Royal Blood by Rhys Bowen Page B

settled and then we’ll find the dining car and see if they can produce a drinkable cup of tea.”
    As she finished speaking she looked down the corridor and opened her mouth in horror. “What in heaven’s name?”
    Queenie was rushing toward us, blindly pushing past people. She reached me and clutched at my sleeve like a drowning person. “Oh, me lady,” she gasped, “can’t I come in with you? I can’t stay down there. It’s all foreign people. Speaking foreign and acting foreign. I’m scared, me lady.”
    “You’ll be fine, Queenie,” I said. “You have Chantal, who has traveled on these trains many times and speaks the language too. Ask her if you need anything.”
    “What, ’er with the hatchet face?” Queenie demanded. “She gives me a look that would curdle milk. And she speaks foreign too. I had no idea it was going to be so—well, foreign.”
    Lady Middlesex faced the terrified girl. “Pull yourself together, girl. You are embarrassing your mistress by making a scene. There is no question of your remaining in first class with your betters. You will be perfectly safe with Chantal. She travels with me all over the world. Now go back to your own compartment and stay there until Chantal tells you to disembark. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
    Queenie let out a whimper but she nodded and scurried back down the corridor.
    “Have to be firm with these girls,” Lady Middlesex said. “No backbone, that’s the problem. Disgrace to the English race. Now let’s go and see if any of these French people can make a decent cup of tea.”
    And she strode out ahead of me down the corridor.

Chapter 10
    On a train, crossing Europe
Tuesday and Wednesday, November 15 and 16
Thank God Lady Middlesex is traveling on to Baghdad. I
don’t think I could stand her company for more than one
night. Reminds me of a brief and unhappy episode when I
tried to join the Girl Guides and failed my tenderfoot test.

    Soon we were sitting in a lounge car drinking what passed for tea—the light brown color of ditch water with a slice of lemon floating in it.
    “No idea at all,” Lady Middlesex said. “I don’t know how the French exist without proper tea. No wonder they always look so pasty faced. I’ve tried showing them the correct way to make it, but they simply won’t learn. Ah, well, one must suffer if one has to travel abroad. Never mind, Deer-Harte, you’ll have decent tea once we reach the embassy in Baghdad.”
    “And what exactly is your destination, Lady Georgiana?” Miss Deer-Harte asked, taking what must have been her fifth biscuit.
    “Lady Georgiana is to represent Her Majesty at a royal wedding in Romania.”
    “In Romania? Good heavens—such an outlandish place. So dangerous.”
    “Nonsense,” Lady Middlesex said. “I thought I mentioned it to you in my last letter.”
    “You might have done, but unfortunately my mother’s naughty little doggie, Towser, found the post and chewed off one corner of your letter. He’s such a scamp.”
    “No matter. We’re all here now and we are going to accompany Lady Georgiana to her destination in the mountains of Transylvania.”
    “I’m sure there is no need for you to interrupt your journey,” I said hastily. “I trust a car will be waiting for me at the station.”
    “Nonsense. The queen specifically asked me to deliver you safely to the castle and I am not one to shirk my duty.”
    “But Lady M, a castle in the mountains of Transylvania, at this time of year too,” Miss Deer-Harte said, her voice quivering. “We shall be set upon by wolves, at the very least. And what about vampires?”
    “What tosh you do talk, Deer-Harte,” Lady Middlesex said. “Vampires. Whatever next.”
    “But Transylvania is an absolute hotbed of vampires. It’s common knowledge.”
    “Only in children’s fairy stories. There is no such thing as vampires in real life, Deer-Harte, unless you mean the bats in South America. And as for wolves, I hardly think