A Royal Pain (19 page)

I scrubbed my nails furiously and washed my hands in a way that would have been admired by my fellow Scot Lady Macbeth. Then I changed and went down to lunch. True to Granddad’s predictions, Mrs. Huggins had made a delicious pork pie. Hanni tucked into it with gusto. “English food I like,” she said.

I had to admit it looked wonderful, served cold with pickled beetroots, lettuce and pickled onions. But somehow I couldn’t chew or swallow. I toyed with it, pushed it around on my plate, and only managed a couple of mouthfuls. When it was followed by jam roly-poly with custard, Hanni uttered squeaks of delight and fell upon it. It was a pudding of which I am particularly fond, but again after one or two spoonfuls I couldn’t eat any more. I kept seeing the body lying on the floor with the blood soaking through his shirt, and I felt the cold stickiness of that bloody knife in my hands.

“You haven’t eaten much,” Granddad complained as he came to clear away. “That won’t do.”

“I’m sorry. I still feel a bit shaky,” I said.

“Let me bring you a brandy,” he said kindly.

I nodded. “Yes, that might be a good idea.”

“I too like brandy,” Hanni said brightly. “I too have the shock.”

I didn’t think she was showing it. She seemed to have bounced back with remarkable resilience, especially considering that this was a chap she was keen on. I thought for a second what I would feel like if it had been Darcy lying there. It was too painful even to contemplate.

Granddad returned with the brandies and coffee. Hanni and I sat chatting about anything but the morning’s events, when Granddad appeared in the doorway.

“You have a visitor, my lady.”

I rather feared it was a policeman. I stood up. “I’ll come to the drawing room.”

“No need to get up, darlings, it’s only me,” Belinda said, bursting in with her usual radiance and wafting hints of Chanel as she approached. “I simply had to come and apologize. My conscience was positively nagging at me.”

“Apologize for what?” I asked.

“Why, for leaving you in the lurch at that boring party,” she said. “The truth was that I was only there because I had my eye on some chap, so when I saw he had his eye on someone else—well, I decided to cut my losses and head for Crockford’s and some productive gambling. Lucky I did, too, because not only did I win a couple of hundred pounds but I met the most divine Frenchman and one thing led to another and to put it bluntly, I’ve just surfaced from his hotel room. I do hope you managed to find your own way home with no problems.”

I almost laughed at the irony of this statement. “Belinda, how do you do it?”

“Keep meeting men, you mean? Sex appeal, I suppose. Raw sex appeal.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, how do you manage to skate over the surface of life, avoiding all the pitfalls?”

“What are you talking about?” She took off her dinky little straw hat and gloves and perched on a chair beside us.

“May I bring you some coffee, miss?” Granddad asked in his best formal manner.

“How kind.” They exchanged a grin.

“You left the party before the poor man was killed?” Hanni asked.

She had obviously put two and two together from our conversations, proving that there wasn’t much wrong with her English. “I wanted to find you but Darcy took us away,” I said.

“Killed? What man was killed?” Belinda demanded sharply.

“Tubby Tewkesbury. He fell off the balcony.”

“How utterly dreadful. Poor old Tubby. What an extraordinary thing to happen. I say, is that why a young man with a camera is standing in the square opposite Rannoch House?”

“Oh, gosh,” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me the press is here already.”

“Already? It doesn’t usually take them days to sniff out a story, you know.”

“She means the other man who was killed. Today. Not two hours ago,” Hanni chimed in.

Belinda looked at me incredulously. “Another man? Where? When?”

“We went to visit a chap we met at the party and . . .” I told her the whole story. “It was all rather horrible, actually,” I said. “I couldn’t eat a bite of lunch.”

“Of course you couldn’t, darling,” she said. “How utterly beastly for you. I must say, you do seem to be a bit of a body magnet this spring, don’t you?”

“Don’t joke about it, Belinda, please. The first one I didn’t mind because he was such a horrible man, but these were two nice, decent boys and they didn’t deserve this fate.”

Belinda nodded. “I was going to invite you both to a show tonight, but given the circumstances . . .”

“I would like to see a show,” Hanni said brightly. “I like London shows. I like the singing and the legs kicking up.”

“Use your head, Hanni,” I snapped. “If there is already one newspaper reporter standing outside the house, that means they know about this morning. Just think how bad it would look to picture you enjoying yourself at the theater.”

Hanni pouted but didn’t say anything.

“I’m off to the country tomorrow,” Belinda said, “or I’d come and keep you company and fend off the press. I rather fear you’re in for another bombardment like last time. Not very jolly for you, I’m afraid.”

“Not at all jolly,” I said. “The country sounds like a good idea. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Her Majesty when I telephone her this afternoon.”

“Between you and me, I rather wish I hadn’t accepted the invitation now that I’ve met Louis, but one can’t go back on one’s word, can one?”

“No, one can’t.” I looked at her fondly, realizing how nice and solidly British she was in spite of her fast and loose lifestyle.

“So I should be going.” She got up. “Ciao, darlings. Cheer up. At least it was someone you hardly knew.”

“Don’t forget your titfer,” Hanni called after her.

Belinda looked back in utter surprise. “My what?”

“Your titfer. Tit for tat. That’s how Londoners say hat, isn’t it?”

Belinda picked up her hat from the seat. “You should definitely take her to the country before her vocabulary is irretrievably ruined,” she said as she went out.

Chapter 20

After Belinda had gone, I suggested that Hanni pay a visit to the baroness, explain to her what had just happened, and ask her advice on how to proceed and what to tell her father. Hanni made a face. “She will be angry that I went to bad part of city. She will be angry that I went to meet boy.”

“I can’t help it. It must be done. You are a princess, Hanni. You’ve been away from royal life in a convent, but you have to realize that things have to be done in the correct manner. There is protocol to follow. Your father may wish you to return home immediately.”

“Then I will say nothing to baroness. I do not wish to return home.”

“Don’t be silly,” I snapped. “You don’t want her to read it for herself in the newspapers, do you? There will be an awful fuss and you’ll be in serious trouble.”

“All right,” she agreed with a dramatic sigh. “I go see old pain in neck.”

As soon as she had gone, I put through a telephone call to the palace. I explained the events briefly to Her Majesty’s private secretary. He informed me that Her Majesty was not at home, but he would inform her as soon as she returned.

I tried to rest but found it impossible. When I stood behind the net curtains in the drawing room I could see several men loitering across the street, leaning on the railings of the gardens, talking and smoking. One held a camera with a large flash attachment. Oh dear. I needed to take action immediately. I found the telephone number for the baroness, asked to speak to the princess and then instructed Hanni to be sure to take a taxi home. I would make sure one of us was on the lookout for her and she should run straight into the house without talking to anybody.

“The man try to talk to me when I go out,” she said. “I tell him I am only the maid.”

For all her naïveté and youth, Hanni was sharp when she needed to be. I wondered if I had misjudged her need to be protected in the big city. Then I remembered the incidents at Harrods and Garrard’s. And my grandfather’s comments. He was a wise old bird and had the experience of years on a city beat.

Hanni arrived home soon afterward and did exactly as I said, running up the steps from the taxi and in through the front door without pausing. “Do you have money for taxi man?” she asked me.

“I’ll do it.” My grandfather found some money and went out to pay the cabbie.

“So what did Baroness Rottenmeister say?” I asked.

“She was not there. She had gone out.”

“So why didn’t you stay until she returned?”

Hanni made a face. “I did not wish to see her.”

“Did you at least leave her a note?”

Hanni stared at me defiantly. “She will be mad at us. She will want to take me home.”

A huge feeling of relief swept over me. At least one good thing would have come from this horrid event. Hanni would go home. I’d be free of her. I could go back to my own, somewhat boring, life.

“I do not wish to go,” she said firmly. “I like it here with you, Georgie. I like your butler and Mrs. ’uggins. I like that it is not formal and old-fashioned and full of rules. All my life has been rules, rules, rules.”

I did see her point. I felt rather the same way about my upbringing. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Hanni,” I said. “It seems that the press has found out about us and they will hound us until they get a story. Trust me, I know. I have been through this before. I had to move in with Belinda last time.”

“Last time?”

“A man was drowned in our bathtub,” I said.

“So you know about dead bodies,” she said happily.

“More than I care to.”

“Then why don’t we move in with Belinda,” Hanni said. “I like Belinda. She’s hot sexy dame. She can teach me what to do with boys. The nuns taught us nothing. They said all things with men are sin. Even to think about them is sin.”

“From what I’ve observed you have quite a good idea what to do with boys already,” I said, remembering how she draped herself all over Darcy during a slow dance. “And remember you are a princess. It is rather expected that you will stay a virgin until you marry.”

“Baloney,” she said. An interesting expression that I hadn’t heard before. I wasn’t even sure whether it was a swear word or not.

“Anyway we are not going to stay with Belinda. She only has one bedroom. I had to sleep on the sofa, which was jolly uncomfortable.”

“I’m hungry,” Hanni complained. “Let’s have tea. I like tea. It is a good meal. When I go home I shall make people have tea in Germany.”

“I didn’t think that royals had any power to make people do things any longer in Germany,” I said, amused by the way she stuck out her little chin.

“This is true, but Herr Hitler, he will soon be our new leader and he likes me. He says I look like good healthy Aryan girl.”

She did.

She smiled coyly. “So if I ask him please make everybody in Germany have teatime, he will say,
Jawohl, mein Schatz.
”

I laughed. “All right. Ring for the servants and ask if we can have tea a little early today,” I said. “Tell Spinks we’ll take it in the morning room. It’s more pleasant in there.”

We had just sat down to tea and I was in the process of being mother and pouring when Granddad appeared again.

“Sorry to trouble you, my lady,” he said in a most formal tone, “but a man from Scotland Yard is here. He would like to speak with you and with Her Highness. I’ve shown him into the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Spinks,” I replied, in case the man from Scotland Yard could hear. “Is it Inspector Sugg again?”

“No, my lady. It’s his superior this time. Here is his card.” He came over and presented it to me.

“Chief Inspector Burnall,” I said out loud, then lowered my voice. “He was the one who tried to send Binky to the gallows. And I haven’t yet decided whether he is a gentleman or not. I don’t recognize the school tie.”

“I wouldn’t hold that against him. The important question is whether he’s a good copper or not.”

“He wasn’t very bright on the last occasion,” I said, “but anything is preferable to the awful Sugg. There’s nothing he’d like more than to have me convicted of something. I rather suspect he’s a communist.”

I got to my feet. “Sorry about this, Hanni, but we have to abandon our tea for now. I’m sure this is just a formality. Nothing to worry about.”

With that I put on a bright face and walked into the drawing room with a confident stride. Chief Inspector Burnall was standing by the mantelpiece, examining the Spode figures. He turned as we came in, looking exactly as I had remembered him. He was a tall, erect figure of a man in a well-cut navy suit, unidentifiable school tie (or was it a regimental tie?), with dark hair graying at the temples, and a distinguished-looking face with a neat line of mustache, in the style of Clark Gable. He could equally have passed for an ex-Guards officer, a member of parliament, or a salesman at a gentlemen’s clothing store.