Hill of Bones (43 page)

As the Queen spoke to Malinferno, Houghton had drifted over towards the crate. He placed a hand on the edge and leaned on it in a nonchalant pose. Caroline noticed this, and turned to him.

‘I would not get too close, if I were you, Nicholas.’

The unenlightened Houghton looked down at his hand, expecting that he was being warned the wood was dirty or wet. He began to brush his hands together, and looked down at the crate. His eyes widened at the contents of the box, and he slumped against Doll Pocket in a faint.

‘Oh, not again.’

She groaned as another man’s head landed on her bosom, and in a not too gentle way, dumped his prostrate form on the grassy floor of the tent.

Caroline smiled sadly. ‘I would hazard a guess that he is a naval man who has not been much under fire, then.’

Doll laughed. ‘Nor will he be much help in present circumstances, it appears. I suppose Your Majesty is innocent of the crime concerning the body in our crate, then?’

Malinferno felt his face burning at Doll’s boldness, and began to apologise for his companion’s social gaffe. ‘Majesty, I am afraid Miss Pocket is unused to—’

Caroline interrupted him before he could go any further. ‘Stuff and nonsense, sir. Miss Pocket has asked the most necessary of questions in the circumstances. And I think you should both still call me Hattie, while I am incognito. Hat Vaughan was a name Sir William Gell gave me when we . . . we needed to be discreet, if you get my drift. It will suit the situation well for now.’

Houghton groaned and began to revive, sitting up with his head in his hands. Making a valiant effort to repair his reputation, he tried again to take control.

‘Majesty, let me deal with this. I . . . oooh.’

Having made the mistake of taking one more look at the crate, he almost swooned away again, collapsing this time on the edge of the great bed. The Queen poked at him and, getting no response, slid past him to examine the contents of the crate. Though she gave a sharp intake of breath, she managed to control her reactions this time. Malinferno could see she was made of sterner stuff than the naval officer, who sat with his head between his knees.

‘Perhaps then you could answer Miss Pocket’s question, Your—Mrs Vaughan. Are we to eliminate you from the list of potential murderers?’

The old woman looked grim. ‘I can only give you my word that I am innocent. I believe Miss Pocket saw me leave the marquee in the company of both the deceased, and . . .’ she poked Houghton with her finger again. ‘. . . the lieutenant here. We came back to the tent that the duchess had so kindly vacated for me, and I retired, leaving Signor Sacchi on guard outside the entrance.’

‘And the box was there all the time?’

‘Yes. I was led to understand that the duchess had it brought to her tent after your . . . enlightening lecture. Neither she nor I had any qualms about being next to a corpse. In fact, there was something quite thrilling about sleeping with a pharaoh.’

Malinferno was about to advise her that the mummy was probably not that of a pharaoh, but of a priest or rich trader. But he could see she was keen to talk, and he let her continue.

‘I fell into a deep sleep that was broken only by some noise that intruded into my dreams.’

‘What sort of noise, Hattie? Can you describe it?’

It was Doll’s turn to carry on the interrogation, and Malinferno marvelled at her ability to act quite normally in the presence of such a notorious figure as Queen Caroline. In only a few days, this woman standing before them was effectively to go on trial in Parliament. A Bill was to be presented in the House that accused the Queen of conducting herself with ‘indecent and offensive familiarity’ with Bartolomeo Pergami, and of carrying on a ‘licentious, and adulterous intercourse’ with him. The end result of a vote in the House in favour of the Bill would be to strip the Queen of her title and prerogatives, and dissolve her marriage with the King. Now, she seemed more concerned with establishing her innocence as concerns the murder of one of her paramours. Pergami had been left behind on the continent, but it appeared there were others in her entourage who kept her amused. Sacchi had obviously been one of them, and it would have suited her to have him silenced.

The Queen’s description of what had woken her was inconclusive. Was it a scraping sound or a groan? Was it someone murdering Sacchi, or heaving his body into the crate? Caroline fiddled with the pink turban that lay on the bed, and plonked it on her head. It sat at an odd angle amidst her tangled, thinning hair.

‘All I can say is that I woke up, and thought I heard a person in the tent. When I looked over towards the entrance, I could see the lid of the box had been moved. I thought at first someone had tried to steal from the box, but when I looked in, I saw Sacchi looking out at me.’ She sighed. ‘Only he wasn’t. Looking out, I mean. His eyes were devoid of life. Poor bugger.’

Malinferno was quite taken with the Queen’s strange mixture of demure English and coarse Germanic expressions. He could see how people could fall in love with her common touch. Doll, meanwhile was all business.

‘Why do you think he was killed? Did he disturb a thief, who was out to rifle the treasures of the pharaoh? He would have been sorely disappointed, if he was. There was not much to take.’

She cast a meaningful glance at Malinferno, knowing that he had already stripped the body of trinkets, removing them as he unbound the wrappings in front of the crowd earlier. His hands were as nimble as any pickpocket from the lowest rookery or flash-house in the East End. Malinferno blushed, and the little hoard of jewels and keepsakes suddenly burned a hole in his pocket. Before he could say anything though, the Queen spoke up firmly.

‘No. I believe this was done to further discredit me. The Government is unsure whether they can win a majority in the House to condemn me. If I were to be associated with the grisly murder of one of my equerries, it would be the end. They wouldn’t have to prove anything. It would be enough for the possibility to exist, and for the rumours to fly.’

She took Doll’s hand in hers, pleading in her eyes. ‘You must help me find out who did this. Find the government spy in the party, and you will have the murderer. And at the same time save me from a fate worse than death. I mean the loss of all that is mine by rights.’

Strangely, it was Malinferno, not Doll, who then came up with the most practical decision. Moving over to the crate, he decisively pulled the lid closed over the corpse, and pushed one of the protruding nails down into its former hole.

‘We shall say no more to anyone about the death of Sacchi, only that he is missing, and we wish to know what might have happened to him.’ He turned to Queen Caroline. ‘If a body will jeopardise your standing and chances of defeating this Bill in Parliament, then there will be no body. If the murder was done to embarrass you, then how to materialise the lost body will vex the killer in the extreme. He might give himself away.’

Caroline clapped her hands in delight, while Houghton at last looked relieved that the corpse was consigned out of sight, if not out of mind.

‘Professor, you are a genius.’

Malinferno took the compliment with a gracious smile, only noticing over the Queen’s shoulder a wry smile on Doll’s face. He could tell she was not much impressed by his plan, which had been blindingly obvious. He pulled a face back at her, as much as to say, ‘Well, I said it first.’ What he did say was that he and Doll would undertake to make enquiries as the lords and ladies of the encampment rose from their beds.

‘If the person who perpetrated the deed is still here on Solsbury Hill, we will find him out. If the murderer has already decamped in the night, then by doing that he will have revealed himself, and will just need apprehending.’

When Doll and Malinferno left the Queen to her ablutions, Lieutenant Houghton followed them out of the tent. He called for them to wait a moment, but made sure they were all three far enough away from the incognito Queen to speak without being overheard. He was nervous, poking the ground with the end of the gilded scabbard housing his ceremonial sword.

‘You need to know that the Queen did not go straight to bed last night. After I had left the tent with Sacchi on guard, I was restless and took a little walk to that oak grove over there.’

He pointed to the stunted woods on the north-western edge of the encampment. Malinferno guessed that Houghton had not walked there for exercise. He had observed many male guests sneaking in that direction to piss away the drink that had been consumed in vast quantities during the festivities. Doll winked at Joe, implying she knew the purpose of Houghton’s stroll also. The naval lieutenant coughed, and continued his narrative.

‘When I came back past the tent, I saw Sacchi in conversation with a man. A very large gentleman with the distinctive braying voice of a politician.’

Doll and Malinferno exchanged glances. He must be referring to the Honourable Member of Parliament who had last night nestled in Doll’s bosom.

‘He appeared to want to speak to the Queen, knowing her true identity. He had to pass Sacchi some coins before he could enter the tent, however. I would not have allowed it, nor have lowered myself to bribery, but Sacchi is an Italian . . .’

He waved a hand as though that was enough explanation for the misconduct of his fellow equerry. He was quite unaware of Malinferno’s antecedents on his father’s side, and Joe held his temper. He thanked the lieutenant tersely, and they parted company.

Doll giggled. ‘Never mind, Joe. You might be a low Eye-talian on the one side, but you are all stiff, starchy Englishman on the other.’

Malinferno made a face, and poked Doll in the ribs. As they were returning to their tent, the camp began to rouse around them. It was mostly servants they saw, who were up and about lighting fires, and scurrying back and forth from the main marquee to a large tent on the periphery of the encampment. It was altogether a more functional-looking affair than the highly decorated marquee. Made of thick canvas, it bore the stains of long and heavy use. Large tin funnels stuck up above the apex of the canvas, and smoke was already rising from them. The aroma of cooking meats emerged from the tent flaps. Doll licked her lips.

‘The well-to-do don’t stint themselves, do they? Even when they are picnicking, so to speak.’

‘Some picnic that is,’ commented Malinferno, as a liveried servant hurried over the grassy embankment with a large silver dish in his hands. He sniffed as the man passed them.

‘Boiled beef.’

Doll and Joe exchanged looks, and nodded in tacit agreement. The investigation could wait until their stomachs were fed. They followed the servant into the marquee, Malinferno providing the necessary justification.

‘After all, it is most likely we will encounter those we wish to interview there. And it is not as though we have fresh linen to change into in our tent.’ He brushed down his soiled coat. ‘We shall have to make do as we are.’

Inside the marquee, the semi-shade might have obscured a clear view of who had already risen. But a forest of candles burned around the tables, their light gleaming off the silver cutlery set on the not so pristine white linen from the night before. When Doll and Joe cast around to see who was there, they were gratified to see the vast corpulence of the Honourable Member for the rotten borough of Plympton Erle, Sir Ralph St Germans. He was already gorging himself on a plateful of boiled beef and potatoes. With a polite murmur of apology, Malinferno sat himself and Doll opposite.

As though by magic, plates of food appeared at their elbows. Malinferno recognised the pattern of red dragons encircling the plate. It was the highest quality Meissen porcelain – a far cry from the two chipped plates they had been dining on before escaping London. He had a passing thought of slipping the plates under his coat after he had cleaned them of the beef. But when he looked guiltily up at Doll, he saw that she had read his thoughts. She was nodding towards St Germans, who had merely grunted at their intrusion and continued to eat his way through the full plate of food.

Malinferno coughed. ‘Sir Ralph, my name is Malinferno. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance by the name of Mrs Hattie Vaughan.’

The corpulent Member of Parliament paused in his trencherman efforts, and gave Joe a startled look. It took in his shabby coat, and grubby linen, and caused Malinferno to blush. St Germans chortled, revealing a mouthful of half-chewed food.

‘I hardly think she is an acquaintance of yours, sir. You would not presume to claim a propinquity, if you knew who she really was.’

Malinferno grinned wolfishly. ‘And you, sir, make a terrible mistake, if you think, on such a short acquaintance with me, that I do not know the lady is one who will soon be the subject of an enquiry involving yourself and your parliamentary colleagues.’

St Germans’ face turned bright purple, and he began to choke on the half-chewed beef he had just begun to swallow. As he coughed uproariously, Doll rose and politely patted him on the back to relieve his discomfort. Recovering, the fat man waved away the bewigged servants, who had rushed over to his side. They retreated to a more discreet distance, probably regretting being unable to listen in on a conversation that had caused such a reaction. St Germans wiped his mouth with his napkin.

‘You know it is she, by God. Then you can imagine why I was in her tent last night. Though I must say there was no impropriety involved.’ He glanced nervously at Doll. ‘Despite the rumours of her licentiousness, I am prepared to believe the best of her. My hope in speaking to her was to convince her that her best course of action was to give up her quest to be crowned alongside the King. He will not allow it, and neither will the Government. Needless to say, I was not successful in my campaign.’

‘And when you left, did you see the gentleman outside the tent? Mr Sacchi?’

St Germans looked puzzled by Malinferno’s enquiry, his beady eyes almost disappearing into his puffy face.

‘What of him?’

‘He was there when you entered, and when you left?’

‘Why, yes. When I arrived at the tent, I had to give him a guinea, or he would not have granted me access to the Quee—to Mrs Vaughan. Damned scoundrel is an Italian, you know. I should have kicked him up the backside, but I needed to speak with the lady. I cut him when I left, naturally.’