“Are you sure, dear?” the King said.
“Of course,” she replied, raising her chin and squaring her slight shoulders. “I’ll do it right away. And please send the detective in charge to see me when he’s finished, Lord Clive.” The King and Queen turned and left to return to the castle.
Maggie turned to leave and stepped on a creaky board.
“Miss Hope,” Lord Clive said, catching sight of her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
“I—I heard the commotion and thought I’d see what was going on,” Maggie answered.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Lord Clive said as he approached her. “Although it is curious—you’re here only one night and already someone is dead.”
“It’s terrible, sir. I met Lady Lily last night. She seems—seemed—like a lovely girl.”
Lord Clive was not won over. “I’m keeping an eye on you, Miss Hope.”
“Of course, Your Lordship.”
And I’ll be keeping an eye on you too.
At the crime scene, the corpse was already wrapped and two men were transferring it to a battered Black Maria. A stocky older man in a camel-hair overcoat and gray felt hat with a notebook seemed to be finishing up as Maggie made her way over to him.
“Hello,” he said in neutral tones, his breath cloudy in the cold air. His eyes were bright and penetrating, his jowls heavy, his mustache streaked with gray. “My name’s Detective Wilson.” Detective Chief Superintendent Wilson of the Windsor police department had served his country in World War I, and then rose through the ranks of the police force to his current position. A widower, with a son serving in the Royal Navy, Wilson originally tried to become involved with the war effort but had ultimately decided that staying on in Windsor wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. For the war had certainly not brought any respite from transgressions. If anything, the stresses of war had intensified the number and viciousness of local crimes.
“Maggie Hope, sir. Pleased to meet you—although under horrible circumstances.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes going to the body, which had been safely stowed in the vehicle. The car spluttered as it warmed up, then the engine turned over.
“Did you know”—he consulted his notes—“Lily Howell? You look about her age.”
“I met her yesterday, sir. I understand she was one of the Queen’s Ladies-in-Waiting.”
“Yesterday?” the detective queried.
“I arrived yesterday from London,” Maggie told him. “Last night I had dinner at the Carpenters Arms with Gregory Strathcliffe. While we were there, Lily and two other Ladies-in-Waiting—Louisa and Polly—joined us. We all walked back to the castle together.”
“Really?” Detective Wilson said, scribbling on his notepad. “About what time was that?”
“It was around midnight. I remember because I was worried about oversleeping without an alarm clock.”
“And what do you do at the Castle, Miss Hope?”
“I’m tutoring the Princess Elizabeth in mathematics.”
“I see. And when was the last time you saw Lily Howell?”
“We’re all—that is, we were all—staying in Victoria Tower.” Maggie looked back at the hulking structure, where age-blackened chimneys emitted thin threads of smoke into the cold air. “She and the other girls have rooms on the lower floors. I’m up on the top, so I said good night to the three of them just after midnight, then continued upstairs.” She rubbed her gloved hands together, to warm them. Overhead, a peregrine falcon with a black head and a black-and-white tufted breast glided by, then dipped down and settled on a nearby tree, folding his large wings. His laughing cries were borne away by the cold wind.
“Did anything … happen … that you recall?”
“No, sir. It was a pleasant evening.” No need to mention the morning sickness. At least, not until I’ve run it past Frain.
Detective Wilson tipped his hat. “Thank you, Miss Hope,” he said as he walked back to the road and to his waiting car. He opened the door and got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be in touch.” He started the engine.
“Yes, sir,” Maggie said. She held up one hand as he drove off toward the castle.
Anything related to the crime had been removed. Still, as Maggie walked to a group of bare trees by the side of the path, she could see where the wire had been attached to the tree and rubbed through the bark. Oh, Lily …
Well, the facts are these, she thought, taming her racing mind with logic. Lily Howell is dead. She was decapitated by a wire tied to two trees, stretched over a bridle path. But was she the intended victim? Maggie remembered Crawfie’s schedule of the Princesses’ activities. Both girls were supposed to be riding today.