The Blood Royal Page 25

  ‘Ah!’ said Hopkirk with a rumbling laugh. ‘Now I’ve got it. I was thrashing about in the wrong fairy tale. It’s the Bad Fairy we’re looking for.’

  ‘Or a Bolshevik aristocrat?’ grumbled Chappel. ‘No such animal!’

  ‘Like “darkness visible”,’ agreed Bacchus. ‘An oxymoronic and quite ridiculous invention. Looks a teeny bit desperate, I’d say.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Well, if the constable cares to waste her morning scanning party lists … hobnobbing with the princess … comparing hemlines and dancing partners …’ Fanshawe had found his voice again. He oozed on, decorating his theme: ‘… chirruping over a samovar of tea and a dish of Viennese pastries … well, that’s up to her. Who shall say her nay?’

  ‘You make the occasion sound quite delightful, Fanshawe. Hadn’t realized that was your idea of a Sunday morning’s entertainment. Are you volunteering?’ Joe asked cheerfully. ‘No? Then I say Wentworth shall go.’

  ‘Beats pounding the streets, I will allow,’ nodded Bacchus. The Branch man turned to Lily and favoured her with one of his rare smiles. Or at least she took the movement in the region of his mouth to be a smile, though the vigorous twitch of the upper lip could as easily have been an attempt to dislodge the sleeping rodent. There was no mistaking the accompanying flash of even white teeth: it held all the challenge of a metal gauntlet thrown at her feet.

  Lily thought she had very likely made two implacable enemies before breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The smell of egg, bacon and black pudding frying and the clatter of a teapot lid brought Lily yawning and sniffing back into the world.

  ‘Seems a shame to wake you up, ducks, after five hours’ sleep but you did say ten o’clock sharp.’ Auntie Phyl was in her apron and enjoying having someone at home to treat to a lavish breakfast. ‘Here – scramble into this dressing gown and come straight through to the kitchen. Bacon’s just as you like it – nice and crozzled.’

  They ate at the scrubbed deal table. Phyl had domestic help these days but the staff were dismissed at weekends. Never idle, she liked to polish and repair and cook for herself. Lily struggled with her fry-up in silence, hoping Phyl wouldn’t expect a full account of her evening until her head cleared.

  Phyl was happy to chatter on regardless. ‘Well, you didn’t quite come clean about your boss, did you, sly-boots? Albert had quite a bit to say – for Albert – when he got back. “Every bit the gent … nice man … well set up and polite” was his verdict. And Albert’s a good judge. Has to be in his line of work. Nothing known to Sandilands’ disadvantage from the war years … quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve had him followed. He lives alone in a flat down in Chelsea. No distractions, apparently – works every hour God sends.’

  ‘Sounds too good to be true, are we thinking?’

  ‘Perhaps. Further and better particulars needed, I’d say. No one’s that innocent. And your bloke’s a busy bee too – was he up all night? These came for you – special messenger – an hour ago. I looked. Calling cards. Here you are. I’ve put them in a case for you because I don’t expect you have one.’

  Lily had almost forgotten. She took out a card from the silver case she was being offered and examined it.

  ‘There’s a dozen, that’s all. Not the usual gross, so you’re not intended to go scattering them like birdseed … or have them for long,’ Phyl noted. ‘Look at them. Best quality card, embossed, straight edge not deckle and lovely copperplate. Best of taste. And the wording’s interesting too. Odd, but interesting. I didn’t realize I’d be entertaining an “Honourable” this morning. I’d have swapped the black pudding and tea for kedgeree and Buck’s Fizz if I’d known. So this is who you are now: the Honourable Lily Wentworth. No address, but you have a telephone number. And what a number! Whitehall 1212 and an extension number which I assume is …’

  ‘Sandilands’ office, of course. One of these is meant to get me access to a Russian princess this morning. A passport over the front doorstep. These are my business cards, I suppose you’d say. It’s a cheat. Not sure I can go through with all this. It makes me uncomfortable.’

  ‘Go on! It’s being a load of fun. Stick with it, if only to entertain your old auntie.’

  ‘Phyl, it’s not a barrel of laughs,’ Lily muttered. ‘I saw someone die last night … poisoned. And the corpse could easily have been mine.’ She went to put the kettle on again. ‘This is going to be a two-pot story.’

  The butler was elderly, English and intimidating. His glassy eyes swept her discreetly from head to foot, seeing and assessing while appearing, with the knack only butlers and royalty have, of keeping their subject discreetly out of focus. He allowed himself a well-judged sniff of disdain in response to her yellow print cotton frock. The three-year-old straw hat elicited a twitch of the left corner of his mouth. Without her card, she guessed she would have been instantly sent round to the tradesmen’s entrance where an interview for would-be parlour maids might be on offer from the housekeeper. The butler studied the card she gave him and could find no reason to object to it. Nor to the accent in which she spoke the lines Sandilands had prepared her to deliver.

  ‘Good morning, Foxton. I’m here to see Her Highness. I believe Commander Sandilands has made an appointment.’

  ‘Yes, indeed he has, miss. You are expected. If you will follow me? The ladies are still in the morning room.’

  She padded after him through a spacious marble-tiled hallway and down a corridor hung with paintings of a quality that risked distracting her. She took a deep breath as he opened a door and announced her. ‘Miss Wentworth of White Hall to see you, Your Highness.’ With a butler’s tongue-in-cheek tact, he had managed in two syllables to turn the formidable police headquarters into a genteel grand house.

  ‘Miss Wentworth! I’m delighted you could come – and so swiftly after the recent events. I’m told you bring news of the prince.’ The princess was smiling a welcome. Her voice was a throaty rumble but her English was perfect and, Lily guessed, her first language. She turned to the two young women who were sitting at a table covered in piles of envelopes, notes and cards. They got up eagerly and came forward in age order. They were both in their early twenties and both had dark hair and eyes, but Lily didn’t think they were sisters. The older one had a dreamy, rounded face and an easy smile; the other had a quizzical stare and a mouth that seemed ready to laugh.

  ‘Eirene, Sasha, may I present Lily Wentworth who was our guest last night? You may remember seeing her in the company of His Royal Highness. And she is, among many things, the cousin of Sandilands who visited the other day. Miss Wentworth, you will observe, comes to us under cover … Is that the right term?’ Her eye lingered meaningfully on Lily’s yellow print washing frock and slightly battered hat, and her two companions laughed nervously.

  Lily lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone and murmured: ‘It’s a Sunday. Maid’s Day Off. I blend in with the promenaders.’ In her imagination she heard her father splutter his outrage as her grandfather, with a dry rustle of bones, turned in his grave. With a rebellious flourish, she took off her hat and shook out her hair.

  ‘Ah! Now I remember! It’s the girl in the green dress,’ murmured Eirene. ‘The wonderful dancer! We all said … didn’t we, Sasha?’

  The two younger Russians were wearing heavily embroidered silk kaftans, ankle length and unconstricting. They seemed to have been dealing with correspondence, so Lily gathered they were both resident in the house. Family or friends and clearly going nowhere for the moment. Their presence in the room was inconvenient.

  Formal introductions were completed. The ladies seemed intrigued and pleasantly scandalized to be in the presence of a working woman and a woman policeman at that.

  Sasha recovered more quickly than the placid Eirene. ‘Lily,’ she said, calling her firmly by her first name, ‘you’re very convincing. I’m only surprised you got past Foxton! And I would know about being convincing. When I escaped from Russia my disguis
es were every bit as effective. I became quite the expert. You’re to come to me if you need any advice on dissimulation. I’ve travelled a thousand miles being a peasant, a baker’s daughter, a babushka, a cavalryman … I’ve sliced off my hair and kicked off my heels. But the best part of it all was – no corsets! Oh, the joy of leaving them off! I haven’t put one on again since!’ She wriggled her slim shoulders under the silk wrapper and sighed with satisfaction.

  ‘And now Mademoiselle Chanel offers us all the same freedom,’ Lily agreed. She didn’t believe a word of this manicured and soignée little butterfly’s fairy story but she liked her insouciance.

  ‘But let me warn you.’ Sasha’s roguish glint faded and her expression became more stern. A finger was raised and she wagged it at Lily. ‘As one actress to another. The moment you find the role you are playing more comforting, more alluring, or just more stimulating than the one you were born to – you are lost. Cast adrift for ever on a sea of dissatisfaction.’

  ‘No need to worry about me,’ Lily replied as lightly as she could. ‘Dancing with a prince was good fun but I shouldn’t much care to have to do it every day. Be on my best behaviour every moment? Apologise every time I stepped on the royal toe? No. I’d rather put on corsets again.’

  ‘You choose to mistake my meaning.’ Sasha’s bright eyes were full of knowledge and Lily tried not to look away. ‘Good. I conclude that you are aware of the true danger.’

  Only too well aware, Lily decided the moment had come to pull this interview back into line. She caught the eye of the princess and remembered her instructions. ‘But I’ve come, as you say, with news of the prince – that is to say of two princes.’ The company became still and attentive. ‘The Prince of Wales was in no way harmed, though very distressed, of course, by the events. He’s gone into the country to stay with friends for a week or so and has sent his condolences to the widow of Prince Gustavus, who, as you perhaps—’

  ‘Poor Zinia. I have told my friends what happened. You may assume they know as much as I and speak freely in front of them,’ the princess intervened.

  ‘It is confirmed that Gustavus died of heart failure.’ Lily delivered the lie with all the security of Sandilands’ coaching behind her. ‘The onset was very sudden. Although an eminent doctor was on hand to render immediate assistance, there was nothing that could be done to save him.’

  ‘Ah. No surprises there. Zinia will have told you, no doubt, my dear, that this is a family weakness.’ The princess spoke without emotion. Her words were greeted by understanding nods all round. ‘One is sad but not surprised. I was acquainted with the boy’s father many years ago. In looks, the son was the image of his father, and, it transpires, he had many of his deficiencies of character. A lying, murdering womanizer,’ she said pleasantly. ‘The kind the world is better off without. Just as well that the line has a built-in physical flaw … they manage to destroy themselves before someone is obliged to do it for them. Ah, here comes our morning coffee. You are able to stay and drink coffee with us?’

  A maid entered with a loaded tray, and took in Lily’s presence with dismay. Sasha got up and bustled about helping her to find a space on the table. ‘Shall I bring another cup, Miss Sasha? I hadn’t realized you’d got company.’

  Sasha hurried her away with a discreet, ‘No, thank you, Katy, that will do. Thank you, my dear. We’ll wait on ourselves. You can go now.’

  Four delicate cups and saucers of Worcester porcelain, a silver pot, cream and sugar and French madeleines had appeared, Lily noted, pleased that Fanshawe had got it wrong. Though not all his speculations missed their target. Sipping the fragrant coffee and puffing away at Virginia cigarettes, the ladies allowed their affected sadness to give way with surprising speed to gossip and merriment. The hemlines and dancing partners Fanshawe had scathingly conjured up were now, indeed, being trailed before her. Lily was made to tell whether Prince Edward was as good a dancer as was reported. (‘As good as my dancing master.’ Lily had decided the man had earned a good report.) Was he fun? (‘He made me laugh a lot.’) Where had Lily come by that wonderful dress? (‘Ssh! A secret! Though perhaps I’ll leave the address with the princess before I leave.’) And who exactly was the fair-haired Adonis to her right… sitting at the royal table…clean shaven, cleft chin, was he really squiring Connie Beauclerk?’ (‘Rupert Fanshawe? The most dangerous man in England! You would not want to know him.’)

  Lily was feeling easy enough in their company to tell them a scandalous story about Rupert Fanshawe that elicited gasps and giggles. A story entirely of her own invention. She hoped it would find its way straight back to the Branch man’s ears.

  The princess enjoyed the chatter for a while then dismissed the two young women. ‘Now, my chickens! You must both go up and change – we’re expected at the embassy for lunch, remember. Take your things away with you, will you? I would like a quiet and serious word with Miss Wentworth and I can see I’m not to have the opportunity as long as you pester her for gossip.’

  They scuttled off, leaving Lily facing a suddenly shrewd inquisitor.

  ‘Now you can tell me the truth,’ the princess said bluntly. ‘How did Gustavus die?’

  ‘Cyanide poisoning. Almost indistinguishable from heart—’

  ‘This is understood. And that must be the last mention of the appalling substance. The man died from a congenital heart condition. And largely unmourned. I shall attend the funeral, of course. Thank goodness veils are still in style – I shall find it impossible to squeeze out a tear. As will his wife, the silly girl.’

  She took a trinket box from a table, opened it and produced a diamond brooch. ‘The fool tried to give this away. To make the correct impression, no doubt. I knew it was Zinia’s much-loved jewel that she had from her mother. It would not have been offered for charity with her consent. I arranged for a friend to make a discreet bid and I acquired it. Zinia shall have it back. And the support to start a new life. In Paris perhaps. I think Paris will be good for her. Whether Zinia will be good for Paris is less certain. And now you may tell me why you have come to see me.’

  Lily responded with equal succinctness. Her request for the original guest list was received with no more than the slightest lift of an eyebrow and the princess moved at once to an escritoire. She took a sheet or two of foolscap paper from a drawer, looked over them briefly and brought them to Lily.

  ‘I’ll hover at your shoulder,’ she said. ‘The handwriting is my own and difficult to decipher. Can you tell me for whom you are searching?’

  ‘I’m looking for a name which is here on your first list but not on the lists the Branch men made of arrivals at the ball.’ Lily took two sheets from her handbag. ‘Here’s the cast in order of appearance. And here’s another list, with superb efficiency, giving the same names in alphabetical order.’

  The princess sighed. ‘Two hundred names to consider! But you were right to come to me. I can shorten the task, I believe. The evening was very well attended. It was the society event of the year in the highest circles and there were few indeed who failed to make an appearance. And I am aware of all of them. Two gentlemen, two ladies. Now … the Duke and Duchess of Sunderland … here they are, you see, on my list … did not attend. Elderly couple. He fell off his horse last week and is confined to his estate. Here we have Miss Millicent Gregory (Ludmilla Gregorovich back home in Russia) who found herself unavoidably detained in Paris.’ The princess sniffed her disapproval.

  ‘By an Italian tenor?’ Lily enquired sympathetically, remembering her aunt’s list.

  ‘You have it,’ said the princess. ‘My word! The Yard is all-knowing.’

  ‘Can you describe Miss Gregory?’

  ‘Pretty as a peony, with half the intelligence. Wet as a worm.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Ludmilla couldn’t brew up a cup of tea let alone administer a dose of cyanide. If it’s a poisoner you’re looking for in the cracks in these lists, she’s not the one.’

  A beringed finger pointed to a name near the end o
f the page. ‘And, lastly, here you see the Spanish envoy to the Court of St James. Ah, now there’s a handsome villain! He could kill anyone. He’s cut a swathe through Europe. Those that don’t fall to his charm fall to his knife. I was looking forward to meeting him. But he was envoyed back home last week for bad behaviour more blatant than usual. Can you tell me more precisely what you have in mind?’

  ‘As you suppose, we’re looking for the man or woman who poisoned Gustavus, by design or by mistake.’

  ‘But you fear the Prince of Wales was the target? My dear Lily, you’ve taken leave of your senses. Your prince was never in danger. He was among friends and subjects. He could have raised a squadron of admirers and protectors amongst this company – there was no safer place in England for him to spend the evening. He was as safe as the Pope surrounded by his Swiss Guard! And Edward knew that. That is why, against all advice from your secret services, he felt able to accept the invitation. No – whoever the assassin, I would say he got his man. Though I could wish he hadn’t chosen my party as the scene of his crime. Aren’t there dark alleys enough in London? So inconsiderate!’ The princess gave a grating laugh. ‘Mais, quand même – good luck to him!’

  ‘I think it’s in the ancient nature of the assassin to choose a public stage for his coup, isn’t it?’ Lily suggested. ‘And your glittering event would have provided him with an unforgettable backdrop for his effort.’

  ‘Yes, the hashashin! You’re right. They liked an audience for their dramas. And still do in the modern world. So many men shot and hacked to death in theatres, in arenas, in the course of parades! If one were very naive, one might almost suspect an international conspiracy.’

  Lily felt a keen mind at work in the sophisticated woman she was taking into her confidence and decided to press her further. ‘Your Highness, we’re seeking not a man but a woman, and a woman who may have a connection with the political ambitions, not of your country, but of another.’