A Three Dog Problem
- Автор: Беннет Си Джей
- Серия: Her Majesty the Queen Investigates #2
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Zaffre - Bonnier Publishing Fiction
- ISBN: 978-1-83877-485-1
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «A Three Dog Problem». Краткое содержание книги:
When a body is found in the Palace swimming pool, she finds herself once again in the middle of an investigation which has more twists and turns than she could ever have suspected. With her trusted secretary Rozie by her side, the Queen is determined to solve the case. But will she be able to do it before the murderer strikes again?
‘Rozie can deal with them. And they can visit you at home. It’s not far. You’ll be useless to me here.’ She said it sharply, not to be unkind but because she knew he wouldn’t leave unless she made him, and he was in no fit state to work.
It was her APS, therefore, who got the report from the police about how the housekeeper had died.
‘A thick piece of glass cut her artery just above the ankle,’ Rozie explained a couple of hours later, standing in the light from the study window, one floor above where the body had been found. She, too, had an odd look about her, but at least her manner was professional. ‘A freak accident. It looked as though Mrs Harris slipped and dropped a whisky tumbler she was carrying. The bottom of the broken glass had a lethally sharp edge that must have caught her as she fell. They think she was lying there all night.’
‘What was she doing with a whisky tumbler by the pool?’
‘Probably clearing it up, ma’am. A few had been left around recently.’
‘Can you die from a cut on your ankle?’
‘Apparently yes, if you’re very unlucky. That artery bleeds a lot. It looks as though she slipped and knocked herself out, then came to and tried to stem the bleeding – her hands were covered in blood. But she was too weak to do it, or get up and call for help. She only had a couple of cuts, but that’s all it takes. That’s what the police inspector I spoke to thinks, anyway. He’s requested an autopsy, so the pathologist will let us know for certain.’
The Queen was grateful for the way Rozie didn’t pause to check she was ‘OK’, as people usually did. When one had grown up with dogs and horses one was used to accidents of various ghastly descriptions. Used to death. And she had read the reports of more soldiers killed in battle than she cared to recall. She pictured the poor woman trying to stem the flow of her own blood, and was desperately sad there had been nobody there to help.
‘Why was she on her own?’
‘The Master’s not sure. There’s only one CCTV camera in the area and it’s been on the blink for ages. It’s possible she went to clear up after a family session. She was in uniform and didn’t have her costume with her. She probably only meant to be in there for five minutes.’
‘Poor Mrs Harris,’ the Queen said. ‘She’s been with us for years. I saw her only recently, at Balmoral.’
‘Yes, she went up with the second wave of staff, I believe.’
The Queen nodded thoughtfully. ‘And they think she slipped?’
‘It seems so.’
‘Let me know if they make any unfortunate discoveries.’
Rozie knew exactly what the Boss meant. ‘I’m sure it’s an accident this time,’ she ventured. The last time a body was found at a royal residence, it turned out not to be accidental at all.
Her Majesty gave her a piercing look through her bifocals. ‘Don’t be too sure of anything. It pays to keep an open mind.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Can you find out if Mrs Harris was in any trouble?’
The piercing look was still on her. Rozie felt the Queen’s concern. She had a split second to decide whether to keep her promise to Sir Simon from the summer. And if not, whether to tell the full story. She decided to keep some of her thoughts to herself. This was about Cynthia Harris; best for all concerned if it stayed that way.
‘I happen to know already, ma’am. She was.’
‘Oh?’
Rozie took a breath and explained. ‘There’s been a spate of poison pen letters. Several people didn’t like her. I mean, they had reason not to like her. I don’t know how all of them actually felt.’
‘What reasons?’
Rozie summed up what she had learned from Lulu Arantes and Sir Simon about the retirement and return. ‘There was a lot of resentment. And . . .’ Rozie paused.
‘And what?’ The blue stare was unwavering.
‘Well, ma’am, I understand several people thought Mrs Harris had undue . . . that she was quite close to you, ma’am, because she helped out with the guest suites and you’re so particular about them.’
Rozie wondered whether she was being too direct, but didn’t have time to find the elegant courtier’s way of telling the truth. Sir Simon would have managed – if he’d been here, and not at home with his wife and a stiff brandy.
If the Queen was offended, she didn’t show it. ‘Thank you, Rozie.’ But she pursed her lips again. ‘Why wasn’t I told before?’
‘About what, ma’am?’ Rozie asked, stalling for time.
‘About all this unpleasantness. The bad feeling about Mrs Harris. The poison pen letters. I could have done something.’
‘I – I don’t know. Sir Simon felt . . . I mean the Master . . .’ Rozie struggled to finish her sentence without implying the senior courtiers had made a terrible mistake. Which, in her opinion, they had.
The Queen nodded and waved a hand. ‘They had it under control, no doubt,’ she said coldly.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘They didn’t mind the implication that a housekeeper had me in her power.’
Rozie was shocked at the baldness of this statement. But she couldn’t deny it.
‘They were unhappy about it. But there was an HR process to go through before they could ask her to retire again. The anonymous letters made it difficult.’
The Queen was thoughtful for a moment as she looked out of the study window towards Constitution Hill. When she turned back her voice was sharp. ‘Is there anything else I’m being protected from?’
A million things, Rozie thought. But nothing worth sharing at this point. ‘Not as far as I know, ma’am. If I think of anything, I’ll tell you.’
‘Thank you. That will be all.’
Once she was alone, the Queen turned her gaze back to the view. It was a crisp October day and the sky was powder blue above the trees. For London, the air was clear and bright, but after the Highlands she could make out the fug of air pollution that rendered everything slightly grey. She had been anticipating problems on her return . . . But not this.
It was true, she and Cynthia Harris had been close in a way. When you need your home to run like clockwork, you come to rely on those professionals who work to your standards. Any room prepared by Mrs Harris was always impeccable. There was never a speck of dirt or a hint of disrepair. Fraying fabrics were magically replaced; requests for specific books or flowers were always met; even the allergies of guests’ staff were considered. There had been that awful time not long ago during the President of Mexico’s visit, when the Orleans bedroom in the Belgian Suite had been filled with Casa Blanca lilies, which had given his chief of staff a streaming nose in minutes. That would never have happened if Mrs Harris was in charge. It must have been while she was away. Hmmm.
The woman had been friendly but not forward, practical, tireless – and unquestionably loyal. In Balmoral she would always grab a net and leap about with the best of them to catch the infernal bats. They had shared the occasional joke. Her attention to detail was obvious in the way she looked after the rooms in her care, but they were not close in the way Rozie seemed to suggest.
The Queen sighed. After sixty-three years on the throne, she was not as impressionable as some members of her Household gave her credit for. She could see that Mrs Harris was a bit of a toady. She had noticed her occasionally being sharp with junior maids, but instantly sunny as soon as she turned her attention to a VIP. It had struck her as unusual that the woman was still working beyond retirement age, and indeed she had asked the Master about it last year, but he had said ‘she wanted to’ and ‘it was all under control’. It always was with the Master. But what control? Had he controlled who Mrs Harris made enemies of? Could he?