Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [49]
He was stunned into silence.
“Do have some cream with your scone,” she offered. “It adds greatly to the pleasure.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he accepted. He felt obliged to take it, with considerable gratitude. It was delicious.
“We are all naturally very disturbed,” she went on, as if answering some comment he had made, although in fact he had his mouth full. He wondered if she had even the faintest idea what had really happened, of the violence, the hostility involved. “No one can be expected to carry on as usual,” she continued. “But we must make an effort. It is part of our duty, do you not think?”
“Yes, ma’am, if at all possible.” He swallowed and made the only reply he could. He could hardly disagree with her.
“All sorts of little things have to change, of course. Do you care for some more tea? Eleanor, my dear…”
The lady-in-waiting poured it before Pitt could answer.
“Thank you,” he said quickly.
“It is gracious of you to spare me the time,” the Princess went on. “I am sure you are much occupied. Of course, it could be something to do with the railway, but I confess I do not see how. They all seem very keen on it, except perhaps Mr. Sorokine. He made some remark, but I am afraid I did not hear all of it. But there was doubt in his face, I remember that, and the others were all annoyed with him. So much was clear.”
She took a scone herself and covered it with jam and cream. “What time was the poor creature killed, Mr. Pitt?”
Pitt froze. So she knew!
“In the early hours of the morning, ma’am. Before half-past two.”
Beside him the lady-in-waiting stiffened.
Alexandra saw it. “Oh, do be realistic, Eleanor,” she said briskly. “I am deaf, certainly, but I am not blind. I know perfectly well what the party was all about. What I don’t know is why the bath was still warm.”
“I beg your pardon?” Pitt said before he realized the impropriety of it.
“The bath was warm,” she repeated, offering him another scone.
“The cast iron holds the heat from the water for a while afterward, you know. Otherwise it is quite cold to the touch. It was still noticeably warm at eight o’clock. I touched it myself.”
“Which bath, ma’am?”
“His Royal Highness’s, of course. But his valet did not bring water up. Do have more cream over that. It makes all the difference.”
Pitt took it from her quite automatically, his brain racing, his fingers almost numb.
CHAPTER
FIVE
WHILE PITT HAD begun his investigation that morning, Narraway had traveled by hansom cab to Westminster and the House of Commons. He wrote a brief message on a card, saying that he wished to consult on a matter of the most extreme urgency, and asked one of the junior clerks to take it to Somerset Carlisle, wherever he might be. Then he waited, pacing the floor, glancing every few moments at each doorway of the vast antechamber to see if Carlisle was coming. Every footstep alerted him, and even though he knew many of the members who crossed the antechamber on their way from one meeting to another, he chose to remain near the wall and meet the eyes of none of them. His work was better done if he moved in the shadows and few could actually say exactly what he looked like or who he was.
It was about twenty minutes before Carlisle appeared. He was soft-footed on the stone-flagged floor, thinner than he used to be, and not quite as straight of shoulder. But he had exactly the same gaunt, ironic face with heavy brows and quick intelligence, and the air as if no joke could be lost on him.
“What is so urgent that it brings you out into the open?” he said in a low voice. To a passerby he would be no more than acknowledging Narraway’s presence, as one would a constituent come on business.
“I need information,” Narraway replied with a slight smile.
“How surprising.” Carlisle was amused rather than sarcastic. “About what?”
“The Cape-to-Cairo railway.”
Carlisle’s brows shot up. “And this is sufficiently urgent to call me out of a meeting with the Home Secretary?