‘That’s a clean bill of health for the Russians and the Irish, then.’ Powerscourt didn’t sound surprised. ‘You have done well, Johnny, you must have been working very hard. I am very grateful to you, as always.’
‘I have to tell you that I shall always be a welcome guest at the Institute of Science and Technology in St Petersburg.’ Johnny Fitzgerald was laughing now. ‘And at the humble home of the good Professor what’s his name. They promised to take me on a tour of the Russian vodka factories when I come to call. Anyone care to join me?’
McKenzie shuddered at the thought.
‘William.’ Powerscourt turned to his Calvinist tea drinker. ‘Have you been able to find anything out in the dreadful snow?’
‘Yes and no, Lord Francis. Yes, in this sense. I have been all around the grounds of Sandringham House. The snow makes it very difficult to come to firm conclusions. I do not think anybody has been trying to get in or out, by unorthodox means, if you see what I mean. They could have always used the front door. That’s a bit of a yes. The no is that I cannot be sure, sir. I would like to have a day or two more to work on it. I have an appointment with some poachers later this evening. They may have more intelligence.’
‘I would like you to join me tomorrow morning at the big house, William. I will meet you at the main entrance by the Norwich Gates at, shall we say, ten o’clock? I have asked one of the military gentlemen to see if it is possible to climb over the roof at Sandringham and gain entrance to the death chamber on the other side. This man is an experienced mountaineer, they tell me, but I would welcome a second opinion.’
‘Ropes, naval ropes,’ said McKenzie, ‘they used to have things that could catch on to anything, other ships, fortifications, battlements, that sort of stuff. And they keep inventing more equipment on the Continent for those daft people who go climbing in the Alps.’
10
The Times, Wednesday, 13th January 1892
The Illness of the Duke of Clarence and Avondale
Expressions of sympathy with the Prince and Princess of Wales and hopes for the speedy recovery of their son continued to pour in to Sandringham yesterday from all parts of the country in the shape of letters and telegrams, while at the gates and lodges of Sandringham Park the number of personal calls from people residing in the neighbourhood was also very great indeed. The first bulletin, posted at the gates of Sandringham House, was as follows.
Sandringham, Norfolk, Jan 12. 10.30 a.m.
With regard to the illness of the Duke of Clarence and Avondale, the inflammation of the lungs is pursuing its course, and the strength is well maintained, but no improvement can yet be reported in His Royal Highness’ condition.
W. H. Broadbent MD
F. H. Laking MD
Powerscourt always remembered questioning the five other equerries as an exercise in futility. He met with a brick wall of good manners, perfectly plastered with the soft easy charm of the upper classes. One by one, walking in the grounds, or in the drawing-room of Suter’s meetings, he talked to them as they came off their roll call of sentry duty on the upper floor.
His questions were always the same. So were the answers.
Had they seen anything unusual on the night of the murder?
No, they had not. Harry Radclyffe, Charles Peveril, William Brockham, Lord Edward Gresham and the Hon. Frederick Mortimer were unanimous.
Had they had noticed anything unusual in the room where Eddy died if they had seen it?
‘Only a great deal of blood,’ the Old Etonian chorus replied.
Had they heard any strange noises in the night, either inside or outside the house?
No, they had not. Except for Lord Edward Gresham who thought he had heard a horse riding away from the house towards the woods sometime in the night. No, he was afraid he could not be more specific about the time.
Could they think of any reason why somebody might want to take Prince Eddy’s life?
No, they could not. It was an outrage. It was a scandal. When the murderer was caught they would all be quite happy to wring his neck.
Did they know of anything in Prince Eddy’s life which might have made him enemies?
‘Absolutely not,’ the equerry chorus replied. Eddy had been a jolly fine fellow. Not too quick on the uptake at times, but there was nothing wrong with that. Never too good at grasping the rules of the military, but nothing wrong with that either.
Had any of them ever heard Eddy talk of somebody who wished him harm, who wanted to injure him in some way?
No, they had not.
‘If you remember anything, anything at all, that you think might help unmask his killer, will you please get in touch with me at once. At once, wherever you may be.’
All solemnly assured Powerscourt that of course they would do that. Absolutely. No question of it. Jolly important to find out the truth.
And as he reviewed his interviews Powerscourt thought he had gained one tiny scrap of information, the horse in the night. That was all. For the rest he had been wasting his time. Whether they had all agreed on a common line beforehand he did not know. But they had certainly come across with one. And of one thing Powerscourt was virtually certain. One of them was lying. Maybe, he thought in his darker moments, maybe all of them were lying.
Powerscourt stopped counting when he reached fifty-two. He ran his eyes over the rest of the crowd assembled outside the Norwich Gates at five to ten on a cold January morning. Seventy, maybe eighty souls, he said to himself, have gathered here, the snow still falling lightly, dusting the elaborate filigree of the metalwork on top of the gates. For what? A glimpse of some royal personage on the far side of the great wrought-iron structure? A sight of Sir Bartle Shepstone, or one of his auxiliaries, pinning the latest bulletin about the health of Prince Eddy to the railings? Or were they really ghouls, hoping to be the first to see the announcement of a royal death?
‘Good morning, Lord Francis.’
William McKenzie had appeared suddenly by his side. He had not, as far as Powerscourt could tell, come through the gates themselves.
‘Good morning William. Where on earth did you come from?’
‘Oh, I have my own ways in and out of here by now, Lord Francis. I always feel it’s best to remain inconspicuous.’
‘Indeed, indeed. Come, we must make our meeting with Major Dawnay and his climbing friend. I think he is called Bateman.’
‘Lord Fitzgerald asked me to bring you these.’ William McKenzie fished in one of his many and voluminous pockets, and produced Lord Johnny’s Prussian glasses. ‘He says you could read the maker’s name on the slates on the roof with them.’
Three soldiers on horseback trotted slowly past them as they made their way up the drive, the horses’ breath hanging long and slow in the cold Norfolk air.
‘Lord Powerscourt! You, sir, must be William McKenzie. Good morning to you both!’ Major Dawnay had the cheerfulness and good temper of a man who has just escaped from the overheated interior of Sandringham House. ‘And this is Corporal Bateman, gentlemen. He tells me he passed a most interesting night!’
Dawnay led the way round the path, scarcely visible in the snow, to a position some two hundred yards from the back of Sandringham House. Powerscourt raised his glasses and passed them over to Dawnay.
‘I should not think these came from this country,’ said Dawnay appreciatively, as if British manufactures were of inferior stock. ‘These are German, I fancy.’
‘Sir, sirs,’ Corporal Bateman seemed unsure as to whether he should address his superior officers in the singular or plural, ‘my brief was to see if it was possible to climb from one side of the house to the other in the snow. The particular windows to which I was referred’ – he’s beginning to sound like a policeman making his report, thought Powerscourt – ‘were those six just to the right of the flagpole, if you would like to cast your glasses there. Access to those windows being denied, I was then asked to see if I could effect the passage from a standing start, as it were, on the ground by those flowerbeds to the right.’