The Pigeon Pie Mystery (35 page)

The Princess was standing in front of the fire, peering at a solitary black streak in a plain bottle on the mantelpiece, when Thomas Trout came back in with a tea-tray. “Is this your leech barometer, Mr. Trout?” she asked. “It does look intriguing. How does it work?”

“If the leech is coiled up at the bottom, we’re due for fine, clear weather,” he explained, setting down the tray. “If it’s formed a half-moon when out of the water and stuck to the glass, then there’s a tempest on its way. If it keeps moving, we can expect
thunder and lightning. If it moves slowly, a cold snap is due. And if it bolts, strong winds will blow when it stops.”

“What if it has climbed up to the neck of the bottle?” asked Mink, staring at the inhabitant.

“A sure sign of rain.”

The Princess returned to her chair. “Who would believe that leeches were such visionaries, Mr. Trout?” she asked. “There was I thinking that their only use was to suck out my blood whenever I had a sprain. What a pity Dr. Merryweather’s invention wasn’t taken up. I can just see those leech-warning stations dotted along the British coastline. Imagine all the disasters that would have been averted! Some people’s talents are never recognised.” She paused and tilted her head. “A bit like yours, Mr. Trout.”

The keeper blushed.

Mink raised her eyebrows. “Does your leech have a name?”

“She does, actually,” he admitted with a shy smile. “Trixie.”

Mink clasped her hands together. “How perfectly charming!” she exclaimed. She paused before adding: “Trixie is short for Beatrice, I believe.”

The keeper looked at her, his smile vanished. “I named her after the Queen’s daughter,” he added hastily.

Mink leant forward and smiled reassuringly. “Just as I thought, Mr. Trout. You and I are two of a kind. I have a hedgehog called Victoria, and up until recently a monkey by the name of Albert. Any more pets and we’ll have our very own Royal Family!”

As the keeper poured the tea, Mink surveyed the room. “What lovely flowers,” she said, looking at the vase on the mantelpiece. “Are you married, or is that the hand of the charwoman I detect? Whoever it is has a lovely eye for flower arranging.”

“My wife died nine years ago,” he replied, adding that he had five children, two of whom still attended the palace school in Tennis Court Lane.

“Your children must be a great comfort, Mr. Trout. Loneliness
is a terrible thing. It can wither the heart. I should know,” she said, opening her bag and pulling out a handkerchief. “At one time I thought I was to be married. But I was wrong.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes. “There must be lots of widows in the palace hoping to find love again. Do you think I will find my heart’s desire, Mr. Trout?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I’m certain of it, ma’am.”

“Are you, Mr. Trout? Are you? I do hope you’re right.” She put down her cup and wiped her nose. “Sometimes I wonder whether Lady Beatrice is lucky enough to be in love. Do you know her?” she asked, clutching her handkerchief with both hands.

Thomas Trout shifted in his chair. “The palace staff get to know all the residents sooner or later,” he muttered.

The Princess sniffed. “Apparently, after years of mourning, she suddenly started wearing all the colours of the rainbow, often at the same time. I don’t like to gossip, Mr. Trout, but nothing suggests the presence of a man more to me than a widow who takes a sudden fancy to over-trimmed hats and false fringes. I do so envy her good fortune.”

The keeper picked up his cup and saucer and held them in front of his face.

“But what surprises me most about Lady Beatrice is her being consistently late for divine service, when everyone knows you have to get there early to avoid sitting next to someone beneath your station,” Mink continued. She leant forwards and whispered conspiratorially. “One might almost believe that she did it on purpose!”

The keeper took a sip of tea and flicked his eyes to the corner of the room.

“I believe she’s sat next to you on several occasions.”

His gaze travelled to the other corner.

“Mr. Trout!”

He jumped, his blush rising to the top of his bald head.

“Why, it’s not you, is it, Mr. Trout?” she gasped. “If so, you’re
extremely fortunate. Not everyone finds love. To find it twice is a double blessing.” She paused before adding: “Should such a love be permitted, of course.”

Eventually Thomas Trout found the words. When his wife died he assumed the pain would never leave him, and was resolved to spending the rest of his days alone. Two years ago, he was tending the Great Vine when Lady Beatrice came in one morning before the palace opened, looking for Lord Sluggard, as her cook had opened the range to find a rat asleep on the cinders. At that moment a spattering of rain hit the glass, and Lady Beatrice, who was still wearing mourning, said she would have to stay until it was over, as wet weather was ruinous for crape. The shower quickly turned into a storm. As they watched it through the branches of the Great Vine, she remarked that thunder always reminded her of her late husband, who, despite his braveness on the battlefield, had a secret fear of it. “I told her that my late wife was always frightened that it would curdle the milk.” By the time the final flicker slashed through the sky they had both told each other something that they had never admitted to themselves: part of them had also died when they lost their spouses.

Before she left, he asked her whether she liked flowers, adding that there was an old saying that she who planted a garden planted happiness. Two days later he spotted her in the Flower Quarter and fetched her an English spade, explaining they were rightly considered the best in the world. The following week, he warned her against moving a peony, as uprooting one was said to bring ill fortune. As the grapes began to darken, she entered the Vine House and asked how to care for her passionflower. Holding her gaze, he explained that it refused to be fertilised by its own pollen but could be helped along by softly stroking its stigma with the pollen of the same species using a camelhair brush. She then looked at the crop left to hang while the sugar developed, and asked whether she could taste it. He reached up and offered her
a grape with his rough gardener’s fingers. But instead of taking it, she opened her mouth, and as he passed it between her lips they both realised that what had been dead inside them was now very much alive.

He didn’t see her during September’s frantic harvest, and was so distracted by her absence he found himself reaching for berries he had already picked. With the passing of autumn, the residents deserted the Flower Quarter, and the weather seemed much colder than usual. Fearing he wouldn’t make it through the winter without seeing her, he sought her out as she strolled in the gardens, watching her out of sight, as his lowly position prevented him from approaching her. It was quite by chance that he saw her the following spring in the Great Fountain Garden coming towards him in the Lime Walks, for centuries the favourite haunt of lovers. Surrounded by the lusty scent of the trees, he stood in his grubby work clothes, his beard tangled from a winter of weeping. As rooted as the trees, he was unable to move, fearing that time had chilled her affection. She stopped in front of him, and asked how he was. When the terrible truth came to him, he found himself asking her to marry him. But what surprised him even more than his proposal was her immediate acceptance.

There was never a question that their marriage would be anything other than secret, given their opposing classes. After a long search, they found a country vicar who agreed to marry them, and they travelled in separate coaches so as not to be seen. Lady Beatrice carried a bouquet of Great Wisteria, explaining that it meant “I cling to thee” in the language of flowers, and she would never let him go. And when she returned to the palace, she found his wedding gift waiting for her in the hall: a pair of doves that was never to be parted.

When Thomas Trout finished his tale, they sat in silence for a moment. Mink then put down her cup and said it was time for
her to go. As he reached for the front door latch, he turned to her and asked, “You won’t tell anyone, will you, ma’am? Some people wouldn’t view our happiness as right.”

The Princess shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of telling a soul, Mr. Trout. I can quite see the problems it would cause if anyone found out.”

NOT LONG AFTERWARDS, AS MINK
sat at her desk writing up her notes, it suddenly occurred to her that if Lady Beatrice’s secret marriage became public, she would have much more to lose than status. Opening a drawer, she fished out her warrant to check that she had remembered the wording correctly. “The apartments shall revert to the Crown on the event of the marriage or re-marriage of the occupier, unless it shall be Her Majesty’s pleasure to renew this Warrant,” it said.

Wondering whether the two lovebirds were in on it together, she reached over and rang the bell, as she felt the urge for some sherry. But there was no response. She rang again, but still the maid failed to appear at the door. Putting down her pen in irritation, she went to look for her. At first she tried the kitchen, and then worked her way up the house until she eventually reached the attics, noticing a half-eaten penny bun on the stairs. Slowly she pushed open the door to Pooki’s room and found her tying her bonnet, her suitcase standing next to her on the floor, along with Albert’s. The pile of newspapers under the bed was gone and her bed stripped of its sheets. Glancing around the room, the only trace the Princess saw of the maid ever having been there was a small box on the mantelpiece.

Pooki turned to her. “You do not need to dismiss me, ma’am, for I am going. I should not have had a follower in the house. It is against the rules. I have left you the egg of the long-legged golden lyrebird to thank you and your family for everything you have
done for me,” she said, pointing to the box. She glanced uneasily at the tiny suitcase and turned to her mistress. “I hope you do not mind, ma’am, but I kept Albert’s suitcase.”

“But I’ve no intention of dismissing you,” Mink said, aghast. “I suggest you come downstairs and make sure both doors are locked after I leave. I won’t be long.”

Pooki shook her head. “There is the other matter, ma’am. People are talking about me on the omnibuses. If they are talking about me, they will also be talking about you. The Maharaja would not have rescued me if he knew the shame I would bring on his family. You should not risk your reputation further by trying to help me. Do not tell my mother what became of me, as it would be the death of her. Please send her my suitcase so she has something to remember me by. That is, if she wants to remember me when it is all over,” she added as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Unable to bear seeing her so upset, Mink looked at the battered suitcase filled with the pitiful belongings of the servant who had spent more than half her life looking after her. “Unpack your things and we’ll say no more about it,” she said, her voice uneven.

The maid shook her head, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “You should be spending your time with Dr. Henderson, not trying to save me, ma’am. He is your future. I am not.”

The Princess could stand it no longer. “Take off your bonnet, and I’ll see you downstairs in a minute,” she replied, walking out to put an end to the discussion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” Mink called from outside the door.

There was a pause. “Servants are not meant to love their mistresses, but sometimes they cannot help it,” came the tentative voice.

Mink swallowed. “And mistresses aren’t meant to love their servants, but sometimes they can’t help it either,” she replied, and headed quickly down the stairs.

A LITTLE LATER THERE WAS
a knock on the study door.

“Ma’am?” called Pooki from the doorway, her hand still on the handle.

“Yes?” Mink replied, not looking up from her notebook.

The maid hesitated. “I have a dying wish.”

The Princess didn’t stir. “I’ve no idea why that would be. Your death is no more imminent than mine. Did you remember to ask the butcher’s boy for some mutton for the mock venison we’re having tonight?”