Anne Perry - Buckingham Palace Gardens

Instantly she wondered if Julius would be involved. Did Cahoon mean diplomatic details, or engineering? She could not ask. And did she want to be near Julius or not? Did she want the heightened loneliness, the wondering? If she became certain that he did love her, it would fill her heart. It would be desperately sweet, overwhelming. But there was nothing that they could do about it, ever. He was married to her stepdaughter. There could never be happiness in a double betrayal.

Or she would discover that he did not love her, only desired her, as Simnel had Minnie-and, it seemed, still did-with a hunger filled with resentment because it was a kind of bondage. This only triggered more emptiness within. Did she want to know if he was shallower than she thought, worth less? Or even worse, that she herself was?

“Elsa, take command of yourself!” Cahoon snapped. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered, because she could think of no excuse. Or perhaps it was because she could not let go of the chance to spend time with Julius, whatever the cost. All reason was against it, and yet she had chosen to do it unhesitatingly.

She used to feel as if she and Minnie were a world apart from each other, so different there was no possibility of understanding between them. Perhaps she was wrong, and in reality she was just like Minnie, only with slightly less flair.

Th e a f t e r n o o n wa s miserable. The men resumed their discussions, joined at about three o’clock by the Prince of Wales, who looked formal and very serious. Elsa spoke to him only briefly, but she could see that he was still suffering from the effects of a night of self-indulgence and then the most appalling shock. He greeted her with his usual courtesy, but did not say anything more than to inquire after her well-being and wish her a good afternoon. She could not help noticing the relief in his face when he saw Cahoon walking over toward him, smiling and with a confidence in his stride and in the set of his shoulders that suggested he was master of events. There was nothing to fear after all.

Of course there wasn’t, she told herself. It was tragic for the woman concerned, and it was most unpleasant, but no more than that.

She filled in the afternoon walking in the gardens alone for a while, then played cards for an hour with Olga, who seemed to find as much difficulty as she did in concentrating. At afternoon tea she made conversation with Liliane, mostly gossip neither of them cared about. Who had said what to whom had never mattered much to either of them.

At about quarter to six Bartle came to Elsa’s room to tell her that the policeman would like to speak with her.

“With me?” Elsa was startled. “Whatever for? I have no idea what happened.”

Bartle’s expression was grim. “I don’t know, Miss Elsa. But he an’ the other one’ve been talking to the regular servants here all afternoon. He just spoke to Mrs. Quase, an’ now he’d like to see you. I think there’s something badly wrong, ma’am.”

Elsa opened the door to the small sitting room with more curiosity than trepidation. The man she found inside was taller than she had expected, but otherwise he appeared fairly ordinary, apart from an unusual intelligence in his eyes. He was clean-shaven. His hair was curly and too long, and she noticed immediately that his coat hung badly, possibly because the right pocket bulged with something large inside it. His shirt collar sat crookedly and his tie was too loose. He looked tired.

“Good afternoon,” she said, closing the door. “I believe you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dunkeld,” he replied, stepping back a little to make room for her to pass him easily and choose whatever chair she wished.

“My name is Inspector Pitt.”

She was surprised. His voice was excellent, deep, and with both the timbre and the enunciation of a man of education, which he could not be, or he would not be employed in such an occupation.

Everyone knew that except in most serious command, police were from the lower social orders. Even the better servants frowned on them.

She sat down in one of the smaller wing chairs and adjusted the skirts of her afternoon gown. “I cannot help you,” she said politely. “I know very little of the Palace. This is the only time I have been here, and it is only two days since I arrived.”

“Yes, I know that, Mrs. Dunkeld.” He took the seat opposite her, which was upright and less comfortable. “Are you aware of what happened here last night?”

She noticed that he looked concerned, as if he were obliged to tell her something she would find distressing. She wanted to put him at ease. “Yes, I am. One of the women who came to the party yesterday evening was murdered.”

He looked surprised that she could be so blunt about it. She wondered if he had been afraid she did not know what manner of women they were.

“You have been questioning the servants all day, to find out who is responsible,” she added. “I hope you have been successful. The reason we are His Royal Highness’s guests concerns a matter of the greatest possible importance. It would be far better if the gentlemen were all free to continue with their business without further distress.” She chose the words to be as tactful as possible, leaving open the suggestion that there was pity for the dead woman as well as inconvenience involved. She could not tell from his face if he understood that.

There was a flash of humor in his eyes that could have meant anything. It disconcerted her because she could not read him as swiftly as she had imagined she would.

He looked at her steadily, a very slight frown between his brows.

“The prostitute that the Prince had chosen for himself was found in the linen cupboard this morning,” he told her. “I’m afraid she was completely unclothed, and she had been slashed to death with a knife.”

Elsa was stunned. For a moment she found it hard to breathe. Cahoon had mentioned a carving knife, but she had thought he was being deliberately brutal. From this quiet man with his bulging pockets and his steady eyes, quite suddenly the woman’s death had a reality that was shocking. She started to speak, and then had no idea what she wanted to say.

“We have questioned all the servants,” Pitt continued, “and found that none of them could be responsible.”

For a moment she did not understand. “You mean someone broke in?” she said incredulously. “But we are in the Palace! That could not happen. Or are you saying it was one of the guards? I find that hard to believe. Are you certain?”

“No one broke in, Mrs. Dunkeld. The guards can account for one another. This is the sort of crime that a man commits alone.”

“You mean it was. .?” She did not wish to use the words necessary to explain herself. Why had she supposed the murder had been committed merely out of anger? Given the occupation of the woman, it could be assumed that she had earned her fee. “Poor creature,” she added, imagining what it must have been like. Involuntarily her mind flew to occasions of intimacy with Cahoon when she had been aware of her own helplessness, and frightened of him, even physically hurt.

He had taken pleasure in her pain, she was sure of that now. It had excited him.

“I’m sorry.” The policeman was apologizing to her. Had her face been so transparent? She felt the heat rise up on it. Please heaven this man mistook it for modesty. She was allowing him to unnerve her.

Cahoon would find that contemptible.

“I am quite capable of facing facts, Mr. Pitt,” she said sharply.

“Even if they are unpleasant. I have not lived my entire life in the withdrawing room.”

If he understood her, there was no reflection of it in his expression, except perhaps a flash of pity. “No one broke in, Mrs. Dunkeld.