The Pigeon Pie Mystery by Julia Stuart Read Free Book Online

neither, will get the rest.”
    Through Clock Court they hurried, without even a pause to admire the famous Astronomical Clock made for Henry VIII, which could tell the time of high water at London Bridge, amongst other marvels. “That’s one of the most exceptional timepieces in the country,” the housekeeper said, as Mink turned round to look at it. “It stopped as it struck four on March 2, 1619, the moment Queen Anne of Denmark died at the palace. And it’s done so every time a long-term resident has expired within the palace precincts. Something in my bones tells me it’s about to stop again, but Mr. Boots insists it’s the beginning of gout.”
    Mrs. Boots kept up her pace, believing nothing should come between a husband and his kippers. There were currently forty-six grace-and-favour warrant holders, she called over her shoulder, some of whom had relatives living with them. They were lodged, along with their servants, in apartments scattered throughout the palace, as well as in several houses in the grounds. There were also more than twenty tenanted staff and their families living there, including masons, carpenters, a lamplighter, and a turncock.
    The tradition of accommodation being granted by the graceand favour of the sovereign started in the 1740s, she explained. A select group of courtiers, some of them relatively poor, were given permission to live at the palace in the summer by George II, whose court stopped using it in 1737. George III had no interest in living in the monument either, buying Buckingham House and making Windsor Castle his principal retreat outside London. The palace, apart from the State Apartments, was gradually divided into apartments, and their allocation began formally in 1767 and was organised under official warrants six years later.
    At first the residents were fashionable people with good connections, she continued. The wealthy didn’t hesitate trying to get their hands on the rent-free apartments. “Dr. Johnson, who wrote that dictionary, was turned down because the waiting list was full. Good job too if you ask me. Why everyone troops to see his boring old chair at the Old Cheshire Cheese chop-house is beyond me.” Some of the residents’ behaviour left a lot to be desired. Alterations were made to ancient structures without so much as a by-your-leave, apartments were swapped, and some had the cheek to let them to complete strangers. For the last fifty years or so, the residents had almost all been widows or dependents of distinguished military or diplomatic figures whose finances were less than desirable. “Not that they’re any better behaved, believe you me.”
    Suddenly from out of a passageway appeared an old sedan chair mounted on wheels and drawn by a bow-legged liveried chairman, his powdered wig askew. “That’s the push,” muttered Mrs. Boots, nodding to the contraption. The man pulling it was Wilfred Noseworthy, the resident turncock, who was responsible for turning the water on from the mains, she explained. “He hauls the ladies to their evening engagements for a fee, and charges an extra sixpence if he has to go outside the palace gates in recompense for being seen looking so ridiculous.”
    As the vehicle passed, the Princess noticed someone peering ather through the window, and she stared back with equal curiosity. Suddenly there was a tapping sound, and Wilfred Noseworthy came to an undignified halt. The window lowered, and the occupant, a woman in her mid-thirties, with a pale, heart-shaped face, her dark hair neatly pinned up, leant out.
    “Forgive me for introducing myself, Princess. I’m Mrs. Bagshot,” she said in a voice so soft Mink had to step forward to hear her. “It’s terribly bad manners, I know, but I’m leaving for Egypt on Sunday morning, and I just wanted to say that I knew your father.”
    The Princess remained silent, bracing herself for another unsavoury revelation.
    “I met him on several occasions and was always very