The Prince and I: A Romantic Mystery (The Royal Biography Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (11 page)

A week later, Pierre St. Claire is arrested in St. Tropez. He is shipped back to New York where he faces murder charges. The prosecutor informs me on the phone that it will be hard to charge Pierre with murder in the first degree. According to NYPD police, there is actually surveillance video showing Pierre talking to Meg and I at the time Sean was murdered.

“Piecing it together from the evidence we have, we believe an acquaintance of his, a Maggie Delvers, was the one who actually pulled the trigger. We have video footage of her at the party. She was missing during the time of the murder. Presumably, she went up the back stairwell and killed Sean at the exact same time Pierre was talking with you and your editor,” the prosecutor, a lady named Tayler Banner, tells me on the phone.

Later, I learn from Emmeline Vance that the NYPD believe it was Maggie who searched Meg’s office under orders of Pierre St. Clair. Apparently Pierre had become worried that Sean had sent the photos of him and Mrs. Wilkes to Meg in an attempt to break the story.

“Detective Puyn says that Pierre isn’t talking. Although he did say Maggie Delvers is doing quite a bit of talking. Claims she was a hired gun. She also says Pierre paid thousands to keep Sean quiet about the kickback scheme but Sean kept asking for more money. In the end, Pierre found it cheaper to simply hire someone to kill him. According to Maggie, Pierre was the one who searched your place in the Cotswolds.”

“And murdered that poor man who tried to stop him from burglarizing the cottage.”

“Exactly,” Emmeline confirms. “Trudy, the police have frozen Sean’s accounts. He had over a million dollars in a bank account in Switzerland.”

I should be shocked by this news, but nothing shocks me anymore when it comes to Sean.

“I suppose they’ll want the keys to the cottage as well. I suppose Sean paid for that out of the blackmail money.”

“I don’t know about that. Meg was just telling me yesterday how she can’t understand why Sean would do any of this. She says Sean was making a lot of money on royalties. So the cottage may have been paid for with those funds.”

“Then I can keep it?”

“As far as I know,” Emmeline replies. “You should keep it, enjoy it. Relax. You deserve it. I talked to Meg earlier this morning and she says you should finish the biography of King Crustus or something.”

“Croesus,” I say with a smile.

“Ya, that guy,” she laughs. “Gotta go. Getting my hair done in ten minutes and it’s across town. Take care of yourself.” Click.

King Croesus was one of the most influential and powerful leaders of Ancient Asia Minor
, I type.

Bah. Boring sentence.

King Croesus, richest man on earth, was the first king in Asia Minor to coin money.

Oh, dear, I need a verb with more action than “was.”

I try again.

King Croesus, rose to power…

What a cliché. I give it up and decide to finish my tea cozy instead. I am so close to being done, a few more double crochet stiches and it is finished. I tie off the end, snip the yarn and sit the pink tea cozy on my coffee table. I don’t care what people say, I think it’s beautiful.

I am just trying to decide how to spend the rest of my Saturday, (debating about whether to try to work some more on the Croesus biography, or do a bit of sightseeing) when there’s a knock at my cottage door. I peer through the lace curtains. Some man wearing a hoody is standing there holding a white box and a sack of groceries.

Wait a minute, I know who it is!

“Lizzie,” Alex says, when I open the door so fast that he practically falls in my entrance.

“What are you doing here,” I laugh.

“My cousin Rose dropped me off. She very much wanted to come to Bourton-on-the-Water and do a bit of shopping,” he explains with a mischievous look.

“Oh she did, did she?”

“Hmm,” he replies facetiously, glancing around my room, “she loves all the fine whatchamacallits they sell in Bourton.”

“Well, there is a shop that has all sorts of cat figurines.”

“Cat figurines. That’s it. That’s what she wants. Rose adores them. Her apartment at Kensington is covered floor to ceiling in cat figurines.” He grins madly.

“But what are
you
doing here?”

“Ah, well, that. Thank heavens your home, Lizzie, because it turns out I abhor shopping. So I thought I would come by and see if you wanted to catch a cricket match on the TV while Rose is out and about.”

He looks around as if he desperately wants to put his parcels down. The grocery bag is beginning to slip from his overloaded arms. In addition to the groceries and white box he is carrying, he also has a big faux-leather travelling bag slung over his shoulder.

“And what’s all this,” I ask.

“Well, it would have been terribly rude of me to show up at your door and ask you if you wanted to watch cricket with me while Rose shops for cat figurines. The least I could do is bring over groceries to make up a little dinner.”

The Prince has come over to make me dinner? I almost fall on the floor.

“Here, take this,” he insists and hands me the box. “It’s a delicious chocolate cake, made it myself. And where should I put these?” he asks with regards to the sack of groceries that is about to slip from his grasp.

I take the cake box and lead him into the kitchen.

“It’s brilliant.” He smiles when he sees my tiny kitchen. “I see I’ll have everything I need to whip us up dinner.” Then he proceeds to unpack all sorts of goodies from the bag: leeks, carrots, potatoes, lentils and a couple of bottles of ale.

“B-but I don’t understand what you’re really doing here. How did you find me?”

“Bourton-on-the-Water’s a small place,” he laughs, “And I’ve come because I have a few things to discuss with you. I’ve also come to teach you about cricket. Since you’re an American, I assume you don’t know even the smallest of facts about the game, and there’s an important match on today. The whole country will be watching, and I didn’t want you to feel left out. But forget about all that for now, how about a nice slice of cake? I made it myself.”

His cake, as it turns out, is hideously ugly. I don’t tell him this because he seems so thrilled to surprise me with it. It looks like a large, squashed, black bat, and to tell you the truth, it kind of tastes like one too. Nonetheless, I try to force it down as we both sit on the sofa, and the Prince starts picking through my basket of remotes.

I still haven’t figured out how to turn on the blasted television.

“What’s this?” he asks spying my tea cozy.

Alright, here it comes, another insult.

“I know what this is.” He picks it up. “It’s a tea cozy.”

I beam.

“My mother makes them too. I believe she knits hers, though.” He glances at my crochet needle. “You and my mother are the last of a dying breed.”

“I want you to have it” pops out of my mouth.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

Why not? Doesn’t he want it? Of course he doesn’t want it, people think it’s hideous. Not to mention, people give the Prince gifts all the time. They give him so many things, he has to turn around and give his gifts away to the sick and the less fortunate.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he replies, “I would be delighted to have it. My mother knitted me one, but it is more light-weight. This looks like a good, proper, winter-weather cozy. Thank you, I shall cherish it.”

I melt right into the cushions of the sofa.

“Oh, and I have something for you, but it will have to wait a minute. First I need to find the cricket match on TV.”

The prince drops the cozy into the large bag he brought, then goes back to examining all of the remotes. Deftly, he picks one up and clicks. The TV roars to life. He turns to a channel, and declares triumph. The cricket match between the U.K. and Australia is about to begin.

“I still can’t believe you are here,” I murmur.

“Umm,” he replies, “You are going to be seeing a lot more of me in the future.”

I feel a tingle of happiness all the way down to my toes. What does he mean I’m going to be seeing a lot more of him in the future? And what does he mean he has something for me?

“And why is that?”

“Because you are my biographer.”

“I was fired.”

“You’ve been unfired, by me. It wasn’t fair that the Palace terminated your contract. You didn’t do anything wrong. And as my official biographer, I would like to invite you to a ball to raise money for the National Portrait Gallery at the end of next month.”

Another ball?

“And you can wear this.” He reaches into the large bag he brought. “Here try it on, for some reason I thought of you when I saw it.”

Unbelievably, he pulls out a small crown. It’s encrusted with diamonds, with three large sapphires taking pride of place at the front. He thrusts it in my hands with a “there you go.”

I drop it like it is contraband.

“Oh careful now, that belonged to Victoria,” Alex admonishes, reaching down to pick it up off the floor. I stare at him. What is he doing here, with a crown in tow?

He laughs as if he can read my mind. “Well, I probably can’t let you wear it to a ball, but I thought you might like to try it on. You see it belongs to a distant cousin of mine. She’s elderly with no children. Rose and I went to visit her this morning, she doesn’t live that far from here. Anyway, she gave me this crown. She’s a great-great-great-great granddaughter of Victoria, and it’s been in her family for a long time. Since she doesn’t have children, she wanted to see the crown returned to the royal family. She told me
”
—
here he laughs heartil
y
—
“she wants me to give it to my future bride.”

Oh be still my heart!

“She’s really a sweet woman and insisted I take the crown with me even though I had plans to swing by Bourton and see if you were home. I’ll take it back to London tonight and turn it over to the Palace curator. It’ll end up in some museum collecting dust, but I thought you might like to have a look at it. Go ahead, put it back on.”

“I-I can’t. It’s not right.”

“Oh go on, you know you want to. And it probably hasn’t been worn in years. A beautiful thing like that belongs on the head of a beautiful woman.”  He reaches over and crowns me.

This time when he places Victoria’s crown on my head I jump up and run over to the closest mirror.

“Enjoy it, Lizzie, tomorrow it will be catalogued and will take up its place among all the rest of the crown jewels. Oh, and while we’re on the subject of cataloguing palace objects, I think you should know that the Palace Curator, Mr. Snipps, would very much like to talk to you about that book we found at Holyrood.”

“Oh?” I turn away from the mirror, crown still on my head.

“Yes, but come back here and finish your cake. I’ll tell you all about it.”

I walk back over to the couch trying not to move my head. I wouldn’t want the beautiful crown to slip off and get damaged. As it is, I already dropped it on the floor once.

I am wearing a crown that was once worn by Victoria Regina,
I think smugly. I do not remove it as I sit back down on the sofa.

“Alright now, watch, the two batsman are taking up their places on the field,” the Prince explains with great enthusiasm before returning to what he was saying earlier, “Yeah, Mr. Schnipps can’t find any mention of the little book we found in any of the Palace registries. He’s not sure where it came from. I told him you were with me when we found it, and that you are an excellent historian. He wishes to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“It all sounds mysterious.”

“Very,” the Prince agrees and arches an eyebrow.

Alright, enough fooling around, it’s time to be serious. I take the crown off my head and turn to face the Prince.

“Alex,” I question, “What are you really doing here?”

He stops watching the television. “Exactly what I said, Lizzie. I’ve come to watch a game with a friend of mine and make her dinner. I’ve come to tell her she was not fired and that I would very much like her to be my biographer. And I’ve come to ask her for a small favor.”