Her Royal Spyness (31 page)

“You know him, do you?”

“Of course. Everyone on the Riviera knows him. Odious man. Whoever drowned him did the world a service.”

“Except that Binky is likely to be hanged for a crime he didn’t commit unless I can find out who did it.”

“Leave that kind of thing to the police, darling. I’m sure they’ll sort it all out nicely. Don’t worry about it. I want you to enjoy yourself—come out of your shell, start flirting a little more. It’s time you snagged yourself a husband.”

“Mother, I’ll find myself a husband when the time is right.”

“What about the Student Prince at dinner last night? You’d never find a man with more orders or medals.”

“Or flabbier lips,” I said. “He looks like a cod, Mother.”

She laughed. “Yes, he does, rather. And deadly dull, I should imagine. Still, future queen isn’t to be sniffed at.”

“You tried duchess and you didn’t stick with it for long.”

“True enough.” She looked at me critically. “You do need better clothes, now that you’re out in society, that’s obvious. I’ll see if I can worm a little something out of Max. What a pity you’re not my size. I’m always throwing away absolutely scrumptuous things that I can’t wear because they are last year’s. Of course, if poor Hubie actually dies, I’d imagine you’d be able to buy yourself a decent wardrobe, and a house to go with it.”

I stared at her. “You said I was mentioned in his will, but—”

“Hubie is rich as Croesus, darling, and who else does he have to leave it to? Poor little Tristram will probably get his share, but I got the impression that Hubie wanted to make sure you were provided for.”

“Really?”

“He was so fond of you. I probably should have stayed with him for your sake, but you know I couldn’t take all those months with no sex while he was rafting up the Amazon or scaling some mountain.” She pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I haven’t had a chance to explore the grounds yet.”

“All right.” A walk would be a good chance to tell her about my “accidents.”

We went down the stairs, arm in arm. The house was remarkably quiet. It seemed that most of our party had gone to play golf. A blustery wind was blowing outside and my mother decided she had to return to the house to find a scarf for her hair or she’d look a fright. I waited outside the house, wondering about a lot of things. If I was going to inherit money from Sir Hubert’s will, then Tristram did have a motive to want to marry me. But to kill me? That didn’t make sense. He was due to receive his own share of the inheritance. Besides, he hadn’t been on the boat, and I hadn’t spotted him at that tube platform either. What’s more, he seemed like the kind of person who would faint at the sight of blood. He had certainly looked as if he was about to faint when that woman choked to death beside us.

There was a sound above me. I started to look up. At the same time my mother’s voice screamed, “Look out!” I jumped and one of the marble statues from the balustrade crashed to the ground beside me. Mother rushed down the steps to me, her face deathly white.

“Are you all right? What an awful thing to have happened! Of course, it’s so windy today. That thing had probably been unstable for years. Thank God you’re all right. Thank God I wasn’t still standing beside you.”

Servants ran out. Everyone was trying to comfort me. But I shook myself loose of them and ran into the house. I was tired of being a victim. I wasn’t going to take it any longer. I rushed upstairs, one flight then the next. And bumped into Whiffy Featherstonehaugh, running down.

“You!” I shouted, blocking his way. “I should have known when you didn’t jump in to try and save me on the boat. I can understand killing de Mauxville, but what have you got against Binky and me, eh? Come on, out with it!”

Whiffy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down, eyes darting nervously. “I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve just been up on the roof, haven’t you? Come on, don’t deny it.”

“The roof? Good Lord, no. What would I have been doing on the roof? The other fellows snapped up the good fancy dress costumes. Lady Mountjoy said there was another trunk of costumes up in the attic, but I couldn’t find them.”

“Good excuse,” I said. “Quick thinking. You’re obviously brighter than you make out. You must be, to have lured de Mauxville to our house and killed him. But why pick us?—that’s what I want to know.”

He was looking at me as if I were a new and dangerous species of animal.

“Look here, Georgie. I don’t know what you’re on about. I—I didn’t kill de Mauxville. I had nothing to do with his death.”

“You mean he wasn’t blackmailing you?”

His jaw dropped. “How the devil did you know about that?”

I didn’t like to say “lucky guess.” It had suddenly come to me in a flash of inspiration as I noticed how tall and dark-haired and distinguished-looking he was. “They described you as visiting him at Claridge’s, and I saw your name in the book at Crockford’s, and de Mauxville had scribbled something about meeting ‘R’ on a pad.”

“Oh, cripes. Then the police also know.”

I was probably standing on a staircase with a killer. I wasn’t stupid enough to admit that the police knew nothing. “I’m sure they do,” I said. “Did you decide to kill him to end the blackmailing?”

“But I didn’t kill him.” He looked desperate now. “I can’t say I’m not glad he’s dead, but I swear I didn’t do it.”

“Was it gambling debts? Did you owe him money?”

“Not exactly.” He looked away. “He found out about my visits to a certain club.”

“Crockford’s?”

“Oh, good Lord, no. Crockford’s is acceptable. Half the Guards gamble.”

“Then what?”

He was looking around him like a trapped animal. “I’d rather not say.”

“A strip club, you mean?”

“Not exactly.” He was looking at me as if I were rather dense. “Look, Georgie, it’s really none of your business.”

“It damned well is my business. My brother has been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit. I’m in danger and so far you are the only one with a motive to want de Mauxville dead. I’m going straight downstairs to telephone the police. They’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“No, don’t do that. For God’s sake. I swear I didn’t kill him, Georgie, but I can’t let my family find out.”

Suddenly light dawned. The conversation I had overheard at Whiffy’s house . . . and last night Tristram tiptoeing down the hall to Prince Siegfried’s room. “You’re talking about clubs where boys go to meet boys, aren’t you?” I said. “You and Tristram, you’re both that way inclined.”

He flushed bright scarlet. “So you see what it would be like if anyone found out. I’d be out of the Guards on my ear, and my family—well, my family would never forgive me. Military since Wellington, you know.”

Another idea was forming in my head. “So how did you manage to pay off de Mauxville? Not on a Guards officer’s pay.”

“That was the problem. Where to get the money.”

“So you took things from your family’s London house?”

“Good God, Georgie—are you a blinking mind reader or something? Yes, I took the odd item, here and there. Pawned them, you know, outside of London. Always planned to get them back.”

“And you don’t know who killed de Mauxville?”

“No, but I’m bally glad they did. God bless them.”

“And did you see anybody upstairs, when you were heading for the attic?”

“No. Can’t say I did. But I’ll come and look with you, if you like.”

I hesitated. A strong Guards officer might not be a bad idea if I was to tackle a murderer, but I could also find myself trapped on the roof alone with him.

“We’ll get the servants to search,” I said and walked down the stairs with him.

The search revealed nobody hiding on the roof, but my attacker would have had plenty of time to sneak down while I was questioning Whiffy. Everyone but me seemed to think it was a horrible accident. I no longer felt safe anywhere and there was something I had to know. I slipped out of the house when no one was looking and walked the length of the driveway. Then, after half a mile or so, I followed the long drive to Sir Hubert’s sprawling Tudor mansion.

The door was opened by a maid and the butler was summoned.

“I’m sorry but the master is not in residence,” he said as he came to meet me. “I am Rogers, Sir Hubert’s butler.”

“I remember you, Rogers. I am Lady Georgiana and at one time I knew this house very well.”

His face lit up. “Little Lady Georgiana. Well, I never. What a young lady you’ve grown into. Of course we’ve followed your progress in the newspapers. Cook cut out the pictures when you were presented at court. How kind of you to come and visit at such a sad time.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about Sir Hubert,” I said. “But I’m actually here on a very delicate matter and I hope you’ll be able to help me.”

“Please, come into the drawing room. Can I bring you a cup of coffee or a sherry, perhaps?”

“Nothing, thank you. It’s about Sir Hubert’s will. Something my mother said gave me to understand that I am mentioned in it. Now, I’m not after his money, I can assure you I’d much rather he lived, but strange things have been happening to my family, and it just occurred to me they may have something to do with this will. So I wondered if it was possible he kept a copy of his will on the premises?”

“I believe there is a copy in the safe,” he said.

“Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dream of asking to see it, but I have reason to believe my life is in danger. Do you happen to know the combination?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, my lady. That was the sort of thing that only the master knew.”

“Oh, well, never mind.” I sighed. “It was worth a try. Can you tell me who are Sir Hubert’s solicitors?”

“Henty and Fyfe, in Tunbridge Wells,” he said.

“Thank you, but they won’t be available until Monday, will they?” I felt remarkably near to tears. “I hope that’s not too late.”

He cleared his throat. “As it happens, my lady, I know the contents of the will,” he said, “because I was asked to witness it.”

I looked up at him.

“There were small bequests to the staff, and a generous bequest to the Royal Geographical Society. The rest of the estate was divided into three parts: Master Tristram was to receive one-third, yourself one-third, and the final third was to go to Master Tristram’s cousin, one of Sir Hubert’s French relatives, called Gaston de Mauxville.”

Chapter 28

Eynsleigh and Farlows
Near Mayfield, Sussex
Saturday, May 7, 1932

I stared at him, trying to digest this. “I’m to be left a third of the estate? There must be some mistake,” I stammered. “Sir Hubert hardly knew me. He hadn’t seen me for years. . . .”

“Ah, but he remained very fond you, my lady.” The butler smiled at me benevolently. “He wanted to adopt you once, you know.”

“When I was an adorable child of five and liked to climb trees.”

“He never lost interest in you, not even after your mother moved on to—” he finished that phrase discreetly with a cough. “And when your father died, he was most concerned. ‘I don’t like to think of that girl growing up without a penny to her name,’ he said to me. He hinted it was clear your mother was never going to provide for you.”

“How very kind of him,” I muttered, almost moved to tears, “but surely Mr. Hautbois should have been left the lion’s share of the estate. He is Sir Hubert’s ward, after all.”

“The master felt that too much money might not be in Mr. Tristram’s best interests,” the butler said dryly. “Nor Monsieur de Mauxville’s, even though he was his sister’s only child. Addicted to gambling apparently. Moved in shady circles.”

I fought to retain my composure while the butler took me downstairs to meet Cook and then had to eat a slice of her famous Victoria sponge I had always adored as a child. All that time my thoughts were in utter turmoil. The will gave Tristram a motive for wanting both de Mauxville and myself out of the way, but I had no proof that he had done anything. On the contrary, Tristram’s slight build against the stocky de Mauxville made it hard to believe that he had carried out that murder. Unless he had had an accomplice. I remembered the pally conversation at Whiffy’s house when I had been cleaning floors and they hadn’t known I could speak French. So it could have been a conspiracy, beneficial to both of them. Which meant I had two sources of danger, not one, waiting for me back at Farlows.

The obvious thing was to go to the police, even to summon Chief Inspector Burnall of Scotland Yard, but I realized that everything I would tell him was pure supposition. How clever my assailant had been. Every one of those attacks could be passed off as an accident. And as for killing de Mauxville, there was nothing that linked Tristram to that crime.

As I turned out onto the road another idea struck me. Maybe Tristram wasn’t the killer at all. I hadn’t found out who would inherit Sir Hubert’s estate if both Tristram and I were dead. Whiffy had mentioned something about Tristram falling over a suit of armor the night before. What if there was another person lurking in the background, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of Tristram and me?

I had reached the impressive stone gateway leading to Farlows and hesitated. Was it really wise to go back there? Then I decided I wasn’t going to run away. I had to know the truth. I glanced up at the colonnade of statues as I walked past. There was something about them. . . . I frowned, but it wouldn’t come. As I reached the lake I met Marisa, Belinda, and Imogen out for a walk.

“Oh, there you are,” Marisa called. “Everyone wondered where you’d got to. Poor Tristram was positively pining, wasn’t he, Belinda? He pestered everyone, asking for you.”

“I just went for a walk to see a house where I once stayed. Where is Tristram now?”

“I don’t know,” Marisa said. “But he seems awfully keen on you, Georgie. I think he’s really sweet—like a little lost boy, isn’t he, Belinda?”

Belinda shrugged. “If that sort appeals to you, Marisa.”

“And where’s everyone else?” I asked casually.

“Most of the golfers aren’t back yet. Apparently Mrs. Simpson wanted to go shopping in Tunbridge Wells—as if anything will be open on a Saturday afternoon,” Imogen said.