Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [14]
“This is not ‘somewhere or other,’” Elsa pointed out. “It is a linen cupboard in Buckingham Palace, not twenty yards from my bedroom door, or yours, for that matter.”
“My dear,” Liliane said with elaborate patience, “it is as irrelevant to you as if it were in China! For goodness’ sake forget about it, and concentrate on being charming to His Royal Highness. It’s probably not good manners even to mention such a thing, let alone be seen to be disconcerted by it.”
“Positively vulgar!” Minnie said from the doorway. “A guest should never appear to find anything odd, no matter what it is. Good morning, Elsa, Mrs. Marquand, Mrs. Quase.” She looked superb. Her morning gown was a rich golden yellow with a long, two-tiered skirt that swayed when she moved and had ribbons at her throat and wrist. The bloom of youth was in her skin, her eyes were bright, and she had a kind of concentrated energy so delicately controlled that she seemed to be more alive than any of the others. It was an inner excitement, as if she knew something they did not. Elsa sometimes wondered if that were so.
“I suggest we don’t refer to it,” Minnie added, moving toward the door into the dining room. “Where is everyone else?”
“It is more than a misfortune in domestic arrangements,” Elsa said tartly. Minnie’s callousness annoyed her, as did everything else about her at one time or another. Minnie’s father’s intense admiration for her was almost a fascination, as if she were a reflection of himself. But most of all, of course, the spur to her dislike was that she was Julius’s wife.
“No, it isn’t,” Minnie contradicted her with a slight shrug. “People do die. It can’t be helped. It is rude to make much of it. I should be fearfully embarrassed if one of my maids died vulgarly when I had houseguests.”
“Of course you would,” Julius agreed, coming in from the hall. “Dying vulgarly is a privilege exclusive to the upper classes. Servants should die decently in bed.”
“Don’t be witty, Julius,” Minnie snapped. “It doesn’t become you. Anyway, she wasn’t a servant, she was a…”
“Where should they die, my dear? In the street?” he inquired languidly.
She opened her eyes very wide and stared at him. “I have no idea. It is not a matter I have ever considered.” She swung round, elegantly turning her skirt with a little flick, and walked away into the dining room.
Julius glanced at Elsa, a faint, rueful smile on his face, and then sighed and followed after his wife.
Elsa felt her throat tighten and her heart lurch.
Then the moment was broken by Simnel coming in. Although he was Julius’s half-brother, they were not alike. Julius was taller and broader at the shoulders, and Elsa could see a greater imagination and more vulnerability in the line of his mouth than in Simnel’s. But then she was more certain of her emotion than of her judgment. Perhaps that was only what she wished to see.
“What on earth is going on?” Simnel asked, looking around. “Who are the men asking questions and sending the servants into hysterics? I just saw one of the maids with tears streaming down her face, and she ran from me as if I had horns and a tail.”
Cahoon came in practically on his heels. “There’s been an ugly incident,” he answered, as if the question had been addressed to him. “One of last night’s whores was murdered. Regrettably we have to have the police in, but if they do their job properly, they may clear it up within a day or so. We must just keep