Buckingham Palace Gardens (7 page)

He must be aware that they had separate rooms. This was a perfectly usual thing for the wealthy, but not, she imagined, for the class to which he belonged.

“No, I don't,” she answered. “Perhaps if you ask the other gentlemen, they will be able to tell you.” Not counting the Prince of Wales—and that he should be guilty was unthinkable—there were only four of them: Cahoon, Julius, Hamilton, and Simnel. What this policeman was saying seemed inescapable, and yet it was also ridiculous. He did not know them, or he would not even imagine it.

But how well did she know them? She had been married to Cahoon for over seven years, lived in his house, sometimes intimately, at other times as strangers, misreading each other, saying the same words and meaning different things. She knew his mind. He was lucidly clear. But she had never known his heart.

Hamilton Quase was charming when he wished to be, but Liliane was obviously afraid for him. She leaped to defend him as if he were uniquely vulnerable. Memories flashed into Elsa's mind of looks between Liliane and Julius, a sudden pallor on Hamilton's face, and a smile on Cahoon's, then a thinning of the lips, an unnatural change of subject.

“I would help you if I could, Mr. Pitt,” she said, struggling to sound resolute and in control. “This is an appalling thing to have happened, for all of us, but of course mostly for the poor woman. I retired a little after nine. I have no knowledge of what happened after that. You will have to ask my husband, and the other gentlemen.”

“I have done, Mrs. Dunkeld,” Pitt replied. “Each says that after the…entertainment…was finished, he retired alone. Except Mr. Sorokine. He says he left them early, and they all confirm that he did, as do the servants. Unfortunately, since he did not share a room with Mrs. Sorokine, or see her again until morning, that is of little value to us in excluding him.”

She felt her face burn. “I see. So you know nothing, except that it was one of us?”

“Yes. I am afraid that is exactly what I mean.”

She could think of no reply, not even any protest or question. The silence lay in the room like a covering for the dead.

CHAPTER
THREE

O
N THE DAY
the murder was discovered at the Palace, Gracie Phipps had been the all-purpose maid at the Pitts' home for nearly eight years. She was twenty-one now and engaged to marry Police Sergeant Samuel Tellman. Gracie was intensely proud of working for such a remarkable man as Pitt. She had no doubt whatever that he was the best detective in England.

When she began in his service, she had been four feet ten inches tall and could neither read nor write. She had not considered the possibility of ever doing either. However, Charlotte Pitt had offered to teach her. Now Gracie could not only read newspapers but even books and, more than that, she enjoyed it. She had also grown a whole inch and a half.

She was reading in her bedroom with the attic windows open to the rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of traffic, when there was a knock on the door. She was startled. It was dark outside and must be late. She had lost count of time in the adventure on the pages.

She stood up quickly and went to answer the knock.

Charlotte was on the landing, still fully dressed but with her hair rather less than tidily pinned, as if she had put it back up again in haste.

“Yes, ma'am?” Gracie said with a flutter of alarm. “Is something wrong?” Her mind went instantly to Pitt, having been called out in an emergency early that morning. There had been no message from him since. “Is Mr. Pitt all right?”

“Yes, perfectly, I believe,” Charlotte said with an oddly rueful smile. “Mr. Narraway, from Special Branch, would like to see you. He has something to ask you.” Her expression softened. “Please feel perfectly at liberty to answer him as you wish to. Whatever you say will be acceptable to me, and I shall see that your decision is respected.”

“Wot…wot's 'e gonna say?” Gracie asked with panic rising inside her. She knew Narraway was Pitt's superior. He was a strange man, quietly spoken and elegant in a lean, very dark sort of way. But Gracie had seen hard men in the East End of London where she had grown up, men who carried knives and knew how to use them, whom she would not have backed in a fight against Mr. Narraway. There was something in him only a fool would challenge. Except when he looked at Mrs. Pitt. Then he was just as human and easily hurt as anyone else. Gracie thought she might be the only one who could see that. It was odd what people missed sometimes. “Wot does 'e want wi' me?” she said again.

“Come down and you'll find out,” Charlotte told her. “I'm not carrying a message down to the head of Special Branch to say you won't see him!”

Gracie thought about her hair, which was straight as rain, screwed up in a knot at the back of her head, and her dark blue dress, which was more than a little crumpled. She would be putting a clean one on tomorrow anyway, so she had not bothered about sitting on it.

“Just as you are.” Charlotte must have read her thoughts. “He will mind a few wrinkles far less than he will mind waiting.”

That was alarming. Gracie smoothed her skirt once, ineffectively; her hands were shaking. Then she followed Charlotte down to the landing, past the bedroom doors of Jemima and Daniel, the two Pitt children, then on down the next flight to the hall.

Narraway was waiting in the front parlor. He looked extremely tired. His face was lined and his thick, dark hair with its sprinkling of gray was definitely less neat than usual. He was apparently too restless to sit down.

Gracie stood to attention. “Yes, sir?”

Charlotte closed the door and Gracie hoped to heaven she had remained inside, but she dared not look round to find out.

“Miss Phipps,” Narraway began, “what I am about to tell you, you will keep with the same absolute discretion you do all things you learn in this house. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir! I know what discretion is,” Gracie said indignantly. “I don't talk about things to no one wot in't their business.”

“Good. Mr. Pitt was called this morning because there has been a murder at Buckingham Palace, where the Queen lives. Although she is not there at the moment, fortunately. However, the Prince of Wales is.”

Gracie stared at him speechlessly.

“A prostitute was knifed to death,” Narraway continued. “And her body was left in the linen cupboard in the guest wing, where there are presently eight people staying. They are on extremely important business with His Royal Highness.”

“An' Mr. Pitt's gonna find out 'oo killed 'er,” Gracie finished for him. “Don't worry, sir. We can take care of things 'ere.”

“I'm sure you could, Miss Phipps.” Narraway nodded very slightly, the briefest possible flash of humor in his eyes. “However, that is not what your country requires of you.”

Charlotte let out her breath with a sigh.

Narraway colored faintly, but he did not turn to look at her.

“Wot d'yer mean, ‘my country'?” Gracie asked, completely bewildered. “In't nothing I can do.”

“I suggest you get to the point, Mr. Narraway,” Charlotte cut in at last. “If I may say so, you are wasting time, and it is late.”

Narraway looked uncomfortable. There had been a distinct edge to Charlotte's voice, and Gracie was sorry for him. Her awe of him vanished. She had heard it said that no man was a hero to his valet. Perhaps he wasn't to any servant who could read emotions in him that were so oddly vulnerable.

“Wot is it yer'd like me to do, sir?” she asked gently.

A flash of gratitude crossed Narraway's face for an instant, then vanished. “I would like you to take temporary employment at Buckingham Palace, Miss Phipps. The position is already secured for you, as a general between-stairs maid. No one will know that you are really working for Special Branch, assisting Mr. Pitt, except Mr. Tyndale, who is in charge of the servants in that wing. It is a difficult job, and possibly dangerous. One of the guests there is a murderer. We need someone whose skill and discretion we can trust absolutely, and I have no man at all who could pass himself off as a servant. He would be found out in half an hour. You would not. Pitt says you are observant and trustworthy. It will be for only a few days at the most. We have to solve this crime before Her Majesty returns from Osborne.”

He looked at her very steadily. “If this becomes public, the scandal will be appalling. Will you do it? You will report to Mr. Pitt and do whatever he tells you, to the letter.”

“You don't have to, Gracie,” Charlotte interrupted quickly. “It's dangerous. This man has already killed a prostitute, by cutting her throat. You are quite free to say no, and no one will think less of you.”

Gracie's voice trembled. “That in't true, ma'am. We'll all think less o' me. Specially I will. I got ter go an' 'elp Mr. Pitt.”

“And Her Majesty,” Narraway added.

Gracie squared her shoulders and stretched to her full height of almost five feet. “An' that poor cow wot were killed. 'Oo's gonna get justice for 'er if we don't, eh?”

Narraway swallowed and cleared his throat. There was only the slightest trace of a smile on his face. “No one, Miss Phipps. We are greatly obliged to you. Will you be so good as to pack a bag with whatever you require? Uniforms will be provided for you. I shall wait and take you tonight. The sooner you begin, the better.”

Gracie turned at last to look at Charlotte fully, to try to make certain from her eyes rather than her words that she really wished her to go.

“Please look after yourself, Gracie,” Charlotte said softly. “We shall miss you, but it won't be for long.”

“What about the laundry then?” Gracie said anxiously in a last grasp for safety.

“I'll get Mrs. Claypole to come in an extra day,” Charlotte replied. “Don't worry. Go and help Mr. Pitt. I think he may need you far more than I do, just at the moment.”

“Yes. O' course I will,” Gracie agreed, her heart beating suddenly high in her throat. “Observant and trustworthy,” he had said. That burned like a flame inside her.

A
N HOUR LATER
Gracie was in Buckingham Palace being introduced by Pitt to Mr. Tyndale. They were in the housekeeper's room, but Mrs. Newsome herself was absent. She was not to know Gracie's purpose here. Only Mr. Tyndale was to be aware of it, and that delicately balanced situation was going to require some skill to maintain. At the moment Mr. Tyndale was explaining Gracie's duties to her, and the basic rules of behavior to be followed by servants.

“This will be entirely different from any other post you may have held,” Mr. Tyndale said carefully, seeing her ramrod-straight back and figure so small that all dresses had had to be taken up to prevent her from tripping over the skirts. It obviously took him some effort to conceal most of his disbelief that she could really be here on behalf of Special Branch.

“Yes, sir.” She had no intention of telling him that she had come to the Pitts when she was thirteen and had never worked for anyone else. He was not so very big himself, and he too squared his shoulders and walked an inch or two taller than he really was.

“You will not speak to any of the guests unless they first speak to you, do you understand?” he continued gravely.

“Yes, sir.”

“And in no circumstance at all will you speak in the presence of His Royal Highness, or, if she should come through to dine with the guests, the Princess of Wales, or to any other member of the household. And that includes ladies-or gentlemen-in-waiting.”

“No, sir.”

“You will perform ordinary household duties such as sweeping, dusting and polishing, fetching and carrying as you are asked. You will wear your cap and apron at all times. You will speak to the menservants only as necessitated by your duties, and there will be no giggling, flirting, or generally making a nuisance of yourself—”

“Miss Phipps is here from Special Branch, Mr. Tyndale,” Pitt cut across him coolly. “She needs instruction regarding Palace etiquette, not in how to conduct herself with dignity. You might remember, sir, that you require her assistance in this unfortunate matter, and she requires and has a right to expect your protection as she helps me to learn the truth as rapidly and discreetly as possible.”

Tyndale colored. “You may count on me, Inspector,” he said stiffly. “If I offended you, Miss Phipps, I apologize. Ada will show you to your room. I have seen to it that you do not have to share. I imagine that might have made your task more difficult.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tyndale.” She was indeed very grateful. It was going to be hard enough to take orders all day without having to share a bedroom as well. She realized with a jolt how accustomed she had become to doing her duties as she pleased. It seemed like a very long time ago that she had first come to the Pitt house, a scruffy and awkward child needing to be taught almost everything. Now fully in charge, able to read and write, and engaged to be married, she was on the brink of becoming a thoroughly respectable woman.

She turned to Pitt. “'Ow do I tell yer if I larnt summink, sir?”

“I'll find you,” Pitt promised. “And…thank you, Gracie.”

She gave him a huge smile, then, aware of how inappropriate it was, she turned on her heel and went out into the passage to wait for Ada, who would show her up to bed.

         

A
DA PROVED TO
be a pretty girl with flaxen blond hair and clear, fresh skin. She regarded Gracie with only a mild interest. The look on her face suggested that she thought anyone so small and thin was not going to prove a threat to her place in the hierarchy, nor was she likely to be a companion of much fun.

“Come on, then,” she said briskly, in one phrase establishing her superiority in the order of things.

The narrow bedroom, actually designed to accommodate two people, was right at the top of the stairs. It was quite well appointed, and the window looked out over a vista of treetops toward the distant roofs of the city. Gracie thanked Ada, and as soon as the door was closed behind her, unpacked her meager belongings to put away in the chest at the bottom of the bed. She was barely finished when there was a knock on the door again. A different maid, who introduced herself as Norah, brought a dark uniform dress, which looked to be the right size, and a freshly starched cap and apron, handsomely trimmed in lace.

“I'll call you at six,” she said cheerfully before leaving and closing the door behind her.

But tired as Gracie was, sleep was almost impossible. She lay on one side, then the other, then on her back staring up at the ceiling. She was in Buckingham Palace! She, Gracie Phipps, was on a special mission for Mr. Pitt. Someone had knifed a prostitute to death in a linen cupboard in the guest wing a couple of floors down from where she lay, and she was to help him solve the case. How on earth was she going to do that? Where should she even begin?

She had not had time to tell Samuel about it, and perhaps she shouldn't anyway, not until it was over. But what a story she would have then! She could imagine his face as she described it. She'd wager a week's money he had never been inside Buckingham Palace in his life.