Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
At seven thirty I presented myself, dressed in my burgundy velvet evening dress, at the door of apartment 1A. The annoying thing about Kensington Palace was that the apartments were all separate units and not connected by internal corridors. That meant another walk in the rain with an umbrella protecting my face but the hem of my skirt getting decidedly wet and muddy. The maid who opened the door did not let her expression betray that I looked windswept and bedraggled, but she did let me pause in front of a hall mirror while she took my coat and brolly.
This apartment had the feel of being inhabited for a long time. It was also old-fashioned but felt warm and cozy. It had that smell I associated with old ladies—lavender and furniture polish and pomades.
“Her Royal Highness is waiting to welcome you in the drawing room,” the maid said and walked ahead of me.
“Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” she announced and I stepped into a very Victorian room. Although large it felt cluttered and the décor was decidedly eclectic with Victoriana in the shape of stuffed birds under glass competing with interesting pieces of sculpture. A fire roared in the grate and seated beside it were not one but two elderly ladies who also looked as if they had stepped straight from the Victorian era. One had a beaded shawl around her shoulders. The other was dressed in a long, tight-waisted black dress with a high lace collar around the neck. Her face was remarkably unlined, however, and her eyes bright and intelligent. They lit up when she saw me.
“Georgiana, my dear, how lovely to meet you at last,” she said.
I went over to her and curtsied. “How do you do, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Oh goodness gracious, we don’t go in for stuffy court formality here. I’m your great-aunt Louise and that’s what you can call me.” She studied me. “Yes, I see a remarkable resemblance to your father. What a charmer he was, even as a little boy. Such a pity he died so young.”
I nodded. I had hardly known him since he spent most of his time on the Riviera, but he had always struck me as a warm sort of person. A fun sort of person who liked to laugh.
“And this is your other great-aunt, my sister Beatrice,” she said. “She was also interested to see a great-niece she had never met.”
I gave her a little curtsy. “How do you do, ma’am,” I repeated. One can never be too careful with royals. This one did not contradict and tell me to call her “Great-Aunt.”
I took the seat Princess Louise indicated and was offered a glass of sherry on a silver tray.
“You also live in the palace here, do you, ma’am?” I asked Princess Beatrice. “Is your apartment close by?”
“On the far side of the building,” Princess Beatrice said. “Actually it is the very same apartment that our dear mama lived in as a child. I moved into it when she died in 1901, with my dear husband and children. My husband is no longer with us and my children are leading their own lives, but it gives me consolation to know that Mama was happy there as a young girl.”
I nodded with understanding.
“The only drawback is the constant tramping of feet as visitors go around the state rooms above my head,” she said. “You’ve discovered that certain rooms are open to the public, I take it?”
“I saw schoolchildren waiting to tour the palace today,” I said.
She gave a tired little smile. “Of course, it is only during the day. On the whole I enjoy seeing them. It can be rather lonely at times and I like seeing young fresh faces. We are glad that you have moved in here, and we’re most anxious to meet Marina, aren’t we, Louise?”
“We are,” Princess Louise said. “When she has settled in we’ll have a luncheron or a sherry party to introduce her to the rest of the aunts in this Aunt Heap, as your wicked cousin calls this place.”
Princess Beatrice leaned toward me. “Tell me,” she said, “have you met David’s mysterious lady friend?”
“I have and she’s no lady.”
“You mean his friend is really a man?”
I laughed. “No, ma’am. I meant that she is N.O.C.D. Not one of us. A brash American divorcée. Trying to divorce for a second time, so one gathers.” (Perhaps I should explain that N.O.C.D. is shorthand for Not Our Class, Dear, but one could hardly say that to a royal aunt.)
“An adventuress!” The two aunts exchanged a look.
“Well, nothing can come of it in the end,” Princess Louise said. “He certainly can never marry a divorced woman. Not as head of the Church of England.”
“He was such a charming little boy,” Princess Beatrice said wistfully. “Of course, his father rather favored him and gave him too much leeway, I always thought. And was too harsh on the second son. The poor little chap stuttered, you know, but his father couldn’t see that his shouting and bullying only made the stammer worse.” She paused and pulled her shawl more tightly around her. “But I rather think the second boy will end up showing more mettle than his brother. He’s married a lovely girl. She brings the two little daughters to visit occasionally, doesn’t she, Louise?”