A Royal Pain (29 page)

The fifty-mile drive through leafy byways was delightful. Dappled sunlight, the cooing of pigeons, the sound of a cuckoo and the wind in my hair in the backseat of the open car. Hanni and Edward chatted from time to time but as we gathered speed I couldn’t join in their conversation from the backseat, which gave me time to think. What had Sidney Roberts been doing at that party? He was clearly out of place, from the point of view of both class and views. Dedicated communists surely do not habitually frequent parties at which the sons and daughters of the decadent upper crust indulge in cocktails and cocaine—not unless he had come to convert us, which he didn’t seem to be doing. Instead he seemed remote and ill at ease, lurking on the balcony.

I replayed that balcony scene in my mind, but Sidney had given no indication of why he was there—unless, like many of the lower classes, he was flattered to have been invited. Or, like Darcy, he simply wanted some good food and drink. But he didn’t seem the type.

I remembered that Gussie had seemed surprised to see him at the party. He’d asked Edward what Roberts was doing there and Edward had implied that he had to invite him and he was a good enough chap in his way. What did he mean by “had to” invite him? Were they somehow beholden to him? Another suspicion came into my mind. Was Sidney the one who supplied their drugs? Was the earnest communist character merely a façade?

“So you were at Trinity College, were you, Edward?” I leaned forward from my backseat.

“That’s right. Good old Trinity. One of the younger colleges, I’m afraid. Founded by Henry the Eighth. Those American girls yesterday laughed themselves silly when they heard that something founded in fifteen hundred and something was considered young. But it’s definitely one of the loveliest colleges. I’m going to give you a tour and you’ll have to agree.”

We were entering the city of Cambridge. The view as we crossed the Cam and saw those golden stone buildings across spacious lawns almost took the breath away. On the river itself was a merry scene with students punting and sitting on the lawns, enjoying the sunshine. The occasional student cycled past, books under his arm and black gown flapping out behind him in the wind. A pair of female students, deep in heated discussion, strolled under the trees. I looked at them with interest, as one examines a new species in the zoo. I hadn’t really considered that women would also attend the university and felt a pang of regret that I would never have that kind of opportunity.

We abandoned the car under the shade of a huge chestnut tree and started to walk. The glorious sound of boys’ voices floated out from King’s College Chapel, where it must have been time for matins. Edward played at dutiful tour guide, identifying each building that we passed until we came to an impressive arched gateway in a high wall.

“You see,” he said, ushering us through the arch. “Quite the loveliest, don’t you think?”

I followed them through the gate and into a vast courtyard bordered by richly carved yellow stone buildings. A lush green lawn covered most of the area and in the middle was an ornate roofed fountain.

“This is the great court, the largest of any at Oxford or Cambridge,” Edward said. “They say the students used to wash in that fountain before there were proper bathrooms and of course this is the site of the famous great court run. The object is to run around the perimeter of the court before the clock finishes chiming noon. It’s only been done a couple of times, I understand. Come on. Follow me.”

I fancied I could still hear those sublime voices from King’s College, until I realized that Trinity possessed a similar chapel, with its own choir. Sweet notes hung in the air. I almost began to believe that angels inhabited Cambridge.

“It’s so peaceful here,” I said as we crossed the court.

Edward laughed. “They’re all holed up studying for final exams,” he said. “You should see it on a normal Saturday night.” He opened a door for us to step into the darkness of a building. “This is the hall, where we take our meals,” he said, indicating a dark-paneled, high-ceilinged room to our left. “I probably shouldn’t take you inside. The chaps wouldn’t take kindly to visitors during exam time. And through here is another court, and you have to see the Wren library.”

“Sir Christopher Wren?” I asked.

“The very same.”

Just as we were about to leave the building a young man in a far more impressive gown than I had seen so far came sweeping in through the door. He went to pass us with a cursory nod then stopped. “I say, I know you, don’t I?” he said to Edward. “Fotheringay, wasn’t it? You were an apostle, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And you are Saunders,” Edward said. “So you’ve become a fellow, have you?”

“For my sins. Too lazy to move out, I suppose, and the food’s good. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Been abroad mostly,” Edward said.

“Have you, by Jove. Good for you.” He gave Edward a strange look that I couldn’t quite interpret. “Wish I weren’t so dashed lazy. Where did you go?”

“Oh, here and there. All over the place.” Edward shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable in the other man’s presence.

“And who are these delectable creatures?” the gowned man asked, suddenly turning to us.

“Guests at a house party in Norfolk,” Edward said. “Lady Georgiana Rannoch and Princess Hannelore of Bavaria.”

The other man threw back his head and laughed. “Good one, Fotheringay.”

Obviously he thought his leg was being pulled. But Edward did not attempt to assure him. “Well, we’d better be getting along,” he said. “Good seeing you, Saunders.”

“You’ll probably run into a few other angels if you keep your eyes open,” Saunders said, then nodded to us and went on his way.

We stepped out into bright sunlight and continued across a second court, not as large as the first, but just as charming.

“What are apostles?” I asked.

“Oh, just some undergraduate club we belonged to,” Edward said carelessly.

“Was Gussie a member too?”

“Gussie? Good Lord, no.” He laughed. “Not Gussie’s cup of tea at all.”

“How about Sidney Roberts?”

“Sidney Roberts?” He sounded surprised. “He may have been. Can’t really remember. He was an unremarkable kind of chap, poor devil. Now that’s the Wren library over here.”

He strode out ahead of us to a truly beautiful building with delicate columns and large arched windows, then opened the door for us to step inside. That distinctive smell of old books, furniture polish and pipe tobacco permeated the air. It reminded me of some other place. I tried to identify the room at Castle Rannoch before I remembered the bookshop. Which gave me an idea. I waited until Edward led us upstairs, then I turned back and slipped into the library proper. An elderly man sitting at a desk looked up in horror as I came in.

“Young lady, what are you doing here?” he hissed at me, sotto voce. “Visitors are not permitted during finals week.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “but we were being shown around and I do so love old books that I had to get a glimpse of the place for myself.”

His expression softened. “You are fond of old books then?”

“Passionately,” I said. “I collect them.”

“Most unusual for a young lady.”

“I often visit a wonderful old bookshop in London. It’s called Haslett’s, in the East End, down by the river. Do you know it?”

He nodded. “A most eclectic collection. Have you made any major finds there?”

“One or two.” I looked directly at him. “By the way, who are the apostles?”

“I take it you don’t mean Matthew, Mark, Luke and John?”

“I heard some undergraduates discussing them.”

“It’s a sort of secret society, one gathers. Highly socialist in its leanings—rights for the workers and down with the old order. All that kind of bosh. Did you hear about them at the bookshop?”

“No, I overheard a couple of chaps saying something just now. And angels?”

“Ex-members become angels, so I’m told. I think it’s all perfectly harmless. Young men become so passionate, don’t they? Then they settle down, get married and turn out to be perfectly normal.” He chuckled. “I would love to show you some of our rarest editions, but as I said, no visitors are allowed during finals week, so I regret . . .”

“That’s quite all right. Thank you for your time,” I replied and made a hurried exit.

“We thought we’d lost you,” Edward said as I caught them coming down the stairs.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming and wandered off in the wrong direction.” I gave him a winning smile. So Edward and Sidney Roberts had both been members of the same secret society—a society with strong leftist leanings. But how could that be significant?

Chapter 29

Clouds were gathering in the western sky as we drove home. The air had become muggy, with annoying little midges flying around and the promise of a thunderstorm brewing. Hanni dozed in the front seat beside Edward. I stared speculatively at the back of his well-cut hair. Edward Fotheringay, alias Lunghi Fungy, enigma. He studied modern languages yet chose to go to India, where he drifted around, not doing much of anything apart from a spot of disorganized climbing, from what one gathered. He had been a member of a secret society with socialist leanings and yet he dressed expensively and enjoyed a life of luxury. He was supposedly engaged to one girl but openly and shamelessly flirted with others. God knows what he did with Belinda—and I’d almost forgotten his involvement with my mother!

“So Edward,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, “which modern languages did you study?”

“German and Russian.”

“Interesting. Why those?”

“I’m a lazy bugger, actually. My mother was of Russian ancestry so I didn’t have to work too hard.”

“What did Gussie study?”

“Classics, stupid idiot. I mean to say, what use are classics? He had a hard time of it too. He wouldn’t have got through Greek if that swat Roberts hadn’t coached him and done his translations for him.”

I gave a merry laugh. “So that’s why he was beholden to Sidney Roberts. I wondered why he was invited to your party.”

Did I detect a certain stiffening in his demeanor?

“And what made you go to India?” I went on, chatting away merrily. “Did you have some family connection there too?”

“Grandfather had been there in the police force in the Punjab, but that wasn’t the reason. I just had the desire to travel and India is an easy place to move around if one is English. Those nice free bungalows to stay at, and dinners at the officers’ mess and dances.”

“It sounds like a fascinating place,” I said.

“Oh, rather. Elephants and tigers and things. And primitive customs—burning their dead on the steps of the Ganges. Disgusting habit.”

“So what will you do now, do you think?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“I understand that marriage is on the horizon, or so Fiona says.”

“Fiona would.” He glanced down at Hanni, who was now blissfully asleep. “It’s one of those dashed annoying things—both sets of parents decided it would be a good idea when we were infants. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Fiona’s a nice enough girl, but . . .” He let the end of the sentence die away.

“She will inherit Dippings one day,” I pointed out.

“That’s true. And there’s no shortage of cash there. Sorely tempting, but unfortunately not my cup of tea.”

The first fat raindrops pattered onto the car.

“Blast and damn,” Edward muttered. “Now we’re going to get wet. I took off the hood. I’ll just have to put my foot down and make a run for it.”

The engine roared as the motor car positively flew down the lane, wheels screeching at each corner. For a while it was exhilarating, but suddenly I became scared. He was driving so fast that he’d have no chance if we met a vehicle like a hay cart coming in the other direction. I was flung from side to side as he took the sharp bends. And I caught a glimpse of his face. It was alight with a strange, fierce exhilaration.

The storm broke in earnest when we were about ten miles from our destination. Thunder rumbled overhead. We were soaked through by the time we pulled up in front of Dippings. Servants rushed out with big umbrellas. There was a flash followed by a great clap of thunder as we went up the steps. Lady Cromer-Strode came out of the long gallery to greet us. “We were just finishing tea,” she said. “Oh, you poor dears, just look at you! You’re soaked. I’ll have the servants run baths for you immediately or you’ll come down with a chill. Edward what on earth were you doing driving with the top down in such weather?” Then her gaze fell to Hanni and her expression changed. “Your Highness,” she said, “I am so sorry. We had no idea how to contact you, you see, or we’d have brought you back at once. Such a tragedy.”

“What is such a tragedy?” I asked.

“Her Highness’s companion, the baroness. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

“Dead?” Hanni’s voice trembled. “You tell me that Baroness Rottenmeister is dead? Was there an accident?”