Chapter 12
Inspector Tennant and Sir Lionel waited outside the county coroner’s examining room for the postmortem to conclude. For once, Dermott was in no mood for jokes. He sat forward, head down, with his hands hanging between his knees.
“My God, Tennant, an old woman. The man is a monster,” Dermott said.
“A careful and audacious one. It takes nerve to smother a victim in the open air in the middle of the day.”
“And in Windsor Great Park, by God.”
“Not getting caught required planning.”
Sir Lionel rubbed his forehead. “It will be my unhappy duty to inform Her Majesty. What are your next steps?”
“Superintendent Eager is waiting for the autopsy’s results. If it’s murder, it happened on his patch, so he’s in charge at this end. He’s preparing to canvass the immediate area and the Windsor railway station.”
“The logical mode of travel.”
“It won’t be easy,” Tennant said. “Eager tells me that Eton’s Lent term began on Monday. On Sunday, the station overflowed with schoolboys and their parents.”
“Almighty Christ! Nothing is easy with this case.”
“I’ve recommended that Superintendent Eager widen his calendar,” Tennant said. “The killer must have surveilled his prey. He wouldn’t count on stumbling on the old lady by accident.”
“So, he kept his eye on her.”
“It’s probable.”
“When will the superintendent release the body?”
“Immediately. Lady Middlebury resumes her final journey to Ireland tomorrow, accompanied by one of Superintendent Eager’s most reliable sergeants.”
“Is there someone at the other end?” Dermott asked. “I understand she had no children.”
“Eager says a great-nephew travels to Dublin from Cork to take charge of the burial. The sergeant will ask what, if anything, he knew about his aunt.”
“Living on separate islands two generations apart.” Dermott shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on his knowing much.”
A young constable with a pillow in his hand strode past them and into the examination room.
“Something’s turned up,” Tennant said. “Perhaps the murder weapon.”
“Thank Christ,” Dermott said. “If I must tell the queen that someone murdered her old friend, I’ll need more than spots on her eyes.”
“Princess Louise believes the queen remembers nothing about Lizzie Dowling’s employment. She may be wrong.”
Dermott sighed. “You want me to question Her Majesty?”
“Would you like me to do it? I could delay my return to London.”
“No. I’ll do it and take a Saturday morning train.”
The door opened, and a wiry, beak-nosed doctor with flaming hair and a thick Scottish burr waved them into the examining room. Two attendants lifted a tiny, shrouded corpse and returned it to its oak coffin. Julia dried her hands at the sink.
“Aye, it’s murder. There’s no doubt,” Dr. McAllister said. “I’ll testify to that at the inquest. Wee hemorrhages in the eyes tell the tale, and Doctor Lewis found bits of the murder weapon.”
McAllister squeezed the sides of an envelope, opening a gap, and extracted a feather with a pair of tweezers.
“From her windpipe,” Julia said, carrying a cushion over to Tennant. “You can see the rip in the center. The goose feathers inside are a match.”
“May I?” Tennant borrowed the tweezers and pulled one out, comparing it to the one in the envelope.
“The killer smothered Lady Middlebury with her pillow,” Julia said.
At breakfast on Saturday morning, Dr. Andrew Lewis said, “So, Tardieu’s spots after all?”
“Yes,” Julia said, cracking her eggshell. “The poor woman was murdered with her seat cushion. In the shadow of Windsor Castle.”
“The coldness of it. And the brazenness. Julie, my dear …”
The quaver in his voice stopped her. Julia set aside her half-peeled egg and laid her hand on his. “You needn’t worry, Grandfather. This killer isn’t concerned with me.”
“Pray God it stays that way.”
She patted his hand and returned her attention to her egg. “You said you had something to discuss?”
“Yes,” he said. “A collaboration. You’ve given me an idea for next month’s presentation to the young doctors at the London Hospital. I’ll open with a lecture on Tardieu’s spots. You conclude with a case study. Lady Middlebury’s autopsy.”
“Will Uncle Max play along?”
“Why not? He gets two Doctors Lewis for the price of one.”
“The price being …” Julia drew three circles in the air with her index finger.
“Ah, but the experience of the lecture hall. Priceless.”
“And irresistible … so long as you keep my participation a surprise.” Julia grinned. “I’ll enjoy the looks on those young men’s faces when I walk from the wings to the podium.”
Mrs. Ogilvie entered with a note for Julia. “The coachman from Kensington Palace is waiting.”
Tennant spent the first hour of his Saturday morning in the commissioner’s office with Sir Richard and the Irish department chief.
The death of Lady Middlebury, with her roots in Ireland, triggered Colonel Fielding’s inclusion in the meeting.
The murder hardly dented the colonel’s stubborn doubts about the relevance of Lizzie’s murder to the Irish threat.
On his way to his office, the inspector passed a smoldering Chief Inspector Clark.
The commissioner had insulated Tennant from his chief’s oversight, and Clark resented the second-hand reports that kept him minimally informed.
The commissioner’s only explanation had been “Too many damned cooks in this Irish stew.”
Clark called after him, “Running in place, are we?”
Tennant stopped. “Incremental progress, sir.”
Clark hadn’t the wit to conceal his resentment. He radiated fury and contempt. “That’s what we’re calling it these days? I suppose crawling is better than nothing.”
“That’s right, sir. Small steps leading the way.” Tennant turned into his office and nearly ran into O’Malley lurking inside the doorway.
The sergeant cocked his thumb and muttered, “Should we be worrying about that one?”
“Sir Richard and the colonel understand we’re turning every stone.”
“While you were away, one puzzle piece fell into place,” O’Malley said. “We’ve found where the milkman met his end. St. James’s Gardens. The groundskeeper is after finding four empty paraffin tins in the garden’s bushes.”
“Have the constable on the beat question every cart driver, cabbie, and knocker-upper who drives or walks by St. James’s Gardens between the hours of three and five.”
O’Malley smoothed his wiry mustache. “Sure, it’s how things happen, sometimes. Between coppers here and in Dublin, cables from the commissioner, and a princess in Germany—first, it’s a drought. Then the rains lash down.”
“I hope you’re right, Paddy.” Tennant shrugged into his coat.
When Tennant arrived at Marlborough House, he found Sir Lionel Dermott in the foyer.
Gone were the man’s high color and mobile features.
His face had the hue and quality of stiff parchment.
The inspector had come to inform the household about Lady Middlebury’s murder.
The two princesses and Lady Styles knew about the tragedy.
“The Prince of Wales got wind of the story while he was out last night,” Dermott said. “He greeted Alix with the news this morning, leaving Susan to cope with her flood of tears. His wife’s illness and distress are Bertie’s cues to head for his club or a ride in the park.”
“Callous but well-informed,” Tennant said. “How, I wonder?”
Dermott shrugged. “Susan sent for Doctor Lewis, and she’s with Alix now. Christ, what a bloody awful business.”
“You left Windsor early. Have you slept?”
“I couldn’t, so I hopped on the milk train. Last night, having to tell Her Majesty about her old friend’s death …”
“It’s about as grim a task as I know.”
“I imagine so, in your line of work.” Dermott sighed and said, “Come, I’ll take you to Alix’s sitting room.”
Tennant followed Dermott into the room, but it took the inspector a moment to locate the chamber’s occupants amid the clutter.
The princess followed the fashion of dressing a room from floor to ceiling.
Paintings crowded the walls. Vases, bowls, and statuettes covered every surface.
Lady Styles sat on a sofa by the fire, holding Louise’s hand.
The princess rested her head on Susan’s shoulder.
An inner door opened, and Julia entered the sitting room.
Louise lifted her head. “Alix?”
“Princess Alexandra is calmer now,” Julia said. “She’s drifting off.”
Louise’s voice shook when she said, “You examined Lady Middlebury. I … I suppose there’s no doubt?”
“I’ve seen it before, Princess. The signs were there.”
“Good God.” Louise hung her head. “I was a troublesome child, but Lady Middlebury was kind to me. Other ladies-in-waiting …”
Susan asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Inspector?”
“Only what you already know. Inquiries are underway, here and in Ireland.”
“The queen was deeply shocked,” Dermott said. “But Her Majesty’s memory isn’t entirely a blank. Lady Middlebury brought Lizzie Dowling to Osborne when the lady entered royal service shortly after Prince Albert’s death.”
Lady Styles frowned. “That’s very odd. Royal attendants don’t bring along personal servants.”
Tenant asked, “Your Royal Highness, may I ask if you’ve had a letter from Princess Alice?”
“No.” Louise stood, putting her hand on the armrest to steady herself.
“You’ll have it as soon as it arrives.” She stopped at the door and turned.
“But I don’t understand why Lizzie …” Louise looked at Tennant like a lost child.
“Why Lizzie never mentioned Lady Middlebury or told me how she came to Osborne.”
Downstairs, Tennant waited while the footman helped Julia with her coat. They headed for the taxi stand on Marlborough Road.
“The queen’s fragmentary memory confirms a link between the lady and the maid,” Tennant said.
“Raising new questions,” Julia said, pulling on her gloves.
A chilly fog had lingered for another day. Tennant signaled to a passing hackney, saying, “It’s too cold for an open hansom,” and opened the door for her.
“If you’re heading back to the Yard, I’ll drop you on my way to the clinic.”