The royal wedding,” Binky said.

“The Prince of Wales is finally going to buckle down and get married?” I asked in surprise.

“Not the Prince of Wales, although it's certainly taking long enough for him to select someone suitable to be a future queen,” Fig said. “It's the younger son, Prince George, who is to marry next month.”

I couldn't have been more surprised. “George?” It came out as a squeak. Prince George, the king's fourth son, was utterly charming and delightful and fun, but from all I'd heard (and seen on occasion) he had been rather a naughty boy. “So the king and queen are trying to rein him in.”

“What do you mean, rein him in?” Fig asked.

“One has heard rumors . . .” I glanced at Binky but got no reaction, so I supposed that news didn't travel as far as Scotland or my relatives were so naïve that they weren't aware that behavior like George's went on.

“Come now, Georgiana. Even princes of the realm are allowed to have a little fun in their youth,” Fig said. “As long as they do the right thing and marry well.”

Personally I thought that posing naked wearing nothing but a Guardsman's bearskin and having an affair with Noel Coward were slightly more than “having a little fun.” I'd once spotted him at a party where cocaine was being snorted. There were rumors also of affairs with highly unsuitable women.

“Who is he marrying?” I asked.

“Princess Marina of Greece,” Binky said. “Danish royal family, you know. You've met her cousin Philip, haven't you? Very handsome. Nice boy. Good sportsman.”

“And of course we've been invited to the wedding,” Fig added with satisfaction. “Wouldn't miss it for the world, would we, Binky?”

“Oh no,” Binky said. “Ripping good fun.”

“I wonder if I'm invited,” I said. “Is it to be a big affair?”

“Westminster Abbey,” Fig said. “I wouldn't know if you've been included in the guest list. They have to draw the line somewhere.”

Binky pulled up his chair a little closer to me. “So, Georgie, what are your plans now you've returned from America? Are you staying in London?”

“I was borrowing a friend's mews cottage,” I said, “but she has returned home unexpectedly so I'm having to move out. I was thinking of coming up to Castle Rannoch while I look for a suitable job, but of course that's now out of the question. There is always my grandfather. . . .”

“The one in Essex?” Fig made it sound as if it were one of the outer circles of hell.

“Since the other one has been dead for many years the answer to that would be yes,” I replied. “He's a perfectly charming person, just not—”

“Of our class,” Fig cut in. “You can't seriously be thinking of living in Essex! What would the family say if they found out? I don't think they would appreciate the news that you were staying with a Cockney in Essex, Georgiana. However charming he is.”

“Then do you have a better suggestion?” I asked.

“You must stay here,” Binky said with great enthusiasm.

Fig's face was a picture. She opened her mouth, went to say something, closed it again. I couldn't resist answering hurriedly, “If you're really sure it wouldn't be inconvenient?”

“Inconvenient?” Binky said. “It's your home, Georgie, old bean. We'd love to have you—wouldn't we, Fig?”

There was a distinct pause before she managed a tight smile and said, “Of course we would. Absolutely love you to stay.”

OCTOBER 29

RANNOCH HOUSE, BELGRAVE SQUARE, LONDON W.1.

I had to smile to myself as I left Rannoch House and headed for the Hyde Park Corner tube station. I had somewhere to stay for the immediate future. Now all I needed to do was to collect Queenie from her parents so that she could pack up my clothes and help me move in.

“Oh golly,” I thought as reality dawned. That would really annoy Fig. She couldn't stand Queenie and had wanted me to sack her on numerous occasions. I found I was taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that both Queenie and I would be a source of irritation to Fig. Of course it wouldn't be for long, but if I was also invited to the wedding, then I'd have to stay until the end of November, by which time I should have secured some kind of job or invitation.

The train arrived and we plunged into darkness on my way to deepest Essex and my grandfather's house. His next-door neighbor was Queenie's great-aunt so she would know whether Queenie's mother had recovered sufficiently for me to drag Queenie away. My grandfather's house was on a quiet suburban street of lower-middle-class respectability. Each semidetached house had a small square of front garden blooming with roses and lavender in the summer but at this time of year looking sorry and bare. Granddad's front garden still looked cheerful since he had three brightly painted gnomes in the middle of his flower bed. I took a deep breath before I went up to the front door. I seemed to wait a long time before I heard a voice saying, “I'm coming. I'm coming.”

The door was opened and Granddad stood there. To my surprise he was in his dressing gown and slippers. He looked at me with suspicion then his old wrinkled face broke into a broad grin.

“Well, swipe me,” he said. “You're the last person I expected to see, my love. I thought it would be her from next door coming round with the stew she promised me. If I'd known you was coming I'd have spruced meself up a bit.”

“You're not well?” I asked, kissing the stubble on his weathered cheek as he hugged me.

“Nothing serious. Just a touch of the old bronchitis. I get it something shocking when the weather's like this. But I'm on the mend now. Taking it easy like the doctor said and letting her next door take care of me. I must say she's a good sort, coming round with all manner of dishes to tempt me to eat again. But come on in. Don't just stand there. I'll put the kettle on and she baked a tasty Dundee cake the other day.”

I followed him through to the kitchen, then perched on a wooden chair while he filled the kettle.

“I wish you'd told me you'd been ill, Granddad,” I said. “I could have come to take care of you.”

“Very kind of you, ducks, but like I said, it weren't nothing serious. Just a spot of the old trouble. These lungs have lived in the Smoke too long. Don't work proper no more.”

“I wish I had a house in the country, then I'd take you to live with me,” I said. “You're so much better in good country air.”

“Don't you worry about me, my love.” He patted my hand. “I've had a good innings. Can't complain.”

I gripped his hand. He had always seemed so strong, so chipper before. The ex-policeman who had tackled everything in his life. It was worrying to see him almost giving up. “Don't talk that way, Granddad. You've got to stay around for a long while yet. You have to come to my wedding and hold my first child.”

“Either of those likely to happen any day now?” he asked with a cheeky smile. “That Darcy fellow still courting you?”

“Hardly courting me.” I smiled. “And he's not around at the moment. But one day . . .”

“He's the right sort, that Darcy,” Granddad said. “You stick with him and you'll do all right.”

The kettle boiled and he put three scoops of tea into the pot before pouring on the boiling water.

“So what brings you down here today? Just come for a chat or was it something more?”

“I'm always happy to come for a chat,” I said. “Seeing you always cheers me up, but actually I've come to reclaim Queenie and I find that I don't know her parents' address.”

“You've come to take her back?” Granddad asked, then he gave a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. “Blimey, ducks, that won't half be good news for her folks. Driving them up the pole, that's what she's been doing. Her own mum said she didn't know how Queenie didn't drive you round the blooming bend. Said you must be some sort of saint, she reckoned.”

“So Queenie hasn't actually been that much of a help?” I inquired.

Granddad chuckled again. “You could say that. She tried to do the cooking and the gas cooker exploded. Then she knocked the fireguard onto her mum's broken leg. No, I think I can safely say that they'll want to kiss your feet for taking her away again.”

“Poor old Queenie,” I said. “She does seem to be rather disaster prone.”

“And yet you're prepared to give her another go?”

“Oh, Granddad.” I gave a sigh. “Who else would employ her? Besides, she is the only maid I can afford and most of the time she's better than nothing.”

“Well, if you're really sure about this, she's next door with her gran right now,” he said. “Her gran's been trying to teach her to cook—without too much success, so I hear. Her dad claims she'll poison the lot of them. Pity really, because her gran's a lovely cook. Here, try the cake.”

He took the lid off a cake tin and cut a generous slice of Dundee cake. It was rich, moist and fruity and I ate with relish.

“Her grandmother is a good cook,” I agreed. “I'm surprised she hasn't won you over with her cooking yet.”

He grinned. “She's certainly tried hard enough, and dropped enough hints. But between you, me and the gatepost, I like things the way they are. She's there when I need her and but she's not driving me round the bend with fussing over me too much. And if I ever married her, I'd be stuck with Queenie as another granddaughter. I don't think you'd want that, would you?”

“Oh crikey,” I said. “Queenie as a relative would be a bit much. She doesn't do what I tell her now, when she's only my maid. If she were a fellow grandchild, she'd be impossible.”

We laughed.

“So are you still at your friend's place in the snooty part of Knightsbridge?”

“I was until this morning,” I said, and told him the story.

“You know you'd always be welcome to stay here,” he said, “but your lot wouldn't like it.”

“I know,” I said. “But don't worry because things sorted themselves out rather well. My brother is in town and has invited me to stay. I gather there is to be a royal wedding so he and Fig are staying on in London for another month. By that time something may have turned up.”

“Turned up? What sort of thing?”

I sighed and stared out past him into the row of identical back gardens with washing flapping on clotheslines in the stiff breeze. “I wish I knew. I'm always hoping I can find a job. I must be employable in some capacity. I'm sure I'd be a better lady's maid than Queenie.”

He chuckled again. “I'm sure you would too, ducks.”

I drained my cup of tea and finished my cake. “Oh well. I suppose I'd better go and face the inevitable and retrieve Queenie. My only consolation is that my sister-in-law is going to be livid when she finds that Queenie is coming back into her house.” And I gave him a wicked grin.

Having given Granddad a good-bye kiss and promised to visit him again soon, I went to the house next door and rapped on the knocker. The door was opened fiercely and a face topped with hair curlers peeping from a scarf glared at me. “If you're another of them Jehovah's Witnesses telling me I'm going to hell, then I'll tell you where to put this . . .”

“Hello, Mrs. Huggins,” I said.

She stopped and a look of utter horror crossed her face. She put her hand up to her mouth. “Blimey. Oh, your ladyship. I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you for a second there and them ruddy religious lot were here again yesterday. I don't know what they want from the likes of me. I ain't got no money to give them and that's what they're normally after, ain't it?” She made a gesture to smooth back her hair, then remembered she was wearing curlers, which clearly embarrassed her even further. “Here to see your granddad, are you, then? He's been a bit poorly the last few days, but I think he's on the mend. I'm just making him a good Irish stew and dumplings to build him up.”

“Actually I believe Queenie is with you at the moment.”

“She is, your ladyship. Helping me out in the kitchen, and turning into a lovely little cook too. It was ever so good of you to spare her to look after her poor mum. I suppose you want her back now?” There was a note of hope in her voice.

“That's right. If you think her mother is on the mend and you can spare her.”

“Well, we have to let her go, don't we, your ladyship? After all, you are her proper employer and it wouldn't be right to make you have to look after yourself for longer than absolutely necessary. I expect it's been hard for you, trying to get on without her.”

“I've managed, Mrs. Huggins,” I said, “and if you really feel that her mother needs her longer, I'm sure I can survive—”

“Oh no, your ladyship,” she cut in. “Right is right. Queenie needs to go back up west to you. No doubt about it. Come on in, ducks—I mean, your ladyship.”

I could see where Queenie got it from. She had never learned to call me by my correct title. I stepped into a dingy hallway.

“Queenie!” Mrs. Huggins yelled in a voice that would do any sergeant major proud. “Come and see who's turned up for you then. Come all the way out here for yer. Missing yer, she was.”

This was going a little far, but I didn't say anything as the kitchen door opened and Queenie came out. She was wearing the same outfit as the first time she came to be interviewed—a purple hand-knitted jumper that hugged her generous curves a little too tightly and a bright red skirt. Her face broke into a big smile when she saw me.

“Whatcher, miss,” she said. “I ain't half glad to see you. Can't do without me no longer, eh?”

“Hello, Queenie,” I said. “Nice to see you too.”

“Well, I won't say I'm sorry to be leaving,” she said. “I like my family all right, but they've run me off me bloody feet. It will be good to get back to a bit of peace and quiet with you.”

“I've come to retrieve you because I need help packing all my things. We're moving out of the mews cottage.”

Her moon face looked at me expectantly. “So are we off somewhere nice again? The Continent? America? You should have seen my neighbors' faces down our street when I told them I'd been to Hollywood. They wouldn't believe me, but I told them, ‘You can ask Lady Georgiana, what's my mistress, then. And see her in the picture papers in Hollywood with her famous mum what's a film star.'”

“We're not going far this time. We'll be staying at Rannoch House for the next few weeks.”

“By ourselves?”

“No. My brother and his family will be there with us.”

“Bloody 'ell,” she said. “We're moving in with your toffee-nosed sister-in-law?”

Whatever I thought of my sister-in-law it was not up to servants to criticize her. I had tried to impress this fact upon Queenie before, but like most things it went right over her head. “Queenie, remember I told you it wasn't your place to criticize your betters. I agree my sister-in-law is not the easiest person but if you did your job perfectly, she'd have nothing to criticize, would she?”

“She don't like me because I'm dead common,” Queenie said.

“If you'd rather stay on here and keep looking after your mother, I'm sure I could do without a maid a little longer,” I said.

“Oh no, your ladyship,” Mrs. Huggins said before Queenie could reply. And she shoved Queenie in my direction. “She has to do her duty. Her place is looking after you. Ain't it, Queenie.”

Queenie nodded. “That's right. So why are we kipping over at your brother's house, then? What was wrong with the mews place? I quite liked that. Cozy, it was.”

“We're moving because Miss Belinda has returned unexpectedly.”

“That's bloody annoying of 'er, ain't it? I thought for sure she'd like it in America. Find herself a rich American bloke.”

“I thought so too, but she's home now and I have to move out. So go and get your things and meet me back at Miss Belinda's ready to pack up my trunk.”

“Bob's yer uncle, miss,” she said.