Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [80]
They reached the dining room and Ada was obliged to hold her peace. She was fuming, but she was also beaten, at least until she thought of a way of retaliating.
The guests came in and took their seats. Footmen in livery held doors, Gracie and the other women servants stood in the anteroom and waited, but she could see through the gap in the doorway. The guests looked marvelous, all bright colors of silk, velvet, and lace and glittering with jewels. Gracie was dazzled by white necks and bosoms; she had never seen so much skin even when she had a bath.
Mrs. Sorokine was wearing yet another burning shade of pink, so hot you’d think you could cook dinner over it. She looked excited, her dark eyes glittering as she turned from one person to another, ignoring her husband. Her eyes went up and down Mrs. Marquand’s thin body in its dark blue gown, which made her look even more bony, then on to Mr. Marquand, who was looking back at her, smiling. He was a bit pink too, as if warming himself in the glow of her dress. Gracie wondered if the real quality went on like this a lot of the time, or if it was only these ones. Maybe she could work up the nerve to ask Mrs. Pitt one day.
Mrs. Quase was wearing a strange shade of brownish gold with a plunging neck at the front, though nobody seemed to be noticing it much. She was very beautiful.
Mrs. Dunkeld wore a soft, cold lavender gray, which oddly enough made her skin look warmer. She was beautiful too, in a ladylike sort of way. She looked unhappy, and her eyes met those of everyone except her husband’s, and Mr. Sorokine.
Gracie was directed to go back down to the cellar and ask Mr. Tyndale to fetch another two bottles of the white wine. When she returned it was almost time to take away the soup plates.
“Be careful!” Ada warned, her eyes bright with anticipation. “You drop any o’ that on someone’s dress an’ you’re finished!”
Gracie went into the dining room already shaking and afraid she would trip over her own feet—or worse, her too-long skirt—and send the dishes right across the floor.
She accomplished her duty with fierce concentration, aware that Ada would be only too delighted if she had a disaster. Then she assisted as the fish was served, and stood back watching while it was eaten. It smelled delicious. No one considered her to be eavesdropping, because they did not notice her at all.
First she watched Cahoon Dunkeld. There was a power in him that drew her eyes as if there were something in his mind, his strength of will, that dominated them all. He was talking about Africa, and the great railway they were going to build, and how it would be the backbone of the whole continent.
“And of course His Royal Highness will give you his support, won’t he, Papa?” Mrs. Sorokine said with conviction. She sounded so sure that it was not really a question.
“I expect so,” Mr. Dunkeld replied. “But we shouldn’t take it for granted. That would be foolish, and insulting.”
Gracie thought he said that for the benefit of the Prince, in case someone should repeat it back to him.
“But aren’t you his friend?” Mrs. Sorokine pressed. “I would think, from the way you have helped him in this ghastly business, he would be forever grateful to you.” There was a funny, bright edge to her voice as she said that, and her eyes never left his face.
“This ghastly business, as you put it, would not have happened if we weren’t here,” Mr. Sorokine pointed out. “Apparently one of us killed her. No one is going to be grateful for that.”
“Oh, do be quiet!” his wife said impatiently. “He was the one who wanted the women here. Papa simply arranged it for him.” She turned back to her father. “Didn’t you?”
“Couldn’t we discuss something else?” Mrs. Quase interrupted with irritation. “At least over dinner.”
“Why?” Mrs. Marquand asked suddenly. “Whatever we talk about—the weather, fashion, gossip,