Her Royal Spyness (24 page)

“You saved my life. Thank you very much,” I said.

“Don’t mention it, miss. Probably wise not to stand too near the edge next time,” he said. “You’ve only got to have one person stumble or shove behind you and you’re off the edge, under a train.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll be more careful.”

I completed the journey, glad for once that Belinda wasn’t with me. She’d definitely have something to say about my clumsiness getting out of hand. Although this time it hadn’t been my clumsiness. I had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

My fingers still trembled as I changed into my maid’s uniform in the lady’s lavatory at Charing Cross Station, but by the time I reached Claridge’s, I had calmed down. It was lucky it was raining, as I could conceal my uniform under my mackintosh. As I approached Claridge’s, I saw my grandfather’s familiar form waiting for me.

“Hello, my ducks. How are you holding up, then?”

“All right,” I said. “Apart from nearly being pushed under a train.”

I saw the worried look cross his face. “When was this?” “On my way from my solicitors’. I was at the front of a crowded platform and the crowd must have surged forward at the approach of a train. I was almost pushed in front of it.”

“You want to be more careful, my love. London’s a dangerous place,” he said.

“I will be in future.”

He looked at me for a moment, head cocked on one side, then he said, “Oh, well, I suppose we had better get on with what we came to do.”

“Have you had a chance to speak to anybody yet?”

He touched the side of his nose. “Hasn’t lost his touch, your old granddad. Still got what it takes. Knows how to butter ’em up. I went to your posh square first and I can tell you that there weren’t no window cleaners working that day.”

“So if somebody saw a window cleaner . . .”

“It was someone up to no good.”

“Exactly what I thought. I wonder if they could describe him, or them?”

“Nobody notices tradesmen, my love.”

“The same as nobody notices maids,” I said. “I’m wearing my maid’s uniform, but I have to find out which room and I have no idea how I can possibly get into it.”

“As for that, it was room 317. And what’s more, it ain’t been cleaned out yet. Seems that the gentleman paid a week in advance and so they didn’t like to shift his things without instructions.”

“How did you manage to find out all that?”

He grinned. “Alf the doorman still remembered me.” “Granddad, you’re a genius.”

“See, your old granddad does still have his uses.” He beamed at me.

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Your Monsieur de Mauxville went out every night gambling—to Crockford’s and to other places less savory. And he had a visitor. A dark-haired young man. Posh.”

“Anything else?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d have a chat with the bellboys and you could ask the other maids on that floor.”

“All right,” I said. Now that it was about to happen, I was terrified. Breaking and entering were serious enough, but they would also make me look guilty in the eyes of Inspector Sugg. “How can I possibly get up the stairs without being noticed? People might recognize me.”

“Fire escape. There always has to be a safe way out of a hotel.”

“Here I go, then. You wouldn’t like to come with me, I suppose?”

“I’d do a lot for you, my sweet, but not this. I’m an ex-policeman and a nobody. The law would treat me very differently from you, if we’re caught. I’ve no wish to spend the rest of my days in Wormwood Scrubs.”

“I’m not too anxious to do so either,” I said and he laughed.

“Wormwood Scrubs is a men’s prison. But they’d let you off, being who you are and knowing you were just trying to help your brother.”

I nodded. “I sincerely hope so. Wish me luck, then,” I said. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

I made it up the fire escape staircase with no problem, left my mack rolled up in a corner, put on my maid’s cap, and came out onto the third floor. Then, of course, it occurred to me that I had no way to get into the room. I clearly hadn’t thought this thing through properly. I wandered down the hall, trying the door handles, until a voice behind me made me jump out of my skin.

“Hey, you, what are you doing?”

I turned around to see a fresh-faced Irish girl in a maid’s uniform quite unlike my own. I decided to change my story rather rapidly.

“My mistress was staying here last night and her diamond earring must have fallen off while she was asleep. She doesn’t usually go to bed with earrings on, but she got in so late. So she’s asked me to retrieve it. But nobody answers the door so the master must have also left by now.”

“What room was it?”

“Three seventeen.”

She looked at me queerly. “Three seventeen was that French gentleman who was murdered,” she said.

“Murdered? Here?”

“Don’t you ever read the papers? Not here. In some duke’s bathtub. Anyway, the police came and gave his room a good going-over.”

“Did they find anything?”

“How would I know? They’d not have told me, would they?”

“So did you have to pack up all his things?”

“Not yet. They’re still in there, as far as I know, and the police have given orders that no one is to go in.”

“How terrible that he got killed. Was he a nice man?”

“Quite the opposite. Rude and ungrateful, from what I saw. He snapped his fingers and shouted at me because I’d moved the papers on his desk.”

“What kind of papers?”

“Nothing special. Just some magazines he’d been reading. You’d have thought I’d been snooping.” She brushed down her uniform. “Anyway, I can’t stand here chatting. I have to get back to work.”

“And I have to find that earring or risk getting my head bitten off. My memory’s hopeless. Could it have been 217? Any idea where Lord and Lady . . .” I let the rest of the sentence hang, hoping she’d take the bait. She did.

“Lady Furness? That was 313.”

“Oh, thank heavens. I’d never have heard the last of it if I returned home without her earring. Do you think you could let me in?”

“I suppose so, but I really ought to—”

“Look, Lady Furness is lunching with a friend in the restaurant downstairs. Do you want me to go and find her to tell you that it’s all right for me to go in there?”

She looked at me long and hard, then she said, “No, I suppose it can’t do no harm, can it? But the bed’s already been stripped. If it hasn’t been found yet, chances are it’s not going to be.”

“A little diamond could have fallen down the back of the bed and nobody would notice it,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve been commanded to search and search I’d better, or else. You should see her when she gets rattled.”

She grinned at me then. “Go on, then, in you go and make sure you shut the door firmly behind you. I don’t want to get in trouble for leaving a door open.”

“Oh, definitely. I’ll make sure I shut it,” I said. “I’ll even keep it shut while I’m searching.”

She opened the door. I went inside and shut it behind me. I wasn’t quite sure what use it was being in room 313, but it was better than nothing. I opened the window and saw that there was a broad ledge running around the outside. If the window of 317 was not latched tightly, it was possible I might get in that way. I climbed out gingerly onto the ledge. It was certainly a long way down. I could see the parade of bright red buses passing below me along the Strand. And that broad ledge didn’t seem so broad any longer. I didn’t have the nerve to stand up. I started to crawl slowly along the ledge. I passed 315 successfully and reached 317. It was hard to get any purchase on the window frame from my precarious position, but at last I felt it give a little.

I managed to raise it, then crawled inside and stood, breathing very hard, on the carpet of the deserted room. As the maid had said, the room had been stripped since de Mauxville left. No sheets, no towels. There were still papers on the desk in a neat pile. I went through them but found only a three-day-old copy of the
Times
, and some sporting magazines. His wastebasket had been emptied. No telltale marks on the blotting paper. I looked under his bed but the floor was spotless. I opened the chest of drawers but they only contained some rather gray undergarments and a pair of socks in need of darning. The handkerchiefs, however, were embroidered with a crest. Then I went through his wardrobe. A dinner suit was hanging there, and a couple of clean white shirts. I tried the pockets of the dinner jacket and found nothing. But when I put it back on the hanger, it just didn’t hang correctly. Gentlemen’s suits should be tailored to perfection and not droop. I tried pockets again and found that the lining was torn on one inside pocket. I traced down the tear in the lining and brought out a roll of paper. I let out a gasp when I saw what it was: a tight roll of banknotes—five pound notes, hundreds of them—well, maybe not hundreds but a big fat wad of them. I stood there staring at the money. To someone like me, who had been penniless most of her life, it represented a fortune. Who would know if I took it? The words echoed through my head. Ill-gotten gains of a dead man—surely nobody would ever find out. But then my ancestors, both sides of them, triumphed. Death Before Dishonor.

I was about to put them back when I realized I might be handling evidence and I was busily leaving my fingerprints all over them, and all over the room! I couldn’t believe my stupidity. I didn’t know whether the police could test things like money for fingerprints, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. Hastily I wiped the roll with my apron and put it back. Then I went around the room, wiping every surface I had touched.

There was a notepad beside the telephone. It appeared unused, but as the light struck it I could tell that there was an imprint on the top sheet as if the writer had pressed too hard as he wrote. I went over to the window and held the sheet up.

It said,
R—10:30!

I wondered if the police had torn off that top sheet. Even the least intelligent policeman would be able to deduce that
R
meant “Rannoch.” Things didn’t look good for Binky unless I could find out where these large sums of money came from.

The room revealed no more secrets and I made my way back onto the ledge, carefully closing the window behind me. I started to crawl back. I had just reached the window of number 315 when I heard voices in the room. I froze. To my horror I heard someone say, “Isn’t it stuffy in here?” and there came the sound of the window being opened. I scrambled to my feet and stood to one side of the window, pressing myself against the drainpipe, holding on for dear life. A young sandy-haired man looked out. I heard him say, “There, are you satisfied now?” and he moved away again. Now I had to risk crossing an open window or going back into 317 and risk being seen coming out.

I decided on the latter. As I tried to kneel down again the drainpipe moved with me. It started to come away from the wall. I clawed at the stonework on the building and grabbed on to it. I suppose I must have screamed because a voice behind me asked, “What the devil are you doing?” and it was the young man with the sandy hair peering out of the window.

“Sorry, sir. I dropped my feather duster out onto the ledge when I was shaking it,” I said. “And when I climbed out to get it, I couldn’t get back in again.”

“My dear girl. A feather duster isn’t worth risking your life for,” he said. “Here. Give me your hand and come inside here.” He helped me step down into his room.

“Thank you, sir. You’re most kind,” I said in what I hoped was an Irish accent.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a sovereign. “Here, that should buy you a new feather duster so that you don’t get into trouble.”

“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t.”

“Take it. I’ve had rather a successful week, as it happens.” He forced it into my hand.

“Thank you, sir. Very generous of you.”

I nodded to the young woman who appeared from the bathroom and made a hurried exit. There was no sign of the Irish maid.

I hummed to myself as I put on my mack and made my way down the stairs. A sovereign for my pains. Maybe I should think of working in a hotel!

Chapter 21

Rannoch House (minus body)
Monday, May 2, 1932

My grandfather was waiting for me, standing under the awning while the rain came down. Unfortunately he had nothing much to report. I told him about the five-pound notes and suggested that he should call the police with an anonymous tip about de Mauxville’s gaming. I felt the least I could do was treat him to lunch, and almost had to drag him to Lyons Corner House. I tried to be jolly and bright but he looked worried and preoccupied the whole time. When we parted company he looked at me long and hard. “Take care of yourself, won’t you, and if you’d rather come and stay with me, then you know you’re more than welcome.”

I smiled at him. “That’s sweet of you, Granddad, but I have to stay in town to keep an eye on Binky, and to find out things.”

“I suppose so,” he said with a sigh. “But watch out for yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I looked back once and saw him standing there, watching me.

When Belinda did her Lady Macbeth routine down the stairs about two o’clock, I told her of my decision to move back to Rannoch House.

“Georgie, are you sure?” she asked.

“I went back this morning. All traces of the body have been removed and it seems silly to go on sleeping on your sofa when I have a perfectly good bed of my own.”

“I think it’s awfully brave of you,” she said, but I could tell she was relieved.

“I do have one teeny favor to ask,” I said. “Do you think you would mind keeping me company tonight? I’m not sure how hard it will be and I’d really appreciate knowing you were there with me for the first night at least.”

“You want me to stay at Rannoch House?” I could see she was struggling. Then she said, “Of course. Why not? It’s about time I had an early night with no parties. I saw bags starting to form under my eyes when I looked in the mirror.”

So that evening, after the press and any gawkers had gone home, we made our way up the steps and into the house.