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Zusatztext “A fine introduction to Perry’s alluring world of Victorian crime and intrigue.”— The New York Times Book Review “Another winner . . . a wonderful cast of characters with many twisting plots.”—Vero Beach Press Journal “Perry writes with an intelligence that’s both refreshing and entertaining.”— The Arizona Republic “Perry is my choice for today’s best mystery writer of Victoriana.”— St. Louis Post-Dispatch “[Perry’s] grasp of Victorian character and conscience astonishes.”— The Plain Dealer Informationen zum Autor Anne Perry is the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels, including Death on Blackheath and Midnight at Marble Arch, and the William Monk novels, including Blood on the Water and Blind Justice . She is also the author of a series of five World War I novels, as well as twelve holiday novels, most recently A New York Christmas, and a historical novel, The Sheen on the Silk, set in the Ottoman Empire. Anne Perry lives in Los Angeles and Scotland. Klappentext The Prince of Wales has asked four wealthy entrepreneurs and their wives to Buckingham Palace to discuss a fantastic idea: the construction of a six-thousand-mile railroad that would stretch the full length of Africa. But the prince's gathering proves disastrous when the mutilated body of a prostitute turns up in a linen closet among the queen's monogrammed sheets. With great haste, Thomas Pitt, the brilliant mainstay of Special Services, is summoned to resolve the crisis. The Pitts' cockney maid, Gracie, is also recruited to pose as a palace servant and listen in on the guests' conversations. If Pitt and Gracie fail to find out who brutally murdered the young woman, Pitt's career will be over, and the scandal may just cause the monarchy to fall. Chapter One She was apparently found in the linen cupboard, poor creature,” Narraway replied, his lean face dour, his eyes so dark they seemed black in the interior shadow of the hansom cab. Then, before Pitt could say anything further, he corrected himself. “One of the linen cupboards in Buckingham Palace. It was a particularly brutal murder.” The vehicle jerked forward, throwing Pitt back in the seat. “A prostitute?” he said incredulously. Narraway was silent for a moment. The horse’s hoofs clattered loudly, the carriage’s wheels rattling over the cobbles dangerously close to the pavement edge. “Surely that’s a bad joke!” he said at last as they swung around the corner into The Mall and picked up speed again. “Very bad,” Narraway agreed. “At least I hope so. But I fear it is perfectly serious. However, if Mr. Cahoon Dunkeld proves to be wasting our time exercising his sense of humor, I shall take great joy in personally putting him in jail—preferably one of our less pleasant ones.” “It has to be a joke,” Pitt said, shivering at the thought. “There couldn’t be a murder at the Palace. How could a prostitute get in there, anyway?” “Through the door, exactly as we shall, Pitt,” Narraway answered. “Don’t be naïve. And she was probably more welcome than we shall be.” Pitt felt a little stung. “Who is Cahoon Dunkeld?” he asked, avoiding looking at Narraway. He had a reverence for Queen Victoria, especially now in her advanced age and widowhood, even though he was perfectly well aware of her reputed eccentricities and the fact that she had not always been so popular with her people. She had been in mourning too long, retreating not only from joy but also from duty. And he had gained some personal knowledge a couple of years ago of the extravagance and the self-indulgence of the Prince of Wales, and knew he kept several very expensive mistresses. Pitt had been superintendent of Bow Street then, and the conspiracy around the Prince had cos...
