By T.F. Banks
For 20 years, England and France were at struggle. Now the struggle has come home…On a sunny July day in 1815, Plymouth Sound is crowded with boats vying for a view of England’s nice battleship HMS Bellerophon. For aboard the vessel is the stout little Frenchman who threw the realm into chaos. In London, a few humans clamor for Napoleon’s execution, others for his exile, and nonetheless others for a civil trial on English soil. For one humble London detective, the talk has became lethal. Bow road Runner Henry Morton has a homicide to solve--and Napoleon himself is on the center of the matter.The sufferer is a Frenchwoman, the mistress of a count number. quickly Morton is racing via a demimonde of French expatriates, Bonapartists, fanatical Royalists, and one very risky, drunken petty criminal. From an unique London brothel to a scene of carnage on a Dartmoor farm, the detective enters a covert battle over Napoleon’s destiny. And amid the betrayal, deception, and homicide, Morton will face a waterloo of his personal.
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Extra info for The Emperor's Assassin: Memoirs of a Bow Street Runner (Dell Mystery)
There was a fife, a fiddle, a cornet, and a snare drum. The players stood in their boat to perform--rather precariously, Arabella thought--and bowed after each of their ragged efforts. They were applauded. Coins were tossed, some of which were fumbled and fell into the sea. Arabella imagined them drifting slowly down, down, among the fishes, as she would herself if this damnable boat overtipped. At the end of each piece, all eyes turned to the decks of the Bellerophon, high above. But nothing stirred there.
There be draggers and drivers and luggers. " This caught Darley's interest. " The leather-faced little man looked suddenly down at his hands on the oars. "Well, your grace, their trade is usually found... " "They're smugglers, he means," said someone else aboard, and laughed. " This caused the waterman to smile. "Oh, I think there'll always be port duties, and governments in need of such revenue. " Darley reached over and patted Lucy on the shoulder. "Don't look so frightened, child," he said warmly.
I do not know, monsieur. She spoke nothing of family to me. I think she must have married well--above her station, certainly--for she did not have the manner of the French noblesse. " "Were you aware of anyone who was her friend? " The woman shook her head. Morton sat back in his chair. A name and a dwelling place were a start, but he had hoped, after seeing Madame De le Caeur's reaction to the news, that she knew much more. Ah, well, the French were more emotional than the English, which no doubt explained it-- or else losing a customer who paid on time was more traumatic than Morton had at first guessed.