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greet your traveling contingent.”
They went through the circle of introductions with teacups clattering into saucers and bows and
curtsys all around. It seemed a bit silly to resort back to such pageantry just after having witnessed
the sort of row one might more reasonably expect from a working class family, but Trevor supposed
that being in private service to the royals would be much like working behind the scenes of a
theatrical. Like it or not, they were about to witness the machinations of the magic, and to see the
principals devoid of their costumes and props.
“Emma Kelly,” Ella said thoughtfully, pausing in the round of formalities to consider the girl
more closely than the men. The unexpected attention seemed to fluster Emma, who blushed to the
roots of her hair.
“Emma has been tutoring me in Milton,” Alix said, surprising Trevor by even speaking. During
the argument between her sister and grandmother she had sat still and ashen, undoubtedly aware that
beneath this clearly well-worn debate, what the two women were truly discussing was the possibility
of her own future in Russia. Besides, Trevor had never been entirely sure how Alix felt about being
accompanied to St. Petersburg by three members of Scotland Yard or the ruse of presenting Emma as
her governess. The necessity of their presence was an implied insult to the court her cherished Nicky
would someday rule, so it seemed she might resent them all. But instead she had now leapt to her feet
and had linked her arm through Emma’s as if they had been devoted companions for years.
“Milton,” Ella said vaguely. “Most excellent. You must illuminate us all at the welcoming
banquet, which I’m sure my family will be holding within a day or two in honor of our British
guests.” If these last lines, especially the pointed emphasis on the words “my family,” were designed
to take a final jab at the Queen, they fell short of their mark, for Her Majesty had turned her attention
back to the luncheon and was merely prodding suspiciously at some sort of overblown pastry with her
fork.
“Emma will be dancing at the Tchaikovsky ball,” Alix said. “As am I.”
“So I understand,” said Ella, smiling at her little sister. “This means you shall both meet
Konstantin and your lives shall be instantaneously transformed.” Her large blue gray eyes flickered
back to Emma. “But I find your name inconvenient,” she said. “Emma and Ella? Far too similar and
it shall leave us all in confusion. For the remainder of your time in St. Petersburg, you must be known
by your surname of Kelly.” And she laughed, but in a way that made it impossible to tell if she was
truly joking, and then the royal women – Alix, Ella, and the Queen – abruptly recessed from the room
into Ella’s private parlor, leaving the members of the Tuesday Night Murder Games club flattened