Back Malice at the Palace
Chapters (37)
  1. Cover
  2. Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Rhys Bowen
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. Chapter 30
  36. Chapter 31
  37. Historical Note

“Well, she used to, didn’t she? Quite fond of her, she was. They’d been together for some time and then out of the blue she goes and sacks her. Just like that. I was quite surprised and she never told me why. I can’t say I was pleased either. More work for me because she’s not the neatest of young ladies. She’d have that place like a pigsty if I wasn’t there.” A sad look came over her face. “So I suppose I’m going to be looking for work now. That’s not a nice thing to face with winter coming on.”

I immediately thought of Belinda. Mrs. Preston had had great experience at being discreet.

“I might know somebody who would need your services, Mrs. Preston,” I said. “Not too far away, in Knightsbridge.”

“Well, thank you kindly, miss,” she said. “That’s good of you. And I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like a cup of tea? The kettle’s always on.”

“Kind of you, but I have to be on my way,” I said. “If I could just have those keys?”

“Oh yes. I’ll fetch them for you.” She bobbed out into the kitchen, reminding me of a Cockney sparrow. I had stood up when she returned.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll return them to Frederick and they’ll let you know if they want you to go back and clean up the place after she’s moved out.”

“Right you are, miss,” she said.

“And I’ll speak to my friend about you right away,” I said.

“Good of you, miss. You’re a real toff,” she said.

I felt awkward and with a bad taste in my mouth as I came out into the street. I had, after all, tricked her out of her keys. But then she would no longer have a job looking after Bobo Carrington, would she? And someone else would have asked for the return of the keys, less politely than I had done. And I might have a new job for her too. Thus reassured, I went around the back of the station to Buckingham Palace Road and hopped on a bus going up to Park Lane. It wasn’t that I was too tired to walk. Nobody who has grown up in the Scottish Highlands, walking miles through the heather, would find it daunting to walk in London, but time was now of the essence and I wanted to cram as much as possible into my free morning.