The Royal Assassin (20 page)

“This is my son, Andrew, and this is Miss Mary Harper.”

“I'm a boarder here,” the old woman told me, as if that answered all my questions. “I'm watching Andrew while Agatha rests. Her cough seems worse, Amelia. You might want to check on her.”

“You play,” Amelia said to the squirming toddler as she put him down. “I'm going to check on Gram.”

She left the room and Mary Harper said, “Sit down and bring me news of the outside world.”

Never good at starting a conversation when all I wanted to do was sleep, I said, “Autumn is settling in. Before we know it, it'll be Christmas season.” Not brilliant, but at least I sounded coherent.

“Do you work for the Duchess of Hereford like Amelia does?”

“Yes. I'm her secretary. Hers and the Princess Kira, who's visiting from Russia to meet her intended, the Duke of Sussex.” Well, she wanted news. I might as well give her the long version since I'd be waiting a few minutes for Miss Whitten.

“You get to see all sorts of important people.”

“I do. Do you get to watch Andrew often?”

“I have lately, with Agatha being so ill.”

“Are you family?”

“I have no family. Just a small income and a need to live somewhere. They've welcomed me in, and we've found we suit each other quite well.”

“Are you the only boarder?”

“No. There's Miss Dawson, a clerk in a shop. She'll be here in time for dinner.”

I glanced around. “Has the house been in the Whitten family for a long time?”

“I believe Amelia grew up here.”

Andrew came over and showed me one of his tin soldiers before running back to continue his game. It made no sense to me, but I'd not spent much time with children. It appeared to make perfect sense to Andrew.

“He's such a joy,” Mary Harper said quietly so the boy wouldn't hear her.

“Who's his father?” I asked.

“A young scholar who made an advantageous match and left Amelia in the dust. He denies all responsibility.”

“Coward.”

Mary Harper nodded. “Exactly. But that doesn't help Amelia. She's the one to face ostracism and loss of her employment.”

“I don't think the duchess will do that. She's already said she won't hear of Amelia leaving.”

Mary Harper turned a sharp gaze at me out of faded blue eyes. “Does she know about the boy?”

“She does now.”

“She sounds like a good one, your duchess.”

“She is, but she's hardly my duchess.”

Amelia came downstairs and said, “My mother seems to be resting quieter now. I'd better get back.” She walked over and ruffled the boy's fair hair.

“We'll be fine here,” Mary Harper said.

“I'll see you tonight, sweetheart,” Amelia told her son.

He grinned up at her. “'Bye, Mama.”

We started back the way we'd come, Amelia keeping still as we traveled. Finally I couldn't bear the silence any longer. “You have a lovely child.”

“Thank you.”

“It can't be easy.”

“It isn't. And now with my mother being so sick—”

“What ails her?”

“Lung disease, influenza, her heart. We're not sure.”

“She hasn't seen a doctor?”

“Doctors cost money. Money we don't have.”

“Your father didn't leave you much?”

“He died young and left us nothing but debts.”

On that gloomy note, we continued in silence to Hereford House. After we took off our wet outerwear, I followed Amelia upstairs and left her in the nursery while I went in search of Mila, Nadia, and the princess. I found the maid fixing Princess Kira's hair in curls.

“When you get done there, I need to speak to you, Mila.” At least Mila spoke English.

“Once the princess is ready to go downstairs for the luncheon.”

“Of course.” I sat down on a side chair, its seat upholstered in a blue-patterned fabric. “Has Nadia returned from her appointment at the embassy?”

“Not yet. She's upset at being excluded from today's luncheon.” A bright smile crossed the princess's face. “I'm going to ask to have her in my wedding party. The ambassador and Cousin Vassily are going to yell and threaten.”

Clearly she was looking forward to the uproar she'd cause.

I shook my head. “What would Lady Raminoff have said?”

“She'd be against it, of course. She says Nadia can be anything
she wants here in England, but she can't be a princess when the royal family is around. Lady Raminoff was on Nadia's side as long as the Romanovs weren't being embarrassed.”

“Nadia didn't think so?”

“Nadia thinks that people either want her to be a princess or are against her.”

“That must make her hard to get along with.”

“No. Nadia is so full of life. She's not afraid of anything. It makes her fun to be around.” Princess Kira gave me a smile that made her eyes glitter with mirth.

“If she weren't afraid of anything, she wouldn't have run when her mother died.” Aggravating the princess seemed to get me more answers than if I were respectful.

“Her mother was killed, and those same men tried to kill her, too. But she hid until she could escape to England. She's so clever,” Princess Kira said, pride and defiance filling her voice.

“You are ready, Princess.” Mila stepped back and lowered her head.

The princess, dressed in more jewels than an Englishwoman would feel was proper for luncheon, left the room. I shut the door behind her and turned to Mila. “Now, why are you stealing food?” I asked.

In a burst of speed, the lady's maid dashed past me, threw open the door, and ran down the secret staircase.

B
LAST.
I took off down the dark, narrow stairs after Mila, furious about all this exercise after a night of no sleep and much running around. Where did she think she'd run to? She was a Russian subject, only recently arrived in this country, and leaving again soon with Princess Kira.

She took off out the back door and across the garden, her half boots splashing in the puddles. I followed, shouting to the men in the carriage house as she approached, “Stop her! Stop that woman!”

Mila ran through the open door and inside the building. When I reached it, panting, I discovered there was no one inside and the door to the alley was open. I hurried over, holding my side over the pain that was stabbing me, and looked out. No one was in sight.

I leaned against the door frame, gasping in air and wondering where she was headed. Would she go to the tenement where Emma had been taken hostage by Griekev and his accomplices? Was she the woman Emma had heard?

Why else would she have run?

And why had I chosen to wear an outfit that required a tight corset on a day when the first thing I had to do was chase someone young and fit?

I needed to call Sir Broderick and have someone check to see if Mila was spotted in the area. If she were the inside person helping Ivanov, she wouldn't come back now. So where was their attack going to take place?

Then I remembered the hunt for a lady's maid for Nadia. That had allowed us to add Mary to the household to help me watch the Russians. Perhaps now Mary could help with the princess as well, until a new lady's maid was found.

I walked back to the house, still trying to catch my breath and ease the pain in my side while hurrying to avoid the rain. Miss Whitten's hat and gloves sat on the table next to mine in the back hall. At least I'd eliminated her as a suspect.

Ahead of me I saw Nadia cross the front hall heading toward the formal entrance. She wore her coat and hat. Had she returned with the grand duke after their meeting, or were they not on speaking terms? Had she caused an unpleasantness in the dining room? “Nadia. Wait.”

She ignored me as she increased her speed to escape. She grabbed an umbrella out of the stand before she rushed out the front door and shut it behind her. Where was Nadia's lady's maid, Mary? And Kendrick, the butler?

I headed for the back stairs, only to meet Mary coming up with the repaired gown in her hands. “Where did Nadia go?”

The girl shook her head. “I haven't seen her since I spoke to you earlier.”

“If either Nadia or the princess leaves, find out where they're
going and let me know.” With Mila's defection, I needed to know why Nadia had left the house so abruptly.

I retraced my steps and then cut down a side hall to reach the butler's pantry behind the dining room. I'd give a footman a message to give to the duchess during the next course and then I'd hurry next door to phone Sir Broderick. We needed to find Mila before she disappeared into the crowded streets and neighborhoods of London.

And learn how things stood between Nadia and the rest of the Russians.

The butler's pantry was small even when the butler and several footmen weren't carrying dishes through it. Now they were just beginning to change courses and several men rushed past, on their way down to the kitchen or into the dining room. All of them carried trays and a few of them muttered curses as they dodged around me.

Seeing the butler, I said, “I need to get a word to the duchess.”

He gave me a glance. “Not now. Get out of the way. George, take that downstairs,” he said as he moved into the dining room.

I had to duck under a few trays before I reached the protection of the entrance to the linen closet. Still, one of the footmen clipped me with a tray full of dirty dishes and we both had to juggle to keep from spilling food and china.

In an effort to move out of the way temporarily, I opened the door and stepped backward into the small, unlit closet.

A sparkling light caught my eye. Had some fool set a lighted lamp in here? No, the light crackled as it marked a line along the floor. Heat came up my skirt as I realized the light was a fuse. I bent over to peer deeper into the closet and saw the flame rush toward a bundle of dynamite sticks.

Oh, dear Lord. Dynamite.

I stared at it for what felt like an hour, my mouth moving but making no sound. I was mesmerized by the sparkly light. The damage done to the houses by the dynamite thieves raced through my mind.

No
. It couldn't happen here.

“Get out!” I screamed. “Dynamite.”

I frantically tried to jerk the fuse out of the bundle, but the metal tube the fuse ended in was crimped. I couldn't budge the wiry cord and I couldn't tear it with my hands. The butler came up behind me, demanding, “What—?”

Why wouldn't they just run? “Get everybody out. The house is going to explode.” I was screaming and I could hear voices talking over me in a Babel of conflicting orders. People shoved against my back while I listened to footsteps running in different directions. I wanted to run, too, but I was trapped by the people behind me.

I heard a footman say, “Her Grace asks—”

I thought of Blackford, the duchess, Lady Daisy. An instant ticked off as the burning fuse snaked toward the dynamite.

I felt as if I were in a dream. Everything was in slow motion. I pulled the duke's knife from my pocket, opened it, and sliced through the fuse cord just below where it went into the crimped metal tube. I tossed the fuse on the floor as it burned my hand.

The pain woke me up. I stomped on the cord and kicked the dynamite sticks away as I sucked on my singed fingers.

Turning around to face the crowd in the butler's pantry, I found myself staring at Blackford as he shoved the last of a group of curious servants out of his path to reach me. He picked me up by the waist and swung me out of his way to see the bomb.

“Did you cut the fuse, Georgia?” he asked, removing his still-open knife from my uninjured hand.

“Yes. I don't think it'll blow up now.” My words came out in little gasps as I struggled to catch my breath. Looking down, I could see scorch marks in the wooden floor where the fuse had burned.

“It won't.” He pocketed the knife as he turned to the butler and said, “I think you might want to send some of these people downstairs.”

The butler dispatched the footmen with various orders while Blackford held me up with both hands firmly gripping my shoulders. I started to shake. I blinked away tears. I had almost died.

Someone had tried to kill all of us.

“We n-need to find out who was in here.” My voice was now a whimper.

“We will. But first, you need to sit down.” Blackford moved me into the dining room and sat me on the closest chair. Then he pressed a wineglass into my hand. “Drink this.”

I took a sip, swallowed, and then tried to take a deep breath. I felt a little less shaky as Princess Kira demanded, “What is she doing in here and what is going on?”

“You were almost blown up. I cut the fuse,” I snapped. “Oh, and your maid left shortly before all this happened, when I accused her of theft.”

“Mila? Mila tried to blow us up?” the young woman said and dropped back into her chair. Sussex sat next to her, holding her hand.

“No. She couldn't have. She wasn't here to light the fuse.” Then it hit me. “But Nadia was.”

“No. No. No. Nadia would never hurt me. We're sisters.”

I shook my head, fury in my tone. “Silly girl. Haven't you seen the way she looks at you? She hates you.”

“Where did you see Nadia?” Blackford asked me.

“She was walking out of the front door when I was coming in here to try to send Her Grace a message.”

“No. Nadia wouldn't do anything like this. She just wants to be treated like the aristocrat she is. Her great-grandfather was Tsar of All the Russias,” the princess proclaimed.

“Perhaps. But she is still a bastard,” the Russian ambassador said. “Her mother caused all sorts of trouble for the royal family. Making demands. Wanting honors.”

“Is that why she was murdered?” I asked.

He nodded. “I suspect so.”

“They should have given her the honors,” the princess shrieked at him. “They should never have killed her. And they tried to kill Nadia.”

“An arrangement might have been reached,” the ambassador said, lowering his tone and speaking calmly. “But Marina wouldn't listen to good counsel. She was always headstrong. Putting on airs. Embarrassing your parents, Kira.”

“But to kill her? And Nadia, too?” The princess's voice was barely above a whisper. She seemed to have wrapped herself in a blanket of numbness to muffle the blows to her beliefs.

“Not Nadia. I was instructed to give her every assistance when she arrived in England. But she is too much like her mother, I fear. She makes demands to be treated as a princess. She says it is her right.” The ambassador shook his head, sounding aggrieved.

“You might have warned us before I invited the girl to stay in my house,” the duchess said, her posture as rigidly stiff as Blackford's when he was angry.

“I fear she has joined the anarchists,” Grand Duke Vassily said to the princess.

“I won't believe it until she tells me herself,” Kira said, pulling
her hand away from Sussex and wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

Blackford was still hovering over me. “Do you think she's the woman Griekev and Ivanov have been working with?” I whispered to him.

He glanced at the princess, who was cringing away from a hurt-looking Sussex. “It would make sense. They, rather than the anarchists, have been carrying out robberies using pistols and dynamite. Someone would have had to show her how to set the fuse.”

“Unless she's been involved in the other explosions and already knew how to build a bomb. She could have smuggled the parts needed into the house a little at a time. Nadia and Kira have been sneaking out to the Russian Orthodox church with some frequency.”

Blackford frowned. “No. The church is firmly behind the tsar. They wouldn't help the anarchists or criminals.”

“But you don't know what goes on in the congregation during service,” I told him. I turned to the princess. “Princess Kira, does Nadia meet with anyone when you slip out to go to church?”

“How did you—oh, the coachman. Of course.” She could have been discussing the weather in her bored tone. Brushing the air with one slender hand, she said, “There is a young man Nadia talks to. He's quite smitten. Always bringing her presents.”

“Has she shown them to you?”

Kira shook her head.

“Do you know his name?”

“Andrei Griekev. He lives quite close to the chapel, apparently—he said across the street—and he and Nadia arrange to meet there.”

My tone turned hard. Someone had to talk sense into this girl. “Andrei Griekev is a notorious robber who uses dynamite to
break into aristocrats' safes and carries a pistol. He pays anarchists to hide him and his fellow thieves.”

Her expression was furious as she stared at me. “How could Nadia know this?”

“From what we've learned, she's been planning these robberies with Griekev.”

“No. Nadia wouldn't—” the princess whimpered.

A commotion from the front hall signaled the arrival of a police inspector and a group of bobbies. At a nod from the duchess, Blackford went with her to deal with the police. The grand duke and the Russian ambassador joined them in the front hall. The rest of the women and Sussex stayed in the dining room, waiting silently. Listening.

I stayed where I was, sipping the duchess's very nice red wine and admiring her gray and lavender decor. The dishes matched the colors in the wallpaper and the rug. The draperies used the same fabric as the seat cushions on the chairs. The silver gleamed. The ivory tablecloth glowed in the light of the chandelier, and the ivory lace curtains muted the gloom outside.

I admitted to myself that I'd love to live on such a grand scale. I could understand Nadia's jealousy. What I couldn't understand was her desire to hurt people because they had what she wanted. Or to destroy this perfect room.

Did Nadia think the only thing that mattered was what she wanted? And was that a trait she shared with Kira?

As I glanced over at the princess, I caught her staring at me. I held her stare, and she looked away.

“I'll take the princess out of here while the police carry out their investigation,” the Duke of Sussex said.

“That's not a good idea. They'll want to question everyone about what they saw. And what they know,” I told him.

“But she's distressed.”

“So am I. I found the bomb.” And defused it. Something I didn't want to do ever again. My fingers throbbed.

“But she's a princess.”

With that pronouncement, the Duke of Sussex became my third-least-favorite person, right after Nadia and Kira. “We would have all been dead, Your Grace. That distresses everyone. Even servants.”