Her Royal Spyness (30 page)

“Who will be considerably better in bed than anything she has at the moment,” said a voice in my ear and there was my mother, looking stunning in peacock blue, complete with a ruff of peacock feathers. “And what’s all this nonsense about Binky? If he killed anybody I’d have expected it to be Fig.”

“It’s not funny, Mother. He could be hanged.”

“They don’t hang dukes, darling. He’d be let off by reason of insanity. Everyone knows the upper classes are batty.”

“But he didn’t do it.”

“Of course he didn’t. He’s just not the violent type. He used to throw up every time the hounds got at the fox.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked, for once delighted to see her.

“Max has business connections with Lord Mountjoy. They’re in the armaments game together, and he also hunts with HRH, so here we are,” she said. “Come and meet Max. His English is atrocious, I’m afraid.”

“And you don’t speak German, do you? So how do you manage?”

She laughed, that delightful, infectious laugh that had filled theaters. “My darling, one doesn’t always need to talk.”

She slipped her arm through mine and led me over to a stocky but imposing blond-haired man, who was deep in conversation with the prince and Lord Mountjoy.

“Ya, de vild boar,” we heard him say. “Bang bang.”

“See what I mean?” my mother whispered. “A definite deficiency there. But the sex is heavenly.”

The mention of sex reminded me of a pressing question. “I wonder who is supposed to escort me in to dinner tonight? I do hope it won’t be Lord Mountjoy. I hate having to make polite conversation to older people.”

“I gather he’s escorting that awful American woman,” my mother whispered. “Just as if she were officially with you know who. Poor old Mr. S, whom you’ll notice skulking in the background over there, will be forced to make his own way in at the end of the procession. Damned bad form, I call it.”

“Then it looks as if I’ll be stuck with either Whiffy Featherstonehaugh or Tristram. Hardly scintillating conversation.”

“Poor little Tristram. How’s he holding up?”

“All right, I suppose. He asked me to marry him.”

She laughed. “That’s awful. Almost like incest. You had the same nanny, for God’s sake. Still, I suppose he might be a good catch if poor old Hubie does die.”

“Mother, he’s very sweet, but can you imagine being married to him?”

“Frankly, no. But I thought Lady Mountjoy had said that they’d invited a partner for you.”

At that moment the double doors opened, and the butler stepped into the room and announced, “His Serene Highness, Prince Siegfried of Romania.”

Siegfried, his pale blond hair slicked down, his military evening jacket adorned with more orders and medals than any general’s, strode into the room, marched up to Lady Mountjoy, clicked his heels, and bowed. “So kind,” he said. From her he went over to the Prince of Wales and clicked his heels again. They exchanged words in German and then Siegfried was brought over to me.

“I believe you already know Lady Georgiana, Your Highness?”

“Naturally. We meet again at last.” He bent to kiss my hand with those large, cold fish-lips. “You have been well, I trust?”

I was seething. The crafty old thing, I thought. She didn’t want me to spy on David at all. She planned this so that I would be thrust together with Siegfried again. She knew I’d wriggled out of the encounter in Scotland and she simply wasn’t going to let me escape. Well, you could lead a horse to water, but you can’t make her marry anyone she loathes.

I had, however, been well brought up. I was polite and attentive as Siegfried talked about himself. “I had brilliant skiing this winter. Where do you ski these days? I myself am a magnificent skier. I know no fear.”

The dinner gong sounded and we formed up to parade into the dining room. I, of course, was paired with Siegfried, right behind the prince and Lady Mountjoy. We took our places and my eyes strayed around the table. Who had been devious enough to tie that black thread across those stairs? It was a miracle I was still alive. If I had landed slightly differently, that ax would have come crashing down on me or I’d have broken my neck. I stared at Whiffy then Tristram. Neither one was what I’d call a live wire when it came to brains. But Belinda—she had been one of the cleverest girls in school. I shook my head in disbelief. Why on earth would Belinda want me dead?

There was one place still vacant at table. The moment I noticed it the door opened again.

“The Honorable Darcy O’Mara,” the butler announced and Darcy came in, looking dashing in his dinner suit.

“Mr. O’Mara,” Lady Mountjoy said as he presented himself to her with apologies. “You managed it after all. I am so glad. Do sit down. They are only just serving the soup.”

Darcy cast me the briefest of glances as he sat opposite me, then started talking to Marisa on his left. I felt that my cheeks were flaming. What was he doing here? Who had invited him and why?

Over the polite murmur of conversation I heard Mrs. Simpson’s strident voice. “So let me get this straight. Does one now have to call you ‘Frau’ or ‘your ladyship,’ or are you simply ‘Mrs.’?”

She was, of course, addressing my mother, who had unwisely been seated within firing range.

“Simply ‘Mrs.,’ ” my mother said sweetly, “and how about you? Are you still married to anybody?”

There was a moment’s frosty silence before the table went back to talk of the weather and the next day’s game of golf.

“Tomorrow we shall go out riding, do you think?” Siegfried asked me. “Myself I ride magnificently. I am a magnificent horseman. I know no fear.”

This couldn’t be happening to me. I was trapped in a room with my mother, Mrs. Simpson, Fish-Lips, Darcy, and/ or someone who was trying to kill me. How much worse could things get?

Somehow I survived dinner. The redeeming feature was the magnificent food. For one who had been living on baked beans, there was one heady course after the next—turtle soup followed by sole Veronique followed by squab followed by roast beef followed by charlotte russe followed by anchovies on toast. I was amazed at the amount I was able to eat, given my nervous state. And wine to accompany each course.

I noted that Mrs. Simpson picked at her food and cast glances in the direction of the prince, who was doing a lot of cow-eyed gazing in her direction.

“I’m afraid I have to eat like a sparrow these days or I put on weight,” she commented to those around her. “You’re so lucky. Germans like their women fat.” This last remark addressed to my mother, of course.

“In which case I should eat up if I were you,” my mother said, glancing at the prince whose royal ancestor included the Elector of Hanover and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. She was clearly enjoying herself. I was relieved when Lady Mountjoy indicated that the ladies should withdraw and we followed her into the drawing room where coffee awaited us. My mother and Mrs. Simpson, now already sworn enemies, were still exchanging the most deliciously honeyed barbs. I would have enjoyed observing this spectacle, but Belinda was sitting beside me, offering to put cream and sugar into my coffee. I declined both.

“But I thought you always claimed that black coffee at night kept you awake,” she said.

I looked across at my mother. Could I count on her as an ally? As a mother she hadn’t exactly fulfilled the role, but surely she’d want to protect her only child. The men arrived soon after.

“David, come and sit here.” Mrs. Simpson patted the sofa beside her. There was an almost discernible gasp from the rest of the party. Princes are “sir” in public, even to their closest friends. His Highness just smiled and hurried to perch on the arm at her side. Mr. Simpson was nowhere in sight. Gone to play billiards, so I was told. Darcy settled himself between Marisa and Imogen and didn’t once look in my direction.

“I gather you had a nasty tumble,” Whiffy said. “The lighting is so poor in the corridors, isn’t it? Old Tris tripped over a suit of armor on our floor. That’s par for the course for him. Clumsy as an ox. Have you seen him, by the way?”

At that moment he appeared, in animated conversation with Prince Siegfried. They were both heading in my direction. I couldn’t stand it a minute longer. I excused myself as soon as I was able, and went to my room. I went up the little staircase, looking carefully for clues. It was too dark to see much, but I knelt down and examined the third step, which was where I had taken the tumble. There was no sign of a nail from which a string could be tied, but there were telltale holes in the walls. My adversary thought he or she had removed the evidence, but one can’t remove holes.

I went into my room and locked the door, but I couldn’t sleep. Every house has a set of skeleton keys that my killer could acquire, but at least I’d be ready for him. I looked around for a suitable weapon, then took a warming pan off the wall and laid it beside me. At the first hint of anyone near my door, I’d be waiting, armed and ready to bash him over the head and scream the place down.

The hours ticked on. An owl hooted and somewhere in the park there was a scream, probably a fox taking a rabbit. Then I heard the floorboards outside my door creak. It was the slightest of sounds but I was up in an instant, warming pan in my hands, standing beside the door. I held my breath, waiting, but nothing happened. At last I could stand it no longer. I unlocked the door as quietly as possible, and looked out. A figure in a dark robe was creeping down the hall as if he or she didn’t want to wake anyone. My first thought was the Prince of Wales, returning from a visit to Mrs. Simpson, or vice versa. But I could see that the person was taller than either the prince or the American woman. The form passed the prince’s suite and kept on going. At last it paused outside a door, tapped very gently, then entered.

I crept down the hall, counting doors, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen. I passed the Prince of Wales’s suite. The room had to be Prince Siegfried’s. And from the outline of the figure against the light on the landing, it could be none other than Tristram. I hadn’t even realized that Tristram knew the prince. So why was he visiting him in the middle of the night? Naïve as I was, I could only come to one conclusion. And this was someone who only yesterday had proposed marriage to me. Like everything else at the moment, it didn’t add up.

Chapter 27

Farlows
Saturday, May 7, 1932

I finally managed to sleep after placing a chair back under my doorknob and awoke to hear that doorknob being rattled fiercely and then a loud tapping on my door. It was broad daylight. I opened the door to find the maid with my morning tea. It was a lovely day, she said, and the gentlemen were off to play golf. The American ladies were joining them. If I also wanted to, I’d have to hurry.

I had no intention of straying from my mother, Lady Mountjoy, and Marisa. There had to be safety in numbers. I dressed and came down to breakfast to find Belinda busy attacking the kidneys. “Lovely spread,” she said. “One forgets how much one misses this sort of thing.”

I smiled at her and went to the sideboard to help myself.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she said. “Are you worrying about your brother?”

“No, I’m worrying about me.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

“Oh, Georgie, surely you’re imagining things. You’re the type of person who has accidents, you know that.”

“But several accidents in one week? Even I am not that clumsy.”

“Horrible, I agree, but accidents nonetheless.”

“Only not last night,” I said. “Someone strung black thread across the top of those stairs. I found a piece on my skirt.”

“And nails in the wall?”

“No, but there were holes where nails could have been. My attacker must have removed them. He or she is obviously very sharp.”

“He or she? Who do you think it could be, then?”

“I have no idea,” I said, still staring at her. “Someone who is somehow linked to the death of de Mauxville. Tell me, was Tristram Hautbois on that boat on Sunday?”

“Tristram? No, he wasn’t.”

“Well, that shoots that theory, then.”

Belinda got to her feet. “I really do think you’re letting your imagination run riot,” she said. “We’re all your friends. We’ve known you for years.”

“And haven’t been quite straight with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you didn’t tell me you frequented Crockford’s. You were well known to the staff there.”

She looked at me and laughed. “You didn’t ask. All right, I confess I do adore gambling. I’m actually rather good at it. It’s what keeps my head above water, financially. And I rarely have to come up with the money for my own stake. Older men love to befriend a helpless and charming young woman.” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Did you find out anything there?”

“Only that several people I know gamble more than they should.”

“One needs some excitement in life, doesn’t one?” Belinda said. She got up and left me alone at the breakfast table, still not knowing if she was a suspect or not.

My mother came in before I had finished and I latched on to her. Max was off golfing so she wasn’t averse to some time with her daughter. She whisked me up to her room for some “girl time,” as she called it, and made me try endless jars of cosmetics and various perfumes. I feigned interest while trying to think how to tell her that my life was in danger. Knowing her, she’d just tell me not to be silly and go on as if nothing had happened.

“What are you doing with yourself?” she asked. “Not still working at Harrods in that awful pink smock?”

“No, I got the sack, thanks to you.”

“I got you the sack? Little
moi
?”

“They told me I was rude to a customer and I couldn’t very well tell them that you were my mother.”

She gave a great peal of laughter. “It’s too, too funny, darling.”

“Not if you need money to buy food, it’s not. I’m not getting anything from Binky, you know.”

“Poor Binky. He may not be in a position to give anyone anything again. Such an awful thing to have happened. How did that terrible de Mauxville man come to be in your house in the first place?”