By T.F. Banks
For two decades, England and France were at struggle. Now the conflict 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 area 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 controversy has grew to become lethal. Bow highway Runner Henry Morton has a homicide to solve--and Napoleon himself is on the middle 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 harmful, drunken petty criminal. From an unique London brothel to a scene of carnage on a Dartmoor farm, the detective enters a covert conflict over Napoleon’s destiny. And amid the betrayal, deception, and homicide, Morton will face a waterloo of his personal.
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Additional info for The Emperor's Assassin: Memoirs of a Bow Street Runner (Dell Mystery)
Darley shrugged. " "He knows more than he is saying," Arabella stagewhispered to Morton. Darley's playful smile returned. " Morton sipped his port. Darley laughed. "Well, you can be sure that will not be allowed. " Arabella asked. " Darley turned to her, shifting in his chair. "Undoubtedly, but there is a small matter of English common law. You see, according to our own laws, no man, no matter his nationality, can be imprisoned without first being convicted of a crime by a court of law. " Arabella said.
But it was. And then, from beyond the horrified circle that had witnessed the tragedy, a familiar sound. Slowly at first, uncertain, then with growing conviction, the English began to applaud. The sound seemed to course down the line of boats, like a rolling barrage. Darley, however, had not even raised his eyes to the deck. His gaze was still fixed on the lapping waters, the unconsolable child. "May that be the last death to be laid at his feet," he said softly, as though it were a prayer. The dead woman lay draped in a sheet, once white, blemished now with faint smears of brown and sickly yellow.
That Madame had somehow knocked it over and broken it, Mr. Morton. " "Indeed they do. " "That she had gone to visit friends. " Morton wondered. "I don't know, sir. " "Only Madame De le Caeur or her daughter. They came most often to fit her for garments--she dressed very well, Mr. Morton, and was a beautiful young woman. Madame De le Caeur or her daughter visited occasionally when there appeared to be no business. " Morton glanced over at his young companion. " asked Jimmy Presley. "Just Florrie, who I've mentioned.
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