Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [123]
They all looked at Cahoon.
“How do you know it was the Queen’s room?” Hamilton asked curiously.
“Because that’s where the Limoges came from, you fool!” Cahoon snapped.
“How do you know? You saw it there?” Hamilton would not be persuaded without proof.
“The monogrammed sheets,” Cahoon was exaggeratedly patient. “And the fact that it was not the Prince’s room. I hope you are not going to suggest it was the Princess’s?”
Hamilton shrugged. “That seems logical,” he conceded.
“Thank you.” Cahoon gave a sarcastic little bow from the neck.
The rest of the meal was completed in near silence. The touch of silver to china and the faint click of glass seemed intrusively loud. When the final course was cleared away, Olga pleaded a headache and retired. The men remained at the table, and Elsa and Liliane withdrew to sit by themselves, both declining anything further and willing to excuse the servants for the evening.
The silence between the two women prickled with suspense and emotion tight and unspoken for years. They were both afraid for men they loved. For Liliane it was her husband, which was obvious and right. For Elsa, her love was so lonely and so burdened by uncertainty that the knot of it was like a stone in her stomach, a hard, heavy, and aching pain all the time. The situation was intolerable.
“Do you think Cahoon is right?” she began, her voice trembling. “I mean that Minnie worked out what had happened, from a few pieces of china and blood on some sheets?”
Liliane kept her back toward Elsa. The light shone on the burnished coils of her hair, tonight without ornament. The skin of her shoulders was blemishless.
“I’m afraid I have no idea,” she answered. “Minnie never confided in me.”
Elsa refused to be put off. “I had not imagined she would. If she had spoken to anyone at all, it would have been her father. I was thinking of the likelihood of it, even the logic. How did she know about the china when no one else did?”
“I don’t know, Elsa.” Liliane turned round at last. “I realize that you are naturally distressed about Minnie’s death, and that some understanding might ease it for you. It would give all of us the feeling of being rather less helpless than we are now, but I really have no idea what happened. It makes no sense to me, and I’m not sure that I even expect it to anymore. I’m sorry.”
She was lying. In that instant Elsa was certain of it. Liliane was afraid. It was there in the fixed stare of her eyes, which were not completely in focus, and the way she stood as if ready to move at any moment, in whatever direction safety lay.
“You don’t think it was Julius, do you?” Elsa said suddenly, and then the moment the words were out she knew she had said them too quickly. Her impulsiveness had lost her the advantage.
“I’ve told you,” Liliane repeated patiently, “I have no idea. If I knew anything, I would have told that policeman, whatever his name is.”
That too was a lie, but this time a more obvious one. Perhaps Liliane realized it because she looked away.
“What about the woman who was killed in Africa?” Elsa asked. “You were there. Was it just like these?”
Liliane was pale. “As far as I heard, yes, it seems so. That doesn’t mean it was for the same reason.”
“Oh, Liliane!” Elsa said sharply. “Credit me with a little sense. Hamilton, Julius, and Simnel were all there, and it has to have been one of them here too.”
Liliane turned away again, whisking her skirt around with unconscious elegance. “Presumably.” She said it with no conviction, in fact almost with indifference.
What was she afraid of? It could only be that it had been Hamilton. Or could it be some secret of her own? Cahoon had said there had once been a question of her marrying Julius, but her father had objected. Then Hamilton had helped so much, and with such gentleness and understanding at the time of her brother’s death, that she had fallen in love with him.
Maybe he was a far better man than Julius: more honorable, more compassionate, more loyal—all the qualities Elsa knew she