The Curse Of The Diogenes Club Read Free Page B

bark!”
    “Slavs believe that the souls
of the dead inhabit birch trees.”
    “Are you saying the death of
Princess Paraskovia was some sort of religious ritual?”
    “No, I’m saying whoever killed
her wanted her soul to go to a sacred place.”
    “You mean whoever killed her
actually cared about her?”
    “Yes, the killer must have
cared deeply.”
    Mycroft processed this latest
bit of information in stunned silence while the Countess wrapped
the peelings carefully in one of the princess’s own monogrammed
linen handkerchiefs.
    “I understand now why Prince
Sergei did not ask to see the body of his wife,” she said.
    Mycroft seemed to force himself
back from some dark place when she placed the handkerchief with the
embroidered ‘P’ into his limp hand. “I’m sorry - you understand
what?”
    “Prince Sergei didn’t ask to
see the body of his wife because he had already seen it.”
    Mycroft forgot himself. “Bloody
hell! Are you saying he killed his own wife?”
    “Yes, and I think he dropped
the name of the Prince of Wales in order to put the wind up
you.”
    “Well, it worked,” admitted
Mycroft without even apologizing for the expletive.
    “I’ve just had another
thought,” she said gravely. “I think he dropped the royal name not
merely to circumvent you linking him to the death, but to let you
know that if you ever attempted to accuse him he would counter the
accusation by incriminating the heir to the throne.”
    Mycroft stared ruefully at the
handkerchief. “In other words, he doesn’t really believe the Prince
of Wales is responsible for the death of the princess but he will
say so knowing that such an accusation would be impossible to
deny.”
    “Yes, something along that
line.”
    “Suicide it is, then.”
    “Was Princess Paraskovia
invited to Bertie’s New Year’s Eve costume ball?”
    “Yes – her invitation is on the
mantelpiece with a string of others. Why do you ask?”
    “Her absence will be noted.
That means you will not be able to keep her death a secret for very
long. Prince Sergei will have a captive audience should he wish to
put about any rumours. Will you be going to the ball?”
    “I was going to send Nash in my
place to keep an eye on things. I hate these costume galas. But it
seems I will need to make a personal appearance after all. If any
rumours start up I may need to nip them in the bud.”
    “If I need to find you quickly,
what costume will you be wearing?”
    “Sir Walter Raleigh.”
    Royal servant, courtier, spy –
what else! “Do you have a pearl earring?”
    He rubbed his ear and winced.
“Not anymore. I turned it into a tie pin.”
    “I’ll send one around to the
Diogenes Club. It clips on. Your outfit will not be complete
without it.”
    He decided not to argue; his
mind was elsewhere. “What costume have you chosen?”
    “The Snow Queen – lots of white
fur and diamantiferous sparkle topped off with a splendid pearl and
diamond kokoshnik. I’m arriving by troika, but it will have hidden
wheels because there isn’t any snow. What costume will Major Nash
be wearing?”
    “He usually goes to these sorts
of childish dress-ups as the fictional Horatio Hornblower. The man
looks ridiculously dapper in naval uniform.”
    “Major Nash would look dapper
in any uniform,” she quipped without thinking.
    Mycroft looked up quickly. “Are
you setting your sights on the dashing baronet?”
    “I am not setting my sights on
anyone, Uncle Mycroft. I enjoy being my own mistress. But that
doesn’t mean I am immune to a man in uniform. I think the ball
should prove to be more exciting than I had anticipated. Are we
done here? Can Major Nash summon a cab to take me back to Brown’s
Hotel? I just remembered I left my carriage there.”
    “Nash can take you in my
carriage. I’m going to stay here for a while longer. Close the door
on your way out. I need time to think.”
    She reached the door then
paused. “Where’s the princess’s costume?’
    “In the