Bloody Royal Prints (24 page)

“I don't know. It's probably too soon to have found her will, if she has one. I don't even know if she had a lawyer.”

“Has anybody searched her apartment?” Coleman asked.

“I don't think so. I don't know who found the body either. I'll call the police officer I'm dealing with, and try to get more details.”

Coleman went to the garden door to let Dolly in. When she came back Heyward had put aside his cell phone.

“I learned a little,” he said. “The concierge found her. He had flowers for her. When he took them upstairs to deliver them, the door to her apartment was ajar. She didn't come to the door when he rang the bell, so he went in to check on her, found her body, and called the police. A police officer accompanied Julia and Isobel all through the apartment to see if anything was disturbed or missing, but they said all was as it should be. The police say there was no paper, no books in the flat.”

“That's not surprising,” Coleman said. “Isobel told us she could barely read or write.”

“The concierge told the police that Julia and Isobel were in Stephanie's flat constantly. She was hardly ever out of their sight.”

“I suppose they felt she was helpless and they had to watch over her,” Coleman said.

Sunday night, May, London

Tony arrived at exactly six o'clock, carrying a package wrapped in pink paper and pink ribbons.

“This is for Dolly. Where is she? Who's taking care of her tonight?” he asked.

“Heyward again. They settle down in the library and he works while she naps,” Coleman said. “Come on in, you can give it to her yourself. She likes to unwrap packages.”

Coleman knocked on the library door, and asked Heyward if she and Tony could come in. He opened the door for them, and Dolly rushed to greet Coleman. Tony handed Dolly the package. She took it in her mouth, but looked at Coleman for approval. When Coleman nodded, she ripped off the ribbons and paper. She began to gnaw the box, and Coleman rescued it. Inside was a new pink leash and a new pink collar. Attached to the collar was a gold medallion. Coleman held it up. “My goodness,” she said. “Dolly, you got a medal!”

“Let me see it,” Heyward said, and reached out to take it. “For Dolly, with thanks from a grateful nation, including all its dogs,” he read aloud.

Coleman saw Heyward and Tony exchange glances.

“Approved at the highest level,” Tony said. “If Dolly was a corgi, I suspect the Palace would have adopted her, or given her a title.”

•••

The car flew along the highway in the cool night air. Coleman was glad she had worn her black wool pantsuit. She'd worn it with the thought that the night would be cold, and that night creatures might be frightened by bright-colored clothes. She'd read that in Africa one shouldn't wear bright colors or white—the animals would be startled and run away. Her walking shoes were black, too, as were the heavy socks she wore with them. Even her gloves were made of black wool, and she had pulled a black knit cap over her blonde curls.

Tony laughed when he saw her, but when she told him why she was dressed as she was, he said she was probably right.

The car turned sharply into deep, thick woods. In minutes they were in complete darkness. He drove further into the woods, and stopped by a small clearing, where a little light broke through the trees. When he helped her out of the car, she was standing on closely cut grass. She could smell it, and the evergreen and other woodsy scents she'd noticed when the plane from France landed on the Duke of Omnium's property. Was that where she was?

“Where are we?” she asked.

“A putting green on my father's land. Hedgehogs like it. I see them here often. It's very dark tonight. You may have a hard time seeing them, but that's good for the hedgehogs. If the moon comes out from behind the clouds, they're in danger of predators. I've brought you a torch. Keep it pointed towards the grass, and you should see one or maybe more. You said you don't have hedgehogs in the United States?”

“No, although my friend Susan told me there's a South American hedgehog that people can keep in a cage as a pet. She said they're unpleasant. The one she'd seen slept all day and hissed all night, so they'd named it Hiss. It hated captivity, I guess.”

“That doesn't sound at all like our hedgehogs. How do you even know about them?” Tony asked.

“All I know is from Beatrix Potter's stories,” she said.

She saw a dark spot in the grass and leaned over to look at it. “Is that a hedgehog?” she whispered.

“Yes, it is. Since you have on gloves, you can pick it up. Just slip your hand under it. It won't mind.”

The little creature lay in her hand, perfectly still, apparently unafraid. Coleman could have stood looking at him all night, but she spotted a much smaller one. She pointed it out to Tony.

“Is that a baby?” she asked.

“Yes, you can pick it up, too. Put the one you're holding down carefully. It will go about its business. Pick up as many as you like one at a time, but always from underneath. I'm going into the woods to the place where we'll see the badgers, just to make sure they're there. I'll be right back.”

Coleman leaned over to put the hedgehog in the grass, and was about to pick up the smaller one when a strong arm grabbed her from behind. She tried to stand up, but the man holding her was forcing her body down. He had a hand over her mouth, and the arm that was holding and pushing her had encircled her body, including both of her arms. He knocked the flashlight out of her hand. The man smelled horrible, of unwashed body odor, pigs, chicken pens, horse manure, tobacco, and beer. He was mumbling to her, but she couldn't understand him. She wasn't sure he was speaking English. Her mind was all over the place as she tried to think of a way to escape his grasp. She was wearing sneakers, so stamping on his feet was useless, but she tried it anyway. She tried and failed to bite the hand he held over her mouth. He was trying to push her to the ground and rape her, and she was helpless to stop him.

Without warning, Tony was beside her. He didn't hesitate, but hit her attacker on the head with the heavy torch he was carrying. The sound of the blow was horrifying, but the man didn't cry out or fall. The man's head must be made of stone.

“You know you're not supposed to be here,” Tony said to the man. “You're off limits. Get off this property, and if you've set traps in this area, take them with you. If I ever see you here again, you're going to jail. I'll send someone to see you tomorrow. You'll have to be punished.” The man disappeared into the woods and Tony pulled Coleman into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he said.

“No, but I think it was a near miss. Who was that?”

“A traveler—some people call them gypsies. His name is Fred. My father allows the travelers to camp not too far from here, but they aren't allowed in this part of the grounds. Fred would not have touched you if he'd known you were with me. He's backward—has the mental capacity of a six-year-old, but the sexual desires of an adult. He saw a woman alone and struck. No wonder you were frightened. He'll be appropriately punished. We'll report him to the elders in his family who are supposed to see that he behaves. Forget him, if you can. Are you sure you're okay? Are you still up for badger watching? We can do that another night, if you'd rather?”

“Oh, no, I want to see the badgers,” Coleman said. “I wish I could wash up, though. That man was filthy. He smelled so bad, I was nearly sick. I want to try to get his dirt off my face and hands.”

“There's a hut near where the badgers live. You can clean up in there. Come on, let's go.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. “We shouldn't talk anymore,” he said softly. “We must be very quiet. They have excellent hearing.”

Coleman had been genuinely frightened by the gypsy's attack, and was glad of Tony's support. If Tony had not appeared, she was sure the man would have raped her. She wondered what would happen to her attacker. She hoped he would be put in jail, so he couldn't attack anyone else.

•••

“We'll go in the hut the back way,” Tony said. “After you clean up, we'll sit in the chairs inside the hut, and look out through the windows at them. We can't talk in the hut—the badgers would hear us. Save your questions. I'll explain everything later when we go to the pub.”

They tiptoed into a small room, with a bathroom near the back door. Coleman darted in and scrubbed her face, her hands, and the bare skin she could reach with a minty soap she found on a nearby shelf. There was also a bottle of germicide. She used it to wash her hands again and again. She could still feel his hand over her mouth. She wished she had mouthwash or mints, but no such luck. She rinsed her mouth with cold water, and tiptoed back into the little room.

Tony pointed to a chair facing the window, and she sat down. Soft lights were scattered among the trees, illuminating a clearing. A large black-and-white badger, looking as handsome as in the pictures she'd seen—sort of like a panda cousin—was eating something on the ground. Several smaller badgers were munching near the big one, a little closer to the woods, as if they were shy.

What glorious animals! Seeing hedgehogs—holding them—and watching badgers, all on the same night. What a marvelous experience.

She turned, beaming at Tony. He asked softly, “Had enough? Ready to go?”

She nodded and they slipped out the way they had entered.

•••

Tony drove up to the pub with a prominent gold-and-red sign: “Duke's Inn.”

“Picture-postcard perfect! Both quaint and inviting,” Coleman said.

Exterior lights revealed an appealing mixture of stone, dark wood beam, and white plaster building—two or three buildings connected—crowned with a thatched roof. The interior was charming, with low ceilings, exposed wood beams, and a worn wood floor. Ancient farming implements—wood and rusted iron—hung on the white walls. She looked at Tony, a question in her eyes.

Tony said, “The pub is very old. It's named for an ancestor, and the decorations reflect my family's forever interest in agriculture.”

He steered them to a small table near a fireplace, where a few lumps of coal and a couple of logs smoldered, radiating heat. Coleman warmed her hands, and glancing around, asked, “Why is this place empty? It's so attractive, I'd think it would be packed.”

“It's Sunday night,” Tony explained. “Sunday lunch is the big meal here, and the Duke's Inn is always overflowing midday Sunday until early afternoon. Everyone nearby and even people from far away turn up for roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and a delectable sweet. After that heavy lunch, people stay home Sunday night, eat lightly, and go to bed early. There'll be a limited menu tonight, but they always have their signature cottage pie, which is what we came for,” he said.

“Dinah has raved about cottage pie. I'm dying to try it. I've never tasted one. I think the only kind of main-dish pie I've ever eaten is chicken pie.”

“You have a treat in store, but first, refreshment. Come to the bar with me,” he said.

The pub keeper touched his forehead, and offered a friendly, “What'll it be, Gov?”

“A half pint of Duke's, and a cider for my guest, please,” Tony said.

Coleman gave him a quizzical look, and Tony admitted, “Yes, we have a local ale named for the family. It's the patriotic thing for me to order. The cider is nonalcoholic. And, yes, that gesture is traditional, and somewhat embarrassing.”

When they returned to the table, and smelled the freshly baked bread the waitress had just put on the table, Coleman realized she was starving. Split pea soup, garnished with bacon bits—ideal for a chilly evening—arrived as soon as they sat down. It was delicious, and warm. The cottage pie was even better, with mashed potatoes—browned on top, making a light crust—piled on top of a small casserole dish of hot beef chunks, chopped carrots, and onions, swimming in thick gravy.

“Just as Dinah told me: it is fabulous,” Coleman said, after her last bite. “Why don't we have this in New York? There's nothing special about the ingredients.”

“I don't know,” Tony said. “Cooking isn't one of my skills.”

“I've eaten every bite,” Coleman said.

“In England, you haven't finished a meal here without a sweet or cheese. Which do you want?” Tony said.

“I don't think I could eat either,” she said.

“How about some coffee?”

“How about a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked.

“As you wish. Tell me, has the hedgehog and badger experience been what you expected?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, wonderful. I have a lot of questions, though.”

“Please, ask anything you want.”

“I read hedgehogs were like porcupines, covered with spines that would hurt anyone who touched the creatures. I've been puzzled because Beatrix Potter's hedgehog was a pet, and liked to sleep on her knee.”

“Yes, a hedgehog has six or seven thousand spines all over its back. The spines are everywhere except underneath. That's why you have to pick them up the way you did,” he explained.

“Do most people have hedgehogs in their gardens?” Coleman asked.

“No, but a lot do. They're gardeners' friends because they eat slugs and caterpillars and other threats to plants. People will say ‘my hedgehog,' but hedgehogs don't belong to anyone—they are free spirits. I've read that a hedgehog might visit as many as seven gardens in a single night.”

“They're so cute. I'd love to have one or more. I don't have a garden, but I plan to have one, and it would be fun to have hedgehogs in it,” she said.

“You could do that, if you stay in England. You can't take one to the States, but it's fairly easy to attract them here,” Tony said.