Barbara Cleverly - The Blood Royal

‘Sorry, sir. If I’d caught on straight away I could have rung you from the princess’s house …’ Her voice trailed away and she hung her head, waiting for a rebuke.

He smiled. ‘… and requested a snatch squad? “Come quickly! She’s hiding in the butler’s pantry!” I can’t quite see how that would have worked.’

‘No. They’d never have got past Foxton, sir.’

‘Well, cheer up. You’ve done wonders. I’m very pleased, Miss Wentworth.’ He sat back, eyeing her with satisfaction. ‘Would you like to hear me ruin someone’s lunch?’ He picked up the telephone and asked for a London number. ‘Have I got Bacchus? James! Listen. You may wish to reschedule your surveillance in the light of certain information which comes to hand. Your girl was watching your storming of forty-two, Hogsmire Lane from her outpost in the upstairs front room of number sixty-seven … yes, I said sixty-seven … which was her actual address. No … not there any longer. Clean pair of heels over the allotments at the rear… She’s taken shelter with her countrymen. She was playing cards with the Princess Ratziatinsky when Wentworth called this morning. Yes. Wentworth has been entrusted with the girl’s details … things like real name, character, possible motive, that sort of thing … By all means. I’m sure she’ll be glad to update your information.’

Joe held the earpiece at an exaggerated distance from his ear and grimaced. ‘That’s got him going. He’ll burst a blood vessel trying to keep up now. I wouldn’t want to be one of his chaps.’

‘And you’ve just killed off any chance of my ever gaining Bacchus’s confidence, sir,’ she murmured.

‘No harm done. That was dead in the water anyway. You’re never going to be soulmates. In any case, I doubt the chap has a soul.’

‘Poor Bacchus! No mother and now no soul? I can begin to feel sorry for him.’

‘Waste of time. I’ll try to keep you off his back. Best I can offer.’

He watched as the girl shrugged and conceded a bleak smile. He thought he’d try for a warmer one. He’d been a bit hard on her, perhaps. ‘And now … reward for a jolly good morning’s work! I’m going to say a few words that may produce a reaction. Are you ready?’ He gave her the benefit of his most seductive tone. ‘What about roast beef … Yorkshire pudding … horseradish sauce … apple charlotte …’

He sat back, alarmed, as the girl went off like a pistol, jumping to her feet and laughing. ‘Gawd, sir! You know how to make a girl wet her knickers! … Oh, Lord! Oh!’

Her face turned crimson at her indiscretion. She put a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror, burbled something and started for the door.

Joe leapt up, dashed over and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Steady on! Don’t bolt! I’m not insulted. I’ve heard worse in the trenches.’

‘Sorry, sir. It’s just a common saying … where I come from it means nothing, not a …’

‘Shh. Don’t go and spoil it. I’ve never had a compliment of the kind before. I’m rather relishing it. The nearest I’ve come to such a pinnacle of approval is from Amalthea Jameson who declared once, in a fit of heightened emotion — occasioned by a bunch of violets, I remember — that I certainly knew how to make a lady’s heart flutter. I think I prefer the earthier tribute! But look — before you lose complete control of your tongue and any other dicky bits of your anatomy, why don’t we get someone to drive us to Simpson’s-in-the-Strand? Lunch goes on there until supper time. And their gravy is wonderful. They make it with red wine, you know.’

Joe burbled on, calm and amused, until he felt her muscles begin to relax again. He released her arm. Though still avoiding his eye, Lily managed to get her voice in gear. ‘I’d like that, sir. And perhaps while we’re about it, you can tell me about Anna Petrovna’s motive . I don’t think I mentioned one?’

She was putting on her gloves when the phone rang.

In his urgent quest for roast beef and suitable accompaniments, he very nearly ignored it. Grumpily he picked up the earpiece and announced himself. He looked questioningly at Lily.

‘A package, you say? For Miss Lily Wentworth, care of this office? How big is this package? Three feet by two? That big? And heavy? I say — have you checked it for … Of course. Can’t be too careful these days. Then get two strapping fellers to haul it upstairs, will you? Use the lift. I’m just off to lunch but I can wait a few more minutes, I suppose. Tell them to get a move on, will you?’

The commander waited until the two uniformed coppers left before he approached the brown-paper wrappings of the carefully boxed parcel with a penknife. He first examined the label. ‘They made no mistake, Wentworth. It is indeed addressed to you care of my office. Were you expecting anything of this nature? Bagatelle board from Hamleys? Travelling guillotine? The missing Mona Lisa ?’

She shook her head, perplexed. He clicked out the blade of his knife and began to strip away the wrapper.

After five minutes of combined effort, they stood speechless, absorbing the contents.

Sandilands was the first to regain his voice. ‘Congratulations, constable! You seem to have made a very favourable impression. A most gracious gesture — I’m sure even you will agree.’

He bent and picked up an envelope that had fallen from the wrappings. He waited while she opened it and read the message on the single sheet it contained. When she coloured and put it away he asked no question.

They continued to stare. Joe approached the painting of the Russian forest, now reset in a heavy gilt frame, and peered at it more closely. He shook his head and looked again. His fingers reached out to touch it but left off before they contacted the oil surface. He began to speak hesitantly, as though talking to himself and feeling his way through hostile territory in the dark: ‘I wonder — and you’ll tell me if you think this a fanciful idea — are we … could we possibly be … looking at a motive? Of sorts? A motive for murder? Anna Petrovna’s reason, if you can call it that — most would say “unreason” — for wanting the Prince of Wales dead? Is it staring us in the face? Am I making an unwarranted and utterly crazy assumption? If not, it’s worse than we thought.’

He turned to Lily, full of foreboding. ‘We’re staring into a depth of madness that makes anarchy and revolution look like cool common sense.’

In the bustle of Simpson’s, Joe sat wrapped in thoughtful silence, paralysed by his insight. Disturbing though this clearly was, it showed no sign of affecting his appetite. He settled to his rib of beef and was halfway through it before he remembered his manners and engaged again in conversation with his equally preoccupied companion.

‘Lamb suit you, Wentworth? Mint sauce not too fierce?’

‘It’s all perfect, sir.’

After a pause: ‘You can’t send it back, you know … The painting, I mean.’

‘That’s exactly what my mind was turning on. I’m not used to receiving such lavish presents. I was trying to find the right phrases for a note to the prince.’

‘Well, you can forget about returning it with a few polite words. Out of the question. No one returns a royal gift. Ever. You must admit that it was a thoughtful gesture — and well deserved. Altogether, highly appropriate.’ He caught his bossy tone and added, more mildly: ‘I say, you weren’t really minded to return it, were you?’

‘Not on your nelly! I’m keeping it. I’m not such an ingrate as to spurn a gracious offering. And besides, I like it. My admiration was genuine. I encouraged the prince to bid for it. I can’t wait to show it to my father. It has an uneasy and depressing presence but it’s wonderfully done.’