Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)

 

 

“You’ve come to take her back?” Granddad asked, then he gave a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. “Blimey, ducks, that won’t half be good news for her folks. Driving them up the pole, that’s what she’s been doing. Her own mum said she didn’t know how Queenie didn’t drive you round the blooming bend. Said you must be some sort of saint, she reckoned.”

 

“So Queenie hasn’t actually been that much of a help?” I inquired.

 

Granddad chuckled again. “You could say that. She tried to do the cooking and the gas cooker exploded. Then she knocked the fireguard onto her mum’s broken leg. No, I think I can safely say that they’ll want to kiss your feet for taking her away again.”

 

“Poor old Queenie,” I said. “She does seem to be rather disaster prone.”

 

“And yet you’re prepared to give her another go?”

 

“Oh, Granddad.” I gave a sigh. “Who else would employ her? Besides, she is the only maid I can afford and most of the time she’s better than nothing.”

 

“Well, if you’re really sure about this, she’s next door with her gran right now,” he said. “Her gran’s been trying to teach her to cook—without too much success, so I hear. Her dad claims she’ll poison the lot of them. Pity really, because her gran’s a lovely cook. Here, try the cake.”

 

He took the lid off a cake tin and cut a generous slice of Dundee cake. It was rich, moist and fruity and I ate with relish.

 

“Her grandmother is a good cook,” I agreed. “I’m surprised she hasn’t won you over with her cooking yet.”

 

He grinned. “She’s certainly tried hard enough, and dropped enough hints. But between you, me and the gatepost, I like things the way they are. She’s there when I need her and but she’s not driving me round the bend with fussing over me too much. And if I ever married her, I’d be stuck with Queenie as another granddaughter. I don’t think you’d want that, would you?”

 

“Oh crikey,” I said. “Queenie as a relative would be a bit much. She doesn’t do what I tell her now, when she’s only my maid. If she were a fellow grandchild, she’d be impossible.”

 

We laughed.

 

“So are you still at your friend’s place in the snooty part of Knightsbridge?”

 

“I was until this morning,” I said, and told him the story.

 

“You know you’d always be welcome to stay here,” he said, “but your lot wouldn’t like it.”

 

“I know,” I said. “But don’t worry because things sorted themselves out rather well. My brother is in town and has invited me to stay. I gather there is to be a royal wedding so he and Fig are staying on in London for another month. By that time something may have turned up.”

 

“Turned up? What sort of thing?”

 

I sighed and stared out past him into the row of identical back gardens with washing flapping on clotheslines in the stiff breeze. “I wish I knew. I’m always hoping I can find a job. I must be employable in some capacity. I’m sure I’d be a better lady’s maid than Queenie.”

 

He chuckled again. “I’m sure you would too, ducks.”

 

I drained my cup of tea and finished my cake. “Oh well. I suppose I’d better go and face the inevitable and retrieve Queenie. My only consolation is that my sister-in-law is going to be livid when she finds that Queenie is coming back into her house.” And I gave him a wicked grin.

 

Having given Granddad a good-bye kiss and promised to visit him again soon, I went to the house next door and rapped on the knocker. The door was opened fiercely and a face topped with hair curlers peeping from a scarf glared at me. “If you’re another of them Jehovah’s Witnesses telling me I’m going to hell, then I’ll tell you where to put this . . .”

 

“Hello, Mrs. Huggins,” I said.

 

She stopped and a look of utter horror crossed her face. She put her hand up to her mouth. “Blimey. Oh, your ladyship. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you for a second there and them ruddy religious lot were here again yesterday. I don’t know what they want from the likes of me. I ain’t got no money to give them and that’s what they’re normally after, ain’t it?” She made a gesture to smooth back her hair, then remembered she was wearing curlers, which clearly embarrassed her even further. “Here to see your granddad, are you, then? He’s been a bit poorly the last few days, but I think he’s on the mend. I’m just making him a good Irish stew and dumplings to build him up.”

 

“Actually I believe Queenie is with you at the moment.”

 

“She is, your ladyship. Helping me out in the kitchen, and turning into a lovely little cook too. It was ever so good of you to spare her to look after her poor mum. I suppose you want her back now?” There was a note of hope in her voice.