Princess Elizabeth's Spy (17 page)

In an effort to keep her mind off John, Maggie decided to redouble her efforts to solve the mystery of Lady Lily’s death. After her tea in the kitchen with the princess, she slipped on her sturdy shoes and tramped over the castle’s grounds in the milky afternoon light until she reached the place where Lily had been killed.

The wire had cut through the bark of the tree. It had been tied high up—high enough that it was meant for an adult, on a full-sized horse. Not for a young girl on a smaller pony.
Surely, though, Inspector Wilson had noticed that.

In the bare branches of the scarred tree, Maggie heard the raspy, scolding cry of a peregrine falcon. Her eyes went from the falcon, back to the castle. Sure enough, there was Sam Berners, backlit against the sun. “What did
you
see that morning?” Maggie said to the hawk.

“Scree! Scree! Scree!”
it responded before it flew off, its large wings creating a small windstorm. Maggie saw him fly up, up, up into the sky, make a long, gliding circle, then come to rest on the arm of the ever-present, ever-watching Sam Berners. Maggie remembered his agitation the day he was questioned, the way he nearly had to be restrained.

“And, better yet—what did Mr. Berners see?”

It took Maggie a while to walk back to the castle, and then to find her way all the way up to the Royal Mews. Sam Berners was leaning his bulk against the parapets, looking out over the land, cold wind ruffling his unkempt hair.

“Mr. Berners!” Maggie called.

“What ye want, lassie? This isn’t a place for ladies.”

“I think they’re beautiful, you know,” she said, looking at the hooded falcons on their perches.

Berners gave her a sullen glare.

Maggie was undeterred. “The morning of the day Lady Lily was decapitated—”

“I seen nothin’,” he growled. “Already told the detective.”

Maggie considered. “I’m not asking if you saw the actual murder. I’m asking if you saw the person who put up the wire. See?” She pointed to the riding course. “You have a perfect view. And I know you’re always up here, watching your birds.”

“I seen nothin’. Told you.” He trained his eyes back to the horizon.

“What did you see, Mr. Berners?” she asked gently.

“I canna, I canna say,” he said finally.

“So, you
did
see something.” Maggie’s heart beat faster. “Who? Who was it?”

Berners was silent, an agonized look on his face.

“A woman is dead.” She took a breath. “It might easily have been Princess Elizabeth.…”

Berners looked at her, shocked. It had been the first time he’d looked her in the eyes, and Maggie noticed they were green and flecked with gold.

“Yes, she was out riding with Lily that morning. If she’d been in front …”

“The wee Princess?” Berners looked close to tears. “I didn’ know. That’s different. He shouldna have put the Princess’s life at risk. No, no,” he muttered, trying to sort out this new revelation.

“So you
did
see something?”

“The person … The person who did it knows somethin’ ‘bout me,” Berners said. “Somethin’ bad. Real bad.” He looked down at his boots. “I don’ wanna lose my place here.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as a murder.”

“Hunting, murder—we’re all righ’ savage when you think abou’ it.”

“Your birds hunt for food. It’s natural. It’s the food chain, Darwin’s survival of the fittest. But whoever killed Lily was committing murder. There’s the difference. In many ways, your falcons are more civilized than people.”

Berners considered, looking out over the vast lands of the castle. “Aye, lassie,” he said finally. “You’re right.” He took a breath. “He’s been poachin’ off the King’s land, he has. And since I saw what he did, he’s been givin’ me food. And I take it. I’ve jus’ been so hungry, Miss. So hungry …”

“That’s all?” Maggie smiled, a wide smile. When Berners saw, he gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, miss, that’s all. Canna stan’ that carrot mess no more.” He shrugged. “An’ that Lady Lily was no lady, that’s for sure. She a mean one. Oh, not to the other Lords and Ladies, but horrible to the servants. Didn’t think the world was any worse with her gone.” He scratched his head. “Didn’t think about the Princess being in danger, though.”

“Mr. Berners,” Maggie pressed, “who set up the wire?”

He looked up, eyes wild. “If I tell you what I know, I’ll get in trouble. Can’t afford to lose my job, miss.”

“Of course not,” Maggie said in soothing tones. “But you didn’t do anything.” She had an idea. “And he did. What if he decides to kill again? Maybe the princesses won’t be so lucky?”

“I don’t want to get into any trouble, miss,” Berners said, voice breaking.

“You didn’t do anything—you’re just a witness.”

“I took ’is meat.”

“But he was the one who did the poaching.” Maggie paused. “I’ve met Detective Wilson a few times. And he seems like a reasonable man. If you tell me who did it, I can tell him how helpful you were. And he might go easy on you.”

“If you could do that, miss, I’d be most grateful.”

“Then, Mr. Berners, please tell me—who killed Lady Lily?”

There was the loud sound of wings flapping and a rush of air. Berners stretched out his arm, and a falcon landed on his long leather glove, wings beating fast and hard until the bird folded them neatly. “What d’you think, Merlin,” Berners said. “You think I should tell the young miss?”

Merlin cocked his head and angled one beady black eye at Maggie. “Scree! Scree!” he cried.

“All right,” Berners said, giving a heavy sigh. “The man who put up the wire that killed Lady Lily was Mr. Tooke, Miss.”

Mr. Tooke! The Head Gardener.
He
was the perpetrator?

“Thank you, Mr. Berners,” Maggie said, trying to contain her shock. “And may I call Detective Wilson and tell him you’ll speak with him?”

Another long pause, while Berners stroked the feathers at the back of Merlin’s neck.

“I’ll talk to ’im, miss,” he agreed finally. “Yea, I’ll talk to ‘im.”

Maggie went to the tidy red-brick police building. The older man with sandy hair recognized her and smiled. “Well, hello there!”

“I’m here to see Detective Wilson,” Maggie said. “It’s urgent.”

“He’s in a meeting, Miss.”

“It’s something he’ll want to hear right away.”

“Then come to his office, Miss.”

When Detective Wilson excused himself from his meeting, he went to his office and listened to what Maggie had learned. Together, they drove back to the castle, where they went first to find Sam Berners on the roof, who told the detective the same story he’d told Maggie.

Then they went to Mr. Tooke’s flat, where he confessed everything. He looked almost relieved when the detective said he was under arrest for the murder of Lily Howell, put handcuffs on him and led him to the car to take him to the station. As they drove away, Maggie felt sad. Sad for Mr. Tooke’s wife, sad for Mr. Tooke, sad for Lily. She remembered something she had typed once, for the P.M.:
“Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter.”

Hats off, Mr. Churchill,
Maggie thought grimly.
You certainly have that one right.

Back in her room, Maggie shivered. She used the loo, washed up, then changed into her flannel nightgown, adding socks and a cardigan. The fireplace was lit and she turned on the portable radiator in the bedroom, waiting for it to warm. In the meantime, she cleared the small table where she and Lilibet had been working.

She picked up the book, the Grimm. Maggie sighed. It wasn’t Lilibet’s fault; it had been an accident. Still, it was one of the few things she owned that had belonged to her mother.… 

Maggie looked at the inscription. It was still there, the black ink now blurred and watery. However, that wasn’t what captured Maggie’s attention, as she flipped through the pages of the book. There were tiny, tiny holes in the pages. Holes too small to be seen with the naked eye but highlighted by the tea stains.

Some sort of bugs? Moths?
Maggie thought. Then she headed for the bed, to battle yet another night of tears and insomnia and eventual bad dreams.

The next day, Maggie received a package with her breakfast, a pair of leather skates in her size, along with a message that her skates were sharpened and ready. Since she already had her skates, she could interpret only that Hugh was going to meet her somewhere where they could ice-skate.

“Audrey,” Maggie asked, “where do people skate around here?”

“I think there’s a pond near Frogmore House, miss,” Audrey replied.

“Thank you,” Maggie said. She was happy—not because would she see Hugh, of course, but because she’d have a chance to vary her physical fitness routine.

Stately white Frogmore House, a seventeenth-century royal country home, was a good walk south of the castle in the Home Park. Maggie had made it in plenty of time and was sitting on a rough wooden bench by the side of the pond, lacing up her skates, when she spotted Hugh, dressed in tweed trousers and a Barbour jacket, playing tag with a few children. Their laughter, and the rough, scraping sound of blades on hard ice, floated up to the sky, which was leaden and threatened snow. The surrounding grass was a dull brown, and the trees that outlined the perimeter of the pond were now completely bare.

Maggie stepped onto the ice and pushed off on one blade, her breath visible in the cold air.
So long, Nevins.

One of the children Hugh was playing with fell and cried out, startling a murder of crows pecking at the ground nearby, causing them to flap their iridescent blue-black wings and scream,
“Caw! Caw!”
into the wind. They settled back down to their pecking, as Hugh picked the child up and dusted her off, sending her on her way.

As Maggie skated by and then turned backward, Hugh whistled. “Not bad, Sonja Henie.”

“I learned at Wellesley,” Maggie said, circling around him, arms outstretched for balance. “Small town near Boston, where I grew up. Every winter we’d clear off Paramecium Pond and skate.” She grinned. “However, I’m afraid that skating, plus limited self-defense from Camp Spook, are the only sports I can manage. Although I
have
been doing my exercises daily.”

“From what I recall,” Hugh said, trying to catch up, “your self-defense skills are spot-on.”

They glided together for a while, keeping pace with each other, away from the other skaters. The cold wind rushed past them, stirring the bare branches of the trees in the distance. “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“Good to see you too,” Hugh said. “Er, good to be back on the case.”

“Wish I could have been a fly on the wall,” Maggie said, turning backward again.

Hugh laughed as he did forward crossovers. “Nevins was fit to be tied, and Frain was none too pleased. But I’m glad. Really glad. So, thanks.” Then, “How did it go?”

“Well, except for having to hide under the desk when Gregory came in unexpectedly, fantastic. He didn’t see me, by the way.”

“Good. And even if you had been found, I’m sure you could have talked your way out.”

Maggie did a few three-turns, her knitted scarf flying behind her. “You were right about Lily, by the way. Fascist involvement from way back, trips to Germany with the Mitford girls, photographs with Hitler …”

“And letters pleading with the king to cover it up, right?”

“Exactly.”

Hugh shook his head as he turned to go backward. He almost fell but then righted himself. “If you’re rich enough and your family has enough connections, you can make anything go away.”

“By the way, I photographed Louisa’s file too, while I was there. Camera’s in my bag.”

“Anything?”

“No,” Maggie said, slowing down. She bit her lip. “But I just have a feeling that something’s not right there.”

“Why? What
specifically
makes you feel that way?”

“Well …” Maggie thought. “She’s arrogant. She’s mean. She owns a snake. A
snake
!”

Hugh shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she’s guilty of anything, including colluding with Lily. If you suspect her of something, you need evidence.”

“Frain told me to be a ‘sponge’—and I’ve absorbed a very bad feeling about her.”

“Well, keep an eye on her.”

“I will.”

“You have any suspicions of anyone else?”

Maggie thought about Audrey and how she’d just come from France. Then she shook her head.
That’s ridiculous.

They skated together in silence as the wind picked up velocity, blowing the large, lacy snowflakes sideways. Most of the children were cold and had left the pond. “Thanks for getting me back on the case, by the way,” Hugh told her.

“Of course,” Maggie replied. “We’re a team.”

“Yes,” he said. “Although great work solving Lady Lily’s murder there, solo.”

“Sam Berners was the key. Berners was up on the parapet, watching his birds, when he saw Tooke string up the wire. Tooke realized that Berners had seen him, but blackmailed him—Berners had been holding back some of the pheasants and rabbits his falcons killed for himself as well as selling them on the black market—and Tooke threatened to expose him.”

“Well, that takes care of that, then—but we still have no idea where Lily got that decrypt or whom she was going to give it to.”

He tried another turn, as a falcon dove into the underbrush to ambush its prey, and nearly fell again. “Argh,” he said. “My concentration’s a little off today.”

Maggie glided on one foot and lifted up her free leg in an arabesque, arms outstretched. She looked back at the castle. Sure enough, there on the rooftop was the large and unmistakably broad figure of Sam Berners.
Rabbit stew tonight,
Maggie thought.
Thank you, falcons.

“You seem agitated,” she said. “More than usual.”

There was a long silence. “Broke up with the girlfriend. It was … awkward,” he said finally.

There was another silence. Maggie’s lip twitched, as she tried not to smile. “I know the feeling. As it turns out, John—my, well, my almost-fiancé—is dead. ‘Missing,’ as they say. But no one seems to have much hope after al this time.”