Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
She broke off as a noisy group came into the room, laughing uproariously at something one of them had just said. I helped myself to more caviar, this time unfortunately letting a couple of beads drop down my cleavage, then moved away from my gossipy new friends. It seemed that nobody knew any more about her than the police had already found out. If I were to do my job well, I should dance with the various chaps here and see what reaction the mention of Bobo’s name produced from them.
There was no sign of Marina as I came out into the foyer. Presumably still dancing with the Prince of Wales. It didn’t seem I knew anybody else here from the crowd that milled around me, trying to get to the bar. And then Belinda popped into my mind. One might have expected her to be here. This was her kind of party, as it would have been Bobo’s. Half the rich young men of London were attending. So why wasn’t she here? Again a shiver of apprehension went through me. Bobo had gone to Crockford’s and was seen to be agitated and talking to a strange American. And Belinda frequented Crockford’s and wasn’t at home this morning. I was determined to visit her mews place first thing tomorrow. What’s more, I still had a key. I could let myself in.
I found myself in the line for the bar, even though I wasn’t too keen on having another cocktail. But it was something to do, rather than standing around, feeling like a wallflower.
“Another sidecar for you, my lady?” Albert asked.
“Georgie?” said a surprised voice behind me. I spun around to see Darcy standing there.
Chapter 20
LATE NOVEMBER 6
Darcy was looking ridiculously handsome, dressed in a white tuxedo, his unruly dark curls tamed for once, and his face lit up. “There you are. I’ve been hunting all over for you. Someone said you’d gone to Germany with your mother.”
He took my hand and attempted to drag me out of the line.
“I’m waiting for my cocktail, thank you,” I said, stone-faced. I was too conscious that Princess Marina and the Prince of Wales were in the next room and I couldn’t afford to have a scene. My hand was shaking as Albert handed me the glass. I started to walk away.
“Well, that’s not what I’d call a warm greeting,” Darcy said. “How about, ‘Darcy, my love, I’ve been pining for you’?”
I moved with him out of the flow of traffic.
“Maybe I’d say that if I were your only love,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me one thing, Darcy.” I turned to face him. “Have you slept with Bobo Carrington?”
“Bobo? Well, yes, but . . .”
“No buts,” I said. “That confirms everything I’ve been told, I’m afraid. I wish I were wearing the silver pixie instead of these stupid sapphires, then I could have thrown it in your face.”
I was horribly close to tears. I pushed past him through the crowd until I found Marina, now dancing with our host.
“Gussie, I’m not feeling at all well,” I said. “One of my headaches, I’m afraid. I’ll take a cab back, if you could make sure Princess Marina is escorted to her motorcar. Please forgive me, Marina, but I have to go home now.”
“Georgiana, I can come with you—” She reached out to touch my arm. That simple act of kindness was too much. I felt a fat tear squeeze itself out of my eye and run down my cheek.
“No, you stay. Have fun, but I simply must go.”
Then I fled.
“Georgie, wait.” Darcy tried to force his way through the crowd to me. Luckily a lift had just arrived. I leaped in and pressed the button. The doors closed and I descended to the street. A taxi was just disgorging more passengers.
“Kensington Palace, please,” I said to the driver as I climbed in. “As quickly as possible.”
It wasn’t until I was back in my own room that I allowed myself to cry.
I didn’t even care when Queenie arrived. I let her undress me and bring me a basin and face flannel.
“Can I get you a nice cup of hot milk, my lady?” she asked, proving that she knew perfectly well how to address me if she tried.
“Yes, that would be very . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
I crawled into bed and soon Queenie reappeared with a tray with hot milk and digestive biscuits on it.
“Get that down yer. That will perk you up no end,” she said. “I had the cook add some brandy to it. ‘She ain’t half upset,’ I told the cook. ‘I don’t know who done it to her, but I won’t half give him a piece of my mind if I ever catch him.’”
The thought of Queenie giving this Cockney address to a royal cook would normally have appalled me. You can tell how deep in my own misery I was that I didn’t even care. Queenie went over and adjusted the curtains. Then she stopped, peering out of the window.
“’Ere,” she said. “There’s that ruddy ghost again. Just like before. Something white moving around the courtyard.”
Curiosity got the better of despair. I climbed out of bed and went to join her at the window. It was pitch-black in the courtyard, apart from the thin sliver of light shining down from my window. The archway itself was in absolute blackness but I could just vaguely see something white drifting about.
“Give me my overcoat, Queenie,” I said. “I’m going down to see.”
“Oh, miss, you don’t want to go down there. I don’t trust them ghosts,” she said.