Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
“I met him when he was in Paris. He said he’d be honored to design the gown for a royal wedding,” she said. “He’s sent me sketches, but I haven’t tried anything on yet. But he’s wonderful, isn’t he?”
I didn’t answer, having no idea what his designs looked like. So she went on. “I have to arrange for my fittings with him. But what I really wanted to do was to go to ordinary shops. I’ve heard about Harrods and Selfridges. I think shopping there would be such fun. I have most of the important items for my trousseau. It’s just the little things I still need. Cosmetics and undergarments and a sinful negligee, maybe?”
There was an intake of breath from Countess Irmtraut. Marina turned to her. “Traudi, don’t be so stuffy. I will be a married woman, after all.”
“I can certainly take you to look for those sorts of things,” I said.
“And a theater, maybe? I want to make the most of being an invisible person.”
“After all those pictures in the newspapers, I rather suspect you’ll be recognized,” I said. “But I’m happy to take you to Harrods. And even Selfridges, although my friend would say it’s a shop for housewives up from the country and typists.”
“Then I’ll pretend to be a housewife up from the country,” she said. “Mrs. Smith.”
We laughed.
“My friend suggests we start by lunching at the Savoy Grill,” I said. “It’s the sort of place one goes to see and be seen.”
“All right. I’ll go up and change into something a little smarter then,” she said. She put down the newspaper and left the room. I was about to follow when I remembered Irmtraut. Oh crikey. She’d have to come too, wouldn’t she?
“Of course you are invited as well, Countess. A good luncheon to make up for the toad in the hole?”
“Thank you,” she said. “There is no point in my changing clothes, I do not own items of fashion.”
I left her sitting at the writing desk scribbling away furiously. I suspect she was telling her mother or sister how badly she was being treated in England. Before I went up to change I went to look for the major. I found him coming around the side of the building, striding out in true military fashion.
“Oh, Major,” I said, “I was coming to see you.”
“How are you bearing up?” he asked. “You’ve had a nasty shock, Lady Georgiana. Are you sure you shouldn’t stay in bed today to recover? Most girls would have swooned at the sight of a dead body.”
“I’m made of sterner stuff, Major,” I said. “I come from a long line of Rannoch chieftains who went on fighting as their limbs were hacked off.”
He laughed. “Good sense of humor too. I think the queen chose well. So what can I do for you now?”
I chewed on my lip. “It’s the delicate question of money. I’m supposed to take Princess Marina out and around and nobody mentioned how the financial side would be handled. I mean, am I supposed to—”
“Oh good Lord no. Simple enough,” he cut in. “You tell me where you’d like to go. I’ll telephone ahead and let them know who is coming and ask that the bill be sent to Kensington Palace. Just in case there is any difficulty I’ll give you a letter to show them. But I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“Oh, that sounds splendid.” I sighed. “So it would be all right to take the princess to lunch at the Savoy Grill, would it? A friend suggested that would be a suitable place to see and be seen.”
“Admirable choice. Of course.” He nodded approval. “Now off you go and show the princess the best of what London has to offer.”
I returned to the apartment with a grin on my face. Carte blanche to go out and have a good time when someone else was footing the bill. What could be nicer? For a moment the dead girl in the courtyard and my commission to question people at the palace had faded into the background. I went up and changed into the cashmere cardigan and soft jersey skirt that had become my acceptable winter outfit. I had been given both by my mother last Christmas. It was too bad that she was a petite five foot three while I was a healthy five six, as she had oodles of lovely clothes I could have inherited when she discarded them. But I looked presentable enough as I examined myself in the mirror.
“I’m going to take the princess out for lunch,” I said to Queenie. “Don’t forget to stay put. Remember the ghosts.”
“Yes, miss,” she said. “Don’t worry. I ain’t leaving this room. Not for love nor money. Ruddy ghosts!”