The Royal Assassin (7 page)

With ill grace, the soldier shoved past us and picked up the awkward packages. He led the way along the sidewalk, struggling with the bulky parcels that threatened to slip to the pavement with every step he took toward the carriage. Princess Kira lagged farther and farther behind.

Before Ivanov reached the carriage, the princess held up one gloved finger to Sussex and disappeared into the bookshop. Sussex turned to Blackford and shrugged. I'd positioned myself in front of Lady Raminoff so I could block her way.

Sussex wandered into the bookshop. I knew Princess Kira had headed straight to the back door and freedom. Hatchards clerks were used to eccentric behavior by their clients and would hardly notice one more well-dressed customer strolling out the back. Sussex would be too late to find her. But how had she learned the layout of a shop she'd never visited before?

Ivanov reached the carriage and shoved some of the packages through the window so he had a hand free to open the door. Then he looked back, didn't see the princess, and roared fearsome Russian curses as canvases and frames flew in all directions.

The carriage horses shied at the soldier's war cry. Bystanders
ducked as they were pelted with flying frames or parcels of art supplies while Ivanov stormed toward us. Behind me, Lady Raminoff shoved me forward to get to the door ahead of the guard.

She made it inside, but I collided with the guard. He shoved me back, knocking me off my feet. I would have fallen if Blackford hadn't grabbed me. Before I could run into the store, he said, “What's going on?”

I righted myself, hanging on to Blackford's arm longer than strictly necessary. Opportunities like this didn't happen every day. “She's meeting that mystery girl in the alley behind the shops.”

“Come on.” He grabbed my arm and hurried me down the sidewalk past the carriage and the puzzled-looking driver, ignoring irate passersby who'd been struck by flying parcels. He hauled me down an alley next to a music shop. I tripped over uneven bricks and stubbed my toes more than once.

I cried out, but Blackford dragged me along at a pace that left me panting. My corset dug into my ribs. We reached the back alley and Blackford stopped. I collapsed against a grimy brick wall and closed my eyes, gasping for breath. My feet throbbed. I wished I'd dressed for active pursuits.

“This way,” Blackford said.

I opened my eyes to see him gesture to the princess and the other young woman to enter the music shop. They murmured a few words between them. Then the princess came toward us and the unknown young woman ran the other way down the alley.

Several shops down, I saw Emma and Sumner lingering by the back of a milliner's.

Hurrying past us, the princess rushed down the alley, Blackford and I following. “Who was that?” I managed to gasp out in French.

“Who was who?” came her reply.

“Don't play that game,” Blackford said. “You have to trust someone.”

“I trust no one. It is the only way to survive,” she snapped back. Then, looking slightly breathless, the princess stepped onto the sidewalk and slowed her pace as she reached the carriage.

She only had time to adjust her hat before Sussex came out of Hatchards bookshop and saw her. With a smile, he called back into the shop and then walked toward her. I doubt he even noticed Blackford and me. That was good. Blackford didn't have a mark on him or a hair out of place, but I was brushing dirt off my skirt and tucking stray curls into my hairdo.

Princess Kira turned to look at me and clucked her tongue. “You look like a slut,” she said in French before she straightened my hat.

I beat my gloves together to shake off the slime from the alley wall as Sussex and then Lady Raminoff joined us. The princess looked at them and then at her art supplies. “
Mon Dieu.
Why did he make such a mess of my paints? Please help me.”

The two dukes began picking up her purchases while Lady Raminoff let off a blast of Russian. Princess Kira responded in kind.

I looked around. “Where is Ivanov?”

“He went into the alley looking for the princess. He should return soon,” Sussex said.

Blackford and I glanced at each other. Had he captured the young Russian woman?

A moment later, the guard marched out of Hatchards. He immediately barked at both Princess Kira and Lady Raminoff in Russian. He didn't appear out of breath or any sweatier than usual; it must be all that marching soldiers do. Lady Raminoff cringed, but the princess stared at him, completely unmoved.

At least the Russian guard was alone. I hoped Emma and Sumner had better luck following the girl after she escaped.

The princess pointed at the art supplies the two dukes were collecting and snapped out a Russian command.

Ivanov curled his upper lip and snatched up the few remaining packages. Then he held the door open while we climbed inside. We were still trying to organize the princess's purchases in the tight space when Ivanov slammed the door, climbed up on the back of the carriage, and told the driver to return home.

Sussex and I were both standing as the carriage jerked into motion. He flew onto Lady Raminoff as frames cascaded down her legs. I hung on to the packages of paints and brushes as I sat down hard in Blackford's lap.

Lady Raminoff berated Sussex in French for his rudeness, smacking him on the shoulder with her parasol. Blackford lifted me off of him as I begged his forgiveness for my clumsiness. It happened so fast I didn't have time to enjoy my scandalous position.

Princess Kira held one hand over her mouth, trying to keep her giggles contained.

“Emma and Sumner were in position,” Blackford murmured, followed a little louder by, “I hope you weren't hurt.”

“Only my dignity. Are you uninjured, Your Grace?” Then I whispered, “Tonight.”

“Yes.”

•   •   •

WHEN I HEARD
a knock at the front door that evening, I ran to answer it, hoping it was Emma. When I saw it was Blackford, I sighed and said, “Have you heard anything?”

“Not yet. It may take them a while. They'll be back when they
can.” He walked past me and left his hat, gloves, and cane on the entry table. Then he strolled into the parlor.

I called Phyllida and followed the duke. “But it's the East End. There are cutthroats and thieves and murderers lurking there. What if they can't return?”

“It's London, not Calcutta.”

Phyllida walked in and he bowed to her.

She curtsied and sat, twisting her fingers. “I'm worried.”

“I would be, too, if it were only Emma,” Blackford said. “But Sumner is with her. The two of them together could withstand an army of thieves and cutthroats. No one in the East End stands a chance against them.”

“If that were true, why haven't they returned?” I snapped.

“They haven't found the girl yet, or she's still on the move. Don't worry.” He looked at each of us in turn. “Emma is going to laugh at you for worrying so.”

“Let her. I'm worried.” I held Blackford's gaze with an angry stare. “I think we should send in some people to look for them.”

“And ruin all their good work by calling attention to them? They wouldn't appreciate it. I'll check hospitals, jails, and morgues, if it will make you rest easier.”

“It would, Your Grace.” And I'd go to the bookshop early in the morning to check on deliveries, orders, and stocking the shelves so my business didn't flounder while both Emma and I were away. This mysterious Russian woman wasn't really our concern, but we were both heavily involved. And now Emma was missing.

Again, the thought hit me in the face like a blast of winter wind. Emma was missing.

A
FTER
a night of twisting the bedsheets as I turned from side to side, I arose early. Phyllida was already up when I reached the kitchen and found she'd baked sweet rolls. She had the same purple marks below her eyes that I'd seen in the looking glass. When she offered me a roll, I took a few nibbles, neither tasting it nor hungry for it.

I walked quickly to the shop in the cool of the early morning. I wasn't surprised to see the sun had deserted us, leaving a gloomy sky. It suited my mood perfectly.

Once I let myself into the shop, I turned on all the electric lights to ward away the darkness. Too bad the lights wouldn't frighten off my despair. I was certain something bad had happened to Emma and Sumner.

Nervous concern fueled my frantic work to reshelve books and check on my orders. We were out of two of the most popular magazines and the newest issues were due that day. A thump on
the back door told me someone wanted in from the alley. It had to be the deliveryman with the magazines.

Unless it was Emma and she had to stay out of sight for some reason.

I ran to the back door and threw it open without looking outside first. The deliveryman said, “Sure are eager to see me today,” as he carried in a large box.

“I thought you were someone else.” I looked up and down the alley. No one.

He followed the box with two bundles, which he carried in clutched in two massive, ink-stained paws. As he walked out, straightening his cap, he said, “It's just Bertha and me.” He patted the horse's rump and then climbed into the wagon to take the reins and nudge Bertha into motion.

I locked the door behind him and quickly checked the shipping papers against what the man had delivered. Finding all in order, I began to shelve the illustrated magazines dealing with Her Majesty's record-breaking reign.

That day was only September 21, 1896. Victoria would have to wait two more days before she'd have ruled longer than any other British monarch. The only one left standing in the way of her record was her grandfather George III. There would be church services on the twenty-third, but the parades and pomp would wait until next June.

I looked out at the rain beginning to fall on the street. They were wisely waiting for good weather to celebrate.

And I was waiting for the safe return of Emma and Sumner from the treacherous East End.

A knock on the front door made me jerk out of my daydream. I could see Grace Yates and Frances Atterby through the glass
front door, umbrellas unfurled against the raindrops. I hurried over and unlocked the door.

“It looks to be a miserable day,” Frances said, unwrapping herself from her water-splattered outerwear. “Hopefully, we'll be busy.”

“Grace. What are you doing here?” I asked. Silly question. She must have gotten a message from someone to help us in the store.

“Good morning to you, too,” she said and smiled. “Emma contacted me yesterday morning and said I'd be needed indefinitely.”

“What did you tell Lord Barnwood?” Grace worked as his secretary and librarian for his large book collection.

She removed her soggy felt hat, showing off a mass of light brown curls. “He's on his way to Italy and Greece. He'll be gone for a month or more. I just need to check at the house once a day for correspondence. This investigation came at a good time for me.”

Something wet wrapped itself around my ankle. I shrieked and jumped, earning me a scratch and a hiss. Then Charles Dickens, who'd adopted our street for his mousing, jumped up in our front window and began washing a front paw with his pink tongue.

“Poor Dickens. You're all wet.” Grace went into the back and returned with a clean dust cloth. She began to wipe the cat off, saying, “Oh, poor baby. He has a new cut on his ear.”

“I can imagine what the other animal looks like,” I said and watched Dickens cautiously. He looked at me through narrowed eyes and then rubbed against Grace's arm.

“So what does Emma report?” Frances asked.

I rubbed my hands over my sleeves, suddenly chilled by my thoughts. “Nothing. She and Sumner didn't return last night.”

“Hmm.”

“What, Frances?” She didn't seem too worried.

“I'm sure they're fine. I've never seen two people more able to care for themselves. And each other.”

“But we're talking about the East End. Cutthroats, thieves, anarchists. Disease runs rampant there. There are more threats than even they could handle.”

Frances and Grace shared a look. “You're letting your imagination run away with you, Georgia. Gain the princess's trust and find out what's going on. We have the bookshop covered,” Frances said.

“What aren't you telling me?”

“Perhaps they didn't return last night for another reason.”

“What?”

Grace rolled her eyes at me and handed me my cloak. “Did you ever think they might want to be alone together?”

“Emma would never behave scandalously.” I covered up, grabbed my umbrella, and stomped outside on my way to Hereford House. I knew Emma and Sumner were fond of each other, but I didn't think they were
that
fond. Emma was sensible. She wouldn't disappear, leaving us to worry for the sake of some time alone with Sumner.

I'd been young and in love once, and I'd spent nights away from Phyllida and Emma. They'd never made mention of it, but we were publicly engaged and he had his own shop, able to support a family. And we probably would have had a family by now if he hadn't died shortly before our wedding day.

I didn't want Emma as hurt as I'd been when he died. And I didn't think Sumner could support a family on whatever pittance Blackford paid him.

The only good I could think of that morning was that the princess wouldn't want to go out in this rain. Our seasonably nice weather had come to an end.

I walked into Hereford House, closed my umbrella, and put it in the stand as the butler raced up to me. “The duchess is waiting for you in the parlor.” His head was wet with rain—or sweat—and his jacket was misbuttoned.

I handed him my cloak and gloves and hurried to the parlor. A footman opened the door. As soon as I walked in, Blackford said, “Do you have any idea where Princess Kira has gone?”

“If I slept in kitchen, this wouldn't happen,” the Russian soldier announced to the room at large.

“Yes, you told us,” the Duchess of Hereford replied, rubbing her hands together.

I turned to Blackford as the calmest person in the room. “I have no idea where she is. Have you heard from Sumner?”

“No. Have you?”

I shook my head. “When did the princess leave?”

“Sometime late last night or early this morning. Lady Raminoff slept through her disappearance.”

“She is kidnapped by anarchists. I shall report this to the tsar and your queen. Tell Lady Raminoff not to leave her room until I question her further.” Ivanov marched out of the room.

“Thank God he's gone,” the duchess said as soon as the door slammed behind him.

“Is Lady Raminoff usually a heavy sleeper?” I asked.

“No,” Blackford replied. “She said her cocoa had an odd taste.”

“You think someone put a sleeping draught in her hot drink?”

He nodded.

“Who could have drugged her? And was there any sign that Princess Kira was abducted?” The cold in the room soaked into my bones, chilling my hands.

“No.” Blackford paced the parlor. “I suspect she engineered this with that girl she's been meeting. What we don't want is for
the tsar or Sussex or our government to find out about her disappearance. We need to get her back before anyone knows she's gone.”

“She's a little fool,” the duchess said. “If word of her disappearance gets out, she'll be ruined and the wedding will be off. All sorts of rumors will circulate, and Hereford's name will be smeared by the gossip.” She looked near tears.

“Where is the tsar?”

“Still with the queen. I can handle Sussex easily enough, and I have footmen downstairs who will keep Ivanov from sending any ill-timed messages.” Blackford came to a stop in front of me and stared with his dark eyes glowing from a tightly restrained need to jump into action. “But we have to find Princess Kira, and quickly.”

I placed a hand on his vest. “Before we do anything, have you checked the hospitals and the jails for word of Emma or Sumner?”

“No report of them anywhere, and I checked with every facility in the area.” Blackford brushed my cheek with his fingertips. “They're all right, Georgia. Let's deal with the princess.”

“I'm going to talk to Lady Raminoff. She knows the family. If this started in Russia, she should know.” I hurried out of the parlor toward the room the princess shared with Lady Raminoff.

I knocked and entered. The older woman lay fully clothed on her bed, a bag of ice on her forehead. “Go away,” she called weakly in French.

“Who is the girl Princess Kira keeps running away to meet?” I asked in the only language we had in common. With luck, I'd understand everything she said.

“What?” The woman sat bolt upright, catching the ice bag with one hand. “Nadia? Is she here in London?”

“Who is Nadia?”

She lay back down on the bed and put the ice over her forehead and eyes. “No one.”

“Do you believe Princess Kira has run off to meet
no one
?” I studied her for a moment. “No, you don't. You know who Nadia is. She's the reason the princess has gone out every afternoon supposedly to study English—she has been meeting a girl of about twenty-one. Who is she?”

Lady Raminoff lay still on the bed.

I grabbed up the ice and said with all the cold fury I could muster, “If you don't want to go back to Russia in disgrace, with the princess's engagement called off, then I suggest you tell us who we're dealing with.”

The woman slowly sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. With remorse in her voice, she said, “Very well. I'm sure the princess has been meeting with her half sister, Nadia Andropov. Her illegitimate half sister. They were inseparable until last year when someone tried to kill Nadia. She escaped, but her mother was murdered.”

“Was the murderer caught?”

She shrugged. “An anarchist was hung. It is doubtful he planned the killing. He may not have even been the killer.”

“Then why—?” Because it was Russia. They saw anarchists under their beds at night. I knew it was a stupid question.

Lady Raminoff gave me a thin-lipped look that told me she thought it was a stupid question, too. “I don't know how Princess Kira received word that her, uh, half sister was in London or how they arranged to meet. I'm not surprised they found each other. They've always been very close.”

“Would Nadia lead the princess into danger?”

“I should hope not.” Lady Raminoff's certainty quickly gave way to a worried look that matched my concern for Emma. “Well, probably not. In truth, I'm not sure. Her father warned me to watch out for Nadia. When they were children, Kira would
trail Nadia around like a servant. He said he often suspected Nadia of leading Kira into risky situations. He said he tried to separate them to no avail.”

“By murder?”

“Possibly, but I doubt it.”

“Nadia was followed to the East End.” At least, that was where the woman had led Jacob, and where I believed Sumner and Emma now were.

“What is this East End?”

“A dangerous section of London, full of thieves and anarchists.”

“Blessed saints, she's been taken prisoner by anarchists. Nadia might be behind this. Kira's father, Prince Pyotr Romanov, started this by murdering his lover Marina Andropov, and now his bastard daughter is out to avenge her mother. I knew coming here would be the death of me. I'm ruined.” The woman flopped back on the bed and turned toward the wall, sobbing.

I couldn't get any more out of the chaperone, so I raced back to tell Blackford what I'd learned. He wasn't in the parlor, so I followed the sounds of murmuring male voices.

The front hall looked like a battleground. Ivanov lay unconscious on the black and white tiles bleeding from a head wound and his nose. A footman sat on the tiles, holding his arm and moaning. Blackford was tapping his cane on his hand. The silver head had a reddish smear that I suspected was Ivanov's blood.

I hoped the guard wasn't dead, if only because I didn't want Blackford in trouble for killing a lowlife like Ivanov.

The duke appeared uncreased and undamaged as he commanded, “Dodson. Hughes. Tie the Russian up and remove him to a storeroom in the duchess's cellar.”

“Gladly,” one of them said as they began to bind the soldier in ropes.

I released a sigh. At least Ivanov wasn't dead.

The Duchess of Hereford stood by a wall looking pale. “This is a nightmare.”

I watched for a moment before I said, “Your Graces. What happened?”