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

 

 

I realized that he worked in one of those nebulous departments that the Home Office would probably deny even existed.

 

“I’ve no doubt you can contact Sir Jeremy through me,” the major said.

 

Sir Jeremy reached into his breast pocket and produced a card. “This is my private telephone number,” he said. “It doesn’t go via the usual sort of exchange.”

 

I took it from him.

 

“Actually I will be officially handling the investigation.” DCI Pelham cleared his throat.

 

“Quite.” Sir Jeremy gave the major the briefest of glances that said clearly the policeman was not of our class, not one of us, but had to be tolerated at this stage.

 

“We’ll be in touch, then,” Sir Jeremy said. “As soon as we know the autopsy results.”

 

I was shown out of the room and crossed the courtyard in a bit of a daze.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

 

 

STILL NOVEMBER 5

 

KENSINGTON PALACE

 

It wasn’t until I was back in my own bedroom, sipping tea as I watched the maid lighting the fire, that the full implication of what I had agreed to do hit me. They had not ruled out the royal family and they wanted me to question them. If it was murder, clearly the whole family had a motive. An unstable girl, addicted to cocaine, who had once been Prince George’s mistress, could do incredible damage if she decided to sell her story to the newspapers. She would have to be silenced at all costs. But then I realized that the royal family would not do their own killing and anyone they detailed to do the dirty deed would have made sure that the body was found far, far away, if it was found at all. Preferably it would have been taken out to sea, or buried conveniently in a royal wood. Leaving it for all to see at Kensington Palace would be an act of profound stupidity.

 

So it was therefore more likely that someone else had a reason to want Bobo Carrington dead and wanted to pin the murder on the royals. Like the three men in that room, I just hoped it would turn out to be suicide.

 

I got up, ran myself a long bath in a tub big enough to float the royal yacht in and was already out and dressed by the time Queenie appeared, bleary-eyed and still trying to button her dress.

 

“Blimey, you’re up early,” she said. “What’s happening today, then? You didn’t tell me you wanted me earlier than normal this morning.”

 

“Don’t worry, Queenie, for once you’re not in the wrong,” I said. “I merely woke early and it seemed silly to stay in bed.”

 

“Right, then. Do you want your breakfast brought up on a tray? I’ll go and fetch it for you.”

 

“No, thank you. Remember I said that I didn’t want you wandering around the palace? I’ll have mine downstairs. You stay here and I’ll have someone bring up your breakfast to you.”

 

“It’s like being a bloody prisoner in a cell,” she said.

 

“I think it’s very nice to be waited on. You can pretend to be me for once.”

 

“Well, make sure they put more than one slice of toast on the plate,” she said. “That supper last night wasn’t enough to feed a ruddy sparrow.”

 

“You can hardly do up those buttons as it is,” I said, chuckling. “A few weeks of dieting won’t do you any harm.”

 

“How am I supposed to keep up me strength then?” she asked. “It takes a lot of energy lugging your ruddy trunks up and down stairs all the time.”

 

“You’ll survive,” I said. “Oh, and Queenie, about last night . . .”

 

“Yes, miss?”

 

I walked over to the window and looked down. Below me the cobblestones glistened in watery sunshine. I tried to picture where the body had lain. Could I have seen it from this window? If a motorcar had drawn up outside the building and dumped the body it wouldn’t have been seen from here. I looked at the wall opposite. There were not many windows looking onto this courtyard. The one at the far end must be the major’s bathroom. Apart from that only the ones at the back of Princess Louise’s suite.

 

“You said you saw something last night. What exactly did you see?”

 

“Do you mean them lights flashing around?”

 

“No, you said you saw something white earlier in the evening. Was it a lady in white?”

 

“I couldn’t tell, miss. It was right dark down there. I just saw this white thing, moving slowly across the courtyard. I couldn’t even tell if it was a person. It just sort of oozed across the cobblestones toward the arch.”

 

“Oozed?”

 

“Yeah. Or wafted. I couldn’t exactly tell. Not going in a straight line anyway. Not someone walking. All I can say is it moved slowly in a funny way—this blob of white. I can tell you I closed them curtains pretty quick.”