The Royal Assassin (12 page)

“How did she end up living with you?”

“Emma and the gang of thieves she worked with were inside a house when a murder occurred. They were caught and charged with the crime. The Archivist Society was hired by the son of the victim, who suspected a business associate of his father was the true murderer. The son turned out to be right. Sir Broderick went to school with one of London's top barristers and convinced him to take Emma's case. The barrister convinced the judge to let her live with Phyllida and me.”

I reached up and put a finger over Blackford's lips. “Please don't mention it to anyone. I don't want Emma embarrassed by her past. But you've become so much a part of our work—”

“I'm honored that you trust me. Ah, here we are.” He banged on the roof of the carriage with his cane and the driver immediately pulled over. He opened the door and climbed down, then reached up and lifted me to the ground.

Instead of stopping in front of our building, the carriage, I found, had placed us along the Victoria Embankment on a stretch of pavement overlooking the Thames. “Why are we stopping here?”

Blackford bowed to me. “May I have this waltz?”

I laughed with joy as I gave him my hand, and we began to dance along the sidewalk as he hummed “The Blue Danube Waltz.”

It was a very staid waltz. He performed none of his sweeping movements from the ballroom. We swayed in time to his tune, our clothes brushing as we moved, our shoes bumping against each other's. Still, it felt heavenly to be held in his arms. My dancing slippers barely touched the concrete.

Reflections from the streetlamps on the bridges flickered on the waters of the Thames. Horse hooves from passing coaches clicked their accompaniment to the duke's humming. Trees made a live canopy above us. No ballroom had ever been as magical.

The duke turned his head so he could reach my lips with his.

Our faces hovered inches apart. Our gazes were locked on each other's eyes. Blackford stopped humming. His eyes appeared to grow darker as my eyelids fluttered closed. The longing became unbearable and we shifted closer until our lips touched.

I felt warm and breathless, and I was conscious only of Blackford. Marveling at how such a stern face could hold such a gentle mouth. Breathing in his scents of brandy, smoke, and fresh linens dried in cold air. Reveling in his constant assault on my emotions.

I don't know how long the kiss lasted. I finally realized we'd stopped dancing when the duke pulled away and murmured, “I'm going to miss you during my travels.”

“I'll miss you, too, Your Grace.”

“Then I'll have to make my journey as short as possible.”

E
MMA
didn't return that night. Few words were exchanged between Phyllida and me at the breakfast table. She gazed glumly at her porridge, stirring it constantly, and she didn't carry the extra burden of knowing she'd soon miss Blackford as well.

I decided to bring up the person whose absence worried us both into silence. “She's fine, Aunt Phyllida,” I said, using her honorary title. “Blackford assures me Sumner would lay down his life to protect her.”

“That's what worries me. His death would crush her. Just as her death would crush us.” She shoved her bowl of porridge aside uneaten.

“No one is going to hurt Emma, and no one is going to hurt Sumner. They'll both return in fine shape as soon as they learn what the anarchists are doing. Then they'll take us both to task for being silly.”

Phyllida rose and gave me a shaky smile. “You're right. Now, you need to check on the bookshop before you go sleuthing for
the day, and I need to make up my marketing list before the Ternbulls come for the laundry.”

I had on my hat and gloves and was heading for the door when Phyllida popped her head out of the kitchen. “Georgia, I've been thinking about what you told me last night about the count. I think you should be very careful of your surroundings. He's a Hungarian, and I've heard they're all crazy.”

“He's crazy enough to think his explanation is sufficient. I don't need to worry about him. He needs to worry about me.”

“You don't think he'll attack you since he admitted he killed your parents? You're a danger to him.”

“He has diplomatic immunity. Also, he thinks of me as an unimportant middle-class bookseller who doesn't have his precious Gutenberg. I'm not important enough for him to bother with.”

All of Phyllida's fears and insecurities were written on her face.

I gave her a big smile. “Don't worry about me. Worry about that shopping list.”

When I arrived at the bookshop, I discovered the front door unlocked. I doubted Frances had arrived before me, and Grace didn't have a key. Had they left the shop unlocked all night?

I entered quietly, looking around the unlit space. Enough sunlight came in the front windows that I could tell by a quick glance that no one lurked among the shelves. The back hall and office would be a different matter, though. I picked up the duster I kept behind the counter and moved forward cautiously. It wasn't much of a weapon. I'd have felt safer with Emma and her knife. Drat that girl for not being there.

I stopped at the entrance to the back hall and saw motion in the office. “Who's there?” I called out, lowering my voice to hide any quavering.

My heart jumped as I saw more motion. Someone was coming out of the office. Had Frances Atterby chosen today of all days to arrive early? Had I misjudged Count Farkas? Had someone used a skeleton key to break into my shop?

Clutching the feather duster with its wooden handle, I stood my ground. Blood rushed to my head, taking my breath away with it.

“I thought you'd never come in,” Emma said, stepping forward. Sumner was right behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Not the brightest reply, but it was hard to think with my heart galloping around my chest.

“We can't meet at home. We suspect that we were followed. So we're here to rob you.” She shrugged and added, “It's as good an excuse as any.”

I stared at Emma as she made her matter-of-fact statement. “I think you'd better tell me what's going on.”

“We've joined a group of anarchists. Russians mostly, but a few Poles, Hungarians, and native English East Enders. Ivanov is involved with them.”

“He doesn't know who you are?” I thought back over my travels with Princess Kira to meet her sister and my meeting with Nadia in the East End.

“No. I saw him when Nadia escaped, but he didn't see us. He didn't seem interested in catching her, fortunately. Still, he doesn't trust us.”

“He didn't like my boots.” Sumner's rough voice cut through the air between us.

I looked down. Sumner wore the handcrafted, smooth leather boots he always wore no matter the disguise. They appeared to be his one concession to comfort. “Be careful. Ivanov is a crafty, dangerous man. If he doesn't trust you, you're in trouble.”

“Sumner was brilliant. He knew how to convince Ivanov. He
started a fight about it, saying he'd stolen them from his last master when he was fired. Said they fit like a dream. Said he'd kill rather than give them up. They're all a bit frightened of him now.” Emma smiled at him with pride.

“We took Nadia to Hereford House early this morning,” Sumner added in his familiar rumble. “She's safely out of there until we find out what they have planned.”

“So they have something planned?”

Emma nodded. “It's the reason the guard was killed. To slip Ivanov in. We learned Ivanov killed the guard and stole a button and an epaulet so they could be copied. A tailor in the group made his uniform. I made friends with the tailor and he told me. He's afraid of Ivanov.”

“Is Ivanov there to learn the layout of the house?”

“No. They have someone else inside for that. He carried messages and a package. Now, we need to steal a few pounds from you in coins.” Emma gave me a grin.

“You've wanted to do this since you first heard about the bookshop. And Phyllida thinks you're so respectable,” I teased her. There was nothing funny about the situation, but I couldn't show how afraid I was for them. It wouldn't help. “I've got a small burlap sack in the office for coins. Use that.”

“Blackford will make it up to you,” Sumner said, backing up so Emma and I could fit into the crowded office. “Tell him to take it out of my wages.”

I ignored his words. Sumner would need all his wages to provide a home for Emma.

“If he asks, Sumner said he was hired by the duke for muscle, and then fired after the job was done. He refused to say what the job was,” Emma told me as she dropped coins into the sack.

“What's the plan? Who are the targets?”

“We don't know the plan, but the princess is the target. Plus someone else.”

“Sussex?” I asked.

“No, I don't think Sussex is a target. Most of the anarchists, led by a man named Mukovski, talk a lot about revolution all over Europe but they have no plans to fight with anyone. The attack will come from Ivanov and a couple of others. And Ivanov's people don't seem to be upset about who might be hurt. Whatever it is should happen in the next few days.” Emma cinched up the sack, handed it to Sumner, and added, “Wait a couple of minutes before you raise the alarm. And put on a good performance.”

“I will. Good luck. And be careful.” I hugged her.

“Tell Aunt Phyllida not to worry.” With a nod to Sumner, Emma walked out of the bookshop by the unlocked front door. Sumner followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

I watched them out the window, glad there was still little traffic in the lane. Then I went back into the office, leaving the safe door open. I lay down on the dirty floor and then disheveled my hair as I rose again. I counted to ten and then walked slowly to the front door.

Knowing they'd be around the corner on the main road by now, I walked out, holding my head and calling, “Help. Police,” in a feeble voice. The jeweler's apprentice from next door and Grace, arriving to help out at the bookshop, appeared at the same time.

I caught Grace's eye and she urged the apprentice to find a bobby while she took care of me. She helped me inside while the lad ran off and then whispered, “What's going on?”

I murmured in return, “I heard from Emma and Sumner. The robbery was a ruse to talk to me. They were being followed. Just play along.”

“Tell me later,” she said as the jeweler and the wife of the
greengrocer filled the doorway. A boy selling a halfpenny broadsheet preaching revolution and equality craned his neck to see what the excitement was.

I told my story twice, once to them and then again to the bobby. I sniffed and moaned and said how two men had forced their way in when I arrived and threatened me to make me open the safe. They'd hit me on the head and knocked me out. When I revived, I found money taken from the safe and the men gone.

Frances arrived while I was telling the bobby my tale of woe and she and Grace sprang into action, ushering out the other merchants from our street and encouraging me to go home and rest. They'd take care of the shop for the day.

Since I had to hurry to get to Hereford House, I readily agreed. As soon as the bobby left, I told them what I'd learned from Emma and Sumner and walked home to change clothes.

Phyllida took one look at me and said, “It's a good thing the Ternbulls haven't arrived for the laundry yet. Quick. Get out of those clothes. What have you been rolling in?”

I told her part of what Emma had told me, focusing on how, because someone was following her and Sumner, she couldn't come home to see Phyllida. I also told her what Emma had said: that this would only be for a few more days.

I didn't tell her the anarchists planned to attack shortly.

•   •   •

WHEN I FINALLY
arrived at Hereford House that morning, I found excitement had already arrived. After I left my gloves and hat on the table in the back hall with those of Amelia Whitten, Lady Daisy's governess, I went upstairs to see if either the princess or the duchess needed me. In truth, I wanted to see how Nadia fit into the household.

I met the duchess coming down the hall with her lips pursed together and clutching her hands in fists. “Never invite Russians into your home. Never,” she told me as she walked by in the direction of her painting studio.

At least she hadn't noticed I'd arrived late.

Knocking on the door of Princess Kira's room, I found myself instantly facing Lady Raminoff. “Ungrateful wench,” she said in French.

“Pardon, madame,”
I said, wondering what I'd done now.

“Not you,” she snapped. “Nadia wants her hair dressed like Kira's, and Mila refuses to wait on a bastard dropped on her by Kira's whim. The duchess says she has no one to spare to be lady's maid to Nadia, which sounds like a poorly managed household to me. And I'm being moved to another room so Nadia can stay in here with Kira while they plan their crazy behavior. Such boldness.”

“Who's Mila?” I asked the room in general in English.

“She is.” Nadia pointed at a young, thin, dark-haired woman in a black dress, who unleashed a stream of loud Russian back at her. I'd not seen the maid since the day the Russians had arrived.

Kira responded in a nasty tone in Russian, interrupted by Lady Raminoff shouting something short. The room fell silent.

“Princess Kira,” I said in French, hoping Nadia and Mila wouldn't understand my questions of the princess, “how long has Mila worked for you?”

“Not long. She was lady's maid to a friend in St. Petersburg. When she heard where I was going, she begged to come along as my maid. My own maid didn't want to leave Russia, so I agreed.”

“How did you know about Nadia's story?” I asked Mila in French.

She looked at me blankly.

I asked again in English and she answered in a thick accent, “The story is all over St. Petersburg. Anarchists attack important people all the time. But there is no reason to attack this woman or her mother. They are unimportant. Whores. Beneath contempt.”

This was where I expected her to spit on the floor. Fortunately for the duchess's expensive Turkish carpet, Mila restrained herself.

Unfortunately for all of us, Nadia unleashed a stream of vindictive English. “At least my father is somebody. A prince. Who's your father? Nothing.”

“At least he married my mother. She wasn't a whore, like yours.”

Then the name-calling began in earnest. In English. I discovered the Russians knew words I'd never before heard a woman utter. I was glad Lady Raminoff didn't speak English.

It was abundantly clear Mila wouldn't be serving as lady's maid to Nadia. “Princess Kira, I suggest you ask the duchess to have an agency send over a lady's maid and you will pay the woman's salary.”

I forgot to switch back to French and so did Princess Kira. “I pay for nothing. Embassy pays my bills.”

“Then you'd better ask the ambassador, nicely, to pay for your sister's lady's maid.”

She gave a sniff. “I write him letter.”

While she readied stationery and ink, I turned to Lady Raminoff and spoke in French. “I think we've found a solution, if the ambassador will go along with the idea.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “He's already grumbling about her bills and her behavior. I've been ordered to keep her in line.”

“At least the Duke of Sussex is happy with her.”

“And he's the one who must be. I suppose we should be grateful for that.” She gave me a weak smile before returning to her chair to work on her embroidery.