A Royal Pain (37 page)

“And where would you suggest that I place these men?” he asked.

“I have no idea. A first step would be to arrest Edward Fotheringay.”

“I have already told my men to bring him in for questioning. If you’re sure you can remember no more specifics, then I don’t see what else I can do at this moment.”

“You don’t really believe me, do you?”

“I believe any threat should be taken seriously, but given the vanishing body and the general nature of the danger, I can’t judge how much of this is girlish hysteria and how much truth. In fact, if it weren’t for Sidney Roberts, I wouldn’t be going any further with this. Since he was finished off by an accomplished assassin, I have to accept that there may be something to what you’re saying.”

He turned back to the door. “I should alert the home secretary, I suppose. If there is some kind of foreign criminal element involved here, then he needs to know. And I suggest you stay put, my lady. If everything you’ve told me about last night is true, then you’re lucky to be alive.”

Then he left. My grandfather appeared. “Toffee-nosed geezer, isn’t he? Come on, then, up to bed with you. You need a good sleep.”

I didn’t argue with that. I was beginning to feel sick and hollow inside, as much from fear as from lack of sleep. I went upstairs and curled up under my eiderdown. I must have nodded off immediately because I was awoken by someone shaking me. I started and tried to sit up.

“Sorry to wake you, ducks”—my grandfather’s face was peering at me—“but I just remembered you’re supposed to be at that garden party.”

“Oh, Lord, I’d completely forgotten.” I scrambled out of bed. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost one and the party starts at two.”

“Goodness. I’d better get a move on, then, hadn’t I? For once I wish Mildred was here. She’d know what I was supposed to wear.”

I flung open my wardrobe and realized that my trunk, containing almost all my clothes, was still up at Dippings. I had nothing to wear. I couldn’t go. Then a chilling thought struck me: royal garden party. The king and queen mingling with their subjects on the palace lawn. Could this have been the event those conspirators had planned for?

I rushed downstairs and telephoned Chief Inspector Burnall, only to be told that he was out on a case. The young woman on the switchboard asked if I wanted to be put through to another officer, but I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously. Besides, there would be policemen on duty at the palace. I had to go to the garden party myself to alert them. Nothing for it but to use up the last of Binky’s money. If the princess came to stay with me again, I’d ask the queen for a contribution. If my suspicion was correct, she’d owe me a little more than a new dress!

I still had the white feather hat I usually wore to weddings, so I put that on—looking rather ridiculous with a simple cotton dress—then I caught a taxi to Harrods. I pointed to the hat. “Something to go with this. Royal garden party. Hurry.”

The saleswoman looked startled but she was brilliant. In a few minutes we’d settled on a white silk dress with navy stripes that looked really elegant on me. I put it on, wrote a check, left the cotton dress behind in the changing room and was on my way to Buck House, arriving just a little after two o’clock. I joined the line of people at the side entrance, waiting to be admitted to the grounds. For some of them it was clearly a first visit to royalty and they looked nervous and excited. I heard a man in front of me saying, “If they could see me now, eh, Mother?”

And she replied. “You’ve done right proud for yourself, Stanley.”

The queue inched forward, each person handing in his or her invitation at the gate. When it was my turn I asked, “Can you tell me if someone called Edward Fotheringay was invited today?”

The harried young man shook his head. “Afraid I can’t, off the top of my head. We have the master list inside in the palace but if someone presents an invitation we admit them.”

“Could you send someone to check for me?”

“I’m afraid we’re rather fully occupied at the moment,” he replied stiffly.

“Then can you tell me where I would find the person in charge of security?”

The line behind me was murmuring at being held up. The young man looked around, wondering how to get rid of me. Then he gestured to a uniformed bobby, who came hurrying over. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.

I took him aside and told him that we had to find out whether Edward Fotheringay was at the garden party. A matter of national security. I needed to speak to someone in charge. I could tell he wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not.

“National security, you say? And your name is, miss?” he asked.

“I am the king’s cousin, Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” I said, and saw his expression change.

“Very good, m’lady. And you think this young man might try something disruptive?”

“I’m very much afraid he will.”

“Follow me, then, your ladyship.” He set off at a brisk march, up a flight of steps and into the lower floor of the palace. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and find my superiors.”

I waited. Outside in the hallway a grandfather clock was ticking off the minutes with a sonorous tock, tock. At last I couldn’t stand it any longer. I stuck my head out the door. Complete silence. No sign of any activity. Had the constable actually believed me or had he dumped me in that room purposely to keep me out of the way? I couldn’t wait another second. If Edward was in that crowd, he had to be stopped. The gardens were now overflowing with well-dressed people, top hats and morning coats, flowing silk gowns and Ascot-style hats. I almost got stabbed in the eye by many a protruding feather as I edged my way through the crowd. Some less genteel ladies thought I was trying to gain an advantageous position and blocked me with a threatening elbow.

Waiters were moving through the crowd carrying trays of Pimm’s and champagne, canapés and petit fours. I moved into the wake of one of them and let him clear a path for me as my eyes searched left and right for any sign of Edward. But there were any number of dark and elegant young men in top hats, and plenty of bushes and statues to skulk behind. The whole thing was hopeless if that wretched bobby hadn’t believed me. Then a voice called my name, and there was Lady Cromer-Strode, waving to me.

“We’ve been looking for you,” she said. “Hanni was afraid you hadn’t come.”

Hanni was standing beside her, looking sulky in an unbecoming plain gray silk dress.

“Lady Cromer-Strode said I must wear this because I am in mourning for the baroness and my pink frock was not suitable,” she said. “It belongs to Fiona. It is too big.”

It was. Fiona was a healthy girl. She stood on the other side of her mother, looking resplendent in bright flowery turquoise.

I looked at Hanni, trying to reconcile my suspicions with the person I had entertained for the past week or so. “How are you faring at the Cromer-Strodes’, apart from having to wear a dress you don’t like? Having a good time?”

Hanni frowned. “It is boring,” she said. “Most people went home. Only old people now.”

“Darcy and Edward both left?” I asked in a low voice because I didn’t want Fiona to hear.

She nodded.

Fiona must have heard her beloved’s name. “Edward said he’d be joining us today,” she said, “but I haven’t seen him yet.”

“There was a long line waiting to get in,” I said. “He’s probably held up outside.”

Even as I said it, I realized that the men at the gate would probably not have been instructed to stop Edward from entering. I should go back and warn them. “I’ll be back,” I said. “Save me a spot.”

As I fought my way back toward the gate, a murmur went through the crowd and the Guards band on the terrace struck up the national anthem. The royal couple must have emerged from the palace. An expectant hush fell upon the crowd as they parted to provide a pathway for the king and queen. As everyone was peering forward for that first glimpse of the royal couple, I was the only person hurrying in the wrong direction. I jumped when someone grabbed my arm.

“I didn’t know you were coming to this bean feast.” It was my mother, looking absolutely ravishing in black and white, a glass of champagne in her hand.

I wasn’t usually glad to see her, but today I could have hugged her. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Max’s idea. His motorcar company wants to go into some kind of partnership with an English company. He thought this would be a good way to meet the owner informally—set things off on the right foot, so to speak. He’s probably standing in a corner, doing business even as we speak. I have to say, that man does know how to make money.” She glanced at me critically. “Nice dress,” she said, “but off the peg. You really should get yourself a good dressmaker.”

“Question of money, mother. If you’d like to finance a wardrobe . . .”

“We’ll go shopping, darling. . . .”

“Mother,” I cut in, “you haven’t seen Edward Fotheringay this afternoon, have you?”

She gave me a frosty stare. “Now why should I be looking for Edward Fotheringay?”

“Last time I saw you, I’d say you were rather chummy with him.”

“That was a just a mad, impetuous fling,” she said. “A sudden yearning for someone nice and solid and British— oh, and young too. Good firm body. But it turned out to be quite wrong for me. The boy has no money and he can’t keep his hands off other women. So please don’t mention his name again, especially not when Max is around.”

“But you haven’t seen him today, have you? It’s important.”

“I haven’t been looking for him, darling.” She was glancing around, enjoying the admiring and envying stares she was getting. She always did like being the center of attention. I was about to move on when she grabbed my arm again. “I meant to ask you,” she said, “who is the pretty little blond girl you brought with you to that party? She’s over there now, wearing the most extraordinarily ugly dress.”

“That’s Princess Hannelore. Didn’t I tell you she was staying with me?”

“Princess Hannelore?”

“Of Bavaria, you know.”

My mother was staring at Hanni, who was now at the front of the pathway along which the king and queen would be coming. “Unless she has shrunk considerably in the last few weeks, that is definitely not Princess Hannelore.” She looked amused at my stunned face. “Hannelore is taller than that, and thinner too, and from what I heard in Germany, she’s been quite ill and is currently recuperating on her family’s yacht on the Med.”

“Then who is this?” I gasped.

“Never seen her before last week,” my mother said. “Oh, there’s Max now. Yoo-hoo, Max darling!” And she was gone.

Murmurs indicated that the royal couple was approaching. Hanni, or whoever she was, stood there, leaning forward to catch a glimpse with the rest of the crowd. Suspicions raced through my mind. Could Edward have persuaded her to do something for him? Set off a bomb? I studied her carefully. She was not carrying a purse and wore only a small straw hat. Nowhere to conceal a bomb then.

The king and queen had come into view, shaking hands and entering into conversation with those they passed. Still no sign of Edward. Then two things happened at the same moment. I spotted a familiar face. Darcy O’Mara was standing on the opposite side of the reception line. His dark unruly curls had been tamed for the occasion and he looked breathtakingly handsome in a morning suit. Before I could catch his eye I saw Hanni reach into the folds of that voluminous dress and pull out a small pistol.

The king and queen were almost upon them.

“Darcy!” I shouted. “She’s got a—”

But I didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Darcy rushed forward and threw himself upon Hanni as the gun went off, sounding no louder than a cap pistol. They fell to the ground together. There were screams and shouts, general chaos as policemen and palace servants came running.

“She has a gun!” I screamed. “She was trying to kill Their Majesties!”

“Stupid fools,” Hanni spat out at the men who wrestled the gun away from her. “We shall succeed next time.”

I waited for Darcy to get up. But he didn’t. He was lying on the gravel and a trickle of blood was coming from under his right shoulder.

Chapter 37

“Darcy!” I screamed and fought my way toward him. “He’s hurt. Get an ambulance. Do something!”

Hands were already turning him over. His face was ashen white and a big, ugly dark stain decorated his morning coat. “No!” I dropped to the ground beside him.

“He can’t be dead. Darcy, please don’t die. I’ll do anything. Please.” I took his hand. It was still warm.

Darcy’s eyes fluttered open and focused on me. “Anything?” he whispered, then lapsed into unconsciousness again.

“Out of the way,” a voice was saying. “I’m a doctor, let me through.” And a portly man in a morning coat knelt beside me, huffing and puffing a little.

He opened Darcy’s coat and shirt, took out his own handkerchief and pressed it onto the wound. “You men. Get him into the palace, quickly.”