A Royal Pain (17 page)

A doorbell jangled as the door closed behind us. The peculiar musty, dusty, moldy smell of old books permeated the air. Dust motes hung in a single shaft of sunlight. The rear of the shop dissolved into darkness, with mahogany shelves, crammed with books, towering up to a high ceiling. It was like stepping back in time. I almost expected an old Victorian gentleman with muttonchop whiskers and tails to come out to greet us. Instead the shop appeared to be deserted.

“Where can everyone be?” Hanni asked as we stood, taking in the silence. “Sidney said he would be here.”

“Maybe he’s somewhere in the back helping a customer,” I suggested, peering past her into the dark interior.

“Let’s go find him.”

Hanni went ahead of me. The shop was like a rabbit warren, with passages between shelves twisting and turning. We passed dark little side aisles and negotiated boxes of pamphlets on labor unions and workers’ rights. There was a Russian poster on the wall with happy, brave-looking workers building a bright future. Next to it was a shelf of first edition children’s books. A delightful mixture. At last we came to a narrow stair twisting up to our right.

“Maybe they are upstairs,” Hanni suggested. She started up the dark little stairway. I was about to follow her when I heard the bell jangling on the front door.

“My dear young lady, can I help you?” a voice called. Its owner was not unlike my vision of the Victorian gent— white whiskers, faded blue eyes, paisley waistcoat. Alas no tails, however. “I am so sorry.” He continued, shuffling toward me. “I just stepped away for a moment. I had to hand-deliver a book. But my assistant should have been here to take care of you. I am Mr. Solomon, the shopkeeper. Now, how may I assist you?”

Hanni had already disappeared up the stairs. I returned to the old man.

“We were actually looking for your assistant, if you mean Mr. Roberts. He had promised to show us around your shop today.”

“Mr. Roberts. A fine young man. A truly noble soul,” he said. “Yes, he should be here somewhere. He’s probably found a book that interests him and he’s sitting somewhere, oblivious to the rest of the world. We’ll go and seek him out, shall we?”

“My companion already went upstairs,” I said.

“Yes, that’s a likely place for him. He’s writing a book on the history of the labor movement and we have a Russian section up there he’s probably perusing. After you, my dear.”

He motioned for me to go up the stairs ahead of him. They were steep and narrow and they turned two corners beforewe emerged at the upper level. This floor was even darker and mustier, with a lower ceiling and shelves stacked so closely together that one almost had to squeeze between them. Anemic electric lights hung here and there but did little to dispel the gloom.

“Hanni?” I called. “Where are you?”

There was no answer.

“Hanni? Mr. Roberts?”

At last a little voice said, “Over here. I’m over here.”

I followed the voice to a side aisle. Hanni didn’t look up or turn as we came toward her. Instead she stood like a statue, staring down at her hand with a look of utter surprise on her face. The hand held a long, slim knife, its blade coated in something dark and sticky. My gaze went beyond her to the white object on the floor. Sidney Roberts lay there on his back, his eyes open, his mouth frozen in a silent yell of surprise and pain. A dark stain was slowly spreading across the white front of his shirt.

Chapter 18

“My God, what have you done?” The old gentleman pushed past us to Sidney Roberts’s body. “Sidney, my boy.”

Hanni looked up at me with frightened eyes. “I found it on the floor,” she said, holding out the knife to me. “I came around the corner and my foot kicked something. I bent to pick it up and . . . and I saw what it was. Then I saw Sidney lying there. I didn’t do it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I said.

“Then who did?” Mr. Solomon demanded. He knelt beside Sidney and felt for a pulse.

“Is he . . . dead?” Hanni asked.

Solomon nodded. “I feel no pulse. But he’s still warm. And the blood is still spreading. It can only just have happened.”

“Then the murderer might still be in the shop.” I glanced around uneasily. “Is there another way out?”

“No, there’s only the front door.”

“Then we should go downstairs immediately and call the police,” I said. “He could be hiding anywhere. Come, Hanni.”

She was still staring at the knife in her hand. “Here,” she said and handed it to me.

“I don’t want it!” My voice rose in repulsion as I felt the cold stickiness of the knife touch me. “Put it back on the ground where you found it. The police will want to know.”

“I’m not sure where it was.” She sounded as if she was about to cry. “It was about here, I think.”

I replaced it on the floor and Mr. Solomon ushered us gallantly in front of him down the stairs.

“Alas, I have no telephone,” he said. “I keep meaning to have one installed but my customers prefer to write to me.”

“So where is the nearest telephone?” I demanded.

“I’m sure they have one at the accountant’s opposite the tearoom. I’ll go. You two young ladies should probably wait outside.”

“But what if the murderer tries to make a break for it?” Hanni asked with a trembling voice. “We can’t stop him.”

“Of course you can’t. Why don’t you come with me to the accountant’s if you feel safer. Or better still, wait in the tearoom.” Mr. Solomon sounded as confused and upset as I felt.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I said. “We’ll wait in the tearoom. Hanni looks as if she could do with a cup of tea.” I rather felt as if I could do with a cup myself. I couldn’t stop shivering.

We let the front door close behind us and followed Mr. Solomon over the cobbles. “Here’s sixpence,” I said to Hanni. “Get yourself a cup of tea. I’m going to see if I can find a constable before the murderer can escape.”

“Don’t leave me.” Hanni grabbed my arm. “I’m scared. There are spots of blood on my dress, and look at my hands.” And she started to cry.

I put my arms cautiously around her because I too had blood on me. “It’s all right. I know it is utterly horrible, but don’t cry. The police will be here soon and we’ll be safe.”

“Why would anybody want to kill Sidney?” she asked, brushing away tears. “He was nice, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, very nice. You’ll feel better after a cup of tea, and you’ll be quite safe in the café,” I said. “And I won’t go far, I promise. See. You can keep an eye on Mr. Solomon from the window.”

I watched her safely inside and then I ran back to Wapping High Street. I was just coming around the corner when I bumped into someone.

“Hold on, there, where’s the fire?” he said, grabbing me by the shoulders. I went to fight him off until I realized it was Darcy.

“What are you doing here?” I stammered, almost wondering whether I was hallucinating.

“Keeping an eye on you. I called at your house and your butler told me where you had gone. He wasn’t too happy about it, so I said I’d go after you to make sure you were all right.”

“We’re not all right.” I heard my voice crack. “We’ve just found a man murdered. The bookshop owner is calling the police. I have to find a constable.”

His hands tightened on my shoulders. “Murdered, you say? Where’s the princess? You haven’t left her alone, have you?”

“I left her in the tearoom. She was in shock.”

“What on earth were you doing in a place like this anyway?”

“Hanni wanted to visit a chap she met at Gussie’s party.”

“I shouldn’t have thought this was a likely location for any of Gussie’s friends,” Darcy said.

“His name was Sidney Roberts. I don’t know if he’s exactly a friend of Gussie. They were at Cambridge together. We also met him at the communist rally in the park, when you stepped in to rescue us.”

“You say his name
was
. . . ? So that means that he . . .” Darcy looked at me inquiringly.

“Yes. He’s the man lying dead upstairs in the bookshop. Somebody stabbed him.”

“Holy Mother of God,” Darcy muttered and almost went to cross himself. “And you and the princess found him?”

“Hanni did. She stumbled over the knife lying on the floor.”

“You look as if you could do with a cup of tea too,” Darcy said. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

I nooded. “It was awful, Darcy. All that blood and I touched the knife and . . .” I swallowed back a sob.

His arms came around me. “It’s all right,” he murmured, stroking my hair as if I were a little child. “You’re safe now.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth and closeness of him, his chin against my hair, the roughness of his jacket on my cheek. I didn’t want him to let go of me ever.

“Come on. We’d better get you that tea.” He took my arm and led me to the tearoom. Hanni’s eyes lit up when she saw him.

“It is Darcy! How did you find us here? You always come at the right moment to rescue us.”

“That’s me. Darcy O’Mara, guardian angel in disguise.”

In the distance came the sound of a police whistle being blown and a constable came running down the alley. Mr. Solomon appeared from the office across the way, together with several interested clerks. When the constable heard that the murderer might well still be in the bookshop he was not too keen to go inside. He stood at the doorway of the tea shop with Mr. Solomon while Darcy took me to get a cup of tea. We didn’t have to wait long. The incessant jangling bell of a police motorcar could be heard, echoing between high buildings. The noise caused several windows to open and brought more people into the alleyway.

The alleyway was just wide enough to accommodate a police motor. It came to a halt. Two plainclothes officers and two uniformed bobbies got out, pushing their way through the growing crowd. I returned to the door of the tea shop.

“Stand back, now. Go back to your business,” one of the officers shouted. He saw the bobby standing guard at the doorway. “What have we got here then?”

“They say a man’s been murdered and the murderer might still be in the building,” the bobby said. “I didn’t like to go in alone, sir, so I guarded the doorway to make sure he couldn’t get out.”

“Quite right,” the plainclothes officer said. In spite of the warm day he was wearing the traditional fawn mack and trilby hat, pulled down low on his forehead. His face and mustache were fawn to match the raincoat. He had jowls that gave him a sad bulldog look. Worse still, I now recognized him. None other than Inspector Harry Sugg of Scotland Yard. He spotted me at the same moment and reacted similarly.

“Not you again. Don’t tell me you’ve got something to do with this.”

“Princess Hannelore was the one who found the body.” I gestured an introduction to the princess inside the tea shop.

“Why on my shift?” he complained. His voice tended to whine at the best of times. “I’m not normally in this part of town. I just happened to be over this way, so they sent me. Are you making a hobby of finding dead bodies?”

“I don’t actually enjoy the experience, Inspector,” I said. “In fact I feel as if I might be sick at any moment. Someone was getting me a cup of tea.”

“All right,” Sugg agreed. “Drink your tea, but don’t go anywhere. I’ll have questions to ask you, and the princess.” Hanni looked up at him, wide eyed, from the table at which she was sitting.

“Don’t let any of them go anywhere, Collins,” Sugg barked. “Stay out here and keep an eye on them. Foreman, James. Come with me.”

They pushed past everyone and went into the bookshop. A little later they emerged again. “No sign of anyone in there,” Sugg said as he came back into the tearoom. “Which of you is the bookshop owner?”

“I am.” Mr. Solomon came forward.

“There didn’t seem to be any other exits except for the front door.”

“That is correct,” Mr. Solomon said.

“You were the one who phoned the police?”

“I was indeed.”

“And do you know the identity of the murder victim?”

“Of course I do. He is my assistant. His name is Sidney Roberts. As nice and respectable a young man as you could find. I don’t understand how anybody got into my shop to kill him or why they’d do so.”

Inspector Sugg turned to look at Hanni and me. “So this young lady found the body? Your full name is . . .”

“This is Her Royal Highness Princess Maria Theresa Hannelore of Bavaria,” I said, adopting my most regal tones to make it very clear. “She is a guest of the king and queen. I am chaperoning her around London.”

“And what’s a visiting princess doing in a place like this, I’d like to know?”

“We met a young man at—the British Museum.” I had been about to say “at a party” but I thought it wiser not to remind the police of the occasion of another dead body. “He told the princess about the bookshop where he worked. She accepted his invitation to be shown some rare old books.”

Harry Sugg stared hard at me as if trying to gauge whether this sounded plausible or not.