The Pigeon Pie Mystery (29 page)

The general practitioner, who was trying to catch a glimpse of the Crown’s succulent centre, shook his head. The Princess put it into her mouth and chewed loudly. “I can quite understand why he was so desperate to get that woman over here,” she said, licking her fingers. Leaning towards him, she added: “What a pity they don’t have a branch in Thames Ditton. You’d have to take the train all the way to Charing Cross, then struggle through the traffic, if suddenly you were gripped by the urge to try one.”

She got up to leave, holding the box. The doctor flicked his eyes between the patient and her purchase, unable to decide which departure he regretted most. Suddenly, she sank back down again and leant forward, emitting a waft of Hamman Bouquet. “Speaking of the inquest, doctor, I was rather struck by your insistence that the symptoms of English cholera resemble those of arsenic poisoning. I wondered whether that really was the case. So I went into a bookshop this morning and picked up a copy of
Principles of Forensic Medicine
written by those professors,” she said, bringing the book out of her bag. “And here it is on page five hundred and
thirty,” she continued, flicking through to the passage and reading from it. “It says that the symptoms so closely resemble those of English cholera as to avert suspicion from the minds even of intelligent and well-informed physicians.” Mink sat back. “Why, that’s you, Dr. Frogmore. Intelligent
and
well informed. What hope was there of your knowing that the General had been poisoned? Absolutely none! And there was everyone at the inquest looking at you as if you had single-handedly sullied the name of the entire medical profession. You are completely vindicated in my mind, doctor, and I shall tell all my friends.”

The general practitioner held his head in his hands. “Any doctor would have made the same diagnosis,” he despaired. “The General wasn’t even grateful for my help. He kept shouting at me, telling me how useless I was. Frankly, I’m glad I’ll never have the opportunity to meet him again.”

The Princess bit into an English Rose Cream and pointed to the doctor with the remains, flashing its pink centre. “I must say, I never took to him either,” she said, finishing the chocolate. Suddenly she held a hand to her cheek. “I wonder what he said when he was dying, Dr. Frogmore!” she exclaimed. Slowly she pushed the box towards him. “People always like to get things off their chest in their final hour. At least they do in all those silly novels I devour.”

The doctor watched the box approach. “He didn’t talk much, except to insult me,” he muttered.

“Did he call out the name of a lover?” she gasped. “Do tell, Dr. Frogmore. You know how we ladies love to fill our heads with romance.”

His tongue traced his bottom lip. “It would be a breach of trust if I told you,” he insisted.

The box suddenly came to a stop. “Come, come, doctor,” she coaxed, tilting her head. “The brute is dead! Perhaps he knew too much and had to be silenced. Did he curse his enemies with his final breath? They seem to do that a lot in books.”

Dr. Frogmore swallowed. “He did say one thing,” he said, gazing at the chocolates.

She slid them towards him. “Yes?” she asked, eyes wide.

The doctor reached over with his sausage fingers and snatched one. “How bitterly he regretted being under the care of the homeopath from East Molesey.”

POOKI OPENED THE FRONT DOOR
with a frown. “I have seen the new hair comb in your room, ma’am,” she said, her voice croaky, stepping back to let in her mistress. “You must have bought it this morning.”

“I spotted it in a window in New Bond Street. I couldn’t believe how cheap it was,” Mink replied, with a dismissive wave of the hand. The maid raised her eyebrows as she closed the door behind her. “I do not think so, ma’am. Nothing is cheap in New Bond Street, as we know from the many times we have been there. It looks like real tortoiseshell.”

Mink let out a short, sharp sigh. “I had to buy real tortoiseshell. There was a story in the paper about a lady who was curling her fringe with some tongs and the celluloid comb she was wearing exploded with the heat. You don’t want me to die, do you?”

Pooki shook her head. “No, ma’am. I do not. You have to find out who killed the General. How did it go with Dr. Frogmore?”

The Princess walked to the mirror and unpinned her hat. “Fine, thank you,” she replied curtly.

“I hope so, ma’am,” said the servant, standing next to her and looking at her reflection. “I hope that ‘fine’ does not mean he did not tell you anything useful, like that homeopath yesterday. Apparently the Inspector is in the palace asking questions. Gibbs, the grocer’s boy, told me. He said he was surprised to see me, as he thought I would have been arrested by now.”

Wishing she had never told her about her consultation with Silas Sparrowgrass, the Princess thrust her the hat and strode
to the study. She sat down and opened her silver cigarette case engraved with a woman riding on top of an elephant hunting tigers, a present from her father. Too agitated to sit, she smoked, looking out of the window, thinking about her three new friends, whom she had invited for tea in the hope that something might slip out. It was Lady Montfort Bebb she particularly wanted to probe. There was something behind that piano playing. Why had a woman of her convictions been so affronted by the General’s complaints? She then looked at her watch, stubbed out her cigarette, and rang the bell for Pooki to help her change.

“EXCELLENT,” CONCLUDED LADY MONTFORT BEBB
, returning her cup to its saucer. “So many people serve tea that’s far too strong these days. It’s quite out of fashion.”

“The trick is to ask the servants to bring it up as soon as it’s made,” Mink replied, sitting opposite her at a small table covered with a white linen cloth in the drawing room.

Lady Beatrice picked up her cup. “Dr. Henderson says that tea wreaks terrible damage on the body,” she said, taking a sip. She turned to the Countess, the pale blue ostrich feathers on her hat dancing with the sudden movement. “I expect he’s spoken at length about it to you, my dear.”

“I’ve never admitted that I drink it. I’m quite aware of his stance,” the Countess replied, biting into a piece of rolled bread and butter.

Lady Beatrice leant towards her. “There should be no secrets between a man and a woman. Neither, I hasten to add, between old friends. What are friends for if you can’t share with them the secrets of the heart?”

“Quite so,” replied the Countess, easing the bonnet ribbons under her chin to make it more comfortable to eat.

“Speaking of friends,” said Lady Montfort Bebb. “I understand Mrs. Bagshot has ordered her mourning cards, so we will no doubt hear from her shortly. It’s been such a dreadful business, what with the disinterment. At least her being away meant she missed her husband’s second coming.”

The Countess helped herself to some seed cake. “I spotted her on the way to the cemetery earlier,” she said. “I’ve never seen such a smartly cut cape. I felt quite shown up. Mourning wear is so in keeping with fashion these days that if it weren’t for the crape one wouldn’t have the faintest clue that a lady was bereaved. But Mrs. Bagshot has always had such immaculate taste. I didn’t have to do a thing to her apartments when we swapped. And, of course, she’s done nothing to mine,” she added, with a smile.

“Perhaps she hasn’t had time,” muttered Lady Montfort Bebb.

Lady Beatrice looked at the Countess. “I expect you’ll be out of mourning shortly,” she said.

The Countess blinked. “I see no need.”

“And what, may I ask, does Dr. Henderson say of that?”

“I’ve not discussed it with him,” she replied, frowning. “It’s none of his concern.”

Mink watched them, her eyes moving from one lady to the other. Clearing her throat, she said, “I understand Inspector Guppy was at the palace earlier. Does anyone know whom he questioned?”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” said Lady Montfort Bebb, the skin underneath her chin wobbling with indignation. “No one could possibly suspect me of creeping around with a bottle of poison like an aggrieved maid.” She looked at Mink. “I’m glad to see that you’ve still managed to hang on to yours. Everyone is adamant she’ll be arrested at any moment. I do wish that grubby little policeman would get on with it and charge someone. The suspense is killing me.”

The Princess picked up her cup. “I expect he wants to make
sure he gets it right this time. He made a mistake in his last case and the wrong person was hanged.”

“Let’s hope she’s spared the hangman,” said Lady Beatrice, holding her hand up to her neck. “Such an unfortunate way to go.”

Pooki, who had just entered with a plate of macaroons, placed them on the table with a trembling hand. The ladies kept their eyes lowered until she had closed the door again.

Lady Beatrice leant forwards and whispered loudly, “I’m convinced it was Mr. Pilgrim. The watchman told my cook that he’s always sneaking about the palace at night. They caught him in Base Court last night carrying a ball of string, which I suspect was to garrotte someone. I’ve already made my findings known to the police.”

Lady Montfort Bebb put down her cup, her nostrils flared. “That American tried to shoot me last night!” she said.

All three women turned and stared.

“I’d just got out of the push in Fountain Court and suddenly he appeared from the shadows with a gun,” she continued. “His aim was rather woeful, but I hit him with my cane nonetheless. I, too, shall be informing Guppy of his behaviour, though how that policeman can spot a clue and yet remain oblivious to his less-than-immaculate collars is beyond me.”

“Why would he point a gun at you?” Mink asked.

“I have no idea. But if there’s one thing in life I’m used to, it’s being shot at.”

The Princess studied her, wondering. “I understand you were held hostage during the First Afghan War,” she said. “What an ordeal.”

It was so long ago, she replied, glancing out of the window, but the worst memories were just as vivid. “Four and a half thousand British and Indian troops and twelve thousand camp followers massacred. The horror of it …”

In 1839 an imperial force of about twenty thousand men invaded
Afghanistan, accompanied by thirty-eight thousand servants and supporters, she explained. Eventually they reached Kabul, and as regiments settled into garrison life, their families were summoned to join them. Lady Montfort Bebb was newly married and had just turned twenty. “Things were made as pleasant as they could be, considering where we were. There was horse racing, cricket, and polo.”

Eventually a rebellion against the British broke out and it was decided that the entire garrison in Kabul would leave in return for a promise of safe conduct to Jalalabad, eighty-five miles away. More than a hundred personnel, mainly married officers and their families, were forced to remain behind as hostages, she explained.

In January 1842 four and a half thousand fighting men and twelve thousand civilian men, women, and children started the journey, the snow thick on the ground. Most of the ladies were carried in litters and palanquins at the front, while Lady Montfort Bebb rode with them on horseback. The rear guard was fired upon as soon as it left the cantonments. Sepoys and camp followers were slain, and some dropped out of the column, waiting to be killed or die from the cold. Babies were scattered on the snow, abandoned by their mothers, who lay dying further on. Some of the soldiers and camp followers, with neither fire nor shelter, froze to death that first night. “I’ll never forget the cold. Even the cavalry had to be lifted onto their horses, as they could hardly move.”

With so many bearers dead, the ladies could no longer be carried, and most sat in panniers slung on camels, some with their children, exposed to the continuing gunshot. “A number were only wearing nightdresses. We started drinking sherry to keep out the cold.” The slaughter began when they entered the five-mile-long Khoord Kabul pass. “I was shot in the leg. I was fortunate. About five hundred soldiers and more than two and a half thousand camp followers perished.”

Three days after they set out, she continued, the Afghan leader
proposed that the ladies and children be made over to his protection, and that the married officers accompanied their wives. “Some of the ladies were nursing babies only a few days old.” It was agreed, and the rest continued on towards Jalalabad. But only one man survived the ensuing carnage, arriving alone and exhausted, to the shock of his waiting comrades, who asked where the army was.