An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(33)

“Julien,” I said sternly. “To the matter at hand. Where might we find this Jane?”

“There is a sort of sitting room for the chambermaids when they are not about their business,” he told us with a shrug.

“It will be full of other maids,” Stoker said. “We need privacy in order to speak with her.”

“Julien,” I said, sweetening my voice. “We could use your assistance.”

Julien quickly summoned one of the hotel pages to deliver a message, and within a very few minutes there was a low knock at the door of the workroom. Julien called a greeting and the door opened and closed swiftly. A slim figure, wrapped in a long white apron, and topped with a mobcap, had entered. The maid took one look at us and whirled, her hand on the knob, until Stoker clamped his firmly over the top and propelled her back to where Julien and I stood. He pushed her down onto a stool and folded his arms, looming just a little.

“Stay there,” he ordered.

J. J. Butterworth looked up at him with sullen eyes. “I have work to do, you know. Those beds will not make themselves.”

“It is lovely to see you as well, J. J.,” I said politely.

“What do you want?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“You wrote a piece on the death of Alice Baker-Greene,” I began. “I presume you actually conducted interviews with the witnesses in question?”

“Of course,” she said, tipping her nose into the air. “I would never write such a piece without a proper source.”

“Why did you take on employment as a maid in this hotel? Surely it was a risk, given that you have spoken to Captain Durand. Were you not afraid he would recognize you?”

She snorted. “He has eyes only for the princess’s little Slav maid, Yelena. They are betrothed but there has been trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” Stoker asked.

She shrugged. “A member of the guard doesn’t earn much—not even the commander. And Yelena works for pennies. The Alpenwalders do not pay well on the grounds that it is an honor to serve them which is a heaping pile of rot. I mean, they dirty their sheets and fill their wastepaper baskets same as the rest of us.”

“Careful, now. You begin to sound like a revolutionary,” Stoker teased.

“If it could eliminate all the arrogant ne’er-do-wells I have seen in my time, I would build the guillotine with my bare hands,” she said darkly. “But as to your question, the guards are bachelors and live in a sort of dormitory within the palace walls. In order to marry Yelena, Durand needs a house and they don’t come cheaply in Hochstadt. It is a very small place and when it is crowded with mountaineers, the prices are steep as their blasted mountain. Well, Durand has served the Crown, loyal and true, since the princess was scarcely out of pinafores. He was promised a sort of grace-and-favor house on the castle grounds.”

Julien looked puzzled, so I hastened to explain. “Grace-and-favor lodgings are given at the behest of the monarch in most countries, a sort of perquisite for faithful service. They are provided free of charge or for a peppercorn rent.”

He nodded and J. J. resumed her tale. “But just as he was set to make an honest woman of Yelena and carry her over the threshold, the house was taken back again.”

“For what purpose?” Stoker inquired.

She paused, holding the moment to heighten the drama with all the practiced theatricality of a Duse. “So that the house could be given to Alice Baker-Greene.”

“Alice!” Stoker exclaimed. “Why on earth should the Alpenwalder Crown give her a house at the expense of the loyal Captain Durand?”

“Because of Duke Maximilian,” I guessed.

J. J. slanted me a curious glance. “What do you know of Duke Maximilian?”

“I know he was friends with Alice Baker-Greene. Close friends,” I added, waggling my brows in imitation of Julien.

“Ah,” he said. “They were lovers.”

J. J. shrugged. “I do not know what they were. I only know that Duke Maximilian was very keen to befriend her when she arrived in the Alpenwald, and after her death he has all but disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” My voice sharpened with interest. “He is a member of a Continental royal family. How can he simply disappear?”

“A minor member of a minor family,” J. J. corrected. “And he has not disappeared in the proper sense of the word. He has been spotted at his usual haunts—casinos and theatres and the odd house party. But he has kept a very low profile since Alice’s death.”

“That sounds rather suspicious,” Stoker mused aloud. I was pleased to see he was taking a proper interest in the investigation, but I hoped he was not going to change his choice of murderer from the chancellor to the duke. I rather liked the duke as the villain and hoped it would earn me a sovereign.

J. J. prickled like a hedgehog. “Rubbish,” she said succinctly. “He has nothing whatsoever to do with Alice’s death. Nothing,” she repeated with emphasis.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because I spoke with him and he was standing with Captain Durand during Alice’s fall,” she replied with a swiftness that seemed almost rehearsed. “Both of them swore to it in the inquest testimony as well.”

“A good enough alibi,” I said thoughtfully. “Of course, I do not imagine there is a guardsman alive in any country who would swear a member of his royal family was a liar,” I added.