The Pigeon Pie Mystery by Julia Stuart

costermonger’s barrow,” said Lady Montfort Bebb, closing her eyes. “If that wasn’t bad enough, it was piled high with brussels sprouts.”
    “At least the costermonger was a former solicitor,” said the Countess. “Albeit one who had been struck off the rolls.”
    Lady Beatrice gazed into the distance. “If one were to be run over, one would hope it would be by a carriage and four, with a nice pair of tall footmen with elegant calves,” she said with a wistful smile.
    The other two visitors glared at her.
    Despite the circumstances, said Lady Montfort Bebb, turning back to Mink, Mrs. Campbell’s funeral in the Chapel Royal had been very well attended. “It’s hard to believe that the Authorised Version of the Bible was conceived at Hampton Court Palace, given the unholy behaviour in the chapel this morning,” she added. But the feud between the chaplain and the organist was not the only impropriety, she told the Princess. The seating used to be strictly by rank and precedence, and supervised by the housekeeper, but there were so many arguments about who was superior to whom that the Lord Chamberlain decided to make it a free-for-all. Unless one arrived early, there was no guarantee of avoiding sitting next to the palace’s foreman bricklayer. She turned to Lady Beatrice. “You ended up next to the vine keeper again this morning. You must get there at least forty minutes before it starts. Bring your embroidery or a novel.
War and Peace
springs to mind, given this morning’s events.”
    Lady Beatrice smoothed down her dress. “My cook failed towake me in time. She overslept,” she muttered. “I still haven’t been able to find a replacement for my parlour maid. Why she would take fright over two new ghosts is beyond me. She was quite used to Jane Seymour.”
    “Well, don’t get another Parisian,” suggested Lady Montfort Bebb. “They’re always flighty. Try a Swiss maid next time. They’re much more dependable and don’t suffer from grand ideas. As for your cook, if she continues to oversleep, you must get her the bed I remember seeing at the Great Exhibition that was especially designed for servants. It had a clockwork device which, at the appointed hour, withdrew a support from the foot of the bed and threw the occupant onto the floor.”
    Lady Beatrice fiddled with her fringe. “I could use one for my daughter,” she replied. “I can’t prise her from her sheets. I’ve no idea what’s wrong with her, but fortunately each time she faints in the chapel Dr. Henderson always comes to the rescue. It’s high time she were married, but it isn’t easy finding a husband these days, with so many men having emigrated to Australia, South Africa, India, and Canada. Of course, the situation isn’t helped by American women elbowing their way into London society, some pretending to be millionairesses, and walking off with the best catches. And it’s not just we English who have to suffer them. They have already married half the nobility in Europe. Princess di San Faustino, Princess Colonna, and Countess von Waldersee, a grocer’s daughter no less, are all Americans.”
    Lady Montfort Bebb closed her eyes. “Thank God the Prince of Wales is already taken,” she said with a shudder.
    Lady Beatrice turned to her, still burning with indignation. “Remember when we were at Euston Station last year and all those American women arrived for the Diamond Jubilee overloaded with trunks and hatboxes? They were wearing diamonds in the morning!”
    “Don’t,” begged Lady Montfort Bebb, lifting a hand to theside of her head. “Just the memory of the noise they were making makes my ears ring.”
    “There’s a lot to be said for Americans,” Mink interrupted. “Their literary men aren’t actively hostile to their female rivals, sons and daughters usually inherit equally, women have full suffrage in four States, and many of them are ahead of us in their professions. Only this morning I read about an