The Royal Assassin (14 page)

“Georgia, you're the only one we have in that household to figure out what Ivanov and his accomplice have planned before something else goes terribly wrong.” Sir Broderick rolled his chair around to face me directly.

“Not for long. Your Grace, could we borrow Mary Thomas to act as lady's maid to Nadia? She wants one and the duchess has no one to spare. She could act as an extra set of eyes around the Russians.”

He nodded. “I'll explain what is required and send her over to meet with the duchess tomorrow.”

I turned to Sir Broderick. “Do we want to proceed on the assumption the princess is the target?”

“It must be the princess. Lady Raminoff could only be a bonus for an anarchist. Perhaps their target is the ball at the Russian embassy in honor of the engagement.”

“How would skulking around Hereford House help them smuggle something into the embassy?” I kicked myself mentally as soon as the words escaped my mouth.

Blackford bounced the side of his fist against the chair arm.
“It wouldn't, blast it, and Whitehall's attention has been drawn elsewhere. If you or Emma and Sumner don't find out what they have planned before they strike, diplomacy between England and Russia will suffer irreparable harm. The Russians have already signed accords with France against us, and the Ottoman Empire grows weaker and less able to hold them back by the day.”

“We wouldn't go to war with Russia again, would we?”

“We were stupid enough to get into that mess in the Crimea. I wouldn't be surprised at any idiocy Whitehall and the Admiralty could dream up between them.”

Shaking his head, the duke continued. “Whitehall seems to think I have the leisure to drop everything to take care of its problems, but I don't. Georgia, I'll be over by luncheon to see what you've been able to uncover.”

“I'm worried about one part of this investigation, Your Grace. The duchess lied about where she was when Ivanov entered the house.” I looked at Blackford, wondering if he knew anything that might clear up this problem.

“You don't believe she had anything to do with it, do you?” Sir Broderick asked.

“No, but it would make the investigation easier if I knew where she really was. Other alibis rest on it. And one of those alibis, I suspect, hides a murderer.”

Blackford's only reply was to raise his eyebrows before offering me a ride home in his carriage.

Several times during our ride he seemed to be on the verge of saying something to me, but then he'd look out the window and keep silent. I immediately wondered if he'd found time to choose a wife. He needed to produce an heir, and that required a duchess. Or perhaps his American trip was to consider heiresses in the New World as well as to check on his investments. Was he planning to
return home with a bride? His correct manners in the carriage and on my doorstep reinforced my fears that I'd soon have to stop my silly daydreams of becoming Blackford's wife.

Once I entered my home, I couldn't settle. Fear of failure to stop the anarchist plot and save lives mixed with worry about how the Russian government would react toward my country. I'd become fond of the duchess and Lady Daisy and didn't want any harm to come to them. Emma and Sumner were risking their lives to infiltrate the anarchists and I wanted to protect them and the rest of the Archivist Society working to uncover this plan.

In the past day, I'd found my worries about Emma being out at night alone with Sumner had changed to my worries about Emma being rejected by Sumner after their adventure was over. She hadn't said too much since she first met him, but she didn't need to. One glance at her when she looked at Sumner should have told me what was behind their travels to the East End.

I hoped to be happy for her, but I was also envious. Blackford was a duke, for pity's sake.

England was changing. In a few years it would be a new century. Someday the gregarious Prince of Wales would be king. But an English duke had never married a middle-class bookseller and Blackford was as traditional as a duke could get.

Between hopes and fears for Emma and struggling with my tattered dreams about Blackford, I spent the night angry and unsettled and pounding my pillow.

A
S
soon as I arrived at Hereford House in the morning, I planned to look for the duchess. Instead, I found her coming out of the morning room as I put my hat and gloves on the table in the back hall. I gave her a curtsy and said, “I wish you'd told me about the staircase across the hall.”

“You didn't know about—oh, never mind. I never want to see those stairs again. I'm going to have Hereford seal them up.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Please. I'd like to see how easily they're accessed.”

She nodded. “I forget there might be someone in the house who's never seen our hidden steps. The servants can't resist showing them off to anyone new.”

I followed her along the hall, where she ran her fingers above the wainscoting. A section of the wall, wallpapered and paneled to blend in, swung open. I stuck my head into the opening and took my first good look at the steps without Lady Raminoff's
body in the way. The staircase was poorly lit with a thick, dull carpet that appeared sufficient to muffle footsteps.

“Is any of your jewelry missing? We thought it might be what he was after.”

I turned around to see the duchess holding her stomach and looking ill. “No. The nursery is near the top of these stairs. If I find out he was even thinking about hurting my baby, I will send the Russians packing back to St. Petersburg and the Prince of Wales can forget about any more favors from Hereford.”

“The Prince of Wales asked you to take in the princess?”

“Yes. He and the men in Whitehall.”

“Why?” The word slipped out before I could take it back.

“Wales, his brothers, Hereford, Blackford, they all feel sorry for Sussex. His father was Victoria's much younger cousin and was always sickly, leaving their only child to be raised by his wife, the formidable Dowager Duchess of Sussex.” Her sigh told me she'd dealt with the woman before. “He'd still be squiring Mummy around if Victoria hadn't looked in the Almanach de Gotha and found Princess Kira. I feel sorry for Sussex, too, but not to the extent of endangering Daisy.”

“Where is the dowager duchess now?” I needed a clear picture of these people. A clue to our present investigation might be hidden in the past.

She walked back into the morning room and sat rather heavily on the nearest chair. “Victoria made the sacrifice and asked the dowager duchess to be a lady-in-waiting. The plan is to have Sussex safely married before the dowager duchess can destroy his chance at happiness.”

“He does seem to be happy with the princess.” Besotted might be a better word.

The duchess looked into the middle distance and smiled. “Yes. It's sweet, isn't it?”

Before I could respond, she turned her gaze on me and said, “Life goes on, even with a murder in the house. We need to get the invitations out to the princess's dinner party. Here is the list of people to invite. Grand Duke Vassily will be the guest of honor.”

I looked at the list and blinked. “How many will be at the dinner?”

“Twenty-four. And don't think I didn't have a problem convincing her to narrow the list.”

“And you want me to handwrite the invitations?” I knew that was the normal procedure—I was acting as her secretary, after all—but I had an investigation to carry out.

“Of course,” she snapped, and then immediately looked embarrassed. “You don't type invitations, and this isn't important enough to have them engraved. You'll find the paper for invitations is in the third drawer in the desk.”

I sat down by the desk and opened the drawer. There was more than enough heavy cream card stock, but I didn't see this ending well. “My handwriting is neat but plain. Is the princess certain she doesn't want to write them out herself?”

The duchess looked heavenward as if for help. “She's far too busy painting and shopping and making demands on my servants. The cook is ready to quit over her constant menu changes and criticisms.”

“What has the ambassador said about paying for a lady's maid for Nadia? Blackford is sending over the maid I told you about to talk to you this morning. And I'll need to talk to her, too, but secretly.”

“The ambassador is consulting with St. Petersburg. Frankly,
I think he'd like her to leave England as soon as possible and her family doesn't care if she ever returns home. I ask when I should expect her to return to her family, and she keeps saying she doesn't know. She and Sussex need to discuss their plans for next spring first. Sussex would let her put on a carnival at their wedding if she wanted.” Her voice rose with exasperation.

Then she lowered her head, took a deep breath, and slowly released it. “Please don't tell anyone about my pique. She's really a lovely girl.”

“If she's that much of a strain, perhaps you ought to tell the duke. Ask a friend to invite her to a shooting party far from here.”

“I tried that. She declined the invitation. She said she needed to stay here to paint and throw this dinner party for her cousin Vassily.”

“Oh, dear.” Declining invitations now for frivolous reasons would have serious repercussions on her life after she and Sussex were married. Polite society didn't decline invitations to shooting parties for anything less than childbirth or death. Or a previous invitation. “I hope she didn't tell Sussex to go without her.”

“She did. He declined as well so he could stay here with her.”

“Didn't he suggest strongly that they really ought to accept the invitation? That she'd enjoy herself there?”

“He suggested. I don't know how strongly. Of course, I feel like a fool since I wrote and asked the Duchess of Merville to extend invitations to the two of them.”

“No one thinks this is your fault, Your Grace.”

She sighed and nodded. The woman had been looking pale for days. The princess was wearing her out. Living with a murderer in the house wasn't helping.

And then another thought tapped me on the shoulder. “Are you expecting another child, Your Grace?”

The duchess gave a tremendous sigh and said, “Please don't say anything. I'd like to tell the duke before this makes the rounds of gossip.”

I wondered if I ought to tell Blackford but her sharp look dissuaded me. “No. I won't tell.” Then a possible explanation to the duchess's lie came to mind. “Was Your Grace suffering from morning sickness when Ivanov arrived here rather than painting in your studio as you said?”

She nodded. “I felt so badly I returned to my room. I was hoping my lady's maid was there to fix me a bromide. She wasn't, and I found myself being sick into the chamber pot. I was still bent over it when Sally came in and told me Ivanov had been spotted.”

“You might want to let Sally know it's all right for her to tell me the truth.”

“Yes. She backed me up very loyally.”

“And I need her to tell me truthfully if anyone was in your studio.” She might provide an alibi for one or more of the possible stranglers. The poor duchess looked so miserable I said, “Why don't you put your feet up and rest while you tell me exactly how you want these invitations to read?”

“You've never done anything like this before, have you?”

“No, and I don't want to upset the princess and make things more difficult for you.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes together as the duchess sat with her feet up and her eyes shut, explaining the intricacies of formal invitations. At the end, I had produced one good copy of the invitation and a few trials had landed in the fire the duchess had ordered built to warm the room.

“Will anyone be available? This is short notice,” I said. The dinner would be held in three days' time.

“All of these people are in town, and most of them are
involved in the diplomacy surrounding Grand Duke Vassily's visit. They've expected this invitation since before the man arrived in England.”

“Kira isn't inviting her sister?”

“Nadia's her half sister, and it's the circumstances of her birth that would make Grand Duke Vassily and the rest of the Russians refuse to sit down with her. That's what she told me.”

“How is Nadia taking it?”

“Surprisingly well. She's the one who told me, not Kira. Nadia just shrugged it off as part of life dealing with Russian nobility.” The duchess rose slowly from her chair. “I suppose I've hidden long enough from my responsibilities. Let me know when you have the invitations done, and I'll have a footman deliver them rather than wait for the postman.”

I gave her a nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

By the time the duchess and her guests had finished their luncheon, I was waiting in the front hall with the addressed invitations.

“That was quick work, Miss Peabody,” the duchess said.

“Let me see,” Princess Kira said.

Nadia curtsied to everyone and began to climb the stairs. Her pleasant expression seemed sewn on her face and her back was rigid with anger. She might claim she didn't mind being left out of this dinner, but clearly she was unhappy.

“This is so plain. You'll have to do it over and use a fancier hand.” Princess Kira smacked them back into my palm.

“If you want a fancier hand, you'll have to do it yourself.”

The house and everyone in it seemed to hold their breaths. I shouldn't have been so bold. A person in the position I was pretending to occupy wouldn't have been so outspoken. Not that the princess didn't deserve some plainspoken truth.

“How dare you?” the princess said.

“I am sorry, but I can't provide a fancier hand. The work is neat and unsmudged, but if it doesn't suit, perhaps you could make the invitations fancier,” I said, trying to sound contrite.

Blackford stood to one side, no expression on his marble-chiseled features.

“I don't have time. You'll just have to do a better job,” the princess said, not bothering to pretend to have trouble with English.

Blackford picked the top one up from my hand. “They're neat, perfectly aligned, correctly spelled. Everything an invitation should be. Perhaps Russian standards are higher than English ones.”

Princess Kira opened her mouth and then shut it as she realized the trap she nearly walked into. If she said Russian standards were higher, the people who mattered in her new life in England would think she should go home and marry a Russian. Or do the invitations herself. And by this time, she must have realized how this sounded to Sussex. He wouldn't stay enamored forever.

“What do you think, Arthur?” the princess asked Sussex, an adoring smile on her face.

“They look fine to me. You mustn't worry about it, my darling.”

“Very well. Send them out,” the princess said with a pout in her voice.

I kept my mouth shut as I straightened out the invitations and passed them to the footman who appeared at my side. With a bow to the duchess, he left the house.

I glanced up to the landing at the top of the stairs. Nadia stood looking down with hatred etched on her features. I tried to guess who she was looking at. Was it Princess Kira, or was she looking at the Duchess of Hereford? Or me?

Kira walked away with Sussex, and Nadia's furious gaze followed her. I wondered if the princess knew how much her sister loathed her.

Then Nadia glanced over and saw I was watching her. She walked away, her head held high.

•   •   •

A HALF HOUR
later, I was summoned to speak to the duchess. I followed the maid to the dining room. When I entered the room, I found the duchess with Mary Thomas.

“With Russians all over the house, this seemed as private as possible at this time of day,” the duchess said.

“Mary, I know you were lady's maid to Clara Gattenger—”

“Part of the day, miss.”

“And we need you to be lady's maid to the princess's half sister, Nadia Andropov. We need you to listen in and report back anything they say that might be important. It could be dangerous, but it will help the Archivist Society,” I told her.

“Will this help find who killed my brother?”

“No. This is the other investigation we're working on. You have every right to refuse, and it won't be held against you.”

She lifted her chin. “The Archivist Society is helping to find the person who killed my brother. It's only right I help you in return.”

“Thank you. You can report back to me or to the Duke of Blackford. Try to keep an eye on Nadia, the princess, and Mila, the other lady's maid. They all speak English. If they speak Russian around you, don't worry. The rest of us don't know any Russian, either.”

Nodding, she said, “I'll do my best. When do I start?”

•   •   •

I WAS STILL
rubbing my sore right hand from all the careful writing I had done when I reached the bookshop that evening. Frances was assisting a woman who'd probably be our last customer
of the day. She saw me and gave a nod toward the office that made her chins wobble. I waved and walked to the back of the shop.