Free The Pigeon Pie Mystery by Julia Stuart

the First Afghan War, but unfortunately was released. My guess is that she started practising her scales and her captors threw open the door and insisted that she leave.”
    Passing his cane to a pair of warders behind a desk, who were also collecting bags, parcels, and umbrellas lest they damaged the paintings, he started up the stairs. “The palace was originally founded by Cardinal Wolsey in 1515, who subsequently handed it over to Henry VIII,” he announced at such a volume several excursionists turned their heads. “The King enlarged it, passing much of his time here with his six wives.”
    The Princess followed him. “All of Henry’s additions, except the Great Hall and one or two other rooms, were demolished by William III, so I believe,” she said, remembering the palace history she had read before arriving.
    The General looked momentarily taken aback. “Quite so, quite so,” he replied. “In the seventeenth century William and Mary commissioned …”
    “Sir Christopher Wren,” interrupted Mink.
    “… to build the existing State Apartments, copying the splendour of …”
    “Versailles,” she added. “Shall we continue, General? We seem to be holding people up.”
    They entered the King’s Guard Chamber, where William III’s gunsmith had mounted almost three thousand pieces of arms and armour on the walls. After looking at Canaletto’s Colosseum at Rome, and the life-size portrait of Queen Elizabeth’s porter who stood over eight feet tall, they moved on to the King’s Presence Chamber. Mink gazed at Sir Godfrey Kneller’s portraits of Queen Mary’s court, known as the Hampton Court Beauties. General Bagshot stood next to her, his hand momentarily brushing hers. “There’s something irresistible about them, don’t you find?” he remarked.
    “Indeed,” Mink replied, stepping away as she felt his hot breath on her neck. “Though they lack the considerable charm of your wife, General Bagshot. I met her when I arrived at the palace on Friday.”
    “She’s off to Hélouan-Les-Bains tomorrow morning. Apparently they’ve got about a dozen thermal springs. Do you know Egypt?”
    “I’ve been a number of times,” she said. “I climbed to the summit of the Great Pyramid a couple of years ago. Two locals pulled me up by the arms, while another attempted to bring up the rear while clamouring for baksheesh. I beat him off with my parasol.”
    They continued, engulfed by visitors, stopping to admire William III’s Great Bedchamber with its sumptuous Verrio ceiling and delicate carvings by Grinling Gibbons. When the General pointed out that the bed looked remarkably comfortable, Mink moved swiftly onto the next room. Eventually they came to the Communication Gallery, where hordes stood admiring the Triumphs of Caesar, nine vast canvases stretching down the length of the room, and the most important paintings in the palace.
    General Bagshot stood so close to Mink she could detect his presence simply from the smell. “They were painted by …” he began.
    “Andrea Mantegna,” she interrupted, taking a step away from him.
    He advanced again towards her. “Quite so. For …”
    “Gianfrancesco Gonzaga, the Marquis of Mantua,” she added, her voice trailing off as she noticed a huddle of chimney-sweeps, their pitifully red eyes fixed on the paintings. Each had a brush over his shoulder, its filthy bristles perilously close to the pictures.
    “Good God!” the General cried. “Just a minute.”
    As he ordered them out, sending two excursionists tumbling to the floor in the commotion, Mink took the opportunity to slip away. Grateful that he hadn’t asked a single thing about her, for she had not the slightest desire to form an acquaintance, she entered the restored Wolsey’s Closet, which had once been part of some grace-and-favour apartments and used as a butler’s pantry. After staring in amazement at the painted scenes from the Passion of Our Lord, and the magnificent Tudor ceiling,