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

 

 

“Salt of the earth, old Willie. One of the old-style cons. Looked upon safecracking as his profession, just the way a surgeon looks at his. No, you’d be all right with old Willie—if he’ll do it. He’s as old as me and retired and has no wish to go back to the Scrubs again.”

 

“Would you ask him anyway? I’m not planning to steal anything, just look at the contents and then shut it up again. And I do have the permission of someone really senior in the Home Office.”

 

“I suppose I could do that for you. Where do I send him when I find him?”

 

Oh golly. “You probably shouldn’t send him to Kensington Palace,” I said. “I don’t think the royals would approve. We’ll arrange where to meet when you’ve contacted him.”

 

“Bob’s yer uncle, ducks,” he said. He was looking at me with his head to one side. “You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you? Not involved in any kind of funny business?”

 

“No, it’s not dangerous, Granddad. More trying to avoid a scandal,” I said. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any details. I’m sworn to silence.”

 

“You watch yourself, my girl,” he said. “You’re too fond of dabbling where you shouldn’t. I remember when you almost got yourself killed up on Dartmoor by poking your nose in something that should have been left to the police.”

 

“But I found the murderer, didn’t I? They didn’t.”

 

“I’d rather you stayed safe and sound,” he said. “The sooner you marry that young man of yours and have some little nippers, the better, if you ask me.”

 

“Oh, Granddad.” My voice cracked and I was horribly afraid I was going to cry. “I don’t think I’ll be marrying Darcy after all.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I don’t want to share him with other women. I want someone who loves me and me only.”

 

He put a wizened old hand over mine. “Lots of young men, especially your sort, sow their wild oats before they marry. I suspect your Darcy is a decent bloke and once you’re married he’ll do the right thing.”

 

“But what if he doesn’t?” I was crying now. “What if I never know where he is or who he’s been with?”

 

“It all comes down to trust. If you can’t trust someone, then there’s no basis for a marriage. Simple as that. You have to decide.”

 

“That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t think I can trust him anymore.”

 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently.

 

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.” I attempted to get up. “I should leave. Go now. The princess is expecting me.”

 

He laid a firm hand on my shoulder. “It’s dinnertime. Now, how about a nice bowl of stew to warm you up before you dash off again. I’ve just made a corker with a lamb bone from Sunday’s joint. Lots of good carrots and parsnips and haricot beans.”

 

I nodded weakly. “Thank you. Yes. That might be a good idea. And it does smell heavenly.”

 

He ladled out a generous bowl and sat there watching me eat. Again I found myself wishing that I could live with him all the time and have him take care of me. And I could forget all about royal scandals and unfaithful men and be quite happy. But I knew that I couldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

 

 

NOVEMBER 7

 

Life just gets more and more complicated.

 

I arrived back at Kensington Palace just as it was starting to rain—the hard, stinging kind of winter rain that makes walking so miserable. I was about to open the front door, anticipating a roaring fire and tea to follow when I was conscious of footsteps behind me. I turned to see a large bobby coming toward me.

 

“Lady Georgiana?” he asked. “DCI Pelham has requested that you come with me. He’d like to speak with you again.”

 

“Oh really, this is too silly,” I said. “I’ve nothing more to tell him.”

 

“I couldn’t say what it’s about, my lady,” he said. “I was just sent to fetch you, and I’ve been waiting quite some time.”

 

“I didn’t realize that I had to ask permission before I left the palace,” I said testily. Actually I wasn’t feeling annoyed but scared. Had they found out somehow that I had gone to Bobo’s flat this morning? Perhaps someone had heard that picture crashing down and called the police. And, more worrisome still, perhaps they wanted to trap me into saying something incriminating about Darcy.

 

I decided that haughty indignation was my best defense, so I strode down the corridors at Scotland Yard so fast that the young constable had trouble keeping up with me. I was shown into DCI Pelham’s office and approached his desk with the same belligerence as my ancestor Robert Bruce Rannoch had displayed going into battle.

 

“Really, this is too tiresome, Chief Inspector,” I said. “What can you possibly need from me now? I thought I made it clear that I’d tell you if I came up with anything you should know about.”

 

His eyes were focused on me like a snake’s, unblinking.