Chapter One She was apparently found in the linen cupboard, poor creature," Narraway replied, his lean face dour, his eyes so dark they seemed black in the interior shadow of the hansom cab. Then, before Pitt could say anything further, he corrected himself. "One of the linen cupboards in Buckingham Palace. It was a particularly brutal murder." The vehicle jerked forward, throwing Pitt back in the seat. "A prostitute?" he said incredulously. Narraway was silent for a moment. The horse's hoofs clattered loudly, the carriage's wheels rattling over the cobbles dangerously close to the pavement edge. "Surely that's a bad joke!" he said at last as they swung around the corner into The Mall and picked up speed again. "Very bad," Narraway agreed. "At least I hope so. But I fear it is perfectly serious. However, if Mr. Cahoon Dunkeld proves to be wasting our time exercising his sense of humor, I shall take great joy in personally putting him in jail--preferably one of our less pleasant ones." "It has to be a joke," Pitt said, shivering at the thought. "There couldn't be a murder at the Palace. How could a prostitute get in there, anyway?" "Through the door, exactly as we shall, Pitt," Narraway answered. "Don't be naïve. And she was probably more welcome than we shall be." Pitt felt a little stung. "Who is Cahoon Dunkeld?" he asked, avoiding looking at Narraway. He had a reverence for Queen Victoria, especially now in her advanced age and widowhood, even though he was perfectly well aware of her reputed eccentricities and the fact that she had not always been so popular with her people. She had been in mourning too long, retreating not only from joy but also from duty. And he had gained some personal knowledge a couple of years ago of the extravagance and the self-indulgence of the Prince of Wales, and knew he kept several very expensive mistresses. Pitt had been superintendent of Bow Street then, and the conspiracy around the Prince had cost him his job and very nearly brought down the throne. That was why Pitt was now working for Victor Narraway in Special Branch, learning more about treason, anarchy, and other forms of violence against the State. But the thought of a prostitute in the Queen's home was different. It disgusted him, and he had difficulty concealing it, even though he knew Narraway found him plebeian amd faintly amusing for having such idealism. "Who is Cahoon Dunkeld?" he repeated. Narraway leaned forward a little. The dappled, early-morning sunlight of The Mall made bright patterns on the road. There was little traffic. It was not a residential area, and such horseback riders as were out would be cantering up and down Rotten Row on the edge of Hyde Park. "An adventurer of considerable charm when he wishes, and undoubted ability, who is now seeking to become a gentleman in the more recognized social sense," Narraway answered. "And apparently a friend of His Royal Highness." "What is he doing at the Palace at this hour of the morning?" Pitt said. "That is what we are about to find out," Narraway snapped as they came out of The Mall in front of the Palace. The magnificent wrought-iron railings were tipped with gold. Guards were on duty wearing bearskin helmets, their red tunics bright in the sun. Pitt looked up at the sweeping façade itself and then at the roof. He saw with a flood of relief that there was no flag flying, indicating that Her Majesty was not in residence. At the same time he was inexplicably disappointed. He was quite aware that Narraway would find it gauche of him, but Pitt would like to have caught another glimpse of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. In spite of all common Excerpted from Buckingham Palace Gardens: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel by Anne Perry All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
