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

 

Going to a gambling club this evening. Any other time I would have been excited.

 

I was not conscious of being driven home. I wanted to creep straight up to my room, but as I came into Kensington Palace the door to the sitting room was open and Marina and the countess were having tea.

 

“Lovely hot crumpets,” Marina called, waving at me. “Come and get warm. It’s horribly cold today, isn’t it?”

 

So of course I had no option but to join them. I saw Irmtraut studying me with a smug look on her face.

 

“Ah, you return at last, Georgiana. Her Highness wondered where you had gone. I hope you have had a pleasant day?” she said.

 

“About as pleasant as yours, I should think,” I said.

 

“Mine has been disagreeable,” she said. “Somebody in this place has been spying on me. What do you think of that? And saying bad things about me.”

 

“Surely not.” I leaned over and poured myself a cup of tea.

 

“Then why did that man wish to talk to me? He is part of your English police, I am sure of this. Do they think I have committed a crime? He would not tell me why he asks me stupid questions.”

 

“The English police are known to be fair. The innocent have nothing to worry about in this country,” I said. “I’m sure the questions were only routine. The police are naturally concerned for Marina’s safety.” I managed a bright smile.

 

As I drank my tea I studied her. Did she look worried? Was she more uneasy than usual? With her normal grumpy glare I couldn’t tell. But at least her plan to implicate me had backfired. That must have irked her.

 

We had an early dinner, then the major arrived to escort us to Crockford’s.

 

“I had a word with them today, Your Highness,” he said, “and they will be honored to waive their requirement that you must be the guest of a member. They look forward to your visit.”

 

“How kind.” Marina nodded graciously.

 

“But if you don’t mind, I will not come with you tonight,” he said. “The manager will be waiting for you and will make sure you are well looked after all evening. And frankly I would rather not be seen at a gambling club right now. I understand that I may be up for promotion to colonel and I don’t want to do anything that could be perceived as unsoldierly.” He gave an apologetic little smile.

 

He had dressed for dinner, of course. I couldn’t help thinking how smart he looked in civilian white tie and tails, rather than his army dress uniform. A good catch for some girl. But then I remembered that he had lamented trying to live on army pay. So not such a good catch. Probably a younger son who wasn’t going to inherit anything. They were the ones who were always sent into the army.

 

He ushered us into the motorcar and off we went. I have to confess I felt a thrill of anticipation as the car pulled up outside the white portico of the club on Curzon Street. It was the sort of place I had looked at wistfully from the outside and had only sneaked into once, when I was spying on someone. So I had never actually had the experience of gambling there, as a patron. And now I was being welcomed graciously in the presence of a princess. If I hadn’t been so enveloped in misery, I should have savored this moment.

 

“Your Royal Highness, welcome to Crockford’s.” The manager, looking rather regal himself, came forward to meet us. “And Lady Georgiana. Such an honor.” He gave us a warm smile and a bow before he ushered us across that grand foyer with its red carpet and chandeliers. “If you will be good enough to sign our book, please.” He stopped at a table with the open book and pen on it. When it was my turn to sign I noticed that people signed with their name and address. And I remembered Belinda telling me that Bobo had been seen looking distressed as she spoke with an American at Crockford’s.

 

“Someone told me that they had seen an American friend of mine here a few days ago,” I said. “I didn’t even know he was in the country. May I look and see if it really was he, and where he’s staying?”

 

“I’m afraid not, my lady.” The manager sounded shocked. “Our guest book is completely confidential. It wouldn’t do to let wives check on wayward husbands, would it?” And he gave a little chuckle.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to remember if an American gentleman was here, probably last week?”

 

“Again our rules of confidentiality don’t allow me to reveal that, even if I knew,” he said. “We get American visitors all the time, of course. Crockford’s is one of the places one has to go when one is a visitor to London.”

 

“Of course,” I said and retreated with my most gracious smile.