Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
I nodded, graciously, as my relative the queen would have done. And I tried to walk to the door without falling or staggering or knocking something over. As I reached for the doorknob I remembered something. “There is one thing.” I turned back and saw his eyes register instant interest. “Another friend of mine was at Crockford’s recently and she saw Bobo talking to a strange American. She said that Bobo appeared nervous and uneasy. She didn’t know who the man was, but you can check the Crockford’s registry to see which men were there on the same evening as Bobo Carrington.”
I felt I had scored a small point as I made my exit, but I was only halfway to the lift when the enormity of the truth hit me. Belinda had said that someone else had been at Crockford’s with Bobo and she had left with him. She had been going to tell me and then rapidly changed the subject. She had been going to say that she had seen Darcy leaving Crockford’s with Bobo that night.
His dressing gown was hanging behind her bedroom door. It was almost a physical pain to think the words. What more proof did I want? I knew that Darcy had been no saint when I met him. I knew that young men of my social class were often wildly promiscuous, but he had said that he loved me. He wanted to marry me. My hand went to the silver Devonshire pixie I wore around my neck. Darcy had given it to me last Christmas, when he had proposed to me. Was I stupidly na?ve to think that he’d be living a chaste life now? Men were different, weren’t they? They had needs, apparently. But Bobo Carrington? The girl with the silver syringe? And not just a one-night stand either, but leaving his dressing gown behind her bedroom door.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut so that tears would not come.
As the car drove me back to the palace I tried to push Darcy from my mind and focus instead on who might have killed Bobo Carrington. This was not easy as I knew nothing of her friends or her wicked lifestyle. It did occur to me that going to Gussie Gormsley’s party tomorrow night might be a worthwhile thing to do as he did move among the bright young things. I’d seen people snorting cocaine at one of his parties, and Noel Coward had been there, and . . . Oh. I paused, reconsidering. And Prince George also. So maybe it was a dangerous place to take Princess Marina. But if George himself showed up, he’d have to behave with his future wife there, and someone in that set might well have been friendly with Bobo Carrington.
I toyed with Prince George as a suspect. He had always come across as an easygoing sort of chap. Everyone liked him. He had an infectious smile. But if his former mistress had come to him right before the wedding and told him she would go to the newspapers and tell them about their affair and the baby, might he have been driven to silence her at all costs? That was clearly what Sir Jeremy and Major Beauchamp-Chough were fearing. But Prince George had a perfect alibi. He had been at dinner with his family last night. He had still been there when Marina and I left to go back to Kensington. In fact he had offered to drive us until we told him we had a car waiting.
Cars. Something to do with cars. Then I remembered. George had arrived late, breathless and straightening his bow tie. And had apologized to his parents that he was late because his car had had a crash. Golly, I thought. Could he have arranged to meet Bobo at Kensington Palace, drugged her and then killed her earlier in the evening? And then thought he was perfectly safe because he was having dinner with the family at Buckingham Palace—surely a cast-iron alibi?
I felt quite sick. I’d had enough shocks for one day. I didn’t want to believe that Prince George could kill anyone, but then I hadn’t wanted to believe that Darcy, my Darcy, had been intimate with Bobo Carrington. An image flashed through my mind of them together, in each other’s arms in that bedroom, while I was in Belinda’s flat, not far away, and he hadn’t even bothered to come looking for me.
They are all so right, I thought. Belinda said I’m hopelessly na?ve and I am. I’d convinced myself that Darcy was different from the rest. I gave a long sigh. At least I’d found out before I married him. But I didn’t find that thought comforting.
I ARRIVED BACK at the palace to find the princess and countess enjoying afternoon tea.
“Lovely crumpets, Georgiana,” the princess called as she spotted me. “Take off your coat and come and join us.”
“This English crumpet I like,” Countess Irmtraut said. She was in the process of eating one with about an inch of strawberry jam piled on top while butter dripped onto the plate. “I tell the servant I want some crumpet. Lots of crumpet. Yes, I am looking for crumpet. And she start to laugh. Why is this? Anther strange English joke?”
“Perhaps she was nervous, trying to understand your English, Irmtraut,” the princess said sweetly. I wondered if she understood the double meaning. We English used the term to refer to a person of sexual interest. Perhaps not. I studied Irmtraut as she ate. She wasn’t really that much older than Marina and I, I realized. And yet she might well have had the word “spinster” tattooed across her brow. And a sudden wave of fear shot through me. Was this destined to be my future? Would I be better off agreeing to marry some minor half-lunatic European princeling that the family found for me? I shut my eyes, not wanting to think about the future.