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

 

“Would you like to go out this evening, Your Royal Highness?” I asked. “I could have Major B-C see if he can get us tickets for a play.”

 

“That would be lovely. But please, do call me Marina. We are, after all, to be related.” She turned on the full force of that radiant smile and I found myself thinking about her future as Duchess of Kent. Would she have to learn to turn a blind eye to her husband’s infidelities? Would he break her heart the way Darcy had broken mine?

 

“I’ll go and ask the major right away,” I said and left them to their tea. I wasn’t in the mood to eat anyway.

 

I went around to the front of the building, negotiated the crowd of tourists and found the major’s front door open and the major inside, brandishing a feather duster. “Doing a spot of housekeeping,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I’m afraid the servants they employ here are not up to my army standards. I really miss my regimental batman. I like to see everything sparkling—not a spot of dust.”

 

Sparkling. The word flashed through my brain. Something significant. Something I had seen.

 

“So how did the lunch at the Savoy go?” he went on and the thought vanished like a bubble on a sunny day.

 

“Very well, thank you,” I said. “We met a friend of mine there and are invited to a party he’s hosting tomorrow night.”

 

“A party suitable for a princess?” He gave me a questioning look.

 

“I hope so. Gussie Gormsley. Do you know him? Oodles of money.”

 

“I know the name. I don’t move in those circles personally. Not my cup of tea. But the prince does, as you know.”

 

“Gussie knows the prince,” I said. “And he has some questionable friends, but I’m sure they’ll behave if they know Princess Marina is to be a guest,” I said. “And Gussie himself is also getting married soon. Settling down, you know.”

 

“It happens to most people in the end,” the major said.

 

“Tell me,” I couldn’t resist saying, “you are Prince George’s private secretary. Do you think . . .” I couldn’t go on. I had wanted to know whether he thought the prince might be capable of killing a former mistress, whether the prince might have told him Bobo was pregnant. But I couldn’t. Perhaps Sir Jeremy would have asked him those things, but for me they constituted a betrayal of family. Instead I said, “Do you think he will settle down?”

 

“I rather think he will,” Major B-C said. “He’s a good chap at heart, you know. And he’s certainly sown his share of wild oats before the marriage.” He flashed me a wicked grin.

 

I came away somewhat reassured. Either Prince George kept secrets from his equerry or the major really didn’t think the prince was involved in Bobo’s killing. But the question was still there: what was she doing at Kensington Palace?

 

I could think of several possible answers: The first was that she had been killed elsewhere by an unknown person. Probably not Prince George in that case. Surely he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave a body where all evidence pointed to him. But perhaps he was not the child’s father, and the man who was feared exposure. Or it could have been a drug lord to whom she owed too much money. Or even a thwarted suitor. I pushed that last thought quickly out of my mind. In any of these cases her killer had dumped her at the palace, hoping to pin the crime on the royal family. Knowing, maybe, that the family would do anything in their power to avoid a scandal at this moment and thus probably not have the crime investigated too fully.

 

Or secondly Bobo had come to see Princess Marina, either to demand money, to threaten or to warn. But Marina hadn’t been there. How had Bobo discovered that? Had she knocked on the front door? Asked for the princess? Found that nobody was home . . . and then what? Someone had been following her? Or . . . Suddenly I realized something important. Somebody had been home. Countess Irmtraut, who would do anything in the world to protect the princess she loved.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16

 

 

 

STILL NOVEMBER 5

 

KENSINGTON PALACE

 

I have had the very worst news in the world. I can’t bear to think about him. I won’t think about him. I’ll push him right out of my mind and get on with the task I’ve been charged with. I’m a Rannoch, damn it. Duty comes first!