‘Gentlemen. Gentlemen.’ Suter was calling the meeting to order. ‘We are due to meet the Prince of Wales in one hour’s time. Rosebery, I would be grateful if you could marshal your arguments against what I have suggested. The Prince wishes to avail himself of the best possible advice before he reaches his final decision. I must go to him now. Sir Bartle here will answer some of your more specific questions.’
Suter walked slowly from the room. As he closed the door faint sounds of women weeping could be heard from the floors above.
‘Was there any sign of a murder weapon? Was the window open or closed?’ Powerscourt felt suddenly like an intruder as he began his inquiries.
‘No murder weapon was found,’ Sir Bartle Shepstone replied. ‘I do not know about the window – but obviously members of the family have been tramping in and out of the room all day. You can see it tomorrow, and Lancaster will talk to you, of course.
‘I have ordered reinforcements of a sort,’ Shepstone went on. ‘A detachment of two dozen Guardsmen, commanded by a Major Dawnay, including a doctor and a trained undertaker, should be with us soon. They are part of a special section of the Household Division and are sworn to secrecy in the event of unusual missions like this.’
‘I never knew of such a special detachment,’ said Rosebery, with the air of a man who found it difficult to believe that such things could exist without his knowledge or approval.
‘Oh, they are very very secret, my dear Rosebery. When you are Prime Minister you will know all about them, and the special units of the Metropolitan Police Force. But they will be able to help us with the body.’
Powerscourt suddenly remembered that Shepstone had won the Victoria Cross for outstanding bravery in the Indian Mutiny. He made a mental note to tell his nephews that he had talked with an old man with a white beard who had a VC; the Indian Mutiny, he suspected, would seem as remote to those little boys as the Spanish Armada.
‘How many people are in the house just now?’ Powerscourt returned to Sandringham.
‘Well, the family are here. And the Tecks, of course – Princess May was engaged to be married to Prince Eddy, as you know. About half a dozen young men, friends or equerries of Prince Eddy.’
‘And how many servants are there about the place?’
Sir Bartle shook his head rather sadly. ‘Do you know, I have no idea about that. Some of them live in, of course, and some of them come from the neighbouring villages. Seventy? Eighty? I’ve never thought about it.’
‘Any reports of strangers in the vicinity?’ Powerscourt felt he wasn’t making much progress so far. He didn’t suppose it would get any better.
‘Odd that you should mention that, Lord Powerscourt.’ Shepstone was looking very tired suddenly. ‘There have been reports of a party of Russians and some Irishmen in the neighbourhood. The Prince of Wales is convinced one of them must be responsible.’
‘Let me ask the key question for our next round of discussions.’ For much of the conversation Rosebery had been marshalling his arguments for the Prince of Wales, lost in thought on the settee. ‘How many people know what has happened? How many people know the truth?’
‘I should think it cannot be more than a dozen, maybe fifteen at most. But all of them are either members of the family, or members of distinguished families who can be relied upon to do their duty.’
Powerscourt raised his eyebrows at the assumed link between birth and virtue. If all those of good birth and position had done their duty according to the honour of their class and the dictates of their Commandments, he reflected bitterly, we probably would not have a bloodied corpse on our hands, stiffening into rigor mortis in an upstairs bedroom.
The Prince of Wales seemed quite small that evening. He looked as though some powerful machine had emptied most of the air from his body. His eyes were red from weeping, his face pale and drawn. And though he was wearing one of his darker uniforms, he looked as though he no longer cared for the medals and decorations that hung loosely from his tunic, as if they too were in mourning.
‘My friends,’ he began, ‘thank you for coming to see us in this time of trouble. Thank you, Rosebery, thank you, Powerscourt. We shall never forget your assistance.
‘Rosebery, I do not think I shall make a final decision until the morning. But I want you to try to persuade me that we should tell the truth. My own inclination, as I believe Suter told you, is to conceal it.’
If you have led the life of Prince Edward for the past thirty years, the love affairs, the gambling, the discreet trips en gargon to the pleasure palaces of Europe, thought Powerscourt, concealment must have become a way of life. There are only so many evenings you could pretend to be playing billiards at the Marlborough Club.
Rosebery began with expressions of concern and sympathy for the family at the time of this terrible tragedy. He spoke of his long acquaintance with Alexandra and Edward, his frequent trips to Sandringham and Marlborough House, the weekends at his own houses, Mentmore or Dalmeny. He referred to his long intimacy with Queen Victoria and his friendship with the members of her Household. ‘I have often said, Your Royal Highness,’ he bowed slightly to the Prince of Wales, ‘that I have only met two people in my entire life who frightened me. One was that old bully Bismarck. The other is rather a smaller figure, your mother, the Queen.’
The Prince of Wales smiled a wan smile, Shepstone managed the ghost of a laugh. Powerscourt had never heard Rosebery speak in the House of Lords. He had heard him once on a platform with Gladstone in London where his elegant eloquence made the Grand Old Man sound long-winded and lugubrious. He had never heard him as forceful as he was this evening.
‘Of course I understand the reservations you might have about bringing this sorry affair into the cold light of day. Of course I can see that concealment has its attractions, and that the opiate of secrecy is a powerful and addictive potion. Of course I can sense your fears of what might lie on the other side of those locked doors, of what dark phantoms might emerge to trouble yourself and your family.
‘But, Your Royal Highness,’ Rosebery was speaking very quietly, looking now at the Prince of Wales, now at the silent figure of Suter by the fireside, ‘I think there are other higher considerations, other flags to which we should pay allegiance. I would ask you to think about truth. Truth first of all in relation to my own profession of politics. Of course it can be a filthy business, despoiled by bribery and corruption, debased by fraudulent appeals to the electorate and the sordid traffic of faction. But some six hundred members of the House of Commons and a thousand members of my own chamber the Lords swear a solemn oath of loyalty to the Queen. It is a matter of high seriousness when you do it. Think of their feelings and their reactions when they learn that their own Prince of Wales has concealed things from them, that he has lied about such an important matter as the death of one who is second in line to the throne. There is no uglier sight in politics than the House of Commons when it knows it has been deceived. They will count up the sums of money voted each year to maintain the standard of living of the Royal Family, and their instinct will be to take revenge in whatever fashion they can find.
‘Think of the truth and the Church of England. It is not the force it once was, weakened by Darwin and by defections to Rome, but it remains the national Church of this country. People died at the stake to bring it into existence. Its bishops are appointed in the name of the Queen, who is Head of that Church, as you will be one day. Can you stand there at your Coronation, surrounded by the Princes of the Church as well of the State, and say that you will keep God’s holy laws and uphold his Commandments?’
There was no noise in the room save for the soft cadences of Rosebery’s voice. Outside snow was falling steadily, wrapping those inside with further layers of white.