meekly.
‘As a newly married man, I find everything my wife does is naturally perfect,’ he murmured diplomatically, wondering how his wife’s conduct could be the topic of discussion, when a dead body had been discovered only a few hours ago. Or was his arrival at breakfast the signal to cease speculation on that subject?
‘It does not matter. I shall not take another smoke,’ Tatiana said dismissively.
‘I am much relieved,’ Priscilla told her graciously. Obviously her Ladyship had recovered from the shock of what Tatiana must have disclosed to her during the night, Auguste reflected. The greater shock of thecorpse had outweighed even Tatiana’s grievous sin.
‘Will you be accompanying us this morning, Mr Didier?’ Laura’s quiet voice asked.
‘To church?’
‘To see the body,’ Oliver told him cheerfully. ‘It’s been carted off to Settle hospital mortuary in view of His Majesty’s presence here, at the request of his detectives. Those of us who didn’t take part in the night’s proceedings are invited along to see if we can recognise him.’
‘It is iniquitous,’ Priscilla burst out. ‘It is unfortunate enough that this deluded man chose our smokehouse for his despicable act, without our guests being put to inconvenience.’
‘
All
your guests, your Ladyship?’ enquired Auguste delicately.
‘Not of course His Majesty,’ retorted Priscilla, shocked.
‘Yet who more likely to get murdered here than he?’ Victoria pointed out, helping herself to another buttered muffin.
A little shriek from Beatrice. ‘Oh, Miss Tabor, the very thought of it. Do you think he’ll come back?’
‘Who?’ asked her husband.
‘His Majesty’s assassin.’
‘Mrs Janes!’ Priscilla’s anguished voice rang out. ‘I fear you have misunderstood.’
Cyril failed to take note of the warning conveyed in his sister-in-law’s tone. Was it one of the Special Branch Johnnies that shot him?’
‘Cyril!’ Priscilla broke in desperately. ‘I fear you are forgetting it was suicide.’
‘Why should the King’s assassin commit suicide?’ asked Gertie, puzzled, oblivious of storm clouds since she lived amongst them most of the time.
‘He didn’t, kitten,’ Cyril assured her.
‘You mean it was murder?’ asked Miriam brightly.
‘It was not murder. It was suicide!’ Lady Priscilla shouted, rising to her feet. ‘Will you
all
please understand? It was
suicide
!’
But why, Auguste wondered, was she so certain?
His Majesty was seated at a small writing table in his salon as Auguste, bowing deeply, was ushered with Tatiana into the presence. There was a distinct lack of rapport between husband and wife. The air crackled with the tense politeness of a marital no man’s land. An equerry had been sent to summon them, and Auguste had welcomed the opportunity to attempt to put matters in their true perspective to His Majesty. It was not going to be easy. Nobody hoped more than himself that Priscilla Tabor was right in her conviction; but there were too many unexplained loose threads for him to have any confidence that this was the case. And one loose thread was Tatiana.
‘Ah, Tati,’ was His Majesty’s affectionate greeting, rising to kiss her before turning his attention to her husband. ‘Now, Didier, what’s all this about a suicide?’ There was little affection for Auguste in his tone.
‘It’s most regrettable, Your Majesty, but—’
‘I know that. Who is it?’
‘No one so far recognises him, sir.’
The King frowned. ‘Unusual, isn’t it? I gather he was dressed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Auguste correctly interpreted this and mentally congratulated himself it was a small sign that he had not yet been cast totally outside the pale of the royal family.
‘No fear it might be anything other than suicide?’ the King barked.
Auguste steeled himself. ‘It is not beyond the bounds of possibility, sir.’
The King regarded him suspiciously. ‘Don’t let him go making a murder out of this,
‘As a newly married man, I find everything my wife does is naturally perfect,’ he murmured diplomatically, wondering how his wife’s conduct could be the topic of discussion, when a dead body had been discovered only a few hours ago. Or was his arrival at breakfast the signal to cease speculation on that subject?
‘It does not matter. I shall not take another smoke,’ Tatiana said dismissively.
‘I am much relieved,’ Priscilla told her graciously. Obviously her Ladyship had recovered from the shock of what Tatiana must have disclosed to her during the night, Auguste reflected. The greater shock of thecorpse had outweighed even Tatiana’s grievous sin.
‘Will you be accompanying us this morning, Mr Didier?’ Laura’s quiet voice asked.
‘To church?’
‘To see the body,’ Oliver told him cheerfully. ‘It’s been carted off to Settle hospital mortuary in view of His Majesty’s presence here, at the request of his detectives. Those of us who didn’t take part in the night’s proceedings are invited along to see if we can recognise him.’
‘It is iniquitous,’ Priscilla burst out. ‘It is unfortunate enough that this deluded man chose our smokehouse for his despicable act, without our guests being put to inconvenience.’
‘
All
your guests, your Ladyship?’ enquired Auguste delicately.
‘Not of course His Majesty,’ retorted Priscilla, shocked.
‘Yet who more likely to get murdered here than he?’ Victoria pointed out, helping herself to another buttered muffin.
A little shriek from Beatrice. ‘Oh, Miss Tabor, the very thought of it. Do you think he’ll come back?’
‘Who?’ asked her husband.
‘His Majesty’s assassin.’
‘Mrs Janes!’ Priscilla’s anguished voice rang out. ‘I fear you have misunderstood.’
Cyril failed to take note of the warning conveyed in his sister-in-law’s tone. Was it one of the Special Branch Johnnies that shot him?’
‘Cyril!’ Priscilla broke in desperately. ‘I fear you are forgetting it was suicide.’
‘Why should the King’s assassin commit suicide?’ asked Gertie, puzzled, oblivious of storm clouds since she lived amongst them most of the time.
‘He didn’t, kitten,’ Cyril assured her.
‘You mean it was murder?’ asked Miriam brightly.
‘It was not murder. It was suicide!’ Lady Priscilla shouted, rising to her feet. ‘Will you
all
please understand? It was
suicide
!’
But why, Auguste wondered, was she so certain?
His Majesty was seated at a small writing table in his salon as Auguste, bowing deeply, was ushered with Tatiana into the presence. There was a distinct lack of rapport between husband and wife. The air crackled with the tense politeness of a marital no man’s land. An equerry had been sent to summon them, and Auguste had welcomed the opportunity to attempt to put matters in their true perspective to His Majesty. It was not going to be easy. Nobody hoped more than himself that Priscilla Tabor was right in her conviction; but there were too many unexplained loose threads for him to have any confidence that this was the case. And one loose thread was Tatiana.
‘Ah, Tati,’ was His Majesty’s affectionate greeting, rising to kiss her before turning his attention to her husband. ‘Now, Didier, what’s all this about a suicide?’ There was little affection for Auguste in his tone.
‘It’s most regrettable, Your Majesty, but—’
‘I know that. Who is it?’
‘No one so far recognises him, sir.’
The King frowned. ‘Unusual, isn’t it? I gather he was dressed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Auguste correctly interpreted this and mentally congratulated himself it was a small sign that he had not yet been cast totally outside the pale of the royal family.
‘No fear it might be anything other than suicide?’ the King barked.
Auguste steeled himself. ‘It is not beyond the bounds of possibility, sir.’
The King regarded him suspiciously. ‘Don’t let him go making a murder out of this,
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