It had belonged somewhere. Why were they all lying? He had not seen a flicker in the faces of any of them, even Mrs. Newsome. Was there any point in asking Gracie to speak to them? Were there any tiny pieces embedded in a carpet, or into the wood of the floorboards, between the cracks? Might Gracie even have seen it already, without recognizing what it was?
He went to the bellpull and was about to ring it, when another thought occurred to him. His hand froze, fingers stiff, still clinging to the pull. Maybe they were not lying. Perhaps they had not seen it because it was not in any of the rooms they cleaned. What if it had been in the Prince of Wales’s own rooms?
A furious quarrel, a hysterical woman, china smashed. It would have to be concealed-at any price. Is that what had happened? Perhaps Sadie had refused to do something that was asked of her, or been unable to? The Prince was drunk. He had lost his temper and lashed out. And what? Killed her? Cut her throat with one of the dining room knives, and then gone on slashing at her?
Had he been so drunk he had then passed out, then woken up in the morning beside the bloody corpse, and sent for Cahoon Dunkeld to help him?
There was a knock on the door and Pitt whirled round as if it had been a shot. He steadied himself, breathing in and out slowly, his heart pounding. “Yes?”
Gracie came in and closed the door behind her. She stood still, leaning against the knob, staring at him. “ ’E din’t tell yer, did ’e?” she said softly. “Wot does it mean, Mr. Pitt? They in’t lyin’. Nobody knows, fer real. Wot’s goin’ on?”
“I think it means it was in a room they don’t go into,” he replied, his mouth dry. “Mr. Tyndale knows where it was, and he’d rather be blamed for concealing murder than tell anyone.”
Her eyes grew wider and her face more tight and drawn. He knew she had thought the same thing. He was sorry she had had to know this. She would not have had to if he had not brought her here. It was unfair. She was civilian, not police, and certainly not Special Branch.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Wot are yer goin’ ter do?” she whispered. “Mr. Tyndale in’t never gonna tell yer. An’ if it were smashed in a fight or summink, ’e would, ter save yer thinkin’ wot yer is now. There weren’t no blood on it, though.”
“I know that. But if it didn’t mean anything, and had nothing to do with Sadie’s death, then why is Mr. Tyndale lying about it? And he is lying.”
“I know.” The misery in her face was naked. “ ’E’s protectin’ ’Is Royal ’Ighness. I reckon as ’e does quite a lot o’ that. It’s ’is. . ’is kind o’ loyalty. Mr. Pitt. .”-she frowned, screwing up her face-“d’ yer reckon as that’s right? Is that wot we’re supposed ter do? ’Ave yer gotta do it too? An’ me?”
“And let Sorokine spend the rest of his life in a madhouse for something he didn’t do?” he asked.
She shook her head minutely. “Wot are we gonna do, then?”
He sat against the edge of the table. “I’m not sure. That plate wasn’t just knocked off something and broken into two or three pieces. It was smashed beyond recognition in an uncontrollable rage.
Whether she laughed at him, belittled him, threatened to tell everyone and make a mockery of him, we’ll never know. But he flew into an insane fury and cut her throat-”
“Wot with?” she interrupted.
“Maybe the table knife-there was blood on it. Or maybe a different knife altogether, a paper knife or fruit knife he had there. We wouldn’t have found it because we haven’t looked. The other knife was put into the linen cupboard after we took the body out anyway.
The blood could have been from anywhere.”
“Then she weren’t killed in the linen cupboard, were she?” Gracie said.
“No. She will have been killed in his room. That’s why the footmen were up and down with buckets of water, cleaning up.”
“You reckon as ’e called ’em?” she said with disbelief.
“No. I think he called Cahoon Dunkeld. I expect the footmen only brought the water. I should think Dunkeld, and possibly even the Prince himself, did the principal cleaning. They wouldn’t trust anyone else with a secret like that.”
“Wot are we gonna do?” Fear was sharp and bright in Gracie’s eyes. “We can’t never say as ’e done it! They’ll ’ave us ’anged fer treason!”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “But if he killed Mrs. Sorokine as well, he has to be stopped. He’ll do it again. Dunkeld can’t protect him, and I doubt he would want to-not when his own daughter was the victim.”
“Then why in’t ’e said summink?” she asked. “Why’d ’e let yer blame Mr. Sorokine?”
“He didn’t ‘let’ me, he told me himself that it was Sorokine.”
He realized as he said it that it made no sense. Did Dunkeld really believe it was Julius who had killed Minnie? Maybe he thought the Prince was innocent, and somehow Julius had done it, or maybe all three of them were involved? “I don’t know,” he went on. “I don’t understand. If the Prince killed her in a drunken rage, then fell into a stupor and woke in the morning and panicked, he could have sent for Dunkeld to help him. Dunkeld moved the body, with the bloodstained sheets, into the linen cupboard, so at least it wouldn’t be found in the Royal quarters.”
Gracie’s eyes never moved from his face.
“The Prince had a bath to clean himself up,” he went on. “And maybe sober himself as well. That would explain why the Princess found the bathtub still warm, when she did not expect him to have used it. In the meantime Dunkeld cleaned up the room and had the remains of the broken ornament removed, and everything else tidied up. Then he made a pretense of finding the body himself, to ensure we were called and the evidence kept under some control.”
“Only Mrs. Sorokine got too clever, an’ worked it out?” she finished. “Did ’e kill ’is own daughter then, to ’ide it? That’s ’orrible!
’E don’t owe that kind o’ loyalty ter the Queen even, nor nobody! An’
din’t yer say as the way she were cut open were jus’ the same as the other poor cow. . I mean woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then stands ter reason it were the Prince as done that too, don’t it?”
He felt helpless to deny it, and yet he could not bring himself to say so. “I don’t know.”
“D’yer still think Mr. Sorokine done it?” she asked.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Pitt said reluctantly. “I can’t see Dunkeld killing his own daughter. Killing a wife is different. Tragically, that happens often.”
“Ter protect ’Is Royal ’Ighness?” Gracie’s expression was one of disbelief mixed with a crowding, terrible fear. “I think ever so much o’
the Queen, but I couldn’t kill none o’ me own ter protect ’er, even if she never done a thing wrong in ’er life. An’ I wouldn’t put down a dog ter save ’Is Royal ’Ighness, if he done that ter Sadie. I don’t care wot ’appens ter the Crown, nor nothin’. I don’t want a Crown wot’s red wi’ blood.”
“No, Gracie, neither do I,” Pitt admitted. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll do something, I promise you.”
Her face brightened.
“Yer’ll tell Mr. Narraway, when ’e comes back, won’t yer? Mebbe
’e’ll know wot ter do?”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “He’s looking to see if he can find anything in Sorokine’s past to show he’s done it before.”
Gracie gave a little sigh, puzzled and unhappy. “Yer gonna be all right?” she asked anxiously. “Yer in’t goin’ ter let anyone know wot yer think, are yer?”
He smiled. “No, of course not. And don’t you either! As far as we are concerned, the guilty man is Julius Sorokine. We are just tidying up the proof. That’s an order, Gracie.”
“Yer don’t ’ave ter order me.” She gave a shudder and pulled her apron straight so sharply that she undid one of the ties. She made a bow of it again, crookedly, then excused herself, closing the door with a snap behind her.
Pitt had not lied, yet he had not told Gracie the exact truth. He felt he had no choice but to speak to the Prince of Wales directly. It was an interview he was not looking forward to. The only thing worse would be to see
