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

 

 

“Who was the father of her child, perhaps. Surely that’s one of the key factors, isn’t it? Someone who has a lot to lose . . .” My thoughts went to Sir Toby. “Sir Toby Blenchley,” I said. “I was told she was linked to him for a while. He’d have everything to lose if it came out that she’d had their child.”

 

“Don’t you dare try to follow up on that,” he said. “Leave it to me. He’s the sort of man who doesn’t always play by the rules.”

 

“So he might have killed her to keep her quiet?”

 

“He’d have had someone else kill her. Sir Toby wouldn’t do his own dirty work. Presumably the police have established her movements on the evening she was killed—whether she had any visitors at her flat, where she may have gone in a taxicab . . .”

 

“There is a night doorman at her block of flats. I haven’t questioned him but I expect the police have. It’s hard to ask the questions if we can’t tell anyone it’s part of a murder investigation,” I said. “They just think we’re being nosy.”

 

“I realize that.” He looked up. “Oh damn. We’ve already reached Kensington Palace and I’ve wasted the whole time with you on talking.”

 

“Where can I find you?” I asked as the taxicab driver came around to open the door.

 

“I know where to find you now,” he said. “I’m staying here and there, but I’ll bring you a telephone number.” He clambered out after me. “And if there is an emergency before I see you again, telephone Sir Jeremy. Do you have his number?”

 

I nodded.

 

“Good. He can track me down.”

 

“Good night, then.” I stood there looking at him, thinking how much I loved him and wanted him.

 

“Remember, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, so no stupid heroics about tackling drug dealers, all right?”

 

“I promise. No drug dealers.”

 

“Good night,” he said. Then he took me into his arms and kissed me. I reacted as a band of light fell onto us. I looked up. Irmtraut was standing at her window, holding back the curtain and staring down at us.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

 

 

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 8

 

Rushing around, but with a smile on my face.

 

Miraculously Queenie had stayed up to undress me.

 

“Your brassiere is undone at the back,” she commented. “You’ve been having a bit of the old how’s yer father.”

 

“Maids are not supposed to comment on their mistress’s behavior,” I said primly. “Your job is to help me off with my clothes.”

 

She chuckled. “Looks like someone’s already tried to do that for you.”

 

I slept much better that night, knowing that Darcy was nearby and all was right again—at least for us. Not for Bobo Carrington.

 

And in the morning I was up and ready for a busy day ahead. I was going to make the most of Princess Marina being occupied with fittings and greeting her parents. I didn’t wait for breakfast to be put out, but contented myself with a cup of tea and two digestive biscuits, then off I went. I didn’t often move about London at this early hour and soon realized that this was the time that people went to work. The Underground was packed. Crowds streamed out of London Bridge Station ranging from city gents with bowler hats and rolled umbrellas to typists wearing a little too much makeup. I was going the other way, out of the City, so the train I took to Deptford was quite empty. We rattled through one depressing row of backyards after another with gray washing hanging limply on clotheslines, narrow grimy streets with mothers scrubbing front steps or walking skinny children to school. It was horrid to think that some people lived in such drabness and grime. I had felt hard up sometimes myself, but I had never had to endure the ugliness of this sort of life. As Darcy had said, to some people my winnings would be wealth beyond their wildest dreams. I resolved that if and when I was a lady of means, I would do all that I could to help the poor.