Death At Buckingham Palace by C. C. Benison

Author:C. C. Benison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bantam Books

At five minutes to four, after a brisk but not-too-conspicuous trot down the Privy Purse Corridor and upstairs to the principal floor, I was in the White Drawing Room.

And you'll never guess what I found on the rug. Chewing gum. Again. It wasn't as fresh as what I had stepped in the day before, but it was there nevertheless, a great wad of the stuff, all pink and rubbery-looking. And, as it had been the last time I was in the room, it was directly beneath the chandelier in the centre of the room, right in the middle of the floral pattern in the Axminster. This couldn't be carelessness, I decided. It had to be deliberate. Who was getting their jollies leaving wads of gum on priceless carpets?

At Buck House, just about anyone, I concluded as, at four o'clock precisely, the pier-glass slid forward silently on its hinges. The Queen is nothing if not punctual, I thought, reflecting on a life that was beholden to schedules. However, no Monarch popped out from behind the pier-glass to invite me in, so, ignoring the gum and deciding not to vex Her Majesty by even mentioning it, I moved to the wall on my own impulse and slipped into the Royal Closet. No one was there.

"Your Majesty?" I whispered, and then felt immediately silly. What was I expecting? The Queen hiding behind a couch, waiting to spring out at me?

A door opposite, one to the Queen's Audience Chamber, opened and Humphrey Cranston poked his head through, jack-in-the-box fashion.

"Her Majesty will join you presently," he said. The door closed.

Since I figured it probably wasn't a good idea for the Queen to find me seated—protocol and all—I went over to the card table near the window and looked to see if any progress had been made on the jigsaw-puzzle front since the day before. Apparently not. There remained the gap in the allegorical figures around King Charles, and parts were still missing around the top border. I picked up a pink piece from the table that I thought was part of the sky, but I couldn't make it fit. I didn't try any further, because I suddenly felt this sharp pain in my ankle.

"Joan!" came the voice of the Queen.

"Jane, Your Majesty," I squeaked, turning and dipping into a curtsey. The pain in my ankle was intense.

"Yes, I know. I mean the dog. Her name is Joan. Joan, come here."

I looked down at my tormentor. The way Joan bared her teeth, I swear she was grinning at me. I like dogs but I don't like having my ankles bitten. I had an urge to give Joan a swift kick but refrained, of course. You couldn't very well kick the Queen's dog in front of the Queen.

"Joan, come here," Her Majesty commanded, and this time the dog responded, padding over to her mistress on her little feet and plunking herself down on the carpet with a breathy sigh that sounded to me pretty much like one of satisfaction.

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