The Pigeon Pie Mystery (13 page)

“God sends the meat, and the Devil sends the cook,” said Lady Montfort Bebb, pursing her lips.

Lady Beatrice leant towards the Princess, the butterflies on her hat quivering on their wires with the sudden movement. “If you ever need any extra help, I know an excellent girl who’ll come in the mornings to clean the boots and the knives,” she said brightly. Almost immediately she covered her mouth with both hands. Mink looked down at the carpet as her cheeks flared, while the other two visitors suddenly took an interest in the ceiling. Eventually the brittle silence was broken by the sound of a banjo coming from outside.

CHAPTER V
An Unfortunate Incident with the Blancmange

GNORING
the furtive glances of the soldiers parading outside the barracks, Mink strode swiftly down the palace driveway, the memory of the missed train quickening her step. One pace behind her was Pooki, in silent disapproval of the shopping expedition to the West End. As they approached Trophy Gate, they were spotted by the organ grinder, who grabbed his crank, despite having been moved on twice by the police that morning. The closer the Princess came, the faster the man turned, until the last of the birds fled screeching from the trees. Mink swiftly passed a penny to Pooki, who dropped it into his chipped cup, putting an end to the torment. She ran to catch up with her mistress, unaware of the gaze of the watercress seller, a tiny green bouquet clutched to his heart.

Not a word was exchanged as the pair crossed over the bridge. While Pooki kept her eyes on the ground, the Princess watched the cats’ meat seller coming towards them, pulling his barrow piled with horseflesh on sticks, followed by a procession of strays. Once at the station, they sat at some distance from each other on the wooden bench in the empty waiting room, the meagre fire losing against the March drafts.

“We could go for luncheon at the Tea and Tiffin Bungalow. It’s just opened in New Bond Street,” suggested Mink, hoping a curry might bring her round.

Pooki stared at the ground in silence.

The Princess looked at the top of her bonnet, then tried again: “I wonder whether the owner of the travelling zoo will remember to dress Albert in his red velvet trousers.”

Still the maid didn’t lift her head. Suddenly Mink’s irritation flared.

“I don’t know why you expect me to wear my old dresses. It’s your duty to see to it that I appear to my best advantage,” she protested, plunging back into the heart of the discord. It had started over breakfast that morning, the anniversary of her father’s death, when, in order to distract herself from the relentless waves of pain, the Princess announced that her year of mourning was up and she had nothing to wear.

Pooki looked at her and frowned. “It is also my duty to make sure that you do not end up in the workhouse, ma’am,” she said. “You have not even worn some of them because you had to go into mourning.”

The Princess stared back incredulously. “You don’t seriously expect me to walk around with last year’s sleeves the size of mutton legs, do you? And anyway, blouses aren’t that costly this season,” she said, adding that sleeves only needed two yards of material per pair, as opposed to eight.

“I will alter the old ones for you, ma’am,” the maid insisted, her voice raised. “I am next to useless with a saucepan, but I am very good with a needle, as a lady’s-maid should be. Another letter came from the undertaker’s this morning. I recognised the writing. Those people need to be paid. The elephant was very costly, and you will not even open their letters. Then there is the mausoleum to pay for. I have anxious forebodings.”

Mink glanced away. “Everyone will get their money in due
course, somehow or other,” she said dismissively. “As for my old dresses, the colours are no longer fashionable. You can sell them. And anyway, we need to get something for you too, unless you’d rather go back to wearing your saris. But you said you didn’t want to, as the other servants stare at you enough as it is.”

Pooki crossed her arms and contemplated the ground again. As the silence continued, the Princess wondered what it would be like to have a maid who didn’t argue with her. “At least being early we’ll have command of one of the carriage windows,” she said, opening her newspaper. “There’s nothing more annoying than a man insisting on having it open.”

When Mink eventually looked up, she realised that the train had already pulled in. Its sound had been muffled by the brutal noise of the sleeping maid, who had drifted off as the Princess read, having woken just after dawn, worrying about her mistress’s finances. Holding on to their hats, they ran for the platform where the guard stood, his whistle in his mouth. Hauling open the door of the nearest first-class carriage, they climbed in and sank down onto opposite seats, unable to believe they had almost missed another train.

As it started to pull away, Mink noticed that they were not alone. Sitting on the other side of the compartment reading a magazine was Dr. Henderson. She glanced at him, but he caught her eye and she immediately studied the view out her window. After a while, she looked again, but their gaze met and both immediately turned away. Suddenly Dr. Henderson stood up, unhooked the leather strap holding up the window next to him, and lowered it several notches. Feeling an undignified gust of country air, Mink got to her feet, strode across the carriage, and hooked it closed.

She had just turned the page of her newspaper when she heard the window being opened again. Immediately she stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and retraced her steps. After shutting it
with more purpose than before, she stalked back to her seat. But as she turned back to the view, she heard the unmistakable wallop of it falling all the way down. She sat in silent fury, unwilling to give the doctor the satisfaction of closing it again, and wondered why men were always so intent on making everyone else freeze.

Mink wasn’t sure whether it was sitting in such a penetrating draft that did it, or her close proximity to Dr. Henderson. Either way, when the cab dropped them at Marshall & Snelgrove in Oxford Street, she headed straight to the fur section. Taking a seat in front of the counter, she asked the assistant to show her a sealskin jacket. After trying it on, she decided she had to have it, despite the fact that spring had already arrived. She then informed the assistant that she needed to go to the drapery next, and a shopwalker was called to escort her. And so she kept going until she had visited silks, trimmings, outfitting, ribbons, parasols, fancy jewellery, ball dresses, embroideries, and lace.

It was while she was inspecting the ready-made blouses that Mr. Cheeseman, the manager, appeared, his dyed hair immaculately parted. Wearing a morning suit that perfectly fitted his new sleek figure, only the damp handkerchief in his pocket was testimony to his wife having finally left him that morning. He cleared his throat, still thick from weeping, and with the perfect hint of a bow said, “Forgive me for mentioning it, Your Highness, but there seems to be a small problem with your account.”

Mink sat up in her chair at the counter. “And what small problem might that be?” she asked.

“The settling of it, Your Highness.”

“It’ll be settled within twelve months, as it always is, Mr. Cheeseman,” she replied dismissively.

The manager held his hands together behind his back and raised his chin. “I’m not referring to today’s purchases, though, of course, given their number, I’m duty-bound to take them into
consideration. I’m referring to those already on your account, Your Highness. The bill hasn’t been settled for well over a year.”

Mink frowned. “But my father would have settled it.”

There was a pause. “I regret to say that the Maharaja failed to do so. A number of letters have been sent.”

The Princess blinked as she tried to take it in. “There must be some mistake.”

“Unfortunately not,” said the manager, shaking his head.

Mink stood up and faced him, an eyebrow raised. “I very much hope, Mr. Cheeseman, that you will take into consideration my family’s unfailing loyalty over the years, and rest assured that the bill will be paid. Otherwise I shall have to consider taking my custom elsewhere. What would my new neighbours at Hampton Court Palace say if I told them I’d switched drapers over the small matter of paying a bill? Why, they may very well wish to accompany me and tell all their friends in the West End. I hear the tearoom in Swan & Edgar is charming.”

The manager looked at her aghast, gripping his hands together in front of him. “There’s no need for that, Your Highness, no need for that at all. I have no doubt that the matter will be sorted out in a jiffy. Is there anything else you require while you’re here? I trust that you’ve been shown our dainty Japanese parasols. They always look so charming on the river,” he said, picking one up and opening it with a flourish. “May I assure you that the tearoom at the establishment you mentioned is no longer what it used to be.” He paused, lowered his eyes, and muttered, “I have it on good authority that the rat-catcher was called there last Thursday.”

Mink and Pooki left the store as swiftly as they had entered. As the Princess hailed a cab, she glanced at the maid and immediately asked the driver to take them to the Tea and Tiffin Bungalow. She sat during the journey with her eyes closed, wishing that she could go to the Klondike like everyone else and search for gold. The maid, in silence next to her, kept her head turned towards
the window, her jaw set. Madame Pheroze Langrana, the owner, greeted them at the restaurant door, still glowing from the article in
The Times
that mentioned the nobility and Member of Parliament who had attended her inaugural luncheon. Not only was she of good stock, the paper had reported, but she came from the most enterprising, and the most devoted to the British Crown, of all the races in India.

After being shown to the best table, Mink surveyed the menu, wondering whether Pooki would unpurse her lips sufficiently to eat. But she needn’t have worried. When the curries arrived, the servant’s remarkable appetite, which she blamed for the size of her feet, was still very much in evidence. Never once did she falter, despite the number of unsolicited dishes that kept arriving at the table, many of which hadn’t been served in England before. It wasn’t until the maid finally put down her cutlery that she spoke.

“We are very lucky that we live in the times that we do, ma’am,” she said, looking her mistress in the eye for the first time since leaving Oxford Street.

“We certainly are,” the Princess said with a smile, assuming the maid had finally come round. “You can eat everything in London these days.”

“Thirty years ago you would be headed for the debtors’ prison in that sealskin jacket of yours,” Pooki continued, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.