The Blood Royal (22 page)

‘You assume correctly – if discourteously. If a list of such things were kept, I believe I’d feature at about number five hundred. And sinking weekly. The gossipmongers have rarely found me of interest and now I’m pleased to say they appear to have given up on me. The last time the hounds of the press noticed me I was billed as “back from India still a bachelor Sandilands”. And we all know what that means. It’s a degree worse than last season’s “confirmed bachelor”. It sends a clear message to mothers of marriageable daughters. “This one’s survived the Colonial Fishing Fleet – he’s clearly a hopeless case!” Not that many would welcome a policeman into the branches of their family tree. It’s not only the criminals that the words “Scotland Yard” send rushing for cover.’

He was chattering – still uncomfortable with his briefing task. He battled on. ‘No. You’re to look on me as no more than your escort – your chaperon for the evening – which, if all goes according to plan, you will spend in the close company of the aforementioned bachelor. Now – let me check – can you dance? Foxtrot? Quickstep? That sort of thing? Not a detail one finds mentioned in the files.’

‘Five years of Saturday mornings at the Stretton Academy of Tap Dance and Terpsichore. It didn’t seem relevant information for my application form. I dance adequately but I’m no Adele Astaire.’

‘Should be good enough. Now – your partner for the evening
is
an exceptionally good dancer. I’ve seen him performing. He’ll steer you around the floor all right. And his name’s David. He’ll expect you to call him David when you’re alone together.’

Lily’s voice was chill with suspicion. ‘I think I begin to see why you checked my height and weight. Should I be thankful that I chose to wear low-heeled shoes, sir?’ She stuck out her right foot for his inspection.

‘Ah! You’ve guessed.’ He made a show of examining her foot. ‘Not too high, not too low. Good choice. Calfskin, would they be?’ This was bluff and bluster, but Joe couldn’t help indulging in it to cover his unease. She waited for him to get to the point. ‘Well, don’t try running off in them before midnight, will you?’ His tone was playfully apologetic. He even wagged a finger. ‘Your partner is full of youth and vigour and keeps late hours. You’re to stay locked in a tango with him for as long into the night as he wishes.’

At last he’d shown his hand.

‘They’re not calfskin, these shoes. They’re antelope. A creature known for its fleet-footedness in escaping from predatory animals,’ Lily said sweetly. And added, ‘Be they princes or their pimps. Proxenetism is not, it would seem, the exclusive preserve of the lower classes.’

Joe reeled back in his chair as though he’d received a slap in the face. He drew himself together and breathed in deeply. He got to his feet and began to prowl up and down behind her. ‘I can see I’ve gone about this the wrong way,’ he muttered. ‘I would never have approached a matter of such national importance under an umbrella of obscurity and subterfuge with a male colleague. It was thought – by those who know little of the modern female – that, if approached directly, you might run off squawking with indignation at what we had to propose and scupper the whole thing. Under strict orders to reveal nothing until the very last moment. Had to find out what you were made of before I could entrust you with the knowledge. It’s not something a woman can just walk away from. Not used to employing females, you see. That’s it. Makes a difference.’

She swivelled round to look at him directly. ‘No, sir. You’re deceiving yourself. You’re not accustomed to dealing with females of my class. Had your cousin Margery been able to tango convincingly and been chosen for this assignment you’d have been easy and forthcoming in your briefing. She’d have been consulted, her opinion sought. I also would be intrigued to hear what you have in mind for me, having gone to quite a lot of bother to prepare myself for it. But I reserve the right to refuse.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh, sir! You make me sound off like Goody Two Shoes. I wish you’d just pretend I’m one of your sergeants and set out the proposal in a no-nonsense military manner. It’s a style I’m used to.’

This was an invitation Joe couldn’t resist and it sounded very like a capitulation. The game might still be on. He broke into a grin. ‘Can’t say I’m accustomed to shouting the order to go over the top to a princess all kitted out in gold bells and ribbons,’ he admitted. ‘But here goes. You want the full picture – here it is.’

He returned to his seat and began to brief her for the night’s work.

‘So there you are. It’s a duty, I think you’ll agree, that no patriotic Englishwoman can refuse. There is no greater service you can do for your country. And there is no one better placed than yourself to render this service. Indeed, there is no one else. If you refuse to play your part, no understudy will step forward. You were carefully chosen. But what we’re proposing is dangerous. Damned dangerous. The best I can say is – I’ll be there. I won’t take my eyes off you – I’ll be watching you every minute.’

‘How glad I shall be of that, sir.’

Sarcasm? He’d deserved it.

Sensing her response was feeble, she followed up by putting a sting in the tail. ‘And, if nothing else, there’ll be a reliable witness of the incident when my bullet-riddled body falls at the feet of the future king of England halfway through the last waltz.’

Chapter Eighteen

He let her talk on in the same vein, allowing her time to get the outrage out of her system.

‘Pity you didn’t outline your schemes earlier, sir – I could have got my seamstress to add a layer of body armour to the bodice perhaps. Plenty of room in there – as you noticed – for a layer or two of silk padding, after all. I can see the headlines in tomorrow’s
Daily Mirror
: “Mysterious maiden of the steppes lays down her life for young prince”. I must get together a few last words to deliver as I expire. Or have you already scripted them for me? I do hope Monsieur Diaghilev will be of the party tonight – he may be inspired to have it choreographed for the Ballets Russes.’

‘Trench humour is what I’m hearing, Wentworth.’ Joe spoke quietly. He understood. He’d have used much the same words himself in the circumstances. ‘And
glad
to be hearing it. It’s the fellows who make the most savage quips who come staggering back to base. And at last we’re talking the same language. I’ve no time for false heroics.’ He spread his capable hands and shook his head. ‘I know it’s a—’ he had been about to say ‘bugger’, she knew, and she smiled to hear him instantly censor the word and supply ‘tremendous nuisance, but Dame Duty calls and I’ve got tired of trying to shout the old bat down. Her clarion voice always breaks through. She called to you at Paddington. I saw you answer. I watched as you launched yourself at an armed miscreant without hesitation. Don’t try to confuse me, Wentworth – you’re as much in thrall to Duty as I am. And look at it this way: we’re all nothing but cogs in the machinery of State – the State we support and which supports us. Imagine Duty was speaking with the voice of your Boer War grandfather – what would you be hearing?’

A delve into her family history had turned up nothing embarrassing. On the contrary – two or three generations of soldiers, all laden with medals, duty never shirked, had featured in their research.

Lily answered his challenge at once: ‘“It’s a bugger, lass, but pick up thee musket and soldier on!” is what I’d hear from him. “Stand tall and hold the line!” he might have added. But Grandfather lived in a different world. My father no longer accepted such unthinking maxims. He did his duty – as I expect you’ve discovered. He went over the top when the whistle blew. But his mind and his heart were not what were moving him through the battlefield. His two driving forces were loyalty to his fellow soldiers and the threat of execution for desertion had he obeyed his instincts.’

‘An instinct for desertion?’ Joe said faintly, trying not to sound as disturbed as he felt.

‘Yes. He was not alone. Like many of his fellows, he emerged from the war a pacifist and a – so far undeclared – socialist. An anti-monarchist, what’s more, who passed on his views to his daughter.’

‘Your father was a schoolmaster by trade, I understand. And he has spoken openly to you – a girl – of such matters?’

‘He had no son and has always declared himself glad of that. “No more sacrifices to be offered up to the god of war” is how he puts it. Like most survivors, he’s silent on his experiences but he conveys them through painting. And if a child approaches and asks questions about what she sees on the canvas, her father will answer and pass on his philosophy through the painted image. It was my father who taught me to use my head and my judgement. To question automatic acceptances of patriotism. And loyalty to the crown.’

‘You’re telling me now that you have no allegiance to the royal family?’ Joe was seriously alarmed. He shot to his feet in his agitation and thrust an arm towards her. ‘Do you see this right arm, Wentworth? It served King and Country for four years and was jolly nearly shot off at Mons. If revolutionaries were rampaging through the palace I’d slide it through the door latch and they’d have to break my bones before the mob would gain entry to their majesties!’ Feeling suddenly foolish, he lowered his arm and sank into his seat again.

The girl was not overawed but at least she didn’t giggle, he thought. ‘I can admire the depth of your feeling, though I consider it badly targeted,’ she said. ‘I wonder whether your loyalty is inspired by the office itself or by the people who currently hold and enjoy it?’ A question he’d never asked himself. Into his wary silence she plunged on: ‘This family has shallow roots in our native soil, being more German than British. They are ordinary mortals who’ve been fed the notion from an early age that they have a divine right to rule and exploit. They don’t. I think the notion of kingship in any modern state is outdated and retrograde. It’s the anointed Napoleons, the kings, the Kaisers and the tsars who lead their people to destruction. In their millions. Six, at least, European monarchs have been killed by their own subjects this century – so far – and more dethroned. It seems I’m not alone in wishing for a continent free of autocratic rulers.’

‘Great heavens, girl! Hold the speech until I have a soap box fetched, will you? And possibly a set of manacles!’ Joe was trying to keep it light but he was aghast. She sat there, looking as innocent as a sugar mouse and uttering views hot enough and red enough to warrant putting her on a charge of subversion. ‘I’ve heard much the same nonsense voiced at Speaker’s Corner. Who’ve you been talking to? Who’s stuffed your head with such dangerous ideas? Are you admitting to Bolshevist sympathies? “Off with their heads!” – would that be your war cry?’

‘Certainly not. I was as horrified as anyone by the slaughter of the Russian imperial family.’

‘Though you do not regret the passing of the institution, evidently. I see. Well, I can only conclude that you must, on your own judgement, ground your musket, pick up your kit bag and take your leave,’ he said with finality. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, the conversation over. ‘You have every right. And you have those rights because others in their thousands, your father and grandfather among them, doubtless right back to Agincourt were willing to sacrifice their lives to preserve them.’

‘Ouch!’ Lily said. ‘Steady on, sir! I’m not armoured against such sentiments. The taking of life – whoever is in possession of it – is an abhorrence to me. And if you’re saying my presence tonight might help to preserve a life – royal though it be – I shall do my bit. I’d do the same for any poor soul threatened by the murderous forces of anarchy or terrorism that are plaguing us. The Prince of Wales or the conductor on the Clapham omnibus – their lives carry the same weight with me. I just wanted you to be clear about that. Look – wasn’t there talk of a drink at Claridges? I think I shall be earning at least a stimulating glass of champagne before the evening gets under way.’

He wondered if he accepted her volte-face too quickly. ‘Excellent notion! Let’s stop fencing and turn our swords in the same direction, shall we?’ He offered his arm and she rose to her feet and placed a hand on it gracefully. ‘Only the best, I think, should be offered in the circumstances. Will a pre-war Bollinger suit?’

‘I think I might like that. But wait a moment, sir. I’ve just thought of something … someone, rather. If, as you say you fear, it’s a case of “hunt the woman”, there’s a man I know who might be of assistance.’ She took a small leather wallet from her bag and selected a calling card from it. ‘Can you ring the number you see on there and ask for this person? With a bit of luck he’ll be still at his desk. Unless he’s headed for Claridges already. And, believe me, with the particular task we have on our hands tonight, he’ll be more use to us than a squadron of secret servicemen. He owes me a favour sir. Rather a large one. Just mention my name. He’ll come.’

Joe held the card between finger and thumb with mock distaste. ‘Oh, him! He’d be there like a shot if invited. But what on earth do you imagine this scoundrel could add to the party? A man of his profession? Jackals! The whole lot of them are banned from the hotel. I remember giving the order myself.’

‘He has a very particular skill, sir. The man’s a walking Debrett
.
Duchesses invite him to their shindigs to enjoy his latest gossip. He knows everyone in society. If there’s someone at the dance tonight who ought not to be there … an infiltrator … a
female
infiltrator, as you say your information specifies … I can think of no one more likely to spot her. He knows all the usual royal dancing partners. He can list every girl whose waist the prince has ever squeezed in public since he left naval college.’