Free Malice at the Palace by Rhys Bowen Page B

Surely no Rannoch should be scared of ghosts, especially as they were likely to be my own ancestors. I wondered how Queenie would react, however. Golly, I hoped none of the ghosts was headless. . . .
    Then the reality of Queenie being in the same building as Countess Irmtraut and Major Beauchamp-Chough hit me. I couldn’t risk her arriving and bumping into one of them. So, much as I was loath to go back out into the rain, I decided I had to be in that taxicab with her when she arrived with my luggage from Rannoch House. I trudged home in the rain, feeling thoroughly miserable and wondering why I had agreed to this assignment, in a cold gloomy house where I was clearly not wanted or needed. Then, of course, I knew why. Because one does not say no to the queen.
    When I arrived at Rannoch House I was pleasantly surprised to find Queenie waiting for me with my bags ready packed. Maybe she was finally trying hard to be a proper lady’s maid. Hamilton secured us a taxicab and it pulled up at the entrance to our apartment at Kensington Palace.
    Queenie eyed it critically. “It ain’t as nice as that place we stayed with the duke in Eynsford, is it?” she asked. “Rather dowdy, if you ask me.”
    â€œNobody is asking you, Queenie,” I said. “Whatever we think, it’s a royal palace and you must be on your very best behavior. You must promise to stay in my room or your room and not go wandering around. There will be royal persons who would be horrified to meet you. To them servants are supposed to be invisible and have perfect manners.”
    â€œThere’s quite a lot of me to be invisible,” she said with a grin. “But I’ll give it a try, miss.”
    All went well until we were inside and Queenie saw the stairs. “Bloody ’ell, miss. I ain’t supposed to lug your bags up all them stairs, am I? What do they think I am, a ruddy porter or a donkey?”
    â€œI’ll see if I can find a footman to help you,” I said and shooed her up the stairs to my quarters.
    No footman was to be found, but in the end I did manage to collar a gardener and soon Queenie and bags were installed in my room.
    â€œWhat about our dinner then?” Queenie’s thoughts were never far from food.
    â€œRemember I told you that we have luncheon in the middle of the day and dinner at night,” I said.
    â€œYour sort may do. We have our dinner at midday and our tea in the evening,” she said. “And right now my stomach wants dinner.”
    â€œI’d like you to unpack my things first, then we’ll go up another flight of stairs and locate your room,” I said. I wasn’t going to risk her wandering alone, not even once. “I’ll go and find out about meals while you unpack.”
    Queenie sighed. I went downstairs again and looked for signs of life. I opened doors to a gloomy salon, a library, a smaller sitting room that would be charming once a fire was lit, and finally a dining room. A mahogany table stretched the length of it, big enough to seat thirty. But no signs of food. I pictured Countess Irmtraut sitting alone in her room eating her pickled herring and was wondering if I’d also have to send out for something to eat, when a maid appeared.
    â€œBegging your pardon, Your Highness.” She dropped a curtsy. “I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”
    â€œThat’s all right. And I’m a lady, not a highness,” I said. “Lady Georgiana. I was looking for luncheon.”
    â€œThere’s only the countess here at the moment, my lady,” the girl said, “and she has a tray sent up to her room.”
    â€œWell, I’m now staying here too, and I’d also like to eat,” I said.
    â€œShould I set the table for you then, my lady?” She looked worried.
    I thought of eating alone in that cold, dreary dining room. “I could also have a tray sent up, if it’s