Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery) (7 page)

“When I was young, we married out of duty,” Edwina said. “We were told whom we should marry and we did so. “

“I married Orlovski for love,” Charlotte said.

“Nonsense. You liked the idea of being a princess.” Virginia chuckled.

“How did you meet a Russian prince, Your Highness?” I asked.

“Our father was ambassador at the court of the Hapsburgs,” Edwina answered for her. “The prince was visiting and was taken with my sister.”

“I was considered a great beauty at the time,” Charlotte said.

“The fact that Father had arranged a generous dowry for each of us didn’t hurt either,” Virginia added.

“Sit up, Nicholas, and don’t slurp your soup,” Edwina interrupted sharply. “Really, you children still eat like savages.”

“He gets nervous in your presence, Mama,” Irene said. “Most children of his age take their meals in the nursery.”

“I’ve always thought it was important for children to learn civilized manners and the art of conversation well before they are taken out in society. Since yours have apparently learned nothing before they came here, I am taking them in hand.”

“That’s really not fair, Mama.” Irene’s face had turned red. “They’ve had to suffer very upsetting things in their young lives. We’ve all had to suffer.”

“Nonsense. You should talk to Billings, the estate manager, about his son, who came home from the war so shell-shocked that he still cries like a baby every night. Or the gamekeeper’s son who lost both legs. Or that family in the village who lost all three sons on the same day. That is suffering, Irene. Not going without a new hat every season.”

She paused and looked up as Cedric came into the room.

“You’re late again, Cedric,” she said.

“Since it is I who now should set the time for meals in my own house, I might say that you are early, Mother,” he said. “But in fact I am too wound up after last night’s triumph to think of joining the bean-feast. I’ve told Mrs. Broad that we’ll have sandwiches and a bottle of bubbly in my study.” He looked around the table. “And I don’t see what those brats are doing here again. I’ve made it clear that I have no wish to see my sister’s offspring more than once a day. A nursery is the place for children.”

“They are learning manners, Cedric. A skill in which I clearly failed lamentably in your upbringing.”

Cedric snorted, went to stride from the room, then spun around again and said, “I only came in to tell you that I’ve received a telephone call from our solicitor. The ship is scheduled to dock in Southampton tomorrow. He will escort the boy up to London for a briefing and plans to bring him down here at the weekend.”

“Cedric!” Edwina said in horror. “How many times have I told you that I find that common Americanism deplorable. People of our class do not have ‘weekends,’ because we do not need to take two days off from our weekly toil. We’ll have Nicholas and Katherine using it next.”

“Since they will obviously have to work for their living, they had better get used to it,” Cedric said.

“I’m sorry. Which boy is he talking about?” Irene asked.

“I assumed you’d all heard the rumors,” Cedric said. “Our dear mother has sent out her spies and managed to dig up a possible heir for me. A young man from Australia, who is supposedly Johnnie’s legal child. Naturally, I am employing my own agents to have all of his credentials checked and double checked. But he is being brought from Australia as we speak and will be in this house by—by the end of the week.”

“And I hope you will all do your best to make him feel welcome,” Edwina said. “In spite of what Cedric says, we have to accept that this boy is indubitably Johnnie’s son, and thus the rightful heir. He comes straight from a sheep farm in the wilds of Australia and will be overawed by the grandeur of this place. It is up to us to groom him to take over the dukedom someday.”

“Someday in the distant future, we hope,” Cedric said. “I’m not intending to pop off yet, Mother. And who knows what changes may occur in the next forty years.”

With that, he made a dramatic exit from the dining room.

Chapter 7

KINGSDOWNE PLACE

“What did I tell you?” Princess Charlotte wagged a finger at Cedric’s departing figure. “The spirits never lie. A stranger who means danger. That’s what they said, and that same night I dreamed of a cuckoo. A cuckoo sitting on the top of the roof, cuckooing away like mad. And someone in the house called, ‘Somebody make it stop, for God’s sake. It’s driving me insane. I’ll pay you to get rid of it.’”

“I don’t think we take your spirit messages and dreams as gospel truth, Charlotte,” the dowager duchess said. “I remember you dreamed the Derby winner last year and we all put money on a horse that came last.”

“The spirits do not like information to be used for monetary gain,” Charlotte said.

Irene, I noticed, had turned quite white. “Then it’s true that the boy is coming here. And he’ll get all of this someday. A common Australian who knows nothing of our heritage and traditions . . . when my own children come from the purest aristocratic blood.” She broke off with a little hiccup.

“I think it’s jolly unfair,” Nicholas said loudly. “And jolly stupid too. Why can’t the children of a female inherit anything?”

“Because that is not the way things are done, Nicholas,” Edwina said. “None of us is thrilled that the heir to Kingsdowne Place will have no social graces and does not deserve to inherit, but we have to accept that it is the only solution and do our best to make him welcome.”

“Well, I don’t intend to make him welcome,” Nick mouthed to his sister when his grandmother wasn’t watching.

The soup plates had been whisked away during this interchange, and turbot in parsley sauce had been placed in front of us. I looked across at Irene and her children as I ate. Of course this stranger coming into their midst might mean everything to them—life, death and survival. If Cedric were to die and Jack Altringham became the duke, then the estate and the fortune would be his, and he could expel unwanted relatives without a penny. I thought that if Nicholas was sensible he’d make his new cousin as welcome as possible.

Steak and kidney pie followed the turbot, then a steamed ginger pudding with custard, followed by a good Stilton and biscuits. At least the food was going to make up for the complicated situation in which I found myself. During the meal, it had occurred to me why I had been asked to come here—only the dowager duchess wanted the Australian boy to be here. The rest were going to go out of their way to make life as unpleasant for him as possible.

Luncheon ended with coffee, and the family dispersed—the older members for an afternoon snooze and the younger back to the nursery and their tutor. I was left alone, unsure what to do with myself. I wanted to pay a visit to the injured girl. I felt rather sorry about the way her brother had dismissed her as if she was not worth talking about. But first I felt I should get an idea of the layout of the main floor. These old houses can be infernally complicated. And if I was supposed to show Jack Altringham around when he arrived, I needed to be au fait with the place myself.

I peeked into the drawing room, then a charming corner morning room with windows overlooking both the front and side of the house. Then a grand library, a pretty music room with a black grand piano and a harp, and a super view across the formal gardens to the valley below. I wished my talents ran to playing an instrument.

Then I came back through the Long Gallery, now deserted, and passed through several smaller salons and rooms with no particular purpose other than to display collections of various sorts—Roman pottery, porcelain figures and enamel boxes. I presumed these were the fancies of various past dukes. One room was small, square paneled in dark wood in which the glass-topped display cases were filled with butterflies. I stood looking at them with a mixture of fascination and pity. It seemed so cruel that the bright, delicate creatures should end up with a pin through them for some gentleman’s pleasure.

I came out into a hallway that turned a corner into a new, narrow and rather dark corridor. This clearly wasn’t a main thoroughfare and I felt a little uneasy with all those closed, paneled doors. Ahead of me I could hear the faint clatter of dishes, and had no wish to stray into the servants’ domain. That would be too embarrassing. I turned around and decided to retrace my steps. Only I couldn’t remember how I had reached this corridor in the first place. I tried a door and found it to be locked. I opened another into a small room, its contents shrouded in dust sheets. I felt uneasiness growing. I began to have an absurd feeling that I was being watched, and quickened my pace.

On my left was a door set back into an alcove. That looked promising, as if it might lead through to the main hallway I had left previously. I was about to open the door when a voice behind me said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. People have gone in there and never returned.”

My heart did a complete flip-flop. I spun around to see one of the young men in black was standing there. “Cedric’s secret passion—his photographic darkroom. God knows what goes on in there but he doesn’t allow anyone else in. He’d have an absolute fit if he saw you even standing at his doorway.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. His accent still bore traces of a line north of Birmingham. “He sees himself as the next Cecil Beaton,” he said. “Frankly, I don’t think he has an artist’s eye but of course we wouldn’t dare tell him.” He looked at me with interest. “Now, you’re not one of the staff dressed like that. And your clothes are definitely too frumpy to be anything but an aristocrat, so one can only assume you’re a visiting relative. But definitely not the Australian heir, unless you’re a cross-dresser—in which case, how delicious.”

I had to laugh at this. “I’m not a cross-dresser and I’m not a relative,” I said. “I’m a guest of the dowager duchess. She was a friend of my grandmother. I’m Georgiana Rannoch.”

“Oh, my my—then I’ve seen you in the society pages,” he said. “I remember when you came out.”

“Do you go to any of the deb balls?” I asked.

“Oh, no, duckie. I am far, far below the level to be considered suitable, although I would look lovely in a backless white dress and a tiara.” He held out his hand to me. “I’m Adrian, one of Cedric’s protégés. I’m a painter of sorts. Not particularly good but it beats going down a coal mine.” His hand held firmly on to mine. “Come and meet the other boys. They’d love to be cheered up by a new face. Ceddy has been in a foul mood since he found out about this long-lost nephew. I don’t know why. It’s not as if he’s going to claim the family fortune until Ceddy’s pushing up daisies, is it? And I’m sure he’ll be a delightful addition to our happy family—all rugged and tanned and primitive.” And he gave a tiger-like growl.

Adrian led me at a great pace along a hall lined with weapons. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “The family hardly ever uses them these days.”

“Actually I feel quite at home,” I said. “Our Scottish castle has a pretty formidable collection of weapons too.”

“Oh, of course, I keep forgetting that you’re almost royalty,” he said. “And you seem so nice and normal too. Listen.” He paused and cocked his head like a spaniel out shooting. “I think they’ve moved to the ballroom, cheeky devils. I hope you’re not easily shocked. God knows what they’ll be doing in there. They do tend to get carried away.”

At the end of the hall we turned a corner, and Adrian thrust open the first door on our left. We stepped into a glorious room. French windows, framed with blue-velvet drapes revealed a view of lawns, giving way to parkland and distant hills on which tiny dots of sheep were grazing. The parquet floor glowed with loving care, and a row of impressive chandeliers was suspended along the length of the ceiling. At the far end was a raised dais for an orchestra. It was currently occupied by another slim young man in black operating a gramophone, which he was in the process of rewinding.

“Do it again, Jules,” he said. “And this time try to imagine you’re Fred Astaire.”

“He’ll never manage it, he has too much hair, Simon,” Adrian called.

“Then pretend you’re Ginger Rogers,” the dark young man he’d addressed as Simon said.

The person they were talking about stood in the middle of the room, wearing a leotard and tights. He really did have lovely hair—a honey-blonde color, which curled over his ears. I was quite jealous.

“It’s no good, Simon. I just don’t feel it,” he said. “There’s something not quite right about the music.”

“What are you two doing in here? I’m sure Ceddy wouldn’t like you wandering all over the house without his permission,” Adrian said.

“We’re working on the new play, silly,” Simon said. “If he wants to have an original Simon Wetherington creation for his festival this autumn, I have to get a move on. And Jules is being difficult and can’t seem to get what I want him to do.”

“I just don’t see myself as a dancing Welsh coal miner,” Jules said.

“It’s a dream sequence, Jules. You’re an actor. Put yourself into the role. Work with me.”

They seemed to notice me standing in the doorway for the first time. “I don’t think we’re ready for outside observers yet,” Simon said.

“This is Georgiana Rannoch. You know—Lady Georgiana Rannoch from the society pages. Pally with the royals.”

This was a slight exaggeration. I’d made the society pages a few times during my season but hardly ever since then. But they all came over to me excitedly nonetheless.

“She’s going to be staying for a while,” Adrian said.

“Lovely. Can you dance? You could be Ginger Rogers for poor Jules, who hates dancing alone.”

“I’m afraid I’m a hopeless dancer.”

“Pity,” Simon said. “You’ve got the right color hair for the part.”

“So are you creating a musical comedy?” I asked.

“It’s going to be darker than that, darling—a combination folk opera, Shakespearean drama and musical revue, all rolled into one.”

“Quite an innovation,” Adrian said. “The boy’s brilliant, of course. Ceddy snapped him up when he saw his last play being performed in Edinburgh.”

“And he’s promised to put on the extravaganza at his new festival, if Simon can finish it in time,” Jules said.

“What festival is this?”

“Haven’t you heard?” they twittered at me excitedly, making me think how apt it was of someone to have dubbed them the Starlings.

“Ceddy’s planning to have an outdoor amphitheater built down below the cascades,” Simon said. “He wants to hold a festival here, like Glyndebourne. He wants Kingsdowne to become
the
mecca for the arts.”

“Goodness,” I said. “How ambitious.”

“Oh yes. Cedric wants his name to go down in history. The Medici of mid-Kent,” Adrian said.

The other two boys glanced around nervously. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Adrian. You’ll get us all slung out on our ear,” Simon said.

“Fiddlesticks,” Adrian said. “Ceddy adores me, and you know it. I can do no wrong in his eyes.”

“This week,” Julian said. “Ceddy is notoriously fickle, as you very well know.”

“Absolutely not. He must adore me for myself because I admit my painting is not up to Picasso standards.”

“If he adores anyone, it’s Marcel,” Julian said coldly.

“Who is Marcel?” I dared to ask.

“His valet. French; terribly dark and brooding and Continental,” Adrian said, rolling his eyes. “What is not to adore about him. Every time he speaks with that French accent I absolutely melt into a puddle.”

“Enough dallying,” Simon said. “Come on, people. Back to work or this play will never finish. And, Lady Georgiana, darling, couldn’t you please be Ginger Rogers—pretty please? How can I choreograph a duet with one person, and Adrian has two left feet.”

“Very well. I’ll try, but I can’t promise dancing prowess.”

“Isn’t she duckie?” Adrian asked, and they all agreed I was.

So for the next hour I was dragged and swung around the ballroom by an enthusiastic Julian. Actually it was a lot of fun until Cedric’s bulky form loomed in the doorway.

“What is going on? What are you doing in my ballroom?” he demanded like a schoolmaster who has discovered pupils misbehaving.

“Working on the play, Cedric,” Simon said. “We’ve almost mastered the dream sequence with the Welsh miner.”

“What’s she doing here?” He glared at me.

“She’s standing in for Ginger Rogers,” Simon said. “And doing a splendid job.”

“Well, stop that now. I need you now to come and look at the site with me,” Cedric said. “I’ve just been down there, and I’m afraid I was right. Those cottages will have to go.”

“But they are so picturesque, Ceddy. You can’t just knock them down,” Simon said.

“I can do what I bally-well like on my land,” Cedric said. “The amphitheater needs a backstage area and they are simply in the way. Come and see.” He opened one of the French doors and they followed him out obediently, leaving me standing alone in the ballroom.