Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
“Oh, absolutely. A laugh a minute,” he said, and to my amusement she checked the watch that was pinned to the front of her dress.
“Major Beauchamp-Chough,” she said, “I requested that someone be dispatched to find me some pickled herring. So far nobody has returned with any.”
“Perhaps they are still fishing for it in the Round Pond,” he suggested, his face expressionless.
“But no.” Countess Irmtraut shook her head emphatically. “They will find no herring in a pond. It is a fish of the oceans.”
The major caught my eye again and almost winked. I decided that I liked him.
“It was more English humor, Countess.”
“I do not understand this English humor,” she said grouchily. “I will await news of my herrings in my room.” And she swept out.
“Not the easiest lady, I’m afraid,” the major said. “Fortunately the princess is quite charming and easy to get along with.”
“You’ve already met her?”
“I was lucky enough to visit her parents with His Royal Highness,” he said. “Prince George and his parents will be going to meet her from the boat train tomorrow afternoon. They will be bringing her here and tomorrow evening there will be a dinner at Buckingham Palace for her to meet the family. You will be invited, of course, and will travel with Princess Marina in her motorcar.”
“Thank you very much,” I stammered. “Now if you would please have someone show me my room. I think I need to get out of these wet clothes before I make a bigger puddle on the floor.”
“I’ll be happy to escort you,” he said. “This way.”
He led me under the arch and up a spiral staircase. For a palace it was quite plain, with whitewashed walls and plain stone steps. “I hope you don’t mind stairs,” the major said. “This is one of the smaller apartments and I’ve given the first floor over to Princess Marina and her maid. You and the countess have rooms on the second floor and there are small bedrooms for your maid on the third. Your maid did not come with you?”
I swallowed hard. “She will be arriving later with my luggage.” The thought of the major meeting Queenie made me feel positively sick.
The major went up the next flight at great speed, proving that he was as fit as he looked. “Here we are,” he said, opening the first door we came to. The furniture was rather old-fashioned and the wallpaper a trifle dingy, but it was large and pleasant enough, with windows opening onto an inner courtyard, rather than the park.
“I’m afraid this apartment is in serious need of modernization,” he said, “but it is the only one unoccupied that is big enough to house the royal party. As you probably know we have four elderly ladies occupying other apartments here.”
“The Aunt Heap,” I said with a grin.
“You’ve been talking to the Prince of Wales.” He returned my smile. “Yes, two of Queen Victoria’s daughters and two granddaughters are all in residence. Your great-aunts and your father’s cousins, are they not?”
“I suppose they are. I always get confused with family relationships.”
“Oh, and before I forget,” he went on, opening a wardrobe door to check inside, “Princess Louise asked me to invite you to dine with her this evening in her apartment. It’s 1A—the apartment that runs the length of the south side. Seven thirty, she said.”
“Thank you. How kind of her.”
“I’ll leave you to settle in, then,” he said. “I am in apartment 10 if you need me. The official entrance is around at the front of the building, through the public foyer, but luckily I have a bolt-hole back door into the courtyard so I don’t have to negotiate hordes of schoolchildren. They always want to know which member of the royal family I am.” He gave an exasperated smile, nodded to me and left. I heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs again.
IT WASN’T UNTIL I was alone in my new room that I thought about the woman in the long sweeping white gown. I should have asked the major whether Kensington Palace was haunted. I had been brought up at Castle Rannoch where the servants certainly had enough tales of ghosts, but I had never encountered one personally. I found myself looking around uneasily.
“Buck up,” I said to myself. Surely no Rannoch should be scared of ghosts, especially as they were likely to be my own ancestors. I wondered how Queenie would react, however. Golly, I hoped none of the ghosts was headless. . . .