Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

felt the champagne bubbling in my head as I went back to my compartment. I found that my bed had been pulled out and made up for the night, also that the compartment now had a lingering hint of foreign cigarette smoke. Queenie, of course, was nowhere to be seen.
    “Queenie?” I called.
    I heard stirrings next door and she appeared. “Sorry, miss. I must have dozed off.”
    “Queenie, did you watch my bed being made up?”
    “Yes, miss—I mean, meelady.”
    “Was the attendant smoking when he did it?”
    “Oh, no, miss. Of course he wasn’t.”
    “But there’s a distinct smell of French cigarettes. Has anyone else been in here?”
    “Of course not.”
    She had admitted to dozing. My first thought was my jewel case. I don’t have many jewels but the ones I have are family heirlooms. I climbed up to get it down from the rack and was relieved to find the jewels all there. Then I opened my big suitcase and stared at it in surprise.
    “Queenie, have you been in my suitcase?”
    “Why would I do that?” she asked. “I ain’t touched nothing of yours. Honest.”
    “Haven’t touched anything,” I corrected.
    “That’s what I said. Ain’t touched nothing.”
    I stared at it again. “That’s distinctly odd. Someone has been through this suitcase. But it only contains my clothes and they’re not exactly valuable or high fashion. I wonder what they could have been looking for.”
    I went back out to the corridor and located the Pullman attendant.
    “Did you see anyone going into my compartment?” I asked him.
    He shook his head vehemently, but then added, “But I have been making up all the beds. Someone could have come past while I was occupied, my lady. But your maid is present, no? She guards your possessions.”
    He obviously didn’t know Queenie. I walked back, perplexed and feeling rather unsafe. Had Queenie surprised someone just when he’d started going through my things, before he’d located my jewel case? I put it behind my pillow before I fell asleep.

 
    Chapter 8
     
    January 22, 1933
Lovely fine day. On the Blue Train going through France.
Things are looking up!
     
    I woke to brilliant sunlight seeping in past the blinds and lay feeling the gentle swaying of the carriage for a while before I remembered where I was. I had slept brilliantly, thanks to the comfortable berth and the generous amount of champagne I had drunk the night before. I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. No sign of Queenie. I supposed that I couldn’t expect her to find her way to a dining car on a foreign train and come back with a tea tray. I sat up and leaned across to open the blind. It shot upward and there was sparkling blue sea beside us. Umbrella pines clung to rocky headlands. We passed small clusters of houses, pastel painted with dark green shutters and dusty courtyards. It was all so foreign and terribly exciting.
    I got up and washed at the pint-sized basin in my compartment, then when I went to find a summer dress, I remembered my strange suspicion of the night before. By daylight it seemed silly to think that someone had rummaged through my suitcase and left my jewels untouched. Now I’d never know. I took out one of my summer dresses. By the time I was dressed, there was still no sign of Queenie. I slid open the connecting door and saw she was still lying there, snoring and mouth open. Not a pretty sight.
    “Queenie, wake up. We’ll be arriving soon,” I called, then shut the door and went in search of breakfast. The dining car was empty apart from two women, with similar sleek caps of black hair. They were a little older than I and certainly more smartly dressed. I was seated at a table across from them. When I asked for croissants the waiter shook his head. “On this train they always demand the breakfast Anglais,” he said. “They are wishing the bacon and the eggs.”
    I settled for a poached egg. I was just pouring myself a second cup of coffee when I heard one of them say, “Shall we be seeing anything of Darcy, do you think?”
    I paused, the coffeepot frozen in my hand. I tried not to listen, but one can’t help oneself in such circumstances.
    “I expect so,” the other woman said, pausing to light up a cigarette. “We know she’s going to be there and he’s so good about visiting the child.”
    “I suppose he feels responsible.”
    “More than that. He adores that child. Absolutely dotes on the little chap.”
    “Well, he’s the only heir at the moment, isn’t