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

 

 

“Really?” She blinked rapidly and one could see the wheels of her brain turning, demanding to know why I should have a tête-à-tête with the queen and not she.

 

“I’m glad you’re going to be staying with us for a long while, Aunt Georgie,” Podge said.

 

“Unfortunately I won’t be here as long as I had thought, Podge,” I said. “But I will come to visit and maybe I can take you out to the park.”

 

“You won’t be staying here after all?” There was a note of hope in Fig’s voice.

 

“Unfortunately no,” I said. “The queen wants me to move into Kensington Palace and look after Princess Marina.”

 

It gave me great satisfaction that those words had the effect I had hoped for.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

 

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3

 

KENSINGTON PALACE, LONDON

 

Dear Diary: Today I move into Kensington Palace. Moving up in the world. Actually I’m partly excited and partly terrified. Please don’t let me break anything or knock an elderly princess down the stairs!

 

Kensington Palace is not like its sister Buckingham. It sits in the middle of a public park with a much-traveled walkway going past it. There are no guards and only the southern side has gates. And some of it is open to the public. In fact as I approached, a group of schoolchildren were huddling together and looking miserable in the rain as they waited to be escorted around the state rooms. I had actually never been inside before so I went to the reception desk and was about to be handed a ticket when I let the woman know that I was looking for the way to apartment 1.

 

“You can’t get into the private apartments this way, miss,” she said. “The private rooms are quite separate from the public. You’ll have to follow the path around and it’s on the other side, at the back of the building.” She looked at me suspiciously. It was raining and I was wearing my mack again and probably didn’t look much like a person who visited royal apartments. “Are you delivering something?” she asked. “I could have it sent around there for you.”

 

“No, I’m coming to live there,” I said and departed, giving her a bright smile and something to think about. I went back into the rain and then found the path that would take me to the back of the palace. The rain came down harder and the wind buffeted me as I finally came to what I hoped was the right door. I rang the bell. Nobody came immediately so I tried the knob and the door swung open. I stepped into a foyer and looked around with surprise. I had expected something like Buckingham Palace—walls lined with royal portraits, antiques and statues everywhere. But this was more like an ordinary home, slightly outmoded and with a lingering smell of furniture polish and damp. I gave a sigh of disappointment, mingled with a small sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about knocking over priceless objects every time I turned around, the way I did at Buckingham Palace. It was also rather cold in that foyer, with a draft swirling about my legs. Not too welcoming a first impression for a newly arrived princess, I thought. But perhaps they were not planning to turn on any form of heat until she arrived.

 

I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. I wondered if the queen would have supplied servants or if Princess Marina was bringing her own and they weren’t here yet. I realized that I should have asked to be taken to Major Beauchamp-Chough, not have gone straight to the apartment. Protocol probably demanded that he escort me to my quarters. But it was a long, wet walk back to the front of the building. There was an archway at the end of the entry hall leading to a passageway beyond. As I looked toward it I saw a woman walk across it. She was moving swiftly, almost gliding and making no sound.

 

“Hello,” I called. “Wait a minute, please.”

 

When she didn’t stop I ran after her, and found myself standing in a long dark corridor that was completely empty. Where had she gone? There were no side hallways and she would not have had time to open and close a door. That was when I realized she was wearing a long white dress and her hair had been piled upon her head in little curls. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. At that moment I heard the brisk tap of feet on the marble-tiled floor and a woman came across the foyer toward me. This one was all too solid. She was probably in her thirties, well fed, in a wool dress that was a little too tight for her, pale faced and with pale hair piled in an old-fashioned bun. She spotted me and bore down upon me, wagging a finger.

 

“Ah, there you are, you naughty girl,” she said in strongly accented English. “Where have you been? I have been waiting for you.”

 

“I didn’t realize there was a specific time for my arrival,” I said, taking aback by her ferocious approach.