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

 

 

“Well, we have to let her go, don’t we, your ladyship? After all, you are her proper employer and it wouldn’t be right to make you have to look after yourself for longer than absolutely necessary. I expect it’s been hard for you, trying to get on without her.”

 

“I’ve managed, Mrs. Huggins,” I said, “and if you really feel that her mother needs her longer, I’m sure I can survive—”

 

“Oh no, your ladyship,” she cut in. “Right is right. Queenie needs to go back up west to you. No doubt about it. Come on in, ducks—I mean, your ladyship.”

 

I could see where Queenie got it from. She had never learned to call me by my correct title. I stepped into a dingy hallway.

 

“Queenie!” Mrs. Huggins yelled in a voice that would do any sergeant major proud. “Come and see who’s turned up for you then. Come all the way out here for yer. Missing yer, she was.”

 

This was going a little far, but I didn’t say anything as the kitchen door opened and Queenie came out. She was wearing the same outfit as the first time she came to be interviewed—a purple hand-knitted jumper that hugged her generous curves a little too tightly and a bright red skirt. Her face broke into a big smile when she saw me.

 

“Whatcher, miss,” she said. “I ain’t half glad to see you. Can’t do without me no longer, eh?”

 

“Hello, Queenie,” I said. “Nice to see you too.”

 

“Well, I won’t say I’m sorry to be leaving,” she said. “I like my family all right, but they’ve run me off me bloody feet. It will be good to get back to a bit of peace and quiet with you.”

 

“I’ve come to retrieve you because I need help packing all my things. We’re moving out of the mews cottage.”

 

Her moon face looked at me expectantly. “So are we off somewhere nice again? The Continent? America? You should have seen my neighbors’ faces down our street when I told them I’d been to Hollywood. They wouldn’t believe me, but I told them, ‘You can ask Lady Georgiana, what’s my mistress, then. And see her in the picture papers in Hollywood with her famous mum what’s a film star.’”

 

“We’re not going far this time. We’ll be staying at Rannoch House for the next few weeks.”

 

“By ourselves?”

 

“No. My brother and his family will be there with us.”

 

“Bloody ’ell,” she said. “We’re moving in with your toffee-nosed sister-in-law?”

 

Whatever I thought of my sister-in-law it was not up to servants to criticize her. I had tried to impress this fact upon Queenie before, but like most things it went right over her head. “Queenie, remember I told you it wasn’t your place to criticize your betters. I agree my sister-in-law is not the easiest person but if you did your job perfectly, she’d have nothing to criticize, would she?”

 

“She don’t like me because I’m dead common,” Queenie said.

 

“If you’d rather stay on here and keep looking after your mother, I’m sure I could do without a maid a little longer,” I said.

 

“Oh no, your ladyship,” Mrs. Huggins said before Queenie could reply. And she shoved Queenie in my direction. “She has to do her duty. Her place is looking after you. Ain’t it, Queenie.”

 

Queenie nodded. “That’s right. So why are we kipping over at your brother’s house, then? What was wrong with the mews place? I quite liked that. Cozy, it was.”

 

“We’re moving because Miss Belinda has returned unexpectedly.”

 

“That’s bloody annoying of ’er, ain’t it? I thought for sure she’d like it in America. Find herself a rich American bloke.”

 

“I thought so too, but she’s home now and I have to move out. So go and get your things and meet me back at Miss Belinda’s ready to pack up my trunk.”

 

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

 

OCTOBER 29

 

RANNOCH HOUSE

 

Golly, I was right! Fig’s face was positively puce when she saw Queenie. Loved it!

 

As I had predicted, Fig was frightfully put out when she saw Queenie struggling with the footman to carry my trunk up the stairs, especially as she was dressed in her ancient and moth-eaten fur coat and red felt hat that made her look like an oversized hedgehog with a flowerpot on its head.

 

“Don’t tell me you still have that awful creature as your maid, Georgiana,” Fig exclaimed in ringing tones, loudly enough for Queenie to hear. “Surely you could have found someone more suitable by now.”

 

“I can’t afford anyone more suitable, Fig,” I said as the trunk disappeared onto the first-floor landing. “I am as completely penniless as you claim to be.”

 

“If only you would do the right thing and marry well, Georgiana.” She turned away from the stairs and headed for the drawing room. “Heaven knows the queen has tried to put suitable young men into your path, but you have seen fit to turn them down for some reason.”