communist or anarchist managed to climb into the castle, administer the poison and then make his getaway undetected.”
“The simplest thing,” Nicholas said, “would be to treat the death as a heart attack, which is what everyone else believes anyway. If they decide on an autopsy, it will be hard to trace the cyanide after that amount of time.”
“If we are to believe your diagnosis that cyanide was administered,” Siegfried said carefully, “then we must do our duty and find the person who committed this shocking act. Just because the occupants of this castle are royal does not put us above the justice system of our country.”
“Well spoken, Your Highness,” said a deep voice in guttural French, and a figure stepped from the darkness at the far end of the library. If I had been asked to describe Dracula, this man would have fit the bill perfectly. Tall, thin, hollow cheeked, hollow eyed and very pale, he was dressed head to toe in black, which accentuated the whiteness of his skin. For one ridiculous moment it crossed my mind to wonder whether Vlad the Impaler was still alive and still ruled this castle and the people in it. The man moved toward us with smooth, menacing steps. Then he looked around at us and smiled. “If the personages at this table were not of such exalted rank, I should think that I was witnessing a conspiracy and have you all arrested on the spot,” he said. “However, as His Highness Prince Siegfried has just so wisely said, even royal personages are not above the law. If I understood correctly, and I admit that my English is not as fluent as it should be, you were planning to cover up a murder so that there would be no unpleasantness and the wedding could take place as planned. Am I right?”
“Who the devil are you?” Nicholas asked coldly.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Patrascue, head of the Romanian secret police.” He pulled up a chair and squeezed himself in between Nicholas and Dragomir. “Given the importance of the occasion and the presence of foreign royalty, I elected to travel with Their Majesties to this royal wedding. How fortunate that I did, wasn’t it? I had only just arrived when one of my men reported to me that he had overheard a conversation about a murder and a body being whisked away.”
I looked across at Lady Middlesex, who had gone a little pink.
“So perhaps one of you would be good enough to tell me who died.”
“Field Marshal Pirin,” Siegfried said. “Head of the Bulgarian armed forces.”
“Also senior adviser to my father and a powerful force in the politics of the region.”
“Ah, so we are looking at a political murder, are we?” Patrascue licked his lips. “Very well. Understand this. I will be conducting the investigation and you will be answering my questions—royal or not. Do not think that your exalted rank puts you above the law in Romania. Dear me, no. Our country is a constitutional monarchy and you really have very little power.”
“You have to understand,” Anton said, “that we were not attempting to cover up a murder just so that a wedding can take place. This man’s death could have significance for the future of my country and this entire region.”
“And you are . . . ?” Patrascue asked insolently.
“I happen to be Prince Anton of Bulgaria,” Anton said coldly. “In case you don’t know, you are sitting next to Prince Nicholas, my older brother, heir to the throne and bridegroom.”
“My felicitations.” Patrascue nodded to Nicholas. “And these other people—your fellow conspirators. Why are they here?”
“I am Lady Georgiana, cousin to King George of England,” I said, reverting to my imitation of my great-grandmother, as I always do when I feel threatened. “I am here representing Their Majesties at this wedding. These two ladies are my companions, sent to accompany me by Queen Mary.”
“And the reason you sit here now? I did not think the power of the British Empire extended to central Europe.” Patrascue eyed me insolently.
“Actually I’m here as a relative,” I said. “As a descendant of Queen Victoria I am related to the Bulgarian royal family and more remotely to the Romanian one. Also I was sitting opposite Field Marshal Pirin at the fateful dinner, and thus witnessed everything. My companion Lady Middlesex was the first to suspect that his death was not a heart attack.”
“You say you witnessed everything,” Patrascue went on. “What exactly did you see,