Royal Flush (17 page)

“I came up to Castle Rannoch because of my brother’s accident, ma’am,” I said. “I couldn’t leave my sister-in-law to entertain a house party alone.” I went over to her and attempted the usual combination of kiss on the cheek and curtsy, as usual getting this wrong and bumping my nose against the royal cheek. “So I felt I should come over and pay my respects as soon as I settled in.”

“I’m glad you did, my dear.” She patted my hand. “You will stay for luncheon, I hope. It’s not the most stimulating of gatherings, I’m afraid. Everybody’s gone off to shoot except for us elderly females.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d be delighted to stay.”

The queen looked over at her ladies. “You know young Georgiana, don’t you? Henry Rannoch’s girl? Lady Peebles, Lady Marchmont, Lady Ainslie and Lady Verian.”

Four serene and elderly faces smiled at me.

The queen patted the seat next to her. “And how is your poor brother faring? What an extraordinary thing to have happened. My son George told us all about it.”

“He seems to be improving, thank you, ma’am.”

“That is good news. Such a strange summer. The king hasn’t been at all well. He’s looking so much better since he’s been up here in the fresh air. I just hope the shoot won’t be too much for him.”

A gong summoned us to luncheon. I followed the queen and her ladies into the dining room. As we walked down the hallway, I wondered how I could find out exactly who was staying at Balmoral. The servants would know, if I could slip off unobserved for a chat.

Luncheon was, as usual in royal circles, a rather heavy meal. The king was fond of good solid English food, so we had mulligatawny soup, followed by steak and kidney pudding, followed by a rather grand version of bread pudding with custard. Feeling somewhat replete, I went with the ladies back to the sitting room.

“I think we might drive up to see how the shoot is progressing, don’t you?” the queen suggested. “I want to make sure that the king is not overtaxing himself.”

A shooting brake was ordered. We bumped along a track through some leafy woodland and then up a steep hillside until the vehicle could go no farther through the rocks and heather. Then we got out and walked, following a narrow track through the bracken. It was still misty and the grouse moor ahead loomed like a ghostly shape as the breeze parted the mist then drove it in again.

“They can’t have been too successful today,” the queen said, turning back to us. “How do they expect to see birds through this mist? I don’t hear any shooting going on, do you? I hope everything’s all right.” She strode ahead with Lady Ainslie while the rest of us followed.

“It’s touching to see how concerned she is about the king, isn’t it?” Lady Marchmont muttered, drawing closer to Lady Peebles. “Did you ever see a couple so attached to each other?”

“Especially since she was supposed to marry his brother,” Lady Peebles replied. “I must say she changed her allegiance rather rapidly.”

“Well, wouldn’t you, given the choice?” Lady Marchmont retorted.

I was close enough to overhear this little exchange, and turned back to them. “I remember hearing about that,” I said. “The Duke of Clarence, wasn’t it? What exactly happened? He died, didn’t he?”

“Right before the wedding.”

“How tragic.”

“Oh no, my dear,” Lady Peebles said. “It was a great blessing for everyone. A great blessing for England. He would have made an awful king—so lacking in moral fiber. He was a completely dissolute person, an embarrassment to the family.”

Lady Marchmont nodded. “There was that scandal with the homosexual club, wasn’t there?”

Lady Peebles shot her a glance, warning that such matters probably shouldn’t be discussed in front of my delicate ears.

“She probably doesn’t know anything about that kind of thing,” Lady Marchmont said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “I know I didn’t at her age. No idea such creatures existed. I remember someone saying that one of my suitors was a ‘pansy boy’ and I thought that meant he was keen on gardening.”

I laughed with them.

“So was the Duke of Clarence really a homosexual?” I asked.

“I suspect he was AC/DC,” Lady Marchmont said. “They say he couldn’t keep his hands off the maids, and there were rumors of visits to prostitutes. . . .”

“I’ve even heard it suggested that he was Jack the Ripper,” Lady Peebles said with a disparaging sniff, “although that’s simply out of the question.”

“But I suspect the rumors about prostitutes are true enough. And there were enough tales of drugs and drink. No, I think Her Majesty had a lucky escape. He would have led her a frightful dance. King George may be a boring old stick, but at least he’s dependable. And he clearly adores her. And England is in good hands.”

“How did the Duke of Clarence die?” I asked.

“Flu epidemic,” Lady Peebles said shortly. “Almost as bad as the big one of 1918. I remember clearly because I was a young girl” (she pronounced it “gell”) “at the time, and due to be presented at court that year, but my parents put it off until the next season because they didn’t want to risk bringing the family up from the country. I was most disappointed. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about with a simple influenza. Of course we now know that influenza isn’t always that simple.”

“I heard a rumor that he didn’t die at all,” Lady Marchmont said in a low voice. “The story went around that he was being kept a prisoner in an insane asylum.”

“What utter rot,” Lady Peebles said hotly. “My father attended the funeral himself. And don’t ever let Her Majesty hear you repeating that kind of street gossip.”

She stopped talking as we heard the sound of dogs barking up ahead.

“Ah, there they are.” The queen turned back to us with a nod of satisfaction. She quickened her pace. For an older woman she could certainly stride out wonderfully. “I expect they’ve seen us,” she added because someone was coming toward us. He was running very fast and the way he almost barreled into us made it clear that he hadn’t seen us until then nor was he expecting to meet anyone on the path.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” he gasped, his face red with exertion and embarrassment, “I had no idea. I wasn’t expecting . . .”

“It’s all right, Jack,” she said. “Why such a hurry?”

“They’ve sent me down to fetch a doctor and the police,” he said, the words still coming out between gasps. “There’s been a horrible accident. Someone’s been shot.”

Chapter 24

Balmoral estate
August 20

Lady Peebles took charge.

“We must take Her Majesty back to the castle immediately,” she said.

“I’m not likely to faint at the sight of a little blood, Blanche,” Her Majesty said, “but what happened? Who is it?”

“I couldn’t tell you that, Your Majesty. One of the young gentlemen.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

“Looks nasty from what I saw, Your Majesty.”

“Should we not transport him back to the house in the motorcar?” Her Majesty suggested. “It’s close by.”

“I don’t think he can be moved, ma’am,” the servant said. “They’d have taken him to the shooting brakes, wouldn’t they? But they told me to go for the doctor, and the police.”

“Then you must ride back in the motorcar with us,” the queen said. “I suppose we’d only be in the way if we stayed and we don’t want to find that our motor is blocking the way for an ambulance, do we?” She nodded to her ladies. Lady Peebles went to take her arm, then thought better of it.

I slipped away from them and continued up the track, into the mist. I felt an absurd sense of panic. A young gentleman had been shot. I didn’t know whether Darcy was part of that shoot or not, but I found myself praying “Please not Darcy, please not Darcy” as I broke into a run, stumbling over tussocks of heather, rocks and rabbit holes. Figures loomed ahead through the mist but there was an eerie silence. I could hear a lark singing somewhere above the gloom. Then the mist parted and I came upon them. They were standing still, almost posed as a tableau: the king, still holding his gun, at the middle of the scene; three of his sons, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York and Prince George; plus his daughter-in-law, the Duchess of York, standing around him in a protective knot; with the lesser players off to one side. Further off were the servants, holding the bags of game, the spare guns and the dogs, who strained at their leads as they saw me coming and began barking again. There was a look of bewildered shock on all the faces. And out beyond the tableau I could make out something lying on the ground with two people on their knees beside it.

“Who’s that coming now?” The king’s voice carried through the clear air.

“Looks like young Georgie,” someone said, probably the Prince of Wales by the voice.

“Georgie?”

“Binky’s sister, from Castle Rannoch.”

I reached them, a little out of breath from having run uphill.

“Hello, sir.” I nodded to the king. “Her Majesty was coming to see how you were doing, but now she’s gone back in the motorcar with your man to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for a doctor,” the king said, in a clipped voice that was fighting to show no emotion. “Poor fellow’s had it.”

“Who is it?” My heart was thumping so loudly I could hardly breathe.

“Some young chap staying with you, I gather,” the Prince of Wales said. “Beastley something. I wouldn’t look if I were you. Not a pretty sight.”

My gaze moved past the group to the smaller tableau on the ground. As I moved toward it I spotted my mother. She had been clinging to Max’s arm, but now she broke away and ran up to me. “Isn’t it too, too horrible?” she said. “That poor boy. So handsome too. What a ghastly thing to have happened. I feel quite weak and nobody thought to bring a flask of brandy. I just hope they take us back to the house soon. I might faint any moment.”

“Mummy, you’re as strong as an ox,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll hold out splendidly.”

“Such an unfeeling daughter,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Max, you will catch me if I faint, won’t you?”

“What must I do,
Liebchen
?” he asked, the word “faint” being beyond his English vocabulary. Probably also the word “catch.”

I moved past her to see for myself. Hugo Beasley-Bottome was lying, staring up at the sky with a look of utter surprise on his face. There was a considerable amount of blood splashed around him. Kneeling beside him were Darcy and an older man with a neat little gray mustache. Darcy stood up quickly as he saw me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came over to visit the queen,” I said. “What happened?”

The older man stood up a little stiffly, as if he’d been kneeling too long. He was tall and of a military bearing. “I said we should not have gone out in this kind of weather,” he said. “Too risky with the mist coming and going. Young fool must have wandered ahead and got into the line of fire. That’s what happens when you introduce newcomers who don’t know the damned rules. Did you know the fellow?”

“He was staying at Castle Rannoch,” I said, staring down at him with pity and revulsion, “but I’d never met him before.”

“I’d never come across him until a few weeks ago either. He showed up at the house a couple of times,” the man said. “Believe he was rather keen on my daughter.” He came across to me. “I’m Major Padgett, by the way. We have met before. I’ve known your family for years. We’re neighbors.”

“Yes, of course. Georgiana Rannoch. How do you do?”

“And you know this young man?” He indicated Darcy.

“Yes, I do.” Darcy’s eyes met mine. “Hello, Darcy.”

“I was friendly with his father at one time,” Major Padgett said. “Owned a dashed fine stable of racehorses.”

“Not anymore,” Darcy said. “Joined the ranks of the paupers, I’m afraid.”

“Haven’t we all?” Padgett said, and there was bitterness in his voice. “Haven’t we all? Forced to live on the proverbial crust these days. Bad times, what?”

“Look, I don’t think Georgie should be up here,” Darcy said. “Not a suitable place for a woman. Why don’t I take her back to the castle?”

I was about to protest that I could stand the sight of a dead body as well as anybody else, but I saw Darcy’s look. He was trying to tell me something.

“Good idea,” Major Padgett said. “Take all the women back in the first of the motorcars, but we chaps should probably stick around until the local constable gets here. I don’t know what he’ll be able to do—decent fellow, but not the brightest—but one must do the right thing and there has been a death that needs to be officially ruled accidental.”

It was just beginning to sink in that there had finally been a death. Several near misses over the course of a couple of days and now someone had actually died. It could, of course, have been an accident. With this kind of weather conditions someone could have been shot accidentally if he’d wandered off from the main group, lost his bearings in the mist and moved into the line of fire. But it was just one accident too many. And why Hugo, was completely beyond me. Not one of our set. Not someone I had even met before.

“All right,” I said. “I don’t suppose I can be of use up here anyway. I’ll do more good making sure that tea is ready by the time the rest of you get back.”

Darcy took my arm and led me away. “There’s something funny going on here,” he muttered to me. “Hugo Beasley-Bottome wasn’t out ahead of the group. I saw him standing over to one side, next to the Prince of Wales.”

I must have turned white and opened my mouth in surprise. “Well, that explains it, then, doesn’t it?” I whispered. “Someone was aiming at the prince and missed and got Hugo by mistake. Or they thought that Hugo was the prince. They both have blond hair and are similarly dressed.”

Darcy looked at me strangely. “You don’t seem unduly surprised.”

“I think one was expecting it to happen eventually.” I stopped walking and turned to look at him. “I take it you are my contact here.”

“Contact? Sweetheart, you know I’m all too willing to make any kind of contact with you at any time, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then if you’re not, who is?” I blurted out. I’d probably have made a rotten spy. I tend to say the wrong thing under duress.

“Do you mind clarifying before I decide you have gone potty?”

“Do you mean to tell me that you weren’t sent here by Sir Jeremy?”

He looked at me warily. “I came up here because I thought you were going to be up here, if you want to know. And I had a chance for some free board and lodging with Paolo and friends. And you know I never turn down a free meal. Or the offer of a bed.” He gave me a wicked grin. “And the only Sir Jeremy I know is head of some boring department of the Home Office.” He was reading my face. “That’s the one? You think I might be a pencil pusher for a civil servant?” He reached out and touched me lightly on the arm. The effect on me was unnerving, even in these circumstances. “Look here, Georgie, what’s all this about? Did you know that someone was trying to kill the Prince of Wales?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you,” I said. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“You don’t trust me?” He withdrew his hand from my arm. “I took a bullet for the king and queen, and you still don’t trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” I said. “Only, Sir Jeremy told me that nobody was to know and that I’d find a contact working undercover at Balmoral.”

“You thought that contact might be me?”

I nodded.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “And this Sir Jeremy asked you to protect the Prince of Wales from a mad assassin, did he? Exactly what training do you have in that department?”

“No, he asked me to keep my eyes and ears open. And it’s not just the Prince of Wales, Darcy. He suspects that someone is trying to kill the heirs to the throne. And now I’ve seen for myself, I have to agree with him.”

“But why ask you?”

“Because he thinks it has to be one of us, not an outsider. And I can observe from the inside, so to speak.”

“Interesting. So what have you observed so far?”

“Until now it’s all been apparent accidents, nothing you could say was deliberate. There was Binky’s foot caught in a trap. The lavatory cistern that crashed down on Babe . . .”

“I heard about that from her husband. Frightfully miffed, he was.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be if your wife was nearly killed by a flying lavatory tank?”

“Not the prettiest way to die. But I gather she survived to flush another day.”

“It’s not funny, Darcy,” I said, going to slap his hand and then thinking better of it. “It fits the pattern of these accidents.”

“So what other accidents have there been?”

“There was the rope that broke when I was climbing with Prince Siegfried—”

“What?” Darcy demanded.

I related the details of the incident. “And you think the rope was deliberately sabotaged?” Darcy demanded. He was no longer flippant. His face was grim.

“I haven’t had a chance to look at it since the accident and I don’t know if I could tell if a rope had been deliberately cut, but Siegfried said the rope had come over from Balmoral with Prince George and they’d laid it out to measure it and it was in fine condition.”

“So do you think someone was trying to get rid of you or Prince Siegfried? I know which I’d choose,” he added, making me smile.

“I was wondering whether it was Prince George that was the target. After all, he brought the rope, and that lavatory tank that fell on Babe—it was in the bathroom he used.”

“I see.” Darcy and I walked side by side in silence. “So I wonder who this contact of yours really is,” he said at last. “And obviously your Sir Jeremy is not quite the boring cove I took him for.”

“So tell me who exactly took part in this shoot.”

“The king and three of his sons. The Duchess of York. Your mother and her fat German friend. Prince Siegfried. Major Padgett and a couple of older men who I believe are His Majesty’s equerries. Then there were the outsiders: Gussie, myself, Hugo, your two hairy cousins—oh, and the American, Earl, turned up with a young Austrian count.”

“That would be Fritzi,” I said. “I’m surprised Earl is here. You’d have thought he’d be sitting at Babe’s bedside.”

“He said he couldn’t turn down the chance to shoot with the king. He’ll be able to dine on that story forever back in America.”

“Yes, I suppose he will.” My mind was already working overtime. Earl so keen to be part of the shoot, with Babe lying in hospital. That didn’t sound like the devoted husband. Was it possible something quite different was going on here? What if Earl had rigged up that cistern to fall on his wife’s head, and Hugo had seen him? I didn’t think that Hugo would be beyond a bit of blackmail. Hugo’s death might have nothing whatever to do with the royal line of succession.

The first of a line of shooting brakes appeared below us at the edge of the moor. Darcy put his hand on my arm and turned me to face him. “Look, Georgie. I don’t like the sound of this at all. I don’t want you involved in it in any way. I hope you weren’t the intended target when that rope broke, but we can’t rule out the possibility that you were. You are also part of the line of succession.”

“Thirty-fourth, Darcy. If someone wanted to be king, he’d have to kill off an awful lot of people ahead of me. Somebody would catch him before he got to number one.”

Darcy was still frowning. “I wonder what motive anyone would have. Surely nobody could believe that he’d wind up as king if he killed off everyone between him and the throne! Maybe it’s a particular grudge against the Windsor family or royalty in general? Somebody the king could have pardoned and didn’t?”