Malice at the Palace (22 page)

Our table companions also picked up her troubled look. “Well, it's one thing to play the field before marriage,” one of them said, “but when one is a cabinet minister, I mean, dash it all . . .”

I digested this new fact. Sir Toby Blenchley, he who preached the sanctity of the family, had had Bobo Carrington as his mistress. Who had more to lose than he if this fact became known?

Monty and Whiffie were good company and we laughed a lot over oysters and smoked salmon and soufflés. It was getting late by the time they brought our coffees. I tried to stifle a yawn, but Marina saw it. “We should be going,” she said. “I have a busy day tomorrow. Another fitting for my dress, and then I'm meeting my parents off the boat train.”

“Your parents are arriving? Where will they be staying?”

“They were invited to stay at Buckingham Palace with the king and queen, but they wanted something a little less formal, so they've opted for the Dorchester instead.”

I tried to picture a life in which the Dorchester counted as less formal. I smiled. “How lovely for you to have them here.”

“I'm not so sure. Mummy and my sisters will want to come shopping with me and I rather enjoy our adventures alone, don't you?”

“Yes, I do, but I think it's a mother's prerogative to help her daughter choose her trousseau.”

She nodded. “I suppose so. But we'll still make time for evenings out without them. This was fun tonight.” She beamed at our escorts. “Thank you both. I'm rather sad, now, that I'm getting married with such delightful company in London.”

The two boys had the grace to blush. We got up to leave. Whiffie and Monty escorted us into the foyer and sent for our car.

“So you've promised we can see you again as soon as this blasted wedding business is over,” Monty said to me. “You will come to a hunt ball?”

“That will be nice,” I replied as he put my wrap around my shoulders.

The manager appeared. “Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing unctuously. “Allow me to escort you to your car.” He ushered her out of the front door. I was about to follow when an employee tapped me on the shoulder. “I was told to remind you to collect your winnings, Lady Georgiana. They are being held for you. Please follow me.”

My winnings, of course. How silly of me. It just shows what too much champagne and brandy can do to the brain. I was escorted across the gaming room.

“I was told that they were being held for you in here,” he said and opened a door for me. I stepped into one of the small private gaming rooms with a baize table in its center. While I was taking this in, and looking for where my winnings might be, I heard the click of a latch as the door was closed behind me.

I spun around. Darcy was standing in front of the door.

VERY LATE ON NOVEMBER 7

“What are you doing here?” I demanded angrily. “I thought you'd be in a dungeon in the Tower of London by now.”

He grinned. “I might say the same for you.”

“It was quite obvious I had done nothing wrong,” I said haughtily. “Now please open this door immediately. Princess Marina is waiting for me.”

He put a restraining hand on my shoulder. “The princess has been sent home without you. She has been told you have met an old friend and will be following in a separate car.”

“You had no right to do this!” I tried to get past him to the door handle. “Now let me out of here or I'll scream the place down.”

“I don't think you'd want to cause any unpleasantness,” he said. “Think of the scandal. Your family wouldn't approve.”

“This is kidnapping,” I said. “I'll report you to DCI Pelham. He can add it to your other crimes.”

“I rather think not.” Darcy smiled now. “In fact I've been asked to keep an eye on you.”

“DCI Pelham thinks you're a slippery customer. He told me so.”

“DCI Pelham doesn't know very much. Luckily someone high up in the Home Office came to my rescue and had me released, or I'd still be in a cell. I couldn't tell Pelham exactly what I was doing, you see.”

“With Bobo Carrington? I should think that was rather obvious.”

He actually laughed then. “You are adorable, Georgie. Do you know that?”

“No. I'm naïve and stupid,” I said. “I know nothing about drugs or people like Bobo Carrington. But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm going to do my duty and marry a young man of impeccable background and forget all about you.”

“Georgie,” he said softly. “When you asked me if I'd slept with Bobo Carrington, I was caught off guard. I did sleep with her, but that was several years ago. Long before I met you.”

“Several years ago, or one year ago?” I demanded.

He shook his head. “No, I am not the father of her child, if that's what you're wondering. I believe we slept together a couple of times when I was newly arrived in London. The way one does.”

The way one does. Those words rattled around in my head. How easy it seemed to be for other people. “But your dressing gown. I saw it behind her door.”

“That's actually quite simply explained,” he said.

“Really?” I gave him my best sarcastic look.

He nodded. “I need somewhere to stay when I'm in London. Bobo lets me use her flat sometimes, when she's out of town. I left my dressing gown behind once. She said it was cozier than hers and she was keeping it in payment for using the flat.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say. Part of me was thinking that this was highly plausible and part was reminding me that Darcy was Irish and had the gift of the gab. I wanted to believe him. I was trying to believe him. “So you are trying to tell me that you haven't been near her recently?”

“I haven't been near her recently, at least not in the way you mean.”

“But you were seen at Crockford's with her.”

“Ah. That's true. We did bump into each other at Crockford's.”

I turned to look at him, noticing that his eyes were smiling and he was so devilishly handsome. But I was going to be strong this time. I would not be swayed by Irish charm and good looks. “And the DCI thinks you're involved in drugs and the underworld. What have you got to say about that?”

“Well, he's not wrong,” he said.

“Aha. I knew it. And he suspects Bobo's death might be tied to her drug use and to her dealings with drug suppliers.”

“Actually I have been involved,” he said. “But not in the way you think. This is to go no further, Georgie, but I've been shadowing people like Bobo because I was assigned to find the kingpin. We know who the small dealers are, but we are still not sure how cocaine is getting into this country in such large quantities.”

“Oh,” I said. “And you suspect that Bobo might have had something to do with it?”

“Possibly,” he said. “She certainly seemed to have an apparently inexhaustible supply of cash, even when she was not with a particular man. It had to come from somewhere. I was hoping to get back into her confidence, when she was killed.”

“So someone killed her to prevent her from giving away secrets to you?”

“I don't know. The timing was rather coincidental, don't you think?”

There was a long pause. I still wasn't ready to forgive him completely. “So how do you think I feel, knowing that you were in London and you didn't try to contact me, but you were going to clubs with people like Bobo Carrington?” I said. “Or am I too dull for such outings?”

“Contact you?” His voice was sharp now too. “My dear girl, as soon as I returned to England I wrote to Castle Rannoch, asking them to forward the letter. I telephoned several times and each time I was told by your infuriating butler that Lady Georgiana was not in residence and they did not know where she was or when she would be returning home. Then I went to your London house and was told the same thing.”

“Probably Fig being poisonous,” I said. “But then partly my fault. I really didn't let them know where I was staying when I came back to England.”

“With your mother, I presume?”

“No, I was using Belinda's mews cottage until she returned and turfed me out. Then fortunately I was invited to Kensington Palace.”

“Quite a step up in the world,” he said. He paused, eyeing me critically. “You look washed out. I'll get us a taxicab. If you'll permit me to escort you home, that is?”

I couldn't look at him. “I'm sorry, Darcy,” I said. “I suppose I jumped to conclusions.”

He looked at me then burst out laughing. “Oh, Georgie, what an idiot you can be sometimes.”

I turned away. “Fine. Go ahead. Laugh. How do you think you would feel if a policeman told you that I'd been carrying on an affair behind your back? And he was enjoying telling me, too.”

He took my arm and turned me to face him. He was looking deadly serious now. “Georgie, we have no hope of a successful marriage if we can't trust one another.”

“You're right,” I said. “It's just that everyone else seems to take bed-hopping for granted. Everybody in London has slept with everybody else, except me.”

He smiled at me, his eyes sparkling, and reached out a finger to stroke my cheek. “Poor little Georgie. So deprived. And now you'll never get the chance, because I'm keeping you all to myself.”

“That's fine with me as long as the same rules apply to you,” I said.

“Absolutely.”

“You really mean that?”

“I do.”

We stood there, looking at each other. Then I flung myself into his arms. “Oh, Darcy, I've been so miserable,” I said.

That was the last thing I said for a long time as his lips came down to meet mine. When we broke apart we were both rather breathless and I was looking a trifle disheveled.

“I can't keep up this celibacy thing forever,” Darcy muttered. “I've a good mind to rip off your clothes right here and now and make love to you on that table.”

I laughed uneasily. “I wouldn't mind,” I said, “but I'd hate to be interrupted, and I rather think it might not be appreciated in a place as hallowed as this.”

He smoothed back my hair. “I'm so tempted to suggest we run off to Gretna Green right now and get married and to hell with everything.”

“That would be fine with me too,” I said. “I've always told you that I'd be happy to live anywhere, as long as it was with you. But I can't elope right now, not when the queen has charged me with looking after Princess Marina.” I looked nervously toward the doorway. “Speaking of which, I'd probably better go back to the palace. She'll be wondering where I've got to.”

“Nonsense. She'll understand. I think she's a romantic, isn't she?”

“I don't know. I think she's fairly realistic.”

“She'll have to be, married to good old George,” Darcy said.

“You don't think he'll change once he's married?”

“Probably not. Infidelity does seem to run in your family, apart from the king and queen.”

“And the Yorks. They are frightfully monogamous.”

“Yes, but you can't see Bertie York flirting with sundry girls, can you? Not with his stutter.”

“That's not kind,” I said. “He's a really nice chap. And he adores his wife. So let him be a role model for you, young man.”

“I'm sure I'll be adoring and terribly domestic,” Darcy said. “But I must get you home. Oh, and some chap left an envelope for you on the table. It's your winnings, I gather.”

“Oh yes. I had quite a lucky evening.” It was with delight that I picked up the envelope and opened it. Then my jaw dropped open. “Crikey. There's a lot of money in here.”

“How much did you think you'd won?”

“I don't know. I never thought. Probably twenty pounds.”

“Twenty pounds?” He laughed. “This looks more like five hundred and twenty.”

I was still speechless. “I had no idea. I know I won a lot of chips but I thought they were maybe five shillings each.”

Darcy shook his head. “More like five pounds each.”

“Crikey,” I said again. “So that's why I was so popular tonight. I've never had young men fighting over me before. And Monty and Whiffie took me to supper and were so attentive.”

“Monty Pratchett and Whiffie Anstruther?”

“I never knew their proper names.”

“Both younger sons of earls and therefore penniless like me. Obviously trying to snag a young woman with a fortune.”

“And they thought I was she. How screamingly funny, Darcy.”

“To many people five hundred pounds is a fortune. In the East End they could live for years on that.”

I became thoughtful as he opened the door and we crossed the gaming room. “You know, we really could run away to Gretna Green and set up a home on this money,” I said.

“I know it's tempting, but I've told you before, I'm not having you live in a poky little place. Your family has certain expectations for you. I want to do the thing properly. I am starting to put money away, Georgie. I'm taking every job I'm offered. And I'd like you to keep that money and know you've got some put by for emergencies.”

I nodded. “Anyway, I have things to do here,” I said. My wrap was produced and we were ushered into a waiting taxicab. As we drove off I said in a low voice, “As well as looking after the princess, I have to find out who killed Bobo Carrington.”

“Surely that's up to the police.”

“You've seen DCI Pelham,” I said. “Sir Jeremy is also working behind the scenes to make sure her murder stays out of the newspapers, and I've been asked to keep my ears and eyes open too. Just in case someone at Kensington saw something.”

“Don't get too carried away by this, Georgie,” he said. “If drugs are involved, these chaps are nasty customers.”

“I'll leave that side of things to you,” I said. “But the big question is, why was her body lying in a courtyard at Kensington Palace? Not the sort of place she'd meet with a drug dealer. So either she came to see somebody there and was killed because of it, or she was killed by persons unknown somewhere else and her body was dumped there to implicate the royal family and cause a scandal.”

“She could have come to the palace to see Princess Marina and tell her about her relationship with Prince George,” he said.

“But Marina and I were out dining at Buckingham Palace. I have my suspicions about Marina's cousin Countess Irmtraut.”

He chuckled. “Countess Irmtraut. What a ghastly name.”

“Equally ghastly person. Very jealous and protective of Marina. So if Bobo told her who she was, I can quite see Irmtraut killing her. But then why leave her for all to see? Why not at least try to hide the body in some bushes?”

“She was disturbed and had to beat a retreat?” he suggested.

“Anyway, I don't know how we'd get her to confess.”

“You've passed on this suspicion?”

“To Sir Jeremy. He's questioned her.”

“So your job is done.”

“Not quite,” I said. “I managed to break into Bobo's flat.”

“You did what?” He sounded horrified.

“Well, actually I used a key I'd acquired from the cleaning lady.”

“Georgie, that's breaking and entering. Don't do things like that, please. Leave it to the professionals.”

“Only the professionals didn't discover she had a wall safe behind a painting.”

“Then tell them, and don't do things like that anymore.” He slipped his arm around my shoulder. “Georgie, Bobo was connected to all kinds of people who might be dangerous. You have no way of finding out her various dealings. Nor should you try.”