The Blood Royal by Barbara Cleverly

Author:Barbara Cleverly [Barbara Cleverly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780330150
Publisher: Constable & Robinson
Published: 2011-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

As the last of the guests trickled through and some began to return to have their plates filled again, Charles Honeysett quivered with the effort of concentration. This was a tricky moment. The dishes had to be replenished and the food kept flowing, but above all the wine glasses had to be continually topped up.

He cast an eye on the table of greatest significance to check that all was well. The pretty girl in the green dress who seemed to have taken the prince’s eye had apparently deserted her royal escort for the moment but HRH was in full flow, chattering, laughing with his friends and sinking quite a bit of wine. Egged on by that foreign blighter in the black uniform. That one didn’t have the manners to wait for the footman to circulate and pour the wine – he’d commandeered the bottle and called for two more. Where did he think he was – in an officers’ mess? Outlandish behaviour! No table manners to speak of either. The steward had never seen a fork wielded like that … held in the right hand and used like a spoon … kinder to look aside and take no notice. Honeysett thought HRH, who was a stickler for good behaviour, must be deeply offended by this louche way of going on, but he had probably got used to all sorts and conditions of men in his travels.

And, anyway, if a drunken scene were to develop, it would be the fault of that fair-haired man with the big shoulders. Honeysett had marked him down as one of the hush-hush brigade but perhaps he’d read it wrong. Joining in the spirit of the evening, the fellow had reached over and grabbed a bottle himself, strolled round the table and poured out at least two – Honeysett had been distracted and might have missed one – glasses for the foreign blighter. It was no business of the steward’s but he couldn’t shake off a feeling of foreboding. Something was brewing.

He decided to keep a wary eye on the bloke in black. He didn’t like the cut of his jib. He had to remind himself that this class of Russkie was no threat. They were all related to the English aristocracy up at that level. Most of them claimed Queen Victoria for a grandmother. He’d had all this laid out for him by Anna who seemed to know her aristos; he suspected that she was one of them, or had been in a previous life. It was the other bunch, the Reds – the Bolsheviks – you had to watch out for. Murdering scum, according to Anna.

At least now the policeman, the young fellow with the autocratic way with him, had joined the table, and the steward-in-chief felt he could come off watch.

There were undercurrents here tonight. All Honeysett could do was his own job. Thoroughly. ‘Just go about your business in your usual manner,’ they’d warned him at the briefing. ‘Ignore anything that does not concern the provision of hospitality.

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