Royal Flush (6 page)

“Please excuse me,” I said. “I was up very early this morning and I think I need to rest after lunch.” I gave him the gracious royal nod and retreated to my compartment. Really this had been a most tiresome two days. It was with great expectation that I thought of home.

Chapter 8

Still on the train
August 17

The compartment was warm with afternoon sun and I was replete with a good lunch. I must have dozed off because a small sound woke me. The slightest of clicks, but enough to make me open my eyes. When I did, I sat up in alarm. A man was in my compartment. What’s more, he was in the process of closing the curtains to the corridor. It was the military-looking man who had been eyeing me closely in the dining car.

“What do you think you are doing?” I demanded, leaping to my feet. “Please leave this compartment at once, or I shall be obliged to pull the communication cord and stop this train.”

At that he chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to see that done,” he said. “I wonder how long it takes to stop an express going at seventy miles an hour? A good half mile, I’d guess.”

“If you’ve come to rob me, I have to warn you that I am traveling with nothing of value,” I said haughtily, “and if you’ve come to assault me, I can assure you that I am blessed with a good punch and a loud scream.”

At this he laughed. “Oh yes, I see what they mean. I think you’ll do very well.” He sat down without being asked. “I assure you that I mean you no harm, my lady, and I ask you to forgive the unorthodox method of introduction. I tried to introduce myself to you in the dining car but that odious little man beat me to it.” He leaned closer to me. “Allow me to introduce myself now. I am Sir Jeremy Danville. I work for the Home Office.”

Oh, golly, I thought. Someone else from the government making sure I got home safely and caused no royal scandal. He probably wanted to know what I’d told Godfrey Beverley.

“I caught this train deliberately,” he said, “knowing that we could talk without danger of being overheard. First I want your word that what I am going to say to you will never be repeated to anyone, not even to a family member.”

This was unexpected and I was still in the process of waking up from my doze. “I don’t see how I can agree to something when I have no idea what it is,” I said.

“If I told you it concerns the safety of the monarchy?” He looked at me long and hard.

“Very well, I suppose,” I said.

I began to feel a little as Anne Boleyn must have done when she was summoned to the Tower and discovered it wasn’t for a quiet dinner party. It crossed my mind that someone might have telephoned the queen over my little gaffe and I was about to be dispatched posthaste to be lady-in-waiting to a distant relative in the Outer Hebrides.

Sir Jeremy cleared his throat. “Lady Georgiana, we at the Home Office are not unaware of the part you played in uncovering a plot against Their Majesties,” he said. “You showed considerable spunk and resourcefulness. So we decided you might be the ideal person for a little task involving the royal family.”

He paused. I waited. He seemed to expect me to say something but I couldn’t think of anything to say as I had no idea as to what might come next.

“Lady Geogiana,” he resumed, “the Prince of Wales has recently had a series of unfortunate accidents—a wheel that came loose on his car, a saddle girth that broke on his polo pony. Fortunately he was unharmed on both occasions. These could, of course, be deemed unlucky coincidences, but as we looked at them more closely, we found that the Duke of York and his other brothers had also experienced similar unlucky accidents. We have come to the conclusion that someone is trying to harm or even kill members of the royal family, or more accurately heirs to the throne.”

“Golly,” I exclaimed. “Do you think it’s the communists at work again?”

“We did consider that possibility,” Sir Jeremy said gravely. “Some outside power trying to destabilize the country. However, the situation and nature of some of these accidents draw us to a rather startling conclusion: they appear to be what one might call ‘an inside job.’ ”

I went to say “golly” again and swallowed it down at the last moment. It did sound a trifle schoolgirlish. “You mean someone has infiltrated the palace?” I said. “I suppose that’s not completely impossible. After all, one of the communists managed it in Bavaria.”

“We don’t think it is the communists this time,” Sir Jef frey said bluntly. “We think it’s closer to home.”

“Someone connected to the family?”

He nodded. “Which makes our surveillance rather difficult. Naturally we have our special branch men protecting the Prince of Wales and his brothers to the best of our ability, but there are times and places when we can’t be present. That’s where you come in. They’re all currently at Balmoral for the grouse shooting.”

“Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?” I looked up at Sir Jeremy. “They’ll be safely out of harm’s way up there.”

“On the contrary. The Prince of Wales had a near miss while out driving only yesterday when the steering locked on the shooting brake he was driving.”

“Gol—gosh,” I stammered.

“So you see we were glad to know that you were on your way home. You are part of their inner circle. You can move freely among them. You’ll be the ideal person to keep your eyes and ears open for us.”

“I’m not actually invited to Balmoral for another week,” I said.

“That’s no problem. Castle Rannoch is close enough, and several members of the Balmoral shooting party are currently staying with your brother. We’ll let Their Majesties know that you will be arriving early and will be joining the shoot as part of your brother’s house party.”

House party! That certainly didn’t sound like Fig. Surely no guests would stay long enough at Castle Rannoch to shoot anything, particularly if Fig displayed her usual meanness and allowed only half a slice of toast each for breakfast and two inches of hot water in the bathtub. Another thought struck me.

“Do Their Majesties know about this?”

“Nobody knows except for a handful of our men,” Sir Jeremy said. “Not even the Prince of Wales or his brothers suspect that these are anything more than accidents. In fact the Prince of Wales made a joke that he should probably check his horoscope before venturing out. And nobody is to know. Not the slightest hint, you understand. If this is true, then we are dealing with a cunning and ruthless person, and I want to make sure that we nab him before he manages to do some real damage.”

“And you have no idea who this person might be?”

“None at all. We’ve conducted a thorough check into the backgrounds of all the royal staff, in fact into all those who might have access to the Prince of Wales and his brothers. And we’ve come up empty.”

“I see. So you weren’t exaggerating when you said it was one of us. You really meant one of our inner circle.”

“As you say, your inner circle.” Sir Jeremy nodded gravely. “All we ask of you is to keep your eyes and ears open. Our man on the spot will make himself known to you and you can report anything suspicious to him. Naturally we do not expect you to place yourself in any kind of danger. We can count on you, can’t we?”

It was hard to make my tongue obey me. “Yes. Of course.” It came out as a squeak.

Chapter 9

Castle Rannoch
Perthshire, Scotland
August 17

Night had not quite fallen as our aged Bentley turned into the driveway leading to Castle Rannoch. The sun sets very late in summer in Scotland and although I could see the lights from the castle winking through the Scots pine trees, the horizon behind the mountains still glowed pink and gold. It was a rare glorious evening and my heart leaped at the familiar surroundings. How often had I ridden my pony along that track. There was the rock from which Binky dared me to dive into the loch, and there was the crag that I alone had managed to climb. Beyond the fence our Highland cattle looked at the motorcar with curiosity, turning their big, shaggy heads to follow our progress.

All the way home my spirits had been rising as we left the city of Edinburgh and climbed through wooded countryside before emerging onto the bleak, windswept expanse of the Highlands, with peaks rising around us and burns dancing in cascades beside the road. Whatever might happen next, I was home. As to what might happen next, I decided to put it from my mind tonight. It was all too worrying, and what’s more I was starting to smell a rat. I had a distinct impression that I was being used. The convenient way I was summoned to Sir William, shamed into agreeing to retreat to Scotland immediately, only to find Sir Jeremy on the train—it was all too pat. Did the police really scan the advertisement page in the
Times
every day? Did they really check on every suspicious telephone number? And was it really such a sin to run an escort service? Then something occurred to me that made me go hot all over: Darcy. I knew he did something secret, which he wouldn’t discuss. In fact I suspected he was some kind of spy. Had he tipped off the Home Office about my little gaffe, thus giving them a brilliant excuse to pack me off to Scotland without alarming me unduly?

They could have just summoned me to the Home Office and told me what they wanted me to do, but then I suppose I could have refused. Under this little scheme I was a sitting duck for their plans, with no way of wriggling out of the journey. And it seemed more and more likely, as I played everything over in my head, that Darcy was the one who had instigated the whole thing. Some friend, I thought. Betraying me and then setting me up for a difficult and maybe dangerous assignment. I am well rid of him.

The tires of the Bentley scrunched on the gravel as the car came to a halt outside the front door. The chauffeur jumped out to open my door but before it was fully open the castle door opened, light streamed out and our butler, Hamilton, appeared.

“Welcome home, my lady,” he said. “It is so good to have you back.”

So far, so good. At least someone was pleased to see me.

“It’s good to be back, Hamilton,” I replied and went up the worn steps and in through the big front door. After a small anteroom lined with stags’ heads, one steps into the great hall, the center of life at Castle Rannoch. It rises two stories high with a gallery running around it. On one side is a giant stone fireplace big enough to roast an ox. On the wood-paneled walls hang swords, shields, tattered banners carried into long-ago battles, more stags’ heads. A wide staircase sweeps up one side, lined with portraits of Rannoch ancestors, each generation hairier as one went back in time. The floor is stone, making the hall feel doubly cold and drafty, and there are various sofas and armchairs grouped around the fire, which is never lit in summer, however cold the weather.

To outsiders the first impression is horribly cold, gloomy and warlike, but to me at this moment it represented home. I was just looking around with satisfaction when Fig appeared in the gallery above.

“Georgiana, you’re back. Thank God,” she said, her voice echoing from the high ceiling. She actually ran down the stairs to meet me.

This was not the reception I had expected and I stared at her blankly as she ran toward me, arms open, and actually embraced me. She’d called me by my name so she couldn’t have mistaken me for anyone else. Besides, Fig doesn’t make anyone welcome, ever.

“How are you, Fig?” I asked.

“Awful. I can’t tell you how frightful it’s been. That’s why I’m glad you’re here, Georgiana.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Everything. Let’s go into Binky’s den, shall we?” she said, slipping her arm through mine. “We are not likely to be disturbed there. You’d like something to eat, I suspect. Hamilton, could you have the drinks tray and a plate of those smoked salmon sandwiches brought through for Lady Georgiana?”

All right. This was Scotland, after all. My sister-in-law had been bewitched, or taken by the fairies and a changeling left in her place. But since she was offering me smoked salmon and the drinks tray, who was I to refuse? She steered me across the great hall, down the narrow passage to the right and in through an oak-paneled door. The room had the familiar smell of pipe smoke and polished wood and old books: a very masculine sort of smell. Fig indicated a leather armchair for me and pulled up another one beside me.

“Thank God,” she said again. “I don’t think I could have endured it for another day alone.”

“Alone? What’s happened to Binky?”

“You didn’t hear about his dreadful accident then?”

“No. What happened?”

“He stepped on a trap.”

“An animal trap?”

“Of course an animal trap.”

“When did MacTavish start using animal traps on the estate? I thought he was always so softhearted.”

“He doesn’t. He swears he never laid the trap, but he must have done, of course. Who else would put a bally great trap on one of our paths, and especially a path that Binky always walks in the morning?”

“Crikey. Is Binky all right?”

“Of course he’s not all right,” she snapped, reverting to type for the first time. “He’s laid up with a dashed great dressing over his ankle. In fact he was extremely lucky he was wearing those old boots that belonged to his grandfather. I kept telling him to throw them away but now I’m glad he didn’t listen to me. Anything less stout and the trap would have had his foot off. As it was the trap wouldn’t close completely and he got away with nasty gashes down to the bone and a cut tendon.”

“Poor old Binky. How terrible for him.”

“Terrible for him? What about terrible for me with all these awful people in the house?”

“What awful people?”

“My dear, we have a house full of disgusting Americans.”

“Paying guests?”

“Of course not paying guests. What on earth gave you that idea? Since when did a duke take in paying guests? No, these are friends of the Prince of Wales, or rather a certain woman among them is a friend of the Prince of Wales.”

“Oh, I see. Her.”

“As you say, ‘Her.’ The prince is at Balmoral, of course, and his woman friend would certainly not be welcome there, so the prince asked Binky if he could offer her hospitality so she’d be close enough to visit. And you know Binky—always too softhearted. Can’t say no to anybody. And he looks up to the prince, always has done. So of course he said yes.”

I nodded with sympathy.

“And the prince suggested that maybe we build a little house party around her and her husband—oh, did I mention that she still has a husband in tow? Mooches around like a lost sheep, poor fellow. Spends his time playing billiards. Can’t even shoot. So Binky goes ahead and invites some people to make up a house party—the cousins, of all people, to start with.”

“Which cousins?”

“On the Scottish side. You know that dreadful hairy pair, Lachan and Murdoch.”

“Oh yes. I remember well.” Lachan and Murdoch had always rather terrified me with their wild Highland appearance and behavior. I remember Murdoch demonstrating how to toss the caber with a fallen pine tree and hurling it through a window.

“Well, my dear, they haven’t improved with age, and you have no idea how much they eat and drink.”

I had a pretty good idea, if Murdoch’s caber tossing was any indication. We broke off as there was a discreet tap at the door and Hamilton entered, bearing a tray with a neat pile of sandwiches decorated with watercress, a decanter containing Scotch, and two glasses.

“Thank you, Hamilton,” I said.

“My lady.” He nodded, smiling at me with obvious pleasure. “May I pour you a little sustenance?” and without waiting for the go-ahead, he poured a liberal amount into one of the tumblers. “And for you, Your Grace?”

“Why not?” Fig said. This was also unusual. She normally drank nothing stronger than the occasional Pimm’s on summer outings. But she took hers instantly and had a jolly good swig. I tucked into a sandwich. Local smoked salmon. Mrs. McPherson’s freshly baked bread. I couldn’t remember tasting anything more divine. Hamilton retreated.

“But that’s not the worst part of it,” Fig said, putting her empty glass back on the tray with a loud bang.

“It’s not?” I wondered what was coming next.

“The dreadful American woman arrived and guess what? She’s brought her own house party with her. The place is positively crawling with Americans. They are eating us out of house and home, Georgiana, and you have no idea how demanding they are. They want showers instead of baths, for one thing. They told me that baths are quite unhygienic. What can be unhygienic about a bath, for heaven’s sake? It’s full of water, isn’t it? Anyway, they had the servants rig up a shower contraption in the second-floor bathroom, and then it fell on some woman’s head and she was screaming that she’d been scalded and got a concussion.”

I gave a sympathetic grin.

“And what’s more, they are always taking showers and baths. They want them every day, can you imagine? And at all times of the day and night. I told them that nobody can possibly get that dirty in so short a time, but they bathe every time they come in from a walk, before dinner, after dinner. It’s a wonder they’re not completely washed away. And as for drinking . . . my dear, they want cocktails, and they’re always experimenting with new cocktails. They used Binky’s twenty-year-old single-malt Scotch to make some drink with orange juice and maraschino cherries. I’m only glad that Binky was lying in agony upstairs and didn’t see them. I tell you it would have finished him off on the spot.”

For the first time in my life I looked at my sister-in-law with some sympathy. She was definitely looking frazzled. Her short, almost mannishly bobbed hair was usually perfectly in place and it currently looked as if she’d come in from a gale. What’s more she had spilled something down the front of her gray silk dinner gown. Tomato soup, I’d gather.

“It must have been terribly trying for you,” I said. “And as for poor Binky . . .”

“Binky?” she shrieked. “Binky is lying up there being fussed over by Nanny and Mrs. MacTavish. All he has is a mangled ankle. I have Americans.”

“Chin up. It can’t be for too much longer,” I said. “Nobody stays in Scotland for more than a week or so.”

“By the end of a week or so we shall be destitute,” she said, her voice dangerously near to tears. “Eaten out of house and home, literally. I’ll have to take in paying guests to make ends meet. Binky will have to sell of the rest of the family silver.”

I put out a tentative hand and rested it over hers. I believe it was the first time I had willingly touched her. “Don’t worry, Fig. We’ll think of something,” I said.

She looked up at me and beamed. “I knew I could rely on you, Georgiana. I am so glad you’re here.”