The Blood Royal Read online

  ‘May I present Woman Police Patrol Officer Lilian Wentworth? Lily, this is Lady Dedham.’

  He watched keenly as the two women greeted each other. Clearly, Cassandra Dedham was as surprising to the policewoman as the policewoman was to the lady. Wentworth couldn’t fail to be impressed by Lady Dedham, even in her grief-stricken state. Much younger than might have been expected, perhaps in her late thirties, Cassandra had a classical beauty that could not be extinguished by the shock and exhaustion she was suffering. Her oval face was drained of colour, its pallor accentuated by a smear of blood along her left cheekbone. Her earrings were intact, her dark auburn hair was scraped back into a chignon and very nearly immaculate. One strand had escaped to trail unnoticed on to her shoulder. Even as his eye caught it, Cassandra automatically retrieved it and tucked it out of sight under its velvet band.

  ‘Ah! Another of your Scottish cousins flighting south, Joe? The coverts up there must be full of them.’

  Joe was just about to fall in with this convenient suggestion and make Lily an honorary relation when she decided to speak for herself. ‘I’m a colleague of the com-mander’s cousin Margery, Lady Dedham. A useful pair of hands. In attendance to save him some time. I know how to write shorthand.’

  ‘I say, Lil, do you really?’ Joe affected not to know. ‘She’s modest, you’ll find, Cassandra. She’s really here to put her sharp wits to our problem. Like you, she’s not comfortable with the story that’s been hacked together, though she has, as yet, only been able to form a judgement from the notes, of course. I thought you two could put your heads together and sift through the evidence again. Always assuming – and I assume a lot, I know – that you’re up to it …?’

  A proviso that needed to be made, Joe thought. Under the veneer of calm and normality, he sensed that Cassandra Dedham was very near collapse. An admiral’s wife would be made of stern stuff, that was to be expected, but the woman had witnessed and played an active part in a tragedy and was still caught up in it. She was still dressed – though apparently oblivious of it – in the chiffon evening gown she had been wearing when her husband had died in her arms, only feet away from where they were standing. The dark green fabric was blotched with blood, the stains showing up as a black dappling from neck to hem. Her evening gloves were lying where she had dropped them on the hall table the previous night.

  This wouldn’t do. Should he say something? How far could he presume on their acquaintance? Joe stepped forward, suddenly aware that Cassandra was becoming unsteady. Oh, what the hell! He seized her cold hands and passed an arm under her shoulders. ‘You haven’t slept. You haven’t even changed. Where’s the medico I left caring for you?’

  ‘No time. Statements, re-enactments for your people, Joe … Endless telephoning to be done. Peterson to arrange for… he’s doing well, they say … Hundreds of people to be informed … the press gathering. The king sent round an equerry and you can’t deal with one of those smooth young men in five minutes, you know. I sent the doctor away. He was all for giving me laudanum. If ever there was a time when I needed full possession of my faculties, this is it, I think you’d agree.’ The tension he felt in her slight form was alarming.

  ‘But who’s supporting you? You can’t manage without a man in the house. Surely …?’

  ‘Our sons are on their way. They’ve been at sea on a training ship all summer. Once John and Billy get here I can let go the reins. John’s seventeen now … man of the house … But no, you’re right, Joe,’ she said, replying to his unspoken thoughts, ‘the boys are very young still. I’ve alerted their older cousin Sebastian – Oliver’s nephew. Do you remember meeting him? Royal Flying Corps? He’ll rally round.’

  Joe nodded, reassured by the mention of the friendly young airman he’d met in the admiral’s house the month before. ‘I do indeed. He fits the bill. Glad to hear he’s invited aboard. Where is he – down in Sussex?’

  ‘Yes. I phoned him as soon as I could. Dreadful thing to throw at the feet of a young fellow but I couldn’t think of anyone else. He’s completely au fait with Oliver’s affairs and that’s useful … I haven’t a clue. He offered at once to set off at the crack of dawn and drive down to Devon to pick up the boys and they’ll be here this afternoon. But until they all get here I shall have to manage. And I can. Truly, Joe.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ The commander glanced around him and squared his shoulders. He suddenly seemed to fill the hallway with his large masculine presence. A decision followed at once. ‘I shall stay and take over until the boys arrive.’

  He decided he didn’t quite like the swift exchange of looks he intercepted between the two women on hearing his pronouncement. Understanding? Amusement even?

  ‘Joe! I knew you would. You’re an angel – a godsend.’ Cassandra grasped his hands again in her emotion. ‘And I battle to stop myself swooning at your feet, whimpering my gratitude. But you know what I’m going to say – yes, I could do with some help, but not from the one man who can bring this foul matter to a conclusion. That’s where you’re needed – out there running the investigation.’ Cassandra’s eyes flashed with spirit and she pointed to the door. ‘Go out and get them, Joe.’

  ‘And return with my shield or on it, you’re about to add?’ he suggested, amused by the deft way she’d deflected his attention.

  ‘Yes. Rout out this noxious growth or other victims will follow,’ Cassandra went on, her expression serious. ‘Others will suffer as I’m suffering if you fail. Find them and bring them in. That’s what Oliver would have wanted. “You’re a bloodhound, man, not a lapdog!” Can’t you hear him saying it?’

  ‘I can indeed. But I could wish you’d thought of wolfhound,’ he suggested with a teasing smile.

  ‘For the teeth and the killer instinct.’ Cassandra appeared pleased with the image. ‘I know you have them.’

  ‘Though I accept your reprimand. I’ll get about my business, then. But look, Cassandra, why don’t you let me and Miss Wentworth mount guard here for half an hour? We’re rather good at that. Give you a chance to go up and …’ he waved a hand in the direction of her skirt, ‘do what you have to do. Mustn’t frighten the horses, must we?’

  Cassandra looked down at her dress. ‘I know – I look like a survivor of the massacre of Cawnpore! And I’m not going to pretend I hadn’t noticed. I could have sneaked off and changed. If I’m honest, I’ve rather been hanging on to the evening, devastating as it was. My last evening with Oliver.’ She smoothed down the chiffon folds and touched her cheek. ‘Every bit of him was precious to me, even his spilled blood. I’ve been keeping the last traces of him close about me for as long as I could. But then,’ her head went up, ‘there’s a limit. Oliver couldn’t bear slackness. I’m letting him down. I’ll disappear upstairs and do something about all this.’

  The telephone on the hall table began to ring.

  ‘You’ll have to be butler for now, Joe,’ Cassandra said. ‘It’s probably the Prince of Wales. His aide left a message earlier saying His Royal Highness would ring back. But I really don’t feel up to a conversation. I can hardly get my words out. And he’s so sweet and always says the right thing and I know I shall just dissolve into tears and hiccups. You’ll have to think of something.’

  As Joe went towards the telephone he heard her whisper to Lily, ‘The prince and Oliver were close, you know. “Matloes” both, as they like to call themselves. Oliver was his mentor at one point in his training days at Dartmouth.’

  ‘This could well be for me,’ said Sandilands apologetically, picking up the earpiece. ‘I asked my super to contact me here.’

  ‘Good. Your Mr Hopkirk. Nice man. Look, while you’re busy, may I borrow Miss Wentworth? No time to waste. It occurs to me that she can hear my account while I’m having a bath and struggling out of my cocktail dress and into my mourning clothes.’

  The earpiece in his hand, Joe turned to smile his acquiescence. This was going better than he could have expected. He just hoped Wentworth could hold her nerve and m
ake the most of the chances unexpectedly on offer. He was beginning to see the advantages of sending in a woman detective. He was an effective officer himself but there were limits – he conceded that he could never pursue his female witnesses into the bathroom and boudoir. He breathed deeply and censored the image of Cassandra shaking loose her long auburn hair and slipping out of her silken underpinnings.

  To distract himself he barked into the telephone: ‘Hopkirk? That you? Where’ve you got to?’

  Cassandra set off upstairs, calling over her shoulder to the maid who had lingered on in the hall, waiting for instructions. ‘Eva, see that the commander has whatever refreshment he needs, will you? And we’ll have a tray of coffee brought up to my room, in about ten minutes.’

  ‘Excellent idea, Lady Dedham,’ Wentworth said, picking up the gloves from the hall table and following the widow upstairs.

  Lily perched uneasily on the edge of a spindle-legged French chair in Lady Dedham’s sumptuous bedroom. The curtains were drawn, a discreet lamp or two lit, and Lily was glad of the concealing gloom as Cassandra began to struggle out of her bloodstained clothes. She averted her eyes as her ladyship, swearing gently, unhooked, unbuttoned, tugged and pulled at her evening dress with hands too weary to obey her satisfactorily. She’d refused the services of her maid. ‘Don’t worry, Adèle, if I get stuck Miss Wentworth can help.’

  The girl had withdrawn, casting an astonished and very unfriendly glare at Lily.

  Lady Dedham hadn’t asked for help and Lily had to sense when the moment of unbearable frustration came. She moved swiftly forward to undo the hooks and eyes on the back of the French camisole and, as Cassandra stepped out with relief, Lily bent and gathered up the heap of crumpled finery, intending to hand it over to Adèle who, she guessed, would have lingered outside but just in earshot. The ghost of an exotic flower scent still lingered in the peach silk underclothes and it was this final flourish of a vanished age – an Edwardian decadence, carefree and indulgent – that made Lily swallow and blink with emotion. Slipped off in a moment were the silk and gardenias; the widow’s weeds waited in readiness. And there they were – the weeds – black garments selected from the wardrobe by the careful maid and laid out, smelling unpleasantly of mothballs, in an uninviting pool of darkness on a chest at the foot of the bed.

  Cassandra saw them and looked aside with a shudder. She pulled on a white robe and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Water splashed and gurgled, pots and jars clanged and steam fragrant with lavender began to issue from the room. Lily sat on, wondering whether the ensuing silence was sinister and whether she ought to intervene. Perhaps Cassandra in her exhausted state had fallen asleep in the water? Dangerous. Lily tapped on the door and walked in.

  Alarmed at what she saw – a pale face lolling just above the froth, eyes tightly shut – she called Cassandra’s name.

  ‘Oh, so sorry, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you. Come in. I wasn’t asleep, just thinking. It must be the effect of the lavender, you know – it has a reputation for bracing up the mind.’ She smiled. ‘This has done me the world of good. Pass me a towel, will you? I think I heard our coffee tray arriving. And now I have something to tell you. A bit of a puzzle to put before you. It’s been lurking there at the back of my mind for hours but I haven’t had time to think about it. You must hear me and decide whether I’ve turned overnight into a silly old woman with a silly old woman’s groundless fears and fervid imaginings.’

  ‘The men involved have been captured. They’ll be coming up before Sir Humphrey Bodkin at the Old Bailey before you know it and they’ll be hanged. Take comfort from that, Lady Dedham,’ Lily murmured reassuringly. ‘They can represent no further danger to you and yours.’

  ‘You’re telling me what you think I want to hear, Lily. Come off it. I’m sure that a girl smart enough to be assisting the commander has seen further than the arrest of those two stool-pigeons. Would that be the word?’

  Lily was taken aback and replied carefully: ‘It will do, but I think, in the trade, we might say “patsies”. To describe a pair who were set up – or hired – by some other agency to commit the crime. Is that what’s worrying you? I’d be intrigued to hear what gives rise to your suspicion.’

  ‘It concerns me, Lily, that a murderous menace is walking the streets of our capital. There may be other innocent targets going about their daily lives in London, unaware that they’re being hunted down by nationalistic madmen at loose in our midst. Who will be next to suffer?’ Unable to keep it to herself a moment longer, she sat up and fixed Lily with eager dark eyes. ‘Listen. Those two brigands didn’t kill Oliver, you know. Oh, I agree that was their intent and they would probably have finished him off, given a little longer … who knows? I keep hearing the shots replaying in my head. The first two had the same note – they were fired from the same type of gun and almost simultaneously. But it wasn’t those shots that laid him low. Oliver was still on his feet, wielding his sword and setting them to rout, when it happened. Oh, I must be mistaken … the street was clear – no one else about, I can swear to that … but it was the third bullet that did for him. A different sound. I’m no expert but I’d say it was a larger calibre gun. And fired from across the street.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I have mine with cream and one lump of sugar, my dear,’ Cassandra said, slipping a peony-patterned Japanese kimono over her head. She settled on a chair by the coffee table. ‘But first, do draw back the curtains and let the light in. Out there in the world it must be lunch time, I’d guess. I prefer to see what the person I’m talking to is thinking and I expect you do too.’

  Lily busied herself with the curtains and then with cups, jugs and sugar tongs, hoping she was getting everything right. Presiding over a coffee tray in a sunlit Melton Square boudoir was a new experience for her, rendered surprisingly easy by Cassandra Dedham’s friendly, if distracted, acceptance of her. It occurred to Lily that, cousin or not, to be vouched for by Sandilands was no mean accolade. And Cassandra clearly adored him. Whatever Lily’s own reservations about the man and his motives, they would have to remain concealed in the present circumstances.

  They enjoyed their coffee for a few moments before Lily replied carefully to Lady Dedham’s earlier suggestion. ‘I don’t think you’re mad. In fact I think you’ve come to an accurate conclusion about the shooting. And I’ll tell you something else – the commander is of the same opinion. I’ve seen the notes. He had underlined your account of the third shot and put a question mark in the margin. It would, indeed, seem to have been the work of an organized gang. But no one needs to speculate … The moment Dr Spilsbury has made his report, we’ll know for certain. They can take a bullet to the police laboratory and identify the very gun it came from – should they be lucky enough to get their hands on it – by the pattern of striations along the casing. It’s the equivalent of a fingerprint for guns.’

  ‘Good Lord! Can they really do that? How clever! And how … reassuring. The police grow in my estimation every day. How wonderful for you to be involved with such a fine body as the Metropolitan Police. And it must be such fun working with Joe …’

  She left a space into which Lily was expected to slide an answer. ‘Stimulating is the best I can say, Lady Dedham,’ she murmured with honesty. Sensing that her reply was failing to satisfy the commander’s admirer, she added: ‘He did save me from being stabbed in the bottom by a pimp on Paddington station the other day.’

  This was what the lady wanted to hear. Her eyes grew round and a smile lit up her face for a moment as Lily told the story. ‘Oh, that’s the stuff! I draw the line at a punctured bottom but I should have so enjoyed such stimulation myself when I was young. I should have liked to do something truly useful had there been opportunities in that still-Victorian world. As it was, I only took part in two women’s suffrage marches before I became engaged to Oliver. And, of course, pillar of male society that he was hoping to become at that time, he had to call a halt to such activities on the part of hi
s fiancée. Straight from schoolroom to debutante to future admiral’s wife. I had my first child before I was twenty. Not much time for living, you’d say, Lily?’

  ‘I see consolations all around me.’ Lily waved a hand at the surrounding opulence and dared to add: ‘And you’re still young and – forgive me for saying such a thing at this time – full of energy and hope.’ This was not an acceptable comment from a stranger on the first day of bereavement and Lily tensed as the widow took her up on it at once.

  ‘Hope? What hope? Oliver and I were looking forward to the next stage in our lives. He was retiring from the Navy, you know. In the autumn. Coming home to us at last, like his hero Ulysses.’ Her smile was forgiving. ‘Like Penelope, I’d served my twenty years of loneliness. But, unlike Ulysses’ deserted spouse, I shall never have my man back from the sea. Hope gone, you see, Lily.’

  ‘Never!’ Lily said defiantly. ‘This isn’t the time or the place and I’m not the person to sound the trumpet so I’ll let the admiral’s hero do it himself: How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use! Didn’t Ulysses say that?’

  ‘Lily! My dear! How could you know …?’ Cassandra began to breathe unsteadily, her composure shattered by the words. ‘That was Oliver’s favourite poem! And now I hear you giving his sentiments back to me. I hear him saying it: “Never grow rusty … shine in use …” And I don’t doubt he would have concluded: Tho’ much is taken, much abides.’ Cassandra seemed to draw comfort from the memory and the verse. She smiled bravely over the rim of her cup and changed the subject. ‘Does he terrify you?’ she asked.

  ‘He? Me?’ Lily stammered.

  ‘Yes. Your commander. You. He can be a bit of a steamroller. He terrifies me! So young. So competent. So demanding. One must not be taken in by the handsome exterior, the easy smile, you know. He tried to teach me to shoot. When all this was gathering … Oliver was unconcerned, of course. Thought he was indestructible … Well, the might of the Kaiser’s navy had failed to sink him, after all! Joe offered me a tiny gun – he could see I was worried – to hide in my bag and he showed me how to use it. Ididn’t catch on very fast, I’m afraid. Hopeless, in fact. After an hour’s practice, he shrugged and grumped at me: “Well, the noise might scare someone off, I suppose.”’ She rolled her eyes and pulled a rueful face. ‘I felt I’d failed him.’