An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(99)
“So she borrowed a maid’s cloak and put herself on a train,” the elderly mountaineer said, smiling fondly at the princess.
The princess returned the smile. “It was a stroke of grave misfortune that the storm happened to blow in that night. You see, I had it all worked out on the timetable. I would go to the Midlands, speak with Pompeia, and return by the milk train and be back in my suite before anyone missed me. She would authorize an exhumation to retrieve the murderer’s climbing badge from Alice’s body, and by examining the badge, we would have the piece of evidence we needed to find her murderer. Once that had been arranged, Pompeia would follow a day or so later, after she had arranged to retrieve the badge whilst I followed my official program and signed the treaty.”
She gave me a searching look. “You did sign the treaty, did you not?”
I nodded. “I have my doubts about its legality, but I signed it.”
Her smile was one of satisfaction. “I will make it right. I will tell them our copy was destroyed in a clerical accident and we will execute fresh papers. The important thing was to secure the meeting with the French in person and play out the little drama of diplomacy. The rest is simply paperwork.”
It was a cynical view, but perhaps that ought not to have surprised me. Rupert had said much the same.
Stoker retrieved the conversation, steering us back to the princess’s narrative. “But when the storm blew in, you were stranded in the Midlands.”
She nodded. “It was the worst snowstorm in a decade, so they said. We were snowbound in Pompeia’s house. The good news is that it meant no one was abroad to see me away from London. But it meant Miss Speedwell was forced to take my place.” She smiled. “I hear you were more than adequate. I am grateful.”
“I did my best,” I told her.
“But you did not undertake the masquerade to help the Alpenwald,” the chancellor said, clearly sulking.
“No,” I admitted. “I did it because I wanted to solve the mystery of what happened to Alice Baker-Greene.”
“And in doing so, Miss Speedwell has done us a very great service,” the princess insisted.
“Has she?” the chancellor queried. “You were already on the trail of the murderer.”
“And everything else I was in London to accomplish would have been destroyed without her taking on my role of princess,” she told him. “We will be grateful to Miss Speedwell and her companion.”
This was clearly to be the official position of the Alpenwalder government, and the chancellor bowed his neck to his princess, his moustaches gleaming in the morning light.
“What will happen to the baroness?” Stoker asked.
The princess’s mouth thinned. “She has been given into the custody of Captain Durand for extradition to the Alpenwald. She has decided to waive her right to a trial and acknowledged her guilt.”
“So she will be sent to prison,” I ventured.
She said nothing for a long moment, and when she finally did speak, it was with a chilly finality. “She murdered not only Alice Baker-Greene but Yelena Borisovna. As the intended husband of the victim, Captain Durand has certain rights.”
“Rights?” Stoker inquired.
The chancellor cleared his throat. “The captain has elected to sail from England to Germany and make his way down the Rhine. A sea voyage this time of year is a perilous undertaking,” he said blandly.
Which meant that anything the captain cared to do to see justice served upon the baroness would be accepted with a blind eye by the princess and her chancellor. I shivered as I realized how rough that justice might be. Was she to be bundled into a sack and tossed overboard to drown as she had intended for us? Given the quick mercy of a bullet before being disposed of in the river? Or would Durand choose for her to be locked in a dark fortress for the rest of her life? The possibilities were grim.
The princess turned back to us, brisk and businesslike. “I mean to open Alice’s exhibition on schedule tomorrow evening. Will you be there?”
We exchanged glances and nodded. “Of course, Your Serene Highness. It would be an honor.”
CHAPTER
29
The next evening, we arrived at the Curiosity Club an hour before the exhibition opening in order to attend to the last details. Lady C. was a whirlwind of activity, supervising the polishing of the display cases and the dusting of the various displays.
“That goat is most unsettling,” she remarked to me, pulling a face. “Ought we to leave it?”
“Oh yes,” I told her, not relishing the battle that would ensue should we remove Stoker’s pride and joy.
At last the preparations were finished. A wide velvet ribbon had been stretched across the doorway, to be cut by the princess to officially open the exhibition, and tables had been laid with vast silver coolers of iced champagne and enormous wheels of Alpenwalder cheese adorned with bunches of hothouse grapes. Trays of lobster patties and hot roast lamb pies were passed, and Julien’s enormous sugar homage to the castle took pride of place. The guests circulated, taking in the maps and photographs and pausing to admire Stoker’s goat as well as a rather bedraggled stuffed otter that had been sent at the last moment by a prominent Londoner of Alpenwalder descent.
I was most interested in the reaction of the princess and Pompeia Baker-Greene. They remained together, lost in contemplation whilst the other guests mingled, drinking champagne and chattering loudly about their own travels and travails. The princess was claimed by Lady C. to make the rounds of dignitaries while Stoker and I went to stand next to Pompeia. Her Bath chair had been moved in front of Alice’s portrait, the photograph of her standing atop a mountain peak, a suffragist banner in hand. Pompeia Baker-Greene sat regarding it thoughtfully as she took immoderate bites of Alpenwalder cheese and sipped at her champagne.