for her. But if someone else was with her, why had no one come forward?”
“Unless they had something to hide,” Stoker put in.
“Exactly. I could not take the risk that the rope—thus far the only piece of evidence linking her murderer to the crime—would go missing. I had to take it into my own possession for safekeeping, but without alerting the murderer, whoever that might be. And I needed Pompeia’s help to secure the second and most damning piece of evidence—the murderer’s badge that had been buried with Alice. But most importantly, I could not permit Pompeia to learn of Alice’s murder from anyone but myself. I owed her that.”
“So she borrowed a maid’s cloak and put herself on a train,” the elderly mountaineer said, smiling fondly at the princess.
The princess returned the smile. “It was a stroke of grave misfortune that the storm happened to blow in that night. You see, I had it all worked out on the timetable. I would go to the Midlands, speak with Pompeia, and return by the milk train and be back in my suite before anyone missed me. She would authorize an exhumation to retrieve the murderer’s climbing badge from Alice’s body, and by examining the badge, we would have the piece of evidence we needed to find her murderer. Once that had been arranged, Pompeia would follow a day or so later, after she had arranged to retrieve the badge whilst I followed my official program and signed the treaty.”
She gave me a searching look. “You did sign the treaty, did you not?”
I nodded. “I have my doubts about its legality, but I signed it.”
Her smile was one of satisfaction. “I will make it right. I will tell them our copy was destroyed in a clerical accident and we will execute fresh papers. The important thing was to secure the meeting with the French in person and play out the little drama of diplomacy. The rest is simply paperwork.”
It was a cynical view, but perhaps that ought not to have surprised me. Rupert had said much the same.
Stoker retrieved the conversation, steering us back to the princess’s narrative. “But when the storm blew in, you were stranded in the Midlands.”
She nodded. “It was the worst snowstorm in a decade, so they said. We were snowbound in Pompeia’s house. The good news is that it meant no one was abroad to see me away from London. But it meant Miss Speedwell was forced to take my place.” She smiled. “I hear you were more than adequate. I am grateful.”
“I did my best,” I told her.
“But you did not undertake the masquerade to help the Alpenwald,” the chancellor said, clearly sulking.
“No,” I admitted. “I did it because I wanted to solve the mystery of what happened to Alice Baker-Greene.”
“And in doing so, Miss Speedwell has done us a very great service,” the princess insisted.
“Has she?” the chancellor queried. “You were already on the trail of the murderer.”
“And everything else I was in London to accomplish would have been destroyed without her taking on my role of princess,” she told him. “We will be grateful to Miss Speedwell and her companion.”
This was clearly to be the official position of the Alpenwalder government, and the chancellor bowed his neck to his princess, his moustaches gleaming in the morning light.
“What will happen to the baroness?” Stoker asked.
The princess’s mouth thinned. “She has been given into the custody of Captain Durand for extradition to the Alpenwald. She has decided to waive her right to a trial and acknowledged her guilt.”
“So she will be sent to prison,” I ventured.
She said nothing for a long moment, and when she finally did speak, it was with a chilly finality. “She murdered not only Alice Baker-Greene but Yelena Borisovna. As the intended husband of the victim, Captain Durand has certain rights.”
“Rights?” Stoker inquired.
The chancellor cleared his throat. “The captain has elected to sail from England to Germany and make his way down the Rhine. A sea voyage this time of year is a perilous undertaking,” he said blandly.
Which meant that anything the captain cared to do to see justice served upon the baroness would be accepted with a blind eye by the princess and her chancellor. I shivered as I realized how rough that justice might be. Was she to be bundled into a sack and tossed overboard to drown as she had intended for us? Given the quick mercy of a bullet before being disposed of in the river? Or