Buckingham Palace Gardens

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

SIMNEL MARQUAND LOOKED exhausted, as if there were nothing of life or passion left inside him. He was in the yellow sitting room with Elsa. They stood side by side, staring through the high windows at the formal gardens in their bright, rigid beauty.

“God knows!” he said bitterly. “Personally I think the man is totally incompetent. If he were worth anything, Minnie would still be alive.” The pain in his voice was lacerating.

Elsa avoided looking at him. To do so would be intrusive, like watching someone whose bodily functions were out of control. And yet she was angry with him for blaming Pitt. “What would you have done?” she asked him, her voice almost level in spite of the pitch of her own emotions.

“I wouldn’t have spent my time infuriating the Prince of Wales, and the entire staff, about some damn plate!” He almost choked on the words. “The man’s a buffoon!”

It was really Julius she was trying to defend, but she spoke as if it were Pitt. “What could he have read from the evidence? There was nothing to prove who killed the woman, or even why anyone should want to.”

“Minnie worked it out!” he shouted in accusation. “She deduced it from the evidence.”

“What evidence?” Now she swung round to face him, as hurt and desperate as he was. The only difference between them was that Minnie, whom he had loved, was dead, and Julius was still alive, at least for a short while longer.

He did not answer. There were shadows around his eyes and the skin there was puffy, as if he were ill. She knew he had been obsessed with Minnie, beyond his ability to control it. She had seen men be like that over gambling, growing to hate it and yet unable to stop until they had lost everything.

Would she lose everything when they took Julius away and shut him up for the rest of his life? Was he really the man she thought she knew and loved, or a creature that existed only in her own hungers?

It was absurd, she and Simnel standing together in this beautiful room, total strangers at heart, attacking each other, while suffering the same pain.

“If you knew he was going to kill Minnie, why didn’t you do something yourself?” she asked. It was a cruel question, but he deserved it for accepting so quickly and so blindly that Julius was guilty. Julius was his brother! He should have had some loyalty, whether they were rivals or not. Minnie had destroyed his judgment, the things in him that were best.

“For God’s sake!” he burst out. “Don’t you think I would have if I’d known? I loved her! Minnie was…she was the most passionately, marvelously alive person I’ve ever seen. It is as if he had destroyed life itself!”

“Don’t you suppose he knew how alive she was?” she asked, hurting herself as she was saying it.

“He didn’t love her,” Simnel replied very quietly. “He didn’t deserve her.”

“You say that as if loving and deserving were the same thing,” she retaliated. They avoided looking at each other again. “In that case, Olga deserves you. Or hadn’t you thought of that?”

“You can’t help who you love,” he said between his teeth. “You can’t love to order. If you had ever really loved anyone, not simply chosen to marry them as the safest and most profitable alliance you could make, then you would know that.”

She could not accuse him of cruelty—she had been just as cruel herself. “The marriage where I loved was not offered to me,” she answered him. “Any more than it was to you, or perhaps to Minnie. You are totally naïve if you think we can choose to do or undo at will. Or that what you want will turn out the way you believed it would. Olga wanted you. It looks as if she still does, but do you suppose that will go on forever?”

“I loved Minnie,” he said again. “I don’t think you understand that. You never loved her. She knew you didn’t. You were jealous of the affection Cahoon had for her. He admired her in a way he never did you.”

Both of these things were true, but strangely it was the charge that she had not loved Minnie that cut deeper. She should at least have tried. She had been so lost in her own loneliness, too consumed in herself to imagine what Minnie felt. She looked at it now, honestly, and found it ugly. No wonder Cahoon had not loved her. She did not love herself very much either.

“I know,” she replied aloud. “But did you love Minnie? Or did you love the way she made you feel: passionate and alive yourself? And hate it! She made you behave like a fool. You loved her so much you didn’t care if everyone knew—and they did. You betrayed both your wife and your brother. Is that who you wanted to be, what you admired in yourself?” At last she turned to look at him.

His face was white. “You really did hate her, didn’t you?” he said very softly. “Why? Over Cahoon, or over Julius?”

She smiled. “At least you haven’t the arrogance to assume it was over you! Has it occurred to you that most married women will feel for each other when they are betrayed? Perhaps I hated her for what she did to Olga, as well as to Julius.”

His eyes were glittering. “Enough to kill her for it?”

“I thought you believed Julius did it—your own brother?” It was an accusation, all her fear and anger making her voice knife-edged.

“Well, it wasn’t me, and she was the one person Cahoon really loved,” he pointed out. “If it wasn’t Julius, then it must have been Hamilton. And why the hell would he? Face it, Elsa, whoever it is has killed at least three times: Minnie, that poor whore who only came here as part of her job, and the other wretched woman in Africa that we’ve all been trying to forget. Cahoon wasn’t even there, so it couldn’t have been him.”

“Then it must have been Hamilton,” she said simply. “Except that I don’t know it wasn’t you. Perhaps you were desperate to escape the hold she had over you. You might have been tired of endless lust and betrayal. You couldn’t help yourself. Every time she teased you, you responded like a trained dog. Maybe you despised yourself, and that was the only freedom you could achieve.”

“You are a passionless, pathetic woman, just as Cahoon says you are.” The words were forced out between his teeth, his voice shaking.

“Because I don’t go around in a red dress, taunting people?” she retaliated, but the charge stung. She knew Cahoon no longer wanted her. If he wanted anyone at all, it was Amelia Parr. She had seen that in his eyes, but it still hurt that he should say so to another man. It was a complete denial of her as having any value.

“Because you go around in a blue dress, ice cold, and afraid of your own shadow,” he replied. “And, God forgive you, you’re alive!”

“So are you!” she shot back. “And perhaps if you’d resisted your appetites instead of indulging them, Minnie would be too. Have you ever considered that? If Julius killed her, perhaps you drove him to it?” She had nearly said perhaps Olga did it. The words had almost slipped out.

He was white-faced, blotches of color on his cheeks. “Are you saying that if your wife prefers someone else it is just cause for you to murder her?”

“You had better hope not, or Olga may feel justified in killing you,” she answered him. “I would not blame her.” That was a lie. Rage against Simnel for accusing Julius, and the disloyalty of it, twisted inside her. And the bitter fear that he could be right was there, tiny, thin as a wire in the gut, but undeniable. She hated herself for it even more, but it was there.

Did she love Julius? Was love an unshakable loyalty, no matter what the evidence? A denial of your own values, your intelligence? Was it something that refuses to believe the ugly and shallow, that sees only the clean in a person, the desire to be brave, kind, funny, and gentle? Or does it also see the fears and the failures, the dreams broken, and still love the person? Is it tender to the bruised hope? Would she still care if Julius were nothing like her vision of him?

Was that love, or obsession, because his face had a beauty that haunted her mind, his smile and his hands, the pitch of his voice? Was it really her own dreams she clung to, and loved? How easy, and how unreal.

The door opened and Liliane came in, followed the moment after by Olga. Elsa made polite remarks. Simnel muttered something meaningless and turned away. No one knew what to say that was honest or anything more than platitudes to break the silence.

Elsa looked at the other women and wondered how many compromises they had made. Were they, in facing reality, in loving men in spite of their weaknesses or failures, more honest than she?

Doesn’t all love have a little blindness? How else does it survive? Isn’t believing in the possibilities of the good and the beautiful what inspires it into being?

Cahoon came in, and Hamilton Quase. They both looked haggard, skin blotched and hollow, Cahoon especially because he was also scratched by his razor. There was a curious lifelessness about him, as though he were physically smaller. Hamilton had obviously already drunk more than was good for him. An air of miserable belligerence suggested he intended to continue. He deliberately avoided Liliane’s anxious gaze.

Dinner was ghastly. The places were set for six, and the absence of Julius and Minnie was glaring. The women did not wear black because they had not brought anything black with them, and the previous night they had dined in their rooms. Instead, they had chosen the darkest shades they had and a complete absence of jewelry. Conversation was halting and desperately artificial until Cahoon shattered the pretense.

“Has anybody seen that fool of a policeman since this morning?” he asked.

No one answered him. Eventually Simnel shook his head, his mouth full.

“It should be over by tomorrow,” Cahoon went on. “I don’t know why he couldn’t have settled it today.”

“Will we all leave?” Olga asked, looking from one to another of them.

Hamilton leaned back in his chair and regarded Cahoon over-earnestly.

“No,” Cahoon was terse. “The course of history does not stop for individual deaths, even of kings and queens, certainly not simply of those we love. I shall complete the negotiations with His Royal Highness, which will take only a little longer. After that we may all leave. Of course we shall have to find a suitable diplomat to take Julius’s place.”

“In fact, business as usual,” Elsa said coldly. “Why should we let mere death or damnation get in the way of a railway?”

“Don’t drink any more wine, Elsa. It isn’t good for you,” Cahoon said, without turning to look at her.

“Did Julius admit to killing Minnie?” Hamilton asked, suddenly sitting up straight again. “I assume he didn’t, and that was why the policeman was still wandering around asking questions. I heard he saw the Prince of Wales again today, and the Princess.”

Cahoon sat very still. His knuckles were white where his hand gripped the stem of his wineglass. “I imagine it is true,” he said, clearing his throat to try to release the tension half strangling his voice. “He is following the trail of detection that Minnie followed, only, God damn him to hell, he is too late to save her.”

“Detection?” Simnel said sharply.

“Don’t be so stupid!” Cahoon said savagely. “If Minnie hadn’t discovered the truth about that woman’s death, Julius wouldn’t have killed her too! Even that buffoon Pitt can work that out!”

“What detection?” The words were out of Elsa’s mouth before she thought of the consequences, then it was too late.

Cahoon turned in his seat to stare at her. He seemed to be considering an angry or dismissive answer, then changed his mind. “It had to do with monogrammed sheets, broken china, and a great deal of blood.”

Everyone around the table froze, food halfway to their mouths, glasses in midair. Liliane let out a little gasp, and choked it off. Hamilton put down his fork slowly.

Elsa waited. She knew from Cahoon’s face that he was going to tell them.

“It seems there was a piece of china broken,” Cahoon began. “Limoges porcelain, to be exact. Quite distinctive. The servants swept up the pieces and removed them…”

“From where?” Hamilton asked. “Not the linen cupboard!”

Elsa could feel high, hysterical laughter welling up inside her and put her hand over her mouth to stifle it.

Simnel leaned forward. “Are you saying it was from Julius’s room, and Minnie knew that? Why would the servants clear it up, anyway?”

A muscle ticked dangerously in Cahoon’s jaw. “No, of course not Julius’s room. It seems that the wretched woman either was killed in the Queen’s bedroom, or else it—”

“What?” Simnel exploded.

Liliane dropped her fork with a clatter.

Olga gave a cry that was instantly swallowed back, and the emotion behind it could have been anything.

“Her Majesty is at Osborne,” Cahoon pointed out. “It would be easy enough for Julius to have taken the wretched woman there—”

“But why?” Hamilton insisted. “It makes no sense!”

“A gentleman guest in Buckingham Palace rapes and guts a whore, and you’re looking for sense!” Cahoon shouted at him, his rage and pain at last breaking loose. “The drink has rotted your brain, Quase. I’m talking about what Minnie found out, not trying to explain it!”

Elsa could not bear it. She refused to believe Julius was the man Cahoon was painting him to be. “If Minnie told you all this, why didn’t you protect her yourself?” she accused him. “You blame Pitt for not arresting Julius sooner, but you didn’t tell him this, did you?”

Cahoon ignored her, but she knew from the tide of blood up his neck that he had heard. “Minnie realized the woman could not have been killed in the cupboard,” he said steadily. “And that the broken porcelain was the key.”

“Did she tell you?” Hamilton insisted.

“No, of course she didn’t!” Cahoon snapped. “I deduced it!”

“Too late to help her,” Elsa pointed out.

“Obviously!” he snarled at her. “That is an idiotic remark, and vicious, Elsa, very vicious.”

She was too angry, too desperate to care anymore if he humiliated her in front of the others. “But true. You knew Minnie, saw her and spoke to her every day, and you knew Julius,” she told him. “If you didn’t work it out until it was too late, aren’t you a hypocrite to blame the policeman because he didn’t either?”

The blood darkened his face. She was perfectly certain that if they had been alone together in that instant he would have struck her. She hated him for Minnie, for Julius, and because of her own guilt over not caring for Minnie. She had not protected her, nor had she been someone in whom Minnie could have confided the terrible things she had discovered. She could not defend herself; she could only attack.

“How does that prove it was Julius?” she asked. “Anyone could have gone along to the Queen’s room, if they knew the way. How did Julius know where it was? He had never been here before. How did he even get in?”

They all looked at Cahoon.

“How do you know it was the Queen’s room?” Hamilton asked curiously.

“Because that’s where the Limoges came from, you fool!” Cahoon snapped.

“How do you know? You saw it there?” Hamilton would not be persuaded without proof.

“The monogrammed sheets,” Cahoon was exaggeratedly patient. “And the fact that it was not the Prince’s room. I hope you are not going to suggest it was the Princess’s?”

Hamilton shrugged. “That seems logical,” he conceded.

“Thank you.” Cahoon gave a sarcastic little bow from the neck.

The rest of the meal was completed in near silence. The touch of silver to china and the faint click of glass seemed intrusively loud. When the final course was cleared away, Olga pleaded a headache and retired. The men remained at the table, and Elsa and Liliane withdrew to sit by themselves, both declining anything further and willing to excuse the servants for the evening.

The silence between the two women prickled with suspense and emotion tight and unspoken for years. They were both afraid for men they loved. For Liliane it was her husband, which was obvious and right. For Elsa, her love was so lonely and so burdened by uncertainty that the knot of it was like a stone in her stomach, a hard, heavy, and aching pain all the time. The situation was intolerable.

“Do you think Cahoon is right?” she began, her voice trembling. “I mean that Minnie worked out what had happened, from a few pieces of china and blood on some sheets?”

Liliane kept her back toward Elsa. The light shone on the burnished coils of her hair, tonight without ornament. The skin of her shoulders was blemishless.

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” she answered. “Minnie never confided in me.”

Elsa refused to be put off. “I had not imagined she would. If she had spoken to anyone at all, it would have been her father. I was thinking of the likelihood of it, even the logic. How did she know about the china when no one else did?”

“I don’t know, Elsa.” Liliane turned round at last. “I realize that you are naturally distressed about Minnie’s death, and that some understanding might ease it for you. It would give all of us the feeling of being rather less helpless than we are now, but I really have no idea what happened. It makes no sense to me, and I’m not sure that I even expect it to anymore. I’m sorry.”

She was lying. In that instant Elsa was certain of it. Liliane was afraid. It was there in the fixed stare of her eyes, which were not completely in focus, and the way she stood as if ready to move at any moment, in whatever direction safety lay.

“You don’t think it was Julius, do you?” Elsa said suddenly, and then the moment the words were out she knew she had said them too quickly. Her impulsiveness had lost her the advantage.

“I’ve told you,” Liliane repeated patiently, “I have no idea. If I knew anything, I would have told that policeman, whatever his name is.”

That too was a lie, but this time a more obvious one. Perhaps Liliane realized it because she looked away.

“What about the woman who was killed in Africa?” Elsa asked. “You were there. Was it just like these?”

Liliane was pale. “As far as I heard, yes, it seems so. That doesn’t mean it was for the same reason.”

“Oh, Liliane!” Elsa said sharply. “Credit me with a little sense. Hamilton, Julius, and Simnel were all there, and it has to have been one of them here too.”

Liliane turned away again, whisking her skirt around with unconscious elegance. “Presumably.” She said it with no conviction, in fact almost with indifference.

What was she afraid of? It could only be that it had been Hamilton. Or could it be some secret of her own? Cahoon had said there had once been a question of her marrying Julius, but her father had objected. Then Hamilton had helped so much, and with such gentleness and understanding at the time of her brother’s death, that she had fallen in love with him.

Maybe he was a far better man than Julius: more honorable, more compassionate, more loyal—all the qualities Elsa knew she admired. What did it matter if someone’s smile tugged at your insides and left your heart pounding and your hands trembling? That was obsession, unworthy to be spoken of in the same breath as love.

Liliane looked back at her, her face softer, almost as if she felt a moment’s pity. “Minnie must have spoken to her father,” she said quietly. “Who else would have told him that she was asking all these questions? It must have been what she was hinting about at the dinner table the night she was killed. She was taunting him, you must have seen that.”

“What for?” Now Elsa’s mind raced from one wild, half-formed idea to another. Had Minnie learned it was Julius? Or, fearing that her father’s hatred of him would tempt him to blame Julius and even alter the evidence, she had told him that she would defend her husband, whether she loved him or not? She was the only one who was never afraid of Cahoon. Perhaps that was what he loved in her the most.

Had she loved Julius after all? Was the whole affair with Simnel only a way of trying to stir Julius to some response, a jealousy if not a love? Poor Minnie: too proud and too full of passion to plead, too lonely to confide in anyone, and perhaps wounded too deeply by what might have been the only rejection in her life that mattered to her. Nothing before that had prepared her for it; she might have had no inner dreams to strengthen her.

And Elsa had offered her nothing but rivalry. How miserable, how small and utterly selfish of her. She was ashamed of that now that it was too late.

Liliane was watching her, her beautiful eyes concentrating, seeing beyond the need for answers into the reasons for it.

It was Elsa who looked away. Part of the turmoil inside her was jealousy. She recognized the taste of it with a kind of bitter amusement at herself. Julius had courted Liliane and lost her to Hamilton Quase. Had that always been at the heart of it? He had never fallen out of love with her. Minnie knew it, and it was only Elsa who didn’t.

“You can’t do anything,” Liliane said quite gently. “Nothing can be changed now, except to make it worse.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Elsa conceded, although she was lying even as she said it. She would rather pursue the truth, even if she found that Julius was guilty, than surrender without knowing, and betray her dreams by cowardice. Deliberately she changed the subject to something else, utterly trivial.

Liliane seemed relieved.

THEY ALL RETIRED early. There was nothing to say. Even the men no longer had the heart to talk of Africa, and yet conversation about anything else was stilted and eventually absurd. The absence of Julius and Minnie was like a gaping hole that everyone tiptoed around, terrified of falling into, and yet was drawn to by a sort of emotional vertigo.

When Elsa excused herself she was uncomfortably aware that Cahoon followed her immediately, almost treading on the hem of her dress as she went into her bedroom. Bartle was waiting for her and Cahoon ordered her out, closing the door behind her.

Elsa felt a quick flutter of fear. She backed away from him, and was furious with herself for it. She stopped, too close to the bed. He could knock her onto it easily, but if she moved sideways it would of necessity be toward him. She refused to speak first. It was what he was waiting for: the sign of yielding, the impulse to placate him.

“You are making a fool of yourself, Elsa,” he said coldly. “If you want to ruin your own reputation, I don’t care. But you are still my wife, and I won’t have you behave hysterically once we leave here. If you can’t control your imagination and have some dignity, then you will have to be looked after, perhaps in some appropriate establishment where you will not damage either of us.”

He meant it. It was not just an expression of temper, it was a threat. She saw it hard and real in his eyes. She found her knees were shaking, and it cost her an effort to remain standing straight and looking at him.

“You mean a madhouse, like Julius,” she murmured. “That would be convenient for you. Then you can have an affair with Amelia Parr without my getting in the way.”

“You are not in the way, Elsa,” he replied. It was damning. Nothing else could have obliterated her so completely. “Leave the murders alone, or you will find out a great deal more about Julius than you wish to know.” His eyes gleamed, as if somewhere inside himself he were laughing savagely at her absurdity.

In that moment she made up her mind to fight him. If there had been any irresolution in her before, it had vanished. She was ashamed that it had taken her so long. This had nothing to do with Julius; it was for herself, to be the person she wanted to be, not the one too absorbed in her own needs and fears to think of anyone else, or see the possibility that Minnie’s bravado hid the fact that she felt pain as well.

She drew in her breath to tell Cahoon, and then realized how foolish that would be. What if Julius was not guilty, but had been made to look it? Wasn’t that what she was trying to believe? But by whom if not Cahoon? Was it because he hated Julius for loving Liliane, and not Minnie—because he felt the insult and the pain on her behalf?

No, there was another clearer and much more understandable motive. It was glaring, now that she could see it. Cahoon wanted to put her away so he could marry Amelia Parr. If she were innocent, the good wife she had so far appeared to be, then he had no excuse to set her aside. And he would never damage the reputation he had won with such care. He wanted that peerage desperately. He was like a starving man dreaming of food; only in his case it was respectability, belonging, the acceptance he had longed for and that had eluded him all his life.

He must make Elsa appear so bad in the eyes of society that no one would blame him for putting her aside. They must feel that if they were in his place, they would have felt no choice but to do the same.

If she fought for Julius now, when he seemed undeniably guilty of murder and madness, not once but three times, then it would be simple to convince them she was also having an affair with him. She would have betrayed her husband and his daughter—exactly the sins she had denied herself. But who would believe her?

That meant that she must either not fight, or if she did so, then she must win!

“Really?” she said, keeping her voice level with an effort so intense her fingernails bit into her palms, and she was glad of the folds of her skirt to keep them hidden. “That would surprise me. I don’t think we will find out anything at all. I think we are going to keep it all very quiet. You wouldn’t want to have taken so much trouble to woo the Prince of Wales and then cause such a scandal that he had to drop you in the end, would you?”

His face darkened and he took two steps toward her. He was so close she could feel the heat of him and smell cigar smoke and the faint odor of his skin. She did not move, although it was hard to keep her balance and not flinch. She had meant what she said as a half-submission, half-evasion. He had taken it as a threat. She was not being clever.

He swung back his hand and slapped her across the cheek, sending her staggering. The bed caught her behind the knees and she fell onto it on her back, helpless.

He leaned over her, one hand on either side, and bent down so his face was only a foot above hers. “Don’t fight me, Elsa,” he said between his teeth. “I am not only stronger than you are, I am cleverer, wiser, and braver. I am also your husband, which makes me right according to the law. They won’t hang Julius, they will simply lock him away. Don’t interfere.”

There was nothing she could say, but she did not avert her eyes from his.

He waited for her to answer, still leaning over her.

“Do you intend to remain there all night?” she asked. Her face hurt and she felt it burn hot. Deliberately she relaxed her body. “You will get tired before I do,” she added.

He straightened up abruptly and walked out, slamming the door behind him. She got up quickly and locked both the dressing room door, which connected with his room, and the door to the passage. Then she lay down on the bed, shaking so violently she felt as if the whole frame must be juddering with her.

She had no idea how long it was before she finally sat up again, calmer, and began to think. She had left herself no option but to fight. At last she had made a decision. It might be the wrong one, but it was better than losing because she had never found the passion or the courage to try.

Minnie had discussed enough of the truth to be killed in order to silence her. Apparently a broken Limoges dish had been important. Cahoon had described it: white and blue with a little gold. At the time she had imagined it quite clearly; a pedestal dish, with gold lattice around the border and a picture in the center of a man and woman sitting very casually on a garden seat. The blue was in their clothes. She thought of it like that because that was the only Limoges that she could remember seeing. Of course this one could have been any shape or design.

Then she remembered, with a feeling like ice in her stomach, where she had seen it. It was in Cahoon’s cases that he had brought with him, here to the Palace. That was how he knew about it! He had not deduced anything at all.

Perhaps it had nothing to do with the woman’s murder, but he had seized the opportunity to place the blame on Julius, somehow using that dish.

But how? It made no sense. The dish was in the Queen’s room. Did Pitt know anything about it? Certainly he would not know that Cahoon had brought with him one exactly the same. Tomorrow Elsa would tell him. Of course Cahoon would never forgive her, but she had declared war on him anyway; there was no retreating now. If she did not win, she might be blamed for something unforgivable, put aside as an adulteress—or worse, somehow tied in with the murder of the street woman.

There was no one she could turn to for help. They were all fighting their own battles: Liliane to protect Hamilton from the destruction he seemed determined to find in the bottom of a bottle. Why? Was it because Liliane was still in love with Julius?

Olga wanted to win Simnel back from a dead woman whose fire and laughter she could never equal, and whose selfishness, appetite, and occasional streaks of cruelty she would never sink to.

And Simnel, Julius’s brother, who should have been fighting to save him, protect him, was too eaten up by envy to allow himself that loyalty.

If only she could speak to Julius himself. If she could ask him, listen to his answer, surely she would know whether to believe him or not. No one had asked him, they all believed Cahoon’s word. For that matter, had Pitt asked him?

He was locked in and only the servants had keys so they could take him food. Tomorrow the police would come; then she would never see him again. There was only one possible decision: She must wait until the household was asleep, then go downstairs and find the keys, even if she searched by candlelight and it took her half the night.

She waited until two o’clock in the morning. She was exhausted but unable to sleep, although she dared not lie down in case she did drift into unconsciousness and waken when it was already light, and so miss her only chance.

She tiptoed down the stairs, feeling ridiculous, as if she were committing some crime. Then she realized that actually she was. It was probably an offense against some law to unlock the door of an imprisoned man. It was certainly a gross abuse of hospitality. If anyone knew, then she would pay dearly for it. She would be disgraced, socially nonexistent from now on. She hesitated only for a moment in her step. What had she to lose? Physical comfort, that was about all.

But what if Julius really were everything Cahoon said of him? Then he might attack her, take the keys and escape. He must know they would never give him a trial, fair or otherwise. It would be his only chance not to spend the rest of his life locked away in an asylum.

Was she tempted to let him go, deliberately? Yes! The thought of him imprisoned forever was hideous. He would be there until he really was mad, and there could never be any escape. The weight of that thought was like a descending darkness, shutting everything out.

But how far would he get? Not even out of the Palace. There could hardly be a better-guarded place in England.

It took her over an hour to find the keys, she had to search almost every cupboard in the kitchens, scullery, still room, and pantries, using separate keys to unlock cupboards where more keys hung in rows. Then she had to put them back in exactly the same place. Even then she was not certain she had the right ones until she tried them. She must be insane herself, breaking into Julius’s bedroom in the middle of the night. If Cahoon found her, she would have given him the perfect excuse to have her shut away too.

Still, she did it.

Her hands were quite firm, though a little clammy. Her stomach churned. Then she was inside. She closed the door softly, locked it, and put the key in the tiny pocket in her gown. She listened and could hear nothing, except the pounding of her own heart and her breathing.

Gradually it subsided, and she thought she could hear his breath as well.

“Julius.”

Nothing. She could neither see nor hear.

“Julius!”

Movement. A stirring in the bed. Now she felt ridiculous. How on earth could she explain being here? Nothing of love had ever been said by either one of them. Perhaps anything between them was entirely in her own imagination. Probably it was. He would be in his nightshirt, and she had come into his bedroom in the middle of the night, alone. If Cahoon walked in on them, it would ruin them both. It would be exactly what he wished. Had he even planned it? Then she had played into his hands perfectly. How unbelievably stupid! She moved to go back again, her hand feeling for the key.

There was a rustling from the bed, movement in the dark. “Elsa?”

Too late. She couldn’t go now. If she opened the door the faint light in the passage would show her face. Have the courage of her beliefs. If she felt anything, grasp for it, fight for it.

“Julius, I have to talk to you.”

“How did you get in? If they catch you, you will be ruined.” There was fear in his voice. “You can’t help me. Please go, before Cahoon finds out.”

“They won’t try you,” she said, standing still because she did not know which way to step in the dark. “They’ll just say you are insane, and put you into an asylum, somewhere from which you’ll never escape, and no one will ever see you.”

He was silent. Had he not realized that?

“I’m sorry.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and failed. She ached to see his face, and yet perhaps not doing so was the only way she could keep control of herself. “Julius?”

“Yes?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain. The darkness also gave him a degree of privacy. She was grateful for that. She remained standing where she was. She ached to hold him in her arms, give him at least the desperate shred of comfort that touch afforded. But there had never been anything between them to suggest he would welcome it. It would be intrusive, absurd. If his feelings for her were in any way different from hers for him, then it would be offensive, embarrassing, awful in every way.

“You didn’t kill Minnie, did you?” she said.

“No,” he responded immediately. “I don’t know who did. I assume it was whoever killed the prostitute. I can’t think of any other reason. Poor Minnie.” There was real hurt, and pity in his voice. “She was so sure she was learning the truth. I didn’t realize it until she kept saying so at dinner. Obviously someone believed her.”

The thought held the kind of coldness that made her feel sick. It was one of the other three men. It could be no one else. She knew them all; in ways liked them, except Cahoon; but she had once thought she loved him. There had been moments that were tender. What was the difference between being in love and thinking you were? Was being in love about what survives after time and temptation, misfortune, change, the need to forget and forgive have all been faced?

“Do you know where Sadie was killed?” she asked him.

“Wasn’t it in the cupboard where she was found?” Julius sounded puzzled.

“Apparently not. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom. That’s how the monogrammed sheets got bloodstained.”

“What monogrammed sheets?” His voice was a little high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Queen’s sheets. They don’t belong in the guest linen cupboard.”

“Where were they?”

She realized she did not know. “He didn’t say. Do you know about a Limoges dish that was broken?”

“No. I haven’t seen any Limoges. Mostly it’s Crown Derby, Wedgwood, and a few pieces of Meissen. Who broke the Limoges?” His voice was steadier, but he still sounded totally confused.

She was frightened by how little she understood. Even to herself she seemed to be speaking total nonsense.

“I don’t know, but Minnie was asking about it. It seemed to matter to her a lot. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom. That’s how they knew the woman was killed there.”

“How does Cahoon know it was there?” he asked quickly. She heard the bedsprings as he moved his weight. She could see nothing, but she was certain from the very slight sounds that he had stood up. Was he coming toward her in the dark? She was afraid. Or was it that she wanted him to? “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe…maybe the Prince of Wales told him.”

“If the Prince of Wales could have killed Minnie, I would wonder if he was guilty of the first one too,” he said with heavy irony. He was on the edge of laughter, and of grief beyond control.

“Julius!” The moment the word was out, she knew the tone of it would betray her: It was desperate with emotion. He had to hear in it all that she felt for him.

“I know. He couldn’t.” His voice was tight now, choked with the effort to keep some dignity, some grip on the fear inside him. “It has to be Simnel or Hamilton.”

“I wish it could be Cahoon.” She meant it, and this was no time to pretend a loyalty they both knew she did not feel. “But he wouldn’t kill Minnie. In his own way, he loved her. She was probably the only person he did love. But apart from that, he wasn’t in Cape Town when the woman was killed there, and it seems the crimes were exactly the same.”

“Elsa…” he stopped.

“What?”

“I don’t know who did it, and I can’t prove I didn’t. I know she was sleeping with Simnel a year ago, and if not now, then only from lack of opportunity. I didn’t care. I long since realized I didn’t love her. I’m guilty of that…of not making her happy. If I had, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned to anyone else.”

“You don’t have to make love with someone else because your husband doesn’t want you,” she said quietly. “That doesn’t make it right. Especially if the other person is married also. Even if they aren’t, it’s a betrayal. How could that other person then trust you?”

The silence pounded like a heartbeat. There were not even any creaks of settling wood to disturb the night.

“They can’t,” he answered. “But you are speaking of love, and I wasn’t. She doesn’t love Simnel, nor he her. It’s a hunger of a different kind, selfish. It makes you a lesser person, not a greater one.”

“And what does a greater one do?” Did she want to know what he thought? Was it not better to keep the dream whole? There would be no tomorrow in which to mend it. This would be all she had, forever.

“It makes you want to be the person they could love,” he answered her very softly. “At least honest and generous, and attempt to be brave as well.”

The tears filled her eyes and her throat ached almost unbearably.

“I’m trying for honest,” he went on. “I didn’t kill Minnie, but I am guilty of not wanting to build the Cape-to-Cairo railway. I wish I had had the courage to tell Cahoon outright, and withdraw. We should build railways from inland to the ports, in each region if they want them, but keep the Empire on the sea. That’s enough power for any nation. We should leave the heart of Africa alone. It’s not ours. The fact that we might be able to take it is irrelevant. But they will be able to build it without me. I can’t do any more, but I hope I would have had the integrity to pull out, and tell them why.” He hesitated. “Please believe in me, Elsa, that I would have. I can’t ever prove it now.”

“I believe you,” she said immediately. “I…I do.” She had almost said “I love you,” then stopped. He needed trust more than emotion.

“Don’t give up. I’m going to find Pitt. I have something to tell him.”

“Now? What time is it?”

“I don’t know. About three, I expect. Something like that.”

“You can’t wake him up at this hour!”

“Yes, I can.”

“Elsa!”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For believing you? That’s not necessary. I do.”

He had no idea how little she had believed him before this moment, but this was not the time for the self-indulgence of telling him. Nor was it the time to say she loved him. He knew that. And she did not want to make him feel as if he had to respond. It would betray this gossamer-thin honesty.

She found the key in her pocket and opened the door. She hesitated, almost said something, then changed her mind and went out, locking the door again behind her so no one would know she had been there.

She returned the key to where she had found it, and then went to waken Pitt. Of course it was appalling to disturb him at this hour, but later might be too late. She had no idea when the police would come to take Julius away. Cahoon would have it done as soon as possible.

She was still wearing her dinner gown, which was crumpled now, and her hair was coming loose from its pins. There were probably dried tears on her face. None of this mattered. Another hour or so and it would be light. There was no time to waste in mending her appearance.

It took her a few minutes to find Pitt’s room, and then several more to steel her nerve to knock. It was necessary for her to gather her courage again before the door opened. Pitt stood there blinking, the gaslamps turned up behind him. He was wearing a nightshirt and robe, and his thick hair was tousled, but he seemed quite definitely awake.

“Mrs. Dunkeld? Are you all right? Has something happened?” he said with alarm.

“I need to speak to you,” she replied as levelly as she could. “Urgently, or I would not have disturbed you this way.”

“I’ll be out in five minutes.” He did not argue but went back into the room. Five minutes later he emerged again, this time fully dressed and his hair in some semblance of order. However, he looked haggard with exhaustion and there was a dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. He led the way to the room where he worked, and opened the door for her.

“What is it, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he asked when they were inside and the lamps lit.

“You found the shards of a Limoges plate in the rubbish, didn’t you?” she stated.

“Yes.”

“Was it a pedestal dish, mostly white with a gold trellis border around the edges, and in the center a man and woman sitting on a stone garden seat? They both have blue on, a vivid shade of cobalt. I think it is his coat, and a sort of cloak for her.”

In spite of his weariness his attention was suddenly total. “Yes. Have you seen it? Where?”

“In a box my husband brought with us.”

He looked stunned, as if what she had said were incomprehensible. “Brought with you?” he repeated. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. It cannot have been the one which my husband said was broken, in Her Majesty’s own bedroom. It must be one exactly like it.”

“You are certain, Mrs. Dunkeld?” he insisted.

“Yes.” She felt the heat creep up her face. Did he imagine she was inventing it to protect Julius? He knew how she felt, she had seen it in his eyes before, a certain pity. Damn him for understanding! “He couldn’t have given it to the Queen,” she said aloud. “It would have been in a box, and left for her to open.” She was talking too much. She stopped abruptly.

“I know. This one was apparently given to her by one of her daughters, some considerable time ago,” he said, and the gentleness was in his eyes again. “But did he bring a gift for the Prince of Wales, do you know?”

She was puzzled. He seemed to have missed the point. “Yes, but it was not particularly personal, just a dozen or so bottles of a very good port. I think they have already been drinking it. Why? How can that matter? It’s a fairly usual thing to do.”

“Port?” he repeated.

“Yes. Why?”

“Do you know from what vineyard?”

“No, but Cahoon said it was extremely good. But then he would hardly give the Prince inferior wine.” She forced herself to ask, whatever he thought of her. “Does the dish not matter?”

“It matters very much, Mrs. Dunkeld. And so does the port—or at least the bottles do. Please don’t mention them to him, or to anyone.” He was very serious, staring at her intently. “It may put you in danger. Three of them were found with traces of blood in them. Now you understand why you must mention it to no one?”

“Blood?” She was startled, and filled with a sudden hope so erratic and so sweet for a moment she found it difficult to breathe.

“Yes. Now please go back to your room, to sleep if you can. Thank you for coming to me. It must have taken great courage.” He stood up, a little stiffly, as if he were so tired that to straighten up was too much effort.

She realized he must be afraid too. He not only had to solve these murders quickly, and discreetly, but he had to find the answer that the Prince of Wales wanted and that his superior at Special Branch could accept. He was a man pressured from all sides. And his own compassion, and his sense of justice, would be compelling him also, probably in a different direction.

There was a sharp bang on the door, and then it flew open and Cahoon strode in. He too was fully dressed, although unshaven, and obviously in a towering rage.

“I assume you have some explanation for interrogating my wife at three in the morning?” he said savagely to Pitt. “Who the devil do you think you are? If my poor daughter hadn’t solved the case for you, at the cost of her own life, I would have you removed, and someone competent sent in. However, there is nothing left to do, except have Sorokine taken away and then get out yourself.” He turned to Elsa.

“Go back to bed,” he ordered.

She stood still. “Mr. Pitt did not send for me, I came to see him.” She would not have Pitt blamed; it would be both shabby and dishonest. She was fighting for everything that mattered to her, win or lose.

“Do as you are told!” Cahoon said between his teeth.

She did not move.

Pitt also seemed perfectly composed. “Mr. Dunkeld, did you bring a gift of a case of port wine to the Prince of Wales?”

“What?”

“I think you heard me, sir. Did you?”

Cahoon was incredulous. “Three o’clock in the morning, and you want to know if I brought wine for the Prince of Wales?”

“Yes, I do. Did you?”

“Yes. Best port I could find. It’s the sort of thing gentlemen do.” His tone was acutely condescending.

“And the Limoges dish, was that a gift also?” Pitt asked.

This time Cahoon was definitely taken by surprise. “What…Limoges dish?” His hesitation was palpable.

“The one in your case, sir. Is there more than one?” Pitt’s voice was polite, but the cutting edge was unmistakable.

For an instant Cahoon obviously debated denial.

“A white and gold pedestal dish,” Elsa supplied for him. She was fighting to save Julius, grasping at straws, but all decisions were made and it was too late to go back. “With a garden scene in the middle, a man and woman sitting on a stone seat. Their clothes have a lot of blue in them.”

“You have been searching through my cases!” Cahoon accused her.

“I have no interest in your cases,” she replied, feigning slight surprise. “Your valet was unpacking and did not know what to do with it. You were with the Prince of Wales, so he asked me. I told him to leave it where it was. If you don’t recall it, I’m sure he does.”

“Sarcasm is most unbecoming in a woman, Elsa,” he said icily. “It makes you seem cold, and mannish.” He turned to Pitt. “I am afraid it is a matter I cannot discuss with you, Inspector. It was a favor for His Royal Highness, to whom I gave my word. I am not sure if you can understand that, but if you cannot, and you wish to challenge him on the matter, then you had better do so, at your own risk. I have nothing to say. I have no idea whether you have duties to perform at this hour, but I am returning to bed, and my wife is doing the same. I assume you will be removing Sorokine before I see you again. I suggest that you do so as discreetly as possible.”

Elsa’s heart tightened and she found it difficult to draw air into her lungs. All her fighting, all the hope, and it was ending like this.

Pitt stared at Cahoon. “If he is taken, it will simply be to a place of safety. There is much yet to learn before the case is over,” he answered.

“You don’t seem to have grasped the obvious.” Cahoon’s voice was exaggeratedly weary. “Sorokine is mad. He suffers some form of insanity that drives him to murder a certain type of woman. He killed one in Africa several years ago. We thought then that it was a single aberration and would never happen again. So far as I knew, it hadn’t. Then this week he killed the whore. Minnie realized what had happened, and I presume was rash enough to face him and accuse him, so he killed her too. No one else is involved, except possibly my wife in her reluctance to accept the facts. She is not used to the violence and tragedy that can occur in life. She was not with us in Africa, and she tends to be something of an idealist, fonder of dreams than of reality.”

Pitt’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that Mr. Marquand at least was aware that his brother killed this woman in Africa?”

Cahoon was caught slightly off-balance, but he recovered quickly. “No, but I think he feared it. Watson Forbes was aware. That is why he would not permit his daughter to marry him, even though she wished to. Hamilton Quase was a far better choice. Ask Forbes, if you doubt me. Now I am going to bed. Elsa!”

Elsa looked at Pitt, met his eyes for a moment, then turned and obediently followed Cahoon out into the corridor. She did not know whether she dared to hope, or not.