The Royal Assassin (25 page)

I gave him what I hoped appeared to be a brave smile. “I'm just jealous. Emma and Sumner are going on a wonderful European tour, spending the worst of the winter in Egypt and Greece. You're going to the New World, with cowboys and Indians and paddle-wheel steamers. Phyllida and I will have to make our own fun here in dreary, cold London.”

“Did Emma tell you Sumner's pseudonym?”

“That Sumner is Mrs. Hepplewhite? He's the best-selling gothic novelist in London. Perhaps the most popular writer of light fiction of our time.” I couldn't hide my joyous smile. “Emma said he'll spend his time discovering new gloomy castles and writing more stories. More importantly, he'll be able to support a family. I was so relieved when she told me.”

If he couldn't have supported Emma, I'd have choked him. And then brought him into the bookshop because I couldn't stand to see Emma as disappointed as I was when my fiancé died.

The postman walked in and handed me the morning delivery. I scanned the envelopes quickly, stopping when I found one with a Danish stamp. I recognized the handwriting.

Something in my expression must have told Blackford, because he said, “Is it Count Farkas?”

Nodding, I slit it open and read.

My dear Georgia,

I've had word of my Bible in Copenhagen, so I'm afraid I've had to leave your beautiful city. I hope you've had a chance to consider our conversation.

I've never had anything but admiration for you.

Hopefully we can one day be friends.

Yours truly,

Count Farkas

I handed Blackford the letter and said, “Friends? Is he out of his mind?”

“Promise me you won't do anything about him until I return from America.”

“I won't go looking for him. If he comes looking for me, I make no promises.”

“Fair enough. That thought alone should make me hurry back.”

He grinned at me and I returned the smile. I'd take anything that would make Blackford hurry back, but I especially relished the idea of trapping my parents' killer with Blackford at my
side.

The marriage of Princess Kira and the Duke of Sussex would not have been unusual in the late Victorian time period. Two of Victoria's granddaughters married into the Russian royal family. The tsar's mother, the former tsarina, was the sister of the Princess of Wales. One can look at the meeting of the queen and the tsar in September 1896 as nothing more than a granddaughter, Nicholas's tsarina, showing off her infant daughter to the baby's great-grandmother. It is hard for us at a distance to remember these were family visits as well as state occasions.

Anarchists were the bane of every European monarch's life. Queen Victoria was the target of at least seven attempts on her life. None were successful due to good luck and the loyalty of her quick-witted subjects. Others weren't so lucky. Tsar Alexander II of Russia and the wife of Emperor Franz Josef were both killed by anarchists. One of Victoria's granddaughters was a target of anarchists on the day of her wedding to the King of Spain and ended up with a blood splattered wedding gown.

As the most feudal and repressive rulers in Europe, it is no surprise that the aristocracy in Russia feared anarchists the most. The attitudes I've given my fictional characters were representative of the Russian upper crust and the immigrants in the squalid East
End. Fortunately for Britain, the immigrants were able to turn their anger and frustration toward social and economic reform. Reformers in Russia were not so lucky in that their government, made rigid by fear and tradition, could not adapt.

Due to German bombing in World War II and gentrification, little of the East End described in this story still exists. The land where the homes of the Duke of Blackford and the Duke of Hereford are situated is now occupied by luxury hotels. Today one needs to search to find any of the London Georgia Fenchurch would have known so well. I've used old photographs, books, and museums as well as visits to various neighborhoods to find the buildings, furnishings, transportation, and fashions I've described. Any mistakes are my own.

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