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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Naughty In Nice
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“And Georgiana, we can count on you to make sure the house is properly closed up, can’t we?” Fig turned to ask as she swept to the front door.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
I noticed she didn’t come up to hug me. Binky tried to negotiate the servants and baggage. “’Bye, old thing,” he called to me. “So sorry you can’t come with us. I hope it all works out with the queen this morning.”
And then they were gone.
“Did you want your cup of tea in bed, miss, or are you already up?” Queenie appeared, carrying the tea tray.
“You’re about an hour too late and, as you can see, I’m already up,” I said. “Tell Cook that I’ll have a proper breakfast this morning.”
At least I’d make the most of my last days here by helping to use up their food. Our cook, Mrs. McPherson, has always had a soft spot for me and she sent up a perfect breakfast: bacon, kidneys, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread and two eggs.
I finished the plate with relish then went up to select a suitable outfit for my upcoming visit to the palace. Luckily Queenie had not tried to clean my one good tweed suit yet!
I always approach Buckingham Palace with great trepidation. Who doesn’t? I know they are relatives, but most relatives don’t live in great gray stone palaces, surrounded by iron railings and guards in red coats. And most relatives are not queen-empresses, sovereigns over millions and millions of people across the globe. I am one of those people whose limbs won’t obey them when they get nervous. I do things like trip over carpets and knock vases off tables at the best of times, so you can imagine what it’s like in a palace. I’m only glad I wasn’t born when my great-grandmother was still alive. I would have probably knocked her down the grand staircase and she certainly wouldn’t have been amused.
Still I tried to look jaunty and confident as I walked down Constitution Hill toward the front gate of the palace. Most people arrive at the palace in a great black motorcar, so the guards at the iron gates looked surprised and suspicious when I showed up on foot.
“Can I help you, miss?” one of them asked, barring my way, not even standing to attention or saluting. This is what happens when one doesn’t own a decent fur coat.
“I’m not a miss; I’m Lady Georgiana, His Majesty’s cousin, and Her Majesty is expecting me,” I said.
The guard turned as red as his jacket. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I didn’t expect someone like you to be arriving on foot.” They must have been the Welsh Guards, as he had a strong lilting accent.
“Well, I only live around the corner and the walk does me good,” I said. “In fact, Their Majesties are very keen on walking. The king takes his constitutional around the grounds every day, rain or shine, I believe.”
“He does indeed, my lady.” The guard opened a small pedestrian gate in the bigger one and helped me to step through—which was lucky as I hadn’t noticed the bar across the bottom and almost stumbled. “Williams will escort you, my lady.” He nodded to the guard standing with him. Williams stood to attention and then marched beside me across the courtyard. I found this screamingly funny, me taking little steps in my tight skirt and Williams trying to march very slowly. We reached the entrance, and Williams saluted and marched back to his post. I went up the steps.
Inside I was greeted, welcomed and ushered not up the great stair, but a side staircase to Her Majesty’s personal sitting room in the private wing. Not nearly as intimidating as one of the official reception rooms full of priceless stuff to knock over.
“Lady Georgiana, ma’am,” the lackey said as he opened her sitting room door.
I took a deep breath, trying to look confident while muttering to myself, “Do not trip. Do not bump into anything.”
At the last second I saw that the lackey had stuck out his foot a little as he bowed. I managed to jump over it, with a little Highland fling type of move that made Her Majesty raise an eyebrow. But then she smiled and held out her hand to me. “Georgiana, my dear. Come and sit down. It’s bitterly cold out there, isn’t it? The king has been pacing up and down like a caged bear because his doctor won’t let him go out in this sort of weather with his delicate chest.”
“It is very bleak,” I agreed, “especially at Victoria Station. The wind whips right through.”
“You’ve done most admirably, my dear. Setting a splendid example. That was a lovely picture of you in the
Daily Express
. I hope it inspired other young women to follow in your footsteps.”
“I’m afraid my stint may be coming to an end,” I said.
“Of course. I understand your brother wants to shut up the London house and is concerned about you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t know anybody else in London, and I don’t have the funds to stay at a club.”
“Frightful waste of money—clubs,” the queen said.
“However, my secretary and I put our thinking caps on this morning and we have come up with what seems like a perfect solution.”
“Really, ma’am?” I think my voice trembled a little.
“The king’s aunt Princess Louise, who is your great-aunt, is very much a recluse these days. She’s in her late eighties, of course, and has become rather frail. I’m sure it’s lonely for her, living alone in that great house. So I thought you could bring some youth and gaiety into her life.”
I gulped. All right. My worst nightmare was about to come true. The queen had made murmurings about sending me to be lady-in-waiting for an aged aunt before, and now it was actually going to happen. Binky and Fig would be sipping cool drinks and eating foie gras and I’d be walking a Pekinese and holding knitting wool. I opened my mouth but no words would come out.
“I gather you weren’t keen on going back to Scotland with your brother at this time of year. I don’t say I blame you. Terribly bleak and cut off in the winter.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” I said, as her words sunk in. “My brother is not going home to Scotland. He and my sister-in-law are going to the Riviera.”
“The Riviera? I had no idea.”
“For my sister-in-law’s health. She’s feeling rather frail at the moment.”
“I didn’t think that ‘frail’ would ever be a word to describe your sister-in-law,” the queen said, looking up with a half smile on her lips as a tray of coffee was wheeled into the room. “I managed to have six children without making a fuss. One just got on with it.” The maid poured coffee and hot milk into a cup and put it down beside Her Majesty, then did the same for me. The queen then motioned her away and we were left alone. “Did you not want to go to the Riviera with them, then? I thought it was the aim of all young people these days.”
“I wanted to go,” I said. “It’s just that—” I hesitated. It was bad form to discuss money problems. “Well, my brother has been saddled with horrendous death duties on the estate, so . . .” I left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
“Such a silly, selfish thing to do,” the queen said, stirring her coffee fiercely. “Your father, I mean. We were always raised to face the music, not take the easy way out. Goodness knows the king and I have been through our share of trials and tribulations.” She took a dainty sip of coffee then looked me directly in the eye. “So you want to go to the south of France, but they haven’t invited you, is that it?”
“I was told that I was welcome at the villa where they’ll be staying.” I hesitated to say to Her Majesty that I wasn’t sure whether that was true or not. “They didn’t feel that they could pay my travel expenses to go with them.”
The queen took a long drink of coffee, put her cup down then sat staring out the window at the clouds racing across the sky. “This puts a different complexion on things. If I arranged for you to go to the Riviera with your family,” she said carefully, “I wonder if you could do something for me.”
“Of course, ma’am,” I said cautiously.
“I’d like to entrust you with a rather delicate and difficult task.”
She had entrusted me with tasks before. They had usually proved difficult, dangerous or both—from entertaining foreign princesses to spying on her eldest son, the Prince of Wales. I remembered that he was currently on the Riviera himself and wondered if I was going to be thrust into the role of spy again.
“I am speaking to you in the uttermost confidence, Georgiana. Not a word of this must leave this room. Do I have your word on this?”
I nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”
“I have great faith in you, Georgiana. You have handled difficult situations before. You have proved yourself most astute.” She moved closer to me, leaning forward as if to whisper, although we were the only two people in the room. “You know how much I prize my antiques, Georgiana.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I do know that.”
“They give me great solace. I am particularly fond of my collection of snuffboxes. Such delicate little things, aren’t they? Such exquisite workmanship.”
Again I nodded.
“A valuable snuffbox is missing from my collection, Georgiana.”
“Stolen, you mean?”
“I’m rather afraid so.”
“Isn’t that a matter for the police?”
She shook her head firmly. “I can’t mention this to the police. It’s too embarrassing. You see, the snuffboxes were on display in one of the niches in the Music Room. Two weeks ago we held a large reception there for the New Year Honors. Shortly afterward, I noticed one of the boxes was missing. So the choice of culprit is either one of the servants or one of the guests at our reception. I have conducted a secret investigation of the servants, but those who were in attendance that night have all been with us for some time and have impeccable backgrounds. Which leaves only one conclusion—a person who attended that elite gathering made off with one of my snuffboxes. It wouldn’t be too hard to do. It’s not like a formal dinner where everyone is seated. The crowd mills around. And especially as His Majesty and I moved through the crowd, all eyes would have been on us.”
“How terrible, ma’am. To think that one of us is a common thief.”
“I’m afraid that weakness shows up in all classes, Georgiana. Your own forebears did not always lead exemplary lives, did they? They kept mistresses and cheated at cards. But on this particular occasion the audience was not composed entirely of the aristocracy. There were entertainers and captains of industry among them. The recipients of those New Year Honors.”
I nodded. “Do you have your suspicions?”
“It had to have been a real connoisseur who took the box. There were much flashier ones in the collection—more ornate but not nearly as valuable. The person who took this recognized the box for what it was and took it to complete his own collection, I am sure.”
“So there’s no likelihood of the box being resold, then.”
“Unless it was stolen on behalf of someone else who had offered a large sum of money for it—and even then it would never appear on the open market, so I’d have no hope of retrieving it.”
“You think it has gone to the Riviera, ma’am?”
She sighed. “It could be sitting on any mantelpiece in Birmingham, for all I know, but the only person on that guest list who truly fits the bill is Sir Toby Groper and he remarked to me that he was off back to his villa in Nice immediately after the reception.”
“Sir Toby Groper—he owns Britannia Motors, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “One of the richest men in the country. He comes from money, of course. The Gropers acquired their wealth and status with their armament factories, and they earned themselves a peerage for their role in the Boer War. Toby was a young man, scarcely out of Oxford, when he invented a revolutionary motorcar engine. His Fearless Flyers have been wining races and rallies all over the world. So a baronet, and a rich one, but not really one of us.”
“Do you think he is the one who took your snuffbox because he’s not one of us?”
She smiled. “No, my dear. I think he took it because he has become a passionate, should one say obsessive, collector of antiques and objets d’art.”
“Why do you think he wanted that particular snuffbox? Was it because it was small enough to take?”
“Ah, you see, snuffboxes came up during a previous conversation a year or so ago, in his private box at the Brooklands Racetrack. He probably thinks I have forgotten, but I seldom forget anything. He told me then that he had been searching in vain for a snuffbox owned by Louis XVI. So much was looted from the palaces, you see, during the Revolution.”
“And the box that was taken?”
“Was given by Marie Antoinette as a present to her husband. It’s a delightful little thing—enameled gold, with pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses all over it. But inside the lid is a miniature of Marie Antoinette, in a frame of perfect diamonds.”
“It sounds charming.”
“It is. I was most fond of it.” A wistful look came over her face. “Of course I may be quite wrong. I may be maligning the poor man. But I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character and I formed the opinion that Sir Toby is the kind of man who will do what it takes to achieve any objective.”
“So what exactly do you want me to do, ma’am?”
The queen looked surprised. “Go to his villa and retrieve the snuffbox for me.”

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