Read Online Malice at the Palace by Rhys Bowen - Free Book Online Page B

disappointment, mingled with a small sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about knocking over priceless objects every time I turned around, the way I did at Buckingham Palace. It was also rather cold in that foyer, with a draft swirling about my legs. Not too welcoming a first impression for a newly arrived princess, I thought. But perhaps they were not planning to turn on any form of heat until she arrived.
    I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. I wondered if the queen would have supplied servants or if Princess Marina was bringing her own and they weren’t here yet. I realized that I should have asked to be taken to Major Beauchamp-Chough, not have gone straight to the apartment. Protocol probably demanded that he escort me to my quarters. But it was a long, wet walk back to the front of the building. There was an archway at the end of the entry hall leading to a passageway beyond. As I looked toward it I saw a woman walk across it. She was moving swiftly, almost gliding and making no sound.
    â€œHello,” I called. “Wait a minute, please.”
    When she didn’t stop I ran after her, and found myself standing in a long dark corridor that was completely empty. Where had she gone? There were no side hallways and she would not have had time to open and close a door. That was when I realized she was wearing a long white dress and her hair had been piled upon her head in little curls. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. At that moment I heard the brisk tap of feet on the marble-tiled floor and a woman came across the foyer toward me. This one was all too solid. She was probably in her thirties, well fed, in a wool dress that was a little too tight for her, pale faced and with pale hair piled in an old-fashioned bun. She spotted me and bore down upon me, wagging a finger.
    â€œAh, there you are, you naughty girl,” she said in strongly accented English. “Where have you been? I have been waiting for you.”
    â€œI didn’t realize there was a specific time for my arrival,” I said, taking aback by her ferocious approach.
    â€œThat is no way to address your betters,” she said, giving me a haughty stare.
    â€œMy betters?” Indignation now overtook surprise. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are, but I rather think we must be equals, unless you are Queen Victoria reincarnated.”
    I saw uncertainty cross her face. “Are you not the girl who was sent to bring me pickled herring from Harrods?”
    I tried not to grin. “I am Lady Georgiana, cousin to His Majesty,” I said. “May one ask your name?”
    â€œOh, thousand pardons,” the woman stammered, thoroughly flustered now. “I did not expect . . . we were not informed that His Majesty’s cousin would be visiting. And I did not expect a royal person to arrive alone in such a manner.” And she looked at my sodden mack and the puddle accumulating around my feet.
    â€œYes, I’m sorry. I realize I don’t look very royal,” I said. “But it’s raining cats and dogs out there and I don’t have a motorcar.”
    She went and peered out of the window. “I do not see any cats and dogs,” she said.
    â€œJust an expression.”
    â€œAh,” she said solemnly. “An English idiom. I must learn these things. Cats and dogs.” She nodded as if her brain had processed this information, then she gave me a little bowing jerk of the head. “I am the Countess Irmtraut von Dinkelfingen-Hackensack. I am the cousin of Princess Marina. Our mothers are related. My mother was a Pushova.”
    I didn’t think I’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œA Pushova. My mother was a Pushova. The daughter of Prince Vladimir Pushov, related to the czar.”
    â€œOh, I see.” Thank heavens I hadn’t started to laugh!
    â€œHow do you do, Countess.” I held out my hand and