The Royal Assassin (15 page)

Emma sat on one of the chairs, looking up at me through a black eye. Her lips were cut and swollen on that side and a bruise ran along her cheek.

I jumped over stacks of books delivered that day to reach her. I bent down to give her a hug and said, “Dear Lord. What happened?”

“One of the anarchists has decided he doesn't trust me. Well, he caught me eavesdropping on the leader of a group of thugs, Griekev, who was speaking to a woman.” She tried to smile and stopped with a grimace. “You should see my attacker now.”

“You stabbed him?”

“And have myself and Sumner thrown out of the group just as it's paying off? Never. Sumner beat him to a pulp. Nastiest fight I've seen in ages.” She started to shake her head and then clutched her jaw.

“You're hurt.”

“Just sore. And will be for a few days.”

I winced in sympathy. “Is Sumner all right?”

“He's pretty banged up. I've got to go back to see to him. I just came to have you get a message to Sir Broderick. I overheard the leader talking. The target is Grand Duke Vassily, who's meeting with our diplomats. Something is happening at lunchtime the day after tomorrow.”

She rose and gave me a hug.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked her. “Do you need any money?”

“I need to buy ice and brandy and some clean bandages.”

I shifted back so I could look her over carefully. Her hair was dirty and messy; her skirts and half boots were worn and grimy.
She wore a shawl we'd have to burn when this was over. I had almost a pound in change in my purse and I gave her every halfpenny.

Just gazing at her bruises made me nauseous. Emma was beautiful and kind. The idea that some man was so evil that he'd beat her made me shake with anger at him and fear for her. “Who is this brute? Was it this Griekev who did this?”

Her eyes gave away her guilty conscience. “No. Ivanov.”

“Dear heavens. You know the man's a killer. And since he killed the guard, he's attacked a maid at Hereford House and frightened the child's governess. He has no qualms about hurting women. Please be careful.”

She slipped the money into her pocket and hugged me again. “I can't wait until this is over.”

“Neither can I.” Then I added, “This woman talking with Griekev. Would you recognize her again?”

“No. She always comes in the back way. I've never seen her, but she seems to be important to Griekev. He immediately goes to see her whenever she's in the building.”

“This is getting too dangerous. Go back and get Sumner. Then the two of you leave that place and come home. I don't think there's anything more to be learned from the anarchists.”

“We need to find out who this woman is first.” She squeezed past me and stopped in the doorway to the office. “When this is over, we'll need to talk.”

“What's wrong, Emma?”

But when I reached the doorway, she was already slipping out the back entrance into the alley.

I went out to the shop to find Frances closing the door behind her customer. Picking up the telephone, I asked for Sir Broderick's home. I gave him Emma's message.

“How is she?” His voice boomed out of the earpiece.

I glanced at Frances and said, “She's been struck by Ivanov, the large brute who killed the Russian guard. Sumner reportedly beat him for attacking Emma, but suffered injuries in the fight.”

“Does she want us to call this off?”

“I asked her to, but she said no. But she's very happy this will be over soon.”

“So are we all. I'll arrange a meeting for tonight. We need to plan now that we know when the attack will come.” There was a pause, and I thought I could hear Sir Broderick smile as he added, “Will you call Blackford and invite him, or shall I?”

“I will,” I responded too quickly.

Stevens, the duke's butler, answered the telephone at Blackford House. “His Grace isn't in at the moment,” he said. “May I take a message?”

“Yes. This is Georgia Fenchurch. Tell him there's an emergency meeting tonight at Sir Broderick's. We need his expertise. And so do Emma and Sumner.”

“She's a lovely young lady, miss. Sumner will take good care of her.”

“Stevens, you've met Emma Keyes?”

“Yes, miss. She's come by the house with Sumner a number of times. Oh, His Grace is available now.”

Blackford's voice came over the earpiece. “Georgia, can you come to Blackford House immediately? Grand Duke Vassily is here and he's told me an interesting story.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

When I hung up, Frances was standing across the counter from me, waiting. I set both pieces of the telephone where they belonged behind the counter and said, “We have a meeting at Sir Broderick's tonight.” Her dry expression made me add, “But you heard that. You heard all of it. I have to leave for Blackford
House. The duke says one of the Russians has information that might help.”

She laid her hand on mine. “Then get going. Just make sure you get to Sir Broderick's on time. This meeting may be a long one.”

I caught a hansom cab to hurry me to the duke's residence. When I arrived, I was shown into the duke's study, where Blackford and Grand Duke Vassily were seated in armchairs with brandy snifters, looking over an antique book.

“What is the meaning of this?” the grand duke asked as both men set down their drinks and rose. He certainly saw me as an intruder.

“Grand Duke Vassily, you met Miss Fenchurch at the Austrian embassy ball. In truth, she is working with me to keep Princess Kira safe. She is posing as the Duchess of Hereford's secretary to keep an eye on the household.”

“It is too bad you weren't also keeping Lady Raminoff safe.” He bowed over my hand. “But I don't understand why I should tell this young lady what I told you in confidence, Blackford.”

“I want you to tell her all you have told me about Nadia Andropov and the Romanovs. I believe it is important enough for keeping the princess safe that Miss Fenchurch should hear it, too.”

“She's an unmarried lady. It would not be proper to speak of such things in front of her.” The grand duke turned his back on me and strode toward the fire.

Why did men always try to protect women, I wondered, when we were the ones who had to hold society together after they made a mess of things?

“I
N
service to my queen, I have heard many worse things, I'm sure,” I told Grand Duke Vassily, trying not to sound too annoyed at the man who was trying to protect my tender sensibilities.

“It reflects badly on our royal family. I don't want to see such stories spread in your newspapers.”

Ah, so he wasn't really worried about my tender feelings. He was afraid something unpalatable would appear in the London press. “Nothing I have heard or will hear has ever appeared in the newspapers. Nor will it.”

“Please,” Blackford added. “I wouldn't ask if it weren't important.”

After a moment, the grand duke shook his head. “Very well. But there will be diplomatic repercussions if any of this leaks out.”

I nodded. Blackford pulled over his desk chair and we all sat.

“The Christmas before last, Marina, Nadia's mother, burst into a Romanov family celebration and begged the tsar on bended knee to acknowledge her daughter as his cousin. Poor Nicholas
had no idea who the woman was, although she was dressed appropriately for the occasion, which indicated that she had some resources. The tsar's mother and some of the other ladies of the court knew, including Kira's mother, Princess Sofia.

“Before anyone could stop the young tsar, he asked, ‘Who is your daughter?'

“Marina told him, including the child's paternity. Prince Pyotr Romanov. He was right there in the hall! Prince Pyotr, Kira's father, ordered Marina to leave immediately, but the tsarina stopped him and asked if the woman and her daughter had been looked after.

“She denied it. Said they'd been given castoffs. And her daughter was a blood descendant of Nicholas the First. She, Marina, wanted nothing but for her daughter to be styled a princess just like the rest of Nicholas's great-granddaughters.”

“What did the tsar decide?” I interrupted to ask.

I earned a dark look in response. “He dithered, as usual. Eventually he passed it to one of his ministers, where the matter died. But the incident of Marina invading the family gathering, that didn't die.

“Gossip flew around St. Petersburg. Kira's mother, Sofia, was embarrassed at every ball, every Christmas entertainment. Marina was spotted at many of these events. No one knew how she learned of them or how she entered and left again without being stopped.”

“Someone powerful was on her side,” I said.

“Yes. At the time, gossip swelled but no one knew who was aiding Marina. The following summer, she was murdered in her home on Prince Pyotr's estate. Nadia was supposedly also attacked but escaped. Of that, I have no proof.

“I do know Prince Pyotr was called before the tsar to explain
himself. He claimed his wife had ordered men to kill them both. When asked, Kira's mother, Princess Sofia, said only, ‘What would you have done? I will not be embarrassed by her any longer.'”

“How do you know this?”

“I was instructed by the tsar to conduct the investigation.”

It made sense for the tsar to ask his uncle to investigate his cousin. Especially since they were all members of the Russian royalty. I nodded.

“Nadia escaped. I didn't know where. I didn't try to find her. This past Christmas, I learned the tsar's mother, with the help of Lady Raminoff and other older women, had orchestrated Marina's appearances the year before at all the holiday festivities.”

“Why?”

“They didn't approve of the way Prince Pyotr had handled the situation, and none of them likes Sofia. She's a silly, vain, self-important creature who thinks of nothing but herself. Marina had fire, spunk. And she was a beautiful but kind woman. Her only blind spot was her overpowering loyalty to her daughter.”

“And it was the tsar's mother who sent Lady Raminoff along as Princess Kira's chaperone. Did she hope the princess would ruin herself in London?”

“No. She was afraid she would and wanted a stern chaperone in place. She fears Princess Kira is as silly and vain as her mother. Sofia is a thoroughly stupid woman. Her daughter's behavior worries the entire royal family. In Russia, Princess Kira is known for her willfulness and foolish disregard for propriety.”

“What did she want Lady Raminoff to do if Princess Kira misbehaved?”

The grand duke looked me straight in the eye and said, “Anything necessary. In Lady Raminoff's eyes, that would be everything up to and including execution.”

Were all these Russians crazy? “Did Nadia know Lady Raminoff's role in helping her mother?”

“Probably. Although the women of the former tsarina's court were acting to see a financial settlement was made to Marina and her daughter in the hopes they'd leave Russia. They weren't in favor of Nadia being honored as a princess.”

The grand duke took a sip of his brandy and said, “One of the reasons I am here is to present Nadia with a financial settlement.”

“Does she know this?”

“I sent her a message as soon as I came to London, asking her to meet me at the embassy. We are to meet tomorrow morning.”

Blackford escorted me to the front door. When I told him about the Archivist Society meeting that night, he shook his head. “I have a previous engagement I can't turn down.”

As Stevens, his butler, helped me on with my cloak, I watched Blackford walk away. Dejection weighed down all my bones and removed the air from my lungs.

I went home, vowing not to tell Phyllida any of this. That was easy. The hard part was finding a way to tell her I'd seen Emma without alarming her. As soon as she saw my face, she said, “You have news. Tell me.”

“Over dinner.” I sniffed the air. “Something smells delicious.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Leftover roasted chicken and vegetables from last night, but you knew that. Tell me now.”

“Let's sit down.”

She went pale, but she walked into the parlor, head held high. We sat across from each other and I took one of her hands in mine. “The man who killed the Russian bodyguard struck Emma. One side of her face is cut and bruised. Sumner beat the man, but it must have been a terrible fight. He was injured. I don't
know how badly. But they learned the attack will come the day after tomorrow at luncheon. This is almost over.”

“Thank the dear Lord. Is Emma all right?”

“Her wounds are superficial. She'll be fine.”

“And Sumner?”

“Emma didn't seem alarmed. We're having a meeting tonight, but they won't be there. They don't dare give away their role at this late date.”

“Why can't they leave now, this very instant?”

“They can. I asked. But they won't.”

Phyllida bowed her head for a moment. Then she raised her face and said, “You're going to Sir Broderick's tonight?”

“Yes. Do you want to attend?”

“No. I'm not fond of all this excitement.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I'll put dinner on the table.”

Phyllida was unnaturally quiet during the meal, and all my attempts at conversation fell flat. “What's wrong?” I finally asked.

“What do you think?” She paused after her snappish reply and said, “I'm very fond of you, Georgia, but Emma is like the daughter I never had. She's the age of any children I might have had if I'd been allowed to marry. And now we don't know if she'll survive. If they'll both live and get married—” Her voice broke on a sob.

“Now. Now. Neither one has said a word about marriage.”

“If they don't, Sumner has ruined her. And he loves her too much to ruin her. You only have to look into his eyes to see it. The only question is whether Emma has accepted him, and whether they'll both live through this.” Phyllida leaped up from the table, grabbed a couple of dishes, and hurried into the kitchen.

I cleared a few more and followed her. “They'll be fine. Perhaps you need to begin to plan a wedding.”

She looked up from where she leaned on the sink. “Do you think so?”

“Yes.” In truth, I had no idea, but I could lie with apparent sincerity when it came to Phyllida. There was no point in both of us being worried sick.

I hurried, but it was already nearly dark by the time I knocked on Sir Broderick's door. The streetlamps had been lit and the wind had risen, making for a cozy evening indoors. Jacob opened the door and then took my cloak while I removed my hat and gloves.

“We're in the parlor,” he told me.

“We're making a habit of this.”

“I've had to call in the lift people for service. The contraption's getting a workout.” Jacob grinned widely and my face must have reflected his joy.

Sir Broderick had slowly grown stronger over the years after nearly dying while trying to save my parents. He'd increased the size and reach of the Archivist Society over time, but he'd never before come downstairs. He wasn't walking, but it was as if his physical horizons had suddenly widened with Mrs. Hardwick in the house.

I entered the parlor to find Mrs. Hardwick pouring a cup of tea for Adam Fogarty while Frances Atterby took a scone from Dominique. For an instant, I looked around for Emma and then my shoulders drooped under the weight of my worry. Emma wouldn't be here tonight. God only knew if she'd be here for our next meeting.

Mrs. Hardwick poured me a cup and said, “You're looking very down tonight, Georgia. Worried about the investigation?”

“Yes.” Among other things.

“It will be all right. You'll see.”

“Perhaps.” How could she be so sure?

A few other Archivist Society members showed up and we greeted each other before sitting around the parlor in a circle. Adam Fogarty paced behind our seats, occasionally settling behind one of us for a few moments. I guessed he was shaking out his bad leg. I'd seen him do it before, but I wasn't about to quiz him on his pain.

I had enough of my own that night.

Sir Broderick sat with his back to the roaring fire. “Georgia, tell us what you learned today,” he said in a loud voice, which quieted the others.

I told them what Emma had told me about the fight and the attack. “The two points she found out were the attack comes the day after tomorrow at lunchtime and the target is Grand Duke Vassily. Adam, can you find out from your friends where the Russian will be then and what kind of security Scotland Yard is providing?”

He paused behind Frances's chair. “Yes. I'll have all the details by noon tomorrow.”

“That'll only give us twenty-four hours,” Grace Yates said. “And when we find out where the grand duke will be, we need to put a Russian speaker in there to coordinate from inside.”

“And to translate any last-minute remarks by waiters, staff, anyone who speaks Russian that might give us a hint as to where the threat is coming from,” I added.

“We don't have a Russian speaker,” Sir Broderick said. “Does anyone know someone who can help? Georgia, what about someone at Hereford House?”

I thought of the Russian speakers staying there. The princess, Mila the maid, and Nadia. One of them could be Lady Raminoff's killer. I shook my head. “I wouldn't trust any of them with this.”

“I understand. Anyone else?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“I'll make some calls, but we're going to have to count heavily on what you can find out from Scotland Yard, Adam. They must have a Russian speaker they can put into the grand duke's party for the day.”

“I imagine they do. I'll ask them, but it sounds like something they'll think of right away,” Fogarty replied.

Sir Broderick looked around. “I would have thought Blackford would have come tonight. You did call him, Georgia?”

“He had a previous engagement. He offered his apologies.”

Sir Broderick frowned. “We can only hope he can make it tomorrow night. We'll have to meet then to learn what Adam has for us.”

“Do you want me to fill everyone in on what we've recently learned about the burglars who are using dynamite?” Adam asked.

“Yes. Are you making progress?” I asked before Sir Broderick had a chance to speak. I wanted to tell Mary Thomas if possible.

“The Yard had speakers of some foreign tongues talk in front of the witnesses to the burglaries. To learn which one sounded the most like the robbers. Turns out they were speaking Russian. And the witnesses gave matching physical descriptions. One tall with a beard, large hands, and a short temper. The other medium sized and clean shaven. He appeared to be in charge. They believe he's the brains behind the explosions and the robberies.”

“Has that helped Scotland Yard?” Grace asked.

“The constables on the beat in Whitechapel were instructed to keep an ear out for any mention of dynamite in the Russian community or these two men. A snitch reported a gang is being run by a Russian who uses dynamite. Some of the members are Russian, some English. All nasty characters. Their lair is somewhere off Commercial Street.”