Malice at the Palace

Book 9: A Royal Spyness Mystery

by Rhys Bowen

Genres: Mystery; Historical Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Thirty-fifth in line for the British throne, Lady Georgiana Rannoch becomes embroiled in royal wrongdoing in the ninth mystery from the New York Times bestselling author of Crowned and Dangerous.

Caught between her high birth and empty purse, Georgie is relieved to receive a new assignment from the Queen. The King’s youngest son, George, is to wed Princess Marina of Greece, and the Queen wants Georgie to be her companion: showing her the best of London—and dispelling any rumors about George’s libertine history.

The prince is known for his many affairs with women as well as men—including the great songwriter Noel Coward. But things truly get complicated when one of his supposed mistresses is murdered.

The Queen wants the whole matter hushed. But as the case unfolds—and Georgie's beau Darcy, as always, turns up in the most unlikely of places—their investigation brings them precariously close to the prince himself.

Release date: August 4, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

 

Chapter 1

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1934

CLABON MEWS, LONDON S.W.7.

Weather outside: utterly bloody! Weather inside: cozy and warm.

Enjoying life for once, or would be if Darcy hadn’t gone off somewhere secret again . . .

Why must he be so annoying!

By London standards, it was a dark and stormy night. Nothing like the wild gales that battered our castle in the Scottish Highlands, of course, but violent enough to make me glad I was safely indoors. Rain peppered the windows and drummed on the slates on the roof while a wild wind howled down the chimney. If I’d been at Castle Rannoch, where I grew up, the wind would also have sent icy drafts rushing down the corridors, making tapestries flap and billow out so that it was almost as unpleasant indoors as it was out. But on this particular night I lay listening to the storm feeling snug, warm, comfortable and very thankful that I wasn’t at Castle Rannoch. I was instead in my friend Belinda’s mews cottage in Knightsbridge and enjoying every moment of it.

When I returned from America at the end of August—having been dragged there by my mother who was seeking a quickie divorce from one of her husbands—Mummy had immediately flitted away with the very briefest of good-byes as usual. She had abandoned her only child with monotonous regularity and barely a backward glance since that first time she bolted when I was two. But on this occasion she had actually demonstrated a spark of maternal feeling I hadn’t known she possessed. As she left Brown’s hotel she handed me a generous check. “Georgie, darling, I want you to know that I think you behaved splendidly in Hollywood,” she said. “I simply couldn’t have survived without you in that savage place.”

I went pink and didn’t quite know what to say as this was so out of character. “Golly, thanks awfully,” I managed to mumble.

“I have to go back to Max in Germany, darling,” she said, kissing me on the cheek, “but I don’t want you to think I’m running out on you. You do know you are very welcome to come and stay whenever you want to.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think Berlin would be to my liking,” I said. “Not since that horrible little Hitler chappie came into power. Too much shouting and strutting.”

She gave that tinkling laugh that had delighted audiences across the world. “Oh, darling. Nobody takes him seriously. I mean, who could with a mustache like that. He once kissed my hand and it was like an encounter with a hedgehog. Max says he’s good for German morale at the moment but he can’t last.”

“All the same, I’d rather stay in good old England for a while,” I said. “That time in America was quite enough excitement for me.”

“You don’t mean to go home to Scotland?” she asked.

“Actually no,” I said. “I’m not exactly welcome at Castle Rannoch these days, and Belinda told me I could use her London house while she stays on in Hollywood.” I added, “And now you’ve given me this check, I can actually afford to eat for a while.”

A frown crossed that lovely face. “Darling, have there been times when you couldn’t afford to eat?”

“Oodles of them. I once survived for a month on tea and baked beans.”

“How disgusting. Really, Georgie, if you need something just ask. Max is revoltingly rich, you know. I could get him to make you an allowance, I’m sure.”

“I can’t live off Max’s money, Mummy. Granddad wouldn’t approve, for one thing. Not German money. You know how Granddad would hate that after your brother was killed in the war.”

“One must learn to forgive and forget, as I keep telling your grandfather. And once we’re married—well, it will be my money too, won’t it?” She raised her hands excitedly. “You must come over for the wedding! You can be my maid of honor.”

“Do you really intend to marry him?” I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

“It’s what he wants, so I suppose the answer is yes. We’ll just have to see, won’t we? Well, I must be toddling off, darling, if I’m to catch the boat train. Take care of yourself and for God’s sake let that gorgeous Darcy take you to bed as soon as possible. Virginity simply isn’t fashionable or even acceptable after twenty.”

And with that she was gone. I had moved into Belinda’s lovely little London mews home and had enjoyed playing a lady of leisure for a while. The one aspect of my happiness that was lacking was that Darcy was off on another secret assignment and I had no idea when he’d return to London or how I could contact him. Really, he was the most infuriating man. I knew he did things that were often hush-hush (I suspected he might even occasionally work undercover for MI5) but an occasional postcard from Buenos Aires or Calcutta would have been nice.

A particularly violent gust of wind made the window frame rattle. I pulled the blankets up and curled into a little ball, enjoying the knowledge that I was safe and warm. The money that Mummy had given me wouldn’t last forever, but I hoped at least I could stretch it out until after Christmas. If only I could find some kind of job, I could go on living here until Belinda came home—and who knew when that would be if she became a successful costume designer in Hollywood. But jobs didn’t seem to exist for young women like me, trained only to snare a husband. I was even toying with the idea of applying for a temporary Christmas job at one of the department stores, if I didn’t think that the news might leak back to my relatives and cause a stink.

And in case you’re wondering why my relatives should care if I worked behind the counter in Selfridges or Gamages I should point out that they were not exactly your run-of-the-mill, ordinary people—they were the king and queen. My great-grandmother was Queen Victoria so I was half royal, expected to behave in a way that befitted my station without being given the means to do so. Jolly unfair, actually.

I pushed worrying thoughts aside. For the moment all was well. It had been remarkably peaceful, since my maid, Queenie, had been absent for the last few weeks. She had gone home to look after her mother, who had been hit by a tram while crossing Walthamtow High Street and broken her leg. But the leg had healed and Queenie was due to return to me any day now. I was anticipating it with mixed emotions since Queenie was the most utterly hopeless maid in the history of the universe. In fact I rather suspected that her family was urging her to hurry back to me, not because of any sense of duty but because they couldn’t wait to get rid of her. I sighed, settled down and let my mind drift to more pleasant subjects. I was half asleep when I heard a noise that jerked me instantly awake again.

Over the noise of the wind and rain I had heard the distinct metallic click of a latch, followed by the sound of a door being opened. Somebody was coming into the house. I wondered if I had forgotten to lock the door before I went to bed, but I definitely remembered doing so. I was out of bed in a flash. Belinda’s cottage was really tiny, with a flight of stairs leading up to the bedroom I was occupying, a bathroom and a minute maid’s room. I looked around desperately. There was nowhere to hide if burglars had broken in. I examined the bed, but Belinda had piled boxes and trunks under it. The wardrobe was still full of her clothes. I wondered if perhaps I could tiptoe across the hall to the box room, or better yet the bathroom. Surely no burglar would think of looking in the bath?

I opened the door cautiously and was about to peer around it when I heard the sound of low voices in the hallway down below. Golly. More than one of them. I glanced back into the room to see if there was anything I might use as a weapon—but I didn’t think the frail china table lamp would be much good, even if I could unplug it in time. Then I heard a laugh that I recognized. Belinda’s laugh. She had come home unexpectedly and she was probably talking to the taxi driver who was carrying in her luggage. I was about to step out to greet her when I heard her say, “Toby, you are so naughty. Now stop that, at least until I have my gloves off.”

“Can’t wait, you delectable creature,” said a deep man’s voice. “I’m going to rip off all your clothes, throw you down on that bed and give you one hell of a good ravishing.”

“You are certainly not going to rip anything,” Belinda said, laughing again. “I happen to like my clothes. But you may undress me as quickly as you like.”

“Good show,” he said. “I’ve been dying to bed you since we first danced together on the ship. But too many watchful eyes. It was dashed clever of you to suggest coming back here rather than a hotel. A man in my position can’t be too careful, don’t you know.”

Toby? I thought. Sir Toby Blenchley, cabinet minister? I had no time to consider this as they were now heading for the stairs. I stood behind that door in an agony of embarrassment and indecision. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten that I was occupying her house, and thus her bedroom, could she? Did she really think it would be acceptable to roll in the hay with a cabinet minister while I was there? Where did she expect me to go while they were thus engaged? I sighed in exasperation. How typically Belinda.

I heard her giggle and say, “My, but you are impatient, aren’t you?” as they came up the stairs. What on earth was I to do? Leap out on them and say, “Welcome home, Belinda, darling. Perhaps you had forgotten that you’d lent your house to your best friend?” Sir Toby wasn’t in the first flush of youth. What if the surprise brought on a heart attack? On the other hand, there was now no way I could cross the upstairs landing to the maid’s room, and I certainly didn’t want to be trapped in there listening to their hijinks.

Then it was decided for me. Belinda ran up the rest of the stairs calling, “Come on then, last one into bed is a sissy!” She pushed open the bedroom door with full force, trapping me behind it. She had several robes hanging from the back of that door and these were now in my face. I heard the sounds of two people undressing hurriedly. Maybe if I kept quiet and didn’t move he’d have his way with her and then go, I decided. Better still, maybe they’d both fall asleep and I could creep out and take refuge in the box room.

“God, you really are delectable,” I heard him say. “Those neat little breasts. Enough to drive a man wild. Come here.”

I heard bedsprings creak, a grunt, a sigh. Then something terrible happened. One of Belinda’s robes was trimmed with feathers. And one of these feathers was now tickling my nose. To my horror I realized I was going to sneeze. I was pinned so tightly behind the door that it was hard for me to get my hand up to my nose. I managed it just in time and clamped my fingers over my nose and mouth. The noises on the bed were getting more violent and urgent. The sneeze was still lingering, waiting to come out the moment I let go. I willed it to go away but I had to breathe. And then, in spite of everything, it came out, a great big “A—choo,” just at the moment when Belinda was moaning “Oh yes, oh yes.”

It was amazing how quickly the room fell silent.

“What the devil was that?” Sir Toby asked.

“Someone’s in the house.” I heard the bed creak as Belinda got up.

“I thought you said there’d be nobody here.”

“It must be my maid, although I didn’t tell her I was coming home,” Belinda said. “How could she have known? I’ll go and see if she’s sleeping in her room.” Then she lowered her voice. “Don’t go away, you big brute. I’ll be back and we can continue from where we left off.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Not if your maid’s in the house. Is she likely to gossip?”

“My maid is paid very well to close her eyes to anything that goes on in my bedroom,” Belinda said. “You don’t have to worry, Toby, I promise you. I’ll just get my robe. . . .”

And she swung the door open. . . .

Chapter 2

It was fortunate that the storm outside was making such a racket or her scream would have been heard all the way to Victoria Station and maybe even across the Thames.

“Belinda, it’s all right,” I said, reaching out to touch her. “It’s me. Georgie.”

“Oh God.” She was gasping now, her hand over her naked heart. “Georgie. Have you gone mad? What on earth are you doing hiding in my bedroom?”

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Belinda,” I said. “I didn’t intend to hide, but by the time I’d woken up and heard you coming up the stairs it was too late to do anything sensible. And you were the one who pushed the door open so hard, trapping me behind it.”

Sir Toby was standing up beside the bed and had obviously just realized he was naked in the presence of a strange female. He grabbed a lace-trimmed, heart-shaped pillow and attempted to hold it over the important parts. He looked old and ridiculous and quite unlike the masterful, dapper man whose picture I had seen on newsreels and in magazines. “You know this person, Belinda?” he demanded. “Should we call the police?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Belinda said. “She’s my best friend—Georgiana Rannoch.”

“Lady Georgiana, sister of the Duke of Rannoch?” Sir Toby said. “Good God. But what’s she doing in your house? In your bedroom, for God’s sake?”

“I’ve no idea, Toby.”

I’d had enough. They were both looking at me with horror and suspicion as if I were a dangerous cornered animal. “Perhaps in the heat of passion you forgot that you invited me to stay in your house while you were away, Belinda,” I said. “And you might have given me advance warning that you were coming back.”

Belinda had taken down one of the robes and was in the process of trying to put it on. I noticed that her body was curvier than when we had shared a room as teenagers at a finishing school in Switzerland. No wonder men were so attracted to her.

“I remember mentioning that you could use my house,” Belinda said as she successfully pulled on the robe and tied it at her waist, “but I’d no idea that you’d taken me up on it. You might have dropped me a note to tell me.”

“Dropped you a note?” I was fully indignant now. “Belinda, I wrote you two letters. And since I didn’t know where you’d be staying, I addressed one to you, care of Golden Pictures, and one, care of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t receive either of them?”

“Of course I didn’t receive them. I never went back to Golden Pictures. It’s been virtually shut down by Mr. Goldman’s widow; at least all work is halted for now. And my budget certainly didn’t run to the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

Sir Toby cleared his throat. “Given the circumstances, Belinda, I think I should depart as rapidly as possible. So if you young ladies don’t mind stepping outside while I get dressed . . .”

Belinda followed me out onto the landing. “Honestly, Georgie. You’ve spoiled everything.”

She stood there, glaring at me while I squirmed in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, but you did offer and I did write to tell you. And I’m not about to walk out into the storm at this hour so that you can finish your little tryst with a cabinet minister.”

Sir Toby emerged, now looking more like himself in dark suit and old school tie. “I’ll just be toddling off home then, Belinda,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll pick up a cab on Knightsbridge. I’ll see myself out.”

Belinda followed him down the stairs. “Will I see you again soon?”

He cleared his throat in that annoying way that some men have. “I don’t really think that would be wise . . . much as I’d like to. Can’t afford to risk bringing scandal to the party, you know. Let’s just put tonight behind us. Forget all about it.”

And with that he grabbed his overcoat, opened the front door and stepped out into the storm.

I stood there at the top of the stairs, then came down slowly. We looked at each other in tense silence.

“Oh well, that’s that, I suppose,” Belinda said. “Is there anything to drink in the house?”

“I could make you a cup of tea, or I believe there is cocoa,” I replied.

This made her burst into laughter. “God, Georgie, why do you have to be so damned pure and naïve all the time? When are you going to grow up and realize what life is all about and when people say they need a drink they mean a large whiskey, not bloody cocoa.”

“I think you have Scotch in your drinks cabinet,” I said. “And my life is very different from yours, Belinda. I don’t bring cabinet ministers home for sex. As a matter of fact I don’t bring anybody home for sex.”

Belinda sighed. “You really are a cocoa type of person, Georgie. God, and I was looking forward to that. There is something about powerful men that really attracts me. And he was obviously good at it too. And now I’ll never know. . . .”

Another awkward silence. “I’ve said I was sorry,” I repeated. “I don’t know what else to say. And you’ve used me often enough, including turning up out of the blue in Hollywood, so I do think you owe me the odd favor.”

There was a long silence as she went down the stairs and over to the cabinet in the corner. I heard liquor slosh into a glass. Or rather two glasses. She came back up the stairs, holding out a half tumbler of whiskey for me. “Here, drink this. You need it as much as I do. And you’re right. I did offer you my house and I have used you shamelessly on many occasions. Go on. Down the hatch.”

I did as she commanded, feeling the fiery liquid going down my throat and spreading warmth throughout my body. I coughed and wiped my eyes. She laughed. “You must be the only Scot who can’t take her whiskey,” she said.

“I’m only a quarter Scottish,” I said, managing a weak smile. “And I’ve never developed a taste for it.”

“You and your bloody cocoa,” she said, and she started to laugh again. “Oh well, I don’t suppose it would have led anywhere. It was just one of those shipboard flings. And now he’s gone home.”

“Back to his wife, if I remember correctly,” I said. “And wasn’t he the one who gave that speech about the sanctity of the family and every proud Englishman being king of his own castle with his wife and children around him?”

She nodded. “He’s a politician, Georgie. They say what people want to hear.”

“Belinda, I think I did you a favor. You could have caused real trouble. You could have brought down the government.”

“That might have been interesting,” she said. “At last people would know who I was then. I’d be a celebrity.”

“Of the wrong sort,” I said. “No respectable household would invite you for dinner, in case you seduced their husbands.”

“I suppose you’re right as usual,” she said. “It did cross my mind that it might be nice to be someone’s mistress, taken care of, set up in a swank flat somewhere.”

“With no security whatever, Belinda. Why not someone’s wife? Your pedigree is as good as mine—well, almost.”

“But I’m soiled goods, darling. No top-drawer family wants their son to get hitched to someone like me. I’m clearly not a virgin, like you. I’ve a reputation now, and no fortune to go with it. And I’m stony-broke at the moment—no idea how I’m going to pay my maid and put food on the table, unless something good turns up.”

“So Hollywood didn’t work out for you, then?” I said. “You said that Mrs. Goldman shut down Golden Pictures, but what about all the other studios? Didn’t any of them want a talented costume designer? You had terrific contacts, after all—you swam nude with Craig Hart.”

Belinda frowned. “It seems there are too many talented people in Hollywood, fighting for too little work. And I didn’t really feel comfortable over there. That sort of lifestyle wasn’t for me. Too brash. Too artificial. Nobody means what they say. They talk big, make big promises and it’s all fabrication.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I bet you’d have made a brilliant costume designer. You are very talented.”

“Kind of you to say so, darling.” She managed a weak smile.

“You have trained with Chanel, Belinda. And you’re really good. You could easily start your own line over here. I know you could.”

“I know I could too,” she said, “except that it all takes money. I’d need premises, seamstresses, fabric . . . and remember what I found out before? Those who can afford good clothes want everything on credit. It’s a constant fight to make them pay up.”

I sighed this time. “It’s not easy, is it? My mother gave me a nice check when she went back to Germany but it won’t last forever. And now that you’re home I’m not even sure where I’ll go. Back to Scotland, with my sister-in-law telling me what a burden I am, I suppose.”

Belinda put a hand on my shoulder. “I’d let you stay on here, but there’s nowhere for you to sleep when my maid comes back. And it does rather cramp one’s style having a friend asleep on a downstairs sofa.”

“Of course I realize I can’t stay on here,” I said.

“But you have the family home on Belgrave Square,” she said. “Oodles of bedrooms. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except that Fig made it quite clear they couldn’t afford to open it up just for me. Apparently even the small amount of coal I’d use to heat one bedroom is beyond their means.”

“Your brother is really as hard up as that?” Belinda asked.

“His wife claims he is. Actually I think she’s just naturally stingy, and she doesn’t want any of their money spent on me. She’s told me over and over that Binky’s responsibility for me ended when I had my season. It’s my fault that I haven’t married well.”

“Speaking of marriage . . .” She paused. “What news of Darcy? He’s still in the picture, isn’t he?”

“When he’s around,” I said. I stared out past her, at the white painted front door. “I haven’t seen him in a while. You know Darcy. He shows up, it’s heaven and then he goes again and I never know where he is or when he’ll come back. He’s the most infuriating man, Belinda. He doesn’t even have a proper London address. He borrows friends’ houses when they are out of town, sleeps on their couches. And half the time he can’t tell me where he’s going.”

“Georgie, who does he actually work for when he takes these little jobs—do you know? Do you think it’s something frightfully illegal, like drug running for gangsters?”

“Golly, I don’t think so,” I replied. “Some of the things he does do tend to be remarkably hush-hush. I think he takes almost any assignment he’s offered, but mostly on the right side of the law.” I looked around and lowered my voice, even though we were alone and the storm was raging. “In fact sometimes I think he might be employed as a spy by the government on occasion. He doesn’t say and I don’t ask. I know he’s trying to make enough money so that we can get married. . . .”

“You’re engaged, darling?” She grabbed my hands.

I felt my cheeks going red. “Well, sort of secretly. We can’t announce an engagement until Darcy feels he can support me, and heaven knows when that might be. I’ve told him I wouldn’t mind living in a little flat, but he’s determined to do the thing properly.”

“Of course he is.” She was looking at me wistfully. “You’re so lucky, Georgie. You’ve a wonderful future to look forward to with a terrific man who loves you.”

This was so unlike Belinda that I turned to look at her. “Belinda—you’ll meet the right chap, I know you will. You’ve got a brighter future than I because you’re so talented.”

“Dear Georgie.” She reached out to hug me. “You’re so nice. You deserve to be happy.”

“Cheer up, Belinda. Everything will work out splendidly,” I said. “You’ll find a job, or your father will relent and give you some money . . . and aren’t you set to inherit something from your grandmother?”

She made a face. “My grandmother will live to a hundred. She still walks three miles every morning and takes cold baths. And I’ll get no money from my father as long as my evil stepmother is in the picture. No, darling, I’m afraid it’s back to Crockford’s for me if I’m to survive.”

“Crockford’s? The club, you mean? Do you really expect to make money gambling?”

“Actually I do rather well, darling,” she said. “I play up the helpless and innocent young girl act—you know—first time at the tables and it’s all so terribly confusing. Kind men usually put in my stake for me. So I never actually lose my own money and I win remarkably often. Of course, some of the men expect something in return. . . .” She managed a bright smile. “But enough gloom and doom. There is room enough in my bed for two and in the morning we’ll make plans.”

Chapter 3

MONDAY, OCTOBER 29

CLABON MEWS AND THEN RANNOCH HOUSE, BELGRAVE SQUARE

Dear Diary: Belinda came home unexpectedly last night. Rather embarrassing, actually. Now I have no idea where I’m going to go. I hate living like this, relying on the kindness or pity or duty of others to take me in. When will I ever have a place of my own?

In the morning the storm had blown itself out. The world was bathed in bright sunshine. I got out of bed and went over to the window, savoring the morning quiet. The pavement below was littered with swaths of sodden leaves and even small branches, bearing testimony to the violence of the night’s storm. Belinda sighed and muttered something and I turned to look back at her. She was still sleeping blissfully, looking remarkably innocent and angelic in sleep. I stood there, staring down at her. Belinda was usually the optimistic, opportunistic one, living rather well by her wits. She’d had affairs with glamorous Italian counts and Bulgarian royals. So it was quite unlike her to reveal a vulnerable side. I wondered if something had happened in Hollywood. . . .

Then I decided I should be more concerned about me. At least she had a place of her own to live. At least she didn’t have royal family connections to live up to. I wondered where I’d go now. Would she expect me to move out immediately? In which case I’d have no choice but to take the next train back to Scotland. Oh golly, I thought. Castle Rannoch with winter coming, lashed by gales, gloomy beyond belief. I’d have to write to Fig to see if they’d have me, since it was now no longer my home. And if she said no . . . I turned away from the window, trying not to think about it. Mummy said I was welcome to stay in Germany, but I didn’t fancy that either—not the way things seemed to be going there these days.

Either way, I’d have to start packing up my thi