The Cobra Marked King: The Thrilling Adventures of the Most Dangerous Woman in Europe, #11

By Brenda W. Clough

Marian's royal pirate husband was murdered, leaving her a perilous legacy: his son. Now Marian must fulfil his dying wish, to raise the orphan and restore him to his throne in Asia. As Zed Saylor, the boy heir has been safely hidden in England under her care. Now grown to manhood, Zed steps forward when his nation calls for him to overthrow the usurper and save his people. And Marian is ready with the plans and funding to set him on his throne. But all the weapons she prepared are the tools of the West. Zed's Asian kingdom is defended by powers that even Marian Halcombe did not foresee. These are the perils Zed must face to truly become the Cobra Marked King.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda W. Clough
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781611389746

Brenda W. Clough

Brenda W. Clough is the first female Asian-American SF writer, first appearing in print in 1984. Her novella ‘May Be Some Time’ was a finalist for both the Hugo and the Nebula awards and became the novel Revise the World. Her latest time travel trilogy is Edge to Center, available at Book View Café. Marian Halcombe, a series of eleven neo-Victorian thrillers appeared in 2021.  Her complete bibliography is up on her web page, brendaclough.net

Book preview

The Cobra Marked King

Brenda W. Clough

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www.bookviewcafe.com

Book View Café edition

BVClogo-noborder

November 16, 2021

ISBN: 978-1-61138-974-6

Copyright © 2021 Brenda W. Clough

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Table of Contents

Book 1

The secret diary of Miss Tryphenia M. Tylerton, spinster but not for long!

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the correspondence of Marian, Lady Donthorne

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

From the letters of Marian, Lady Donthorne

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Found screwed into a ball under the bed in the best guest bedroom at Lord Gowthorpe’s house on Portman Square

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tryphenia Tylerton’s secret diary

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Book 2

The secret diary of Miss Tryphenia Tylerton

Walter Hartright’s narrative

From the correspondence of Miss Tryphenia Tylerton

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Book 3

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Book 4

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Unmailed letter, stuck into the leaves of secret diary

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Book 5

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Walter Hartright’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the court-martial testimony of 1st Lieutenant Albert Mortenson, first mate on the RN cruiser 2nd class Dorian

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the court-martial testimony of 1st Lieutenant Albert Mortenson

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the court-martial testimony of 1st Lieutenant Albert Mortenson

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Unmailed letter, crumpled into a ball and crammed into the back of a desk drawer in the Ziy’s Anang Abang office

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the letters of Laura Fairlie Hartright

From the correspondence of Lord Richard Lowry

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the files of Miss Pomona Oglivy (Mrs. Pomona Camlet)

Tad Camlet’s narrative

The secret diary of Miss Tryphenia M. Tylerton

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the scrapbook maintained by Miss Marian Margaret ‘Merry’ Camlet

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Book 6

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

From the papers of the Hon. Celeste Camlet Nettaway

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Pomona Camlet’s notes

Walter Hartright’s narrative, as recorded by Pomona Camlet

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Book 7

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Lady Richard Lowry’s narrative

27 April, on board the Blue Heron, in the South China Sea

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Lady Richard Lowry’s narrative

Tad Camlet’s narrative

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Editor’s Note

All the Marians

Acknowledgments

Also by Brenda Clough

Copyrights & Credits

About Book View Café

Book 1

The secret diary of Miss Tryphenia M. Tylerton, spinster but not for long!

September 17, 1890

I had not known that one can’t take one’s money into prison. Since Pa’s sentence is for three years, he has given me his fortune. He is very wise! I have considered carefully the most prudent action. I think the best thing to do with my sudden access of fortune is to marry royalty. Then, not only will Pa’s money be safe. I could get my prince or king to pry Pa out of prison. Even the strictest parent could hardly complain about that, and I have Pa’s measure. He will be delighted.

I take ship tomorrow from New York for London. I hear tell there’s plenty of titles there, and I’m going to find me one.

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

21 September 1890

To picnic on Hampstead Heath, the three young men had dragged out every cushion and rug in Sandett House. The painter John Constable used to sit on this very slope to capture clouds on his canvas: big-bellied puffs of white, mountain-high and foam-light, sailing majestically across a fathomless blue sky. There is no landscape more English. We sat in the centre of all that is our nation. I tipped the broad Leghorn hat to shade my eyes and thought to myself, I must remember this, this moment of perfection.

Zed spoke with dreamy peace from where he lay in the shade of the chestnut tree. Why is the sky so big in England?

Doesn’t it look this large in the South China Sea? Idly Dickon tossed his empty beer bottle up into the air and caught it again.

Tad replied, No, Zed’s right. Even in the middle of the ocean, it’s not like this.

There was a long somnolent pause, broken only by the joyful twitter of swallows as they spun and swooped through the azure late-summer firmament. Even the insects dozed in the last delicious warmth of summer. Soon, too soon, winter shall come. But today is Paradise.

Might as well let you fellows in on the news, Dickon said at last. Last week I proposed to Merry, and she said yes.

Zed rolled over. Did she? About time. Tremendous congratters, Dickon! Shall I be your best man?

If you marry my sister, then we’ll be truly brothers! Tad glanced at me. And of course you approve, Mama.

Of course. From my perch on a lawn chair I smiled down at them, my boys, though I gave birth only to Tad. They were alike and yet quite different. All three dark-haired and dark-eyed, they were entirely handsome, in the first glorious bloom of early manhood.

Dickon is the slightest but visibly a Lowry, an English aristocrat whose ancestors came over with the Conqueror. My stepson Zed’s Asian blood shows in the subtly sculped cheekbones and eyes. The lean height, and his straight black hair and Eurasian light-brown skin, are from his father, my lost third husband Tsan Ziyahn Lord Sze. And over the years Tad has, mercifully, become more and more like my first husband Theo. In sturdy build and most especially in turn of mind, he is his father’s son, intelligent and inventive.

Flushed with health, sunshine, and two baskets of an excellent Sunday picnic luncheon, they were glorious young men. Surely no sight makes a mother’s heart lighter. Merry loves you, Dickon. So how can I object?

She loves me for myself, he replied. Not my title, nor my fortune, but me! You’ve no notion, chaps, how wonderful that is. Dickon is properly known as Lord Richard Henry Halcombe Lowry. He shall be Earl of Brecon and Stowe when his father, my third cousin, passes. He could marry any girl in the world. My youngest daughter Merry is innocent of guile or ambition. She has never needed them, being armed instead with beauty and charm to the strength of triple steel. But now she’ll marry far above her station – dangerously far.

The thought impelled me to speak again. Dickon, what does your father say?

There was no shadow of trouble in his reply. For the first ten years of our lives, everyone said how sweet it was, that Merry and I were children so fond of each other. The next decade it was calf love, something they assured us all young people outgrow. Even when I became of age, my older sister Cressy was getting married, and I had to wait. But now, what objection could anyone possibly make?

Before I could reply there was a distant halloo from behind us. At the top of the slope near the house a tall goatee-bearded figure waved his bowler at us. Sir Roderick Donthorne is one of my oldest friends. It still astonishes me, that he waited for decades for the chance to become my fourth husband. Come join us, Roderick, I cried.

There’s news, my dear, my husband called. This way, sirs – he’s here.

To my astonishment Roderick was at the head of a considerable cavalcade. Perhaps a dozen men in suits and bowlers, older men in frock coats and tall hats, and in the middle foreigners, in strange clothing. They trooped down the hill, stepping gingerly over the tussocks of buttercup and ox-eye daisy.

Had the day come at last? Terrified, I sat up and looked at Zed. Under the biscuit-brown, my stepson had gone pale. Slowly he rose to his feet.

Instinctively the other two young men stood with him, one on each side, as they have stood for so many years. I scrambled out of my chair as Roderick came and took my hand. He looked down from his greater height at me, and from behind the gold pince-nez he flicked an eyelid, only half a wink.

The white men hung back to let the foreigners approach. There were half a dozen of them, Asiatics with straight black hair like Zed’s. Some were dressed like his late father’s people, in loose dark tunics and trousers girded with cutlasses. Others had sarongs over their silk pyjamas, and cylindrical caps. They came straight to Zed and shuffled themselves into a ragged line before him.

Then to my amazement they bowed, not from the waist like Western gentlemen but the Asian prostration, bending both knees and crouching with their forearms flat on the turf. Only the man in the middle knelt up again. The words he spoke were not English, but I recognised the first few syllables. Sze Wei Ziyahn, he said. Raja Muda.

The breath caught in my throat. Ziyahn had been Tsan’s title! From the breast of his strange silk robe the visitor drew a scroll. It was tied with scarlet cord and the knots were sealed with wax. He held this up to Zed.

Very slowly my stepson took it. In nine years, he said, no one has spoken my true name.

All those years Zed has been in my charge. Of all my children he has needed me the most. I thought I knew him. But now, suddenly, he was a stranger. He shifted to Paru Chinese, words I could not understand in a language more ancient than English. Even his face altered. For years his open boyish countenance had been flavored only distantly with the East. Now he spoke like the masters of men that his ancestors had been before him. And I remembered what the title meant. The Ziyahn is next behind the Ziy, the king. Zed is to be the ruler of the Asian nation of Parubalatang, on the other side of the globe.

What do they say, Roderick? I whispered. What’s happening?

What we foresaw, Marian, he replied quietly. They hail Zed as Ziyahn and Raja Muda – the Ziy to come and also the Crown Prince of his mother’s country, of Gazerakastara. They beg him to return to Asia, unite the two realms, and rule.

From the correspondence of Marian, Lady Donthorne

21 September 1890

Somewhere in the Sudan

Dearest Mama,

Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to your last. We’ve been trekking upcountry escorting the artillery. I haven’t had time to put pen to paper. Deucedly hot here and the sandflies are murder. You should hear my subalterns swear. Not to worry, we haven’t seen any Fuzzy-Wuzzies yet. Ate roast camel the other day!

All love,

William

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

Later

Roderick had to return with the visitors to town. Breathless, we retreated to Sandett House and went into the morning room to digest what had just happened. The young men flung themselves onto the hassocks and the battered chesterfield, leaving me the slipper chair. I fell into it gratefully. My knees were trembling, and for some moments I couldn’t speak. How long this day has been in coming!

My boys, however, have the resiliency of their youth. Of course we’ll go with you, Dickon said. Until you’re settled in.

Right, Tad said. You’ll need us.

I have worked steadily towards this day, planned for every detail, but suddenly it’s all too real, too close! This was the starting gun. It has begun at last, the largest task of my life. My voice trembled shamefully. I hoped that you could have loitered in England just a little longer, Zed. Another year or two. You’re only just one-and-twenty.

You could’ve taken your degree, like me, Tad, the proud Oxford man, said. But we’ll help you.

We all will, I said. Every one of us, your family.

He looked like a schoolboy, sprawled on the rug with his long legs propped up on the hassock, but his words were thoughtful. Look, chaps. As long as we’re adjusting things. Now the mask is off, I can no longer be Zedekiah Saylor.

That first day, Tad remembered. When we were shipwrecked on the island. You told us your name was Sze Ah Wei. And we heard it as Sailaway. 

That was appropriate then. But now, if I’m the next Ziy I’m Sze Wei Ziyahn.

I was confused. Not Ziyahn Lord Sze, like your papa?

He was a sea lord, Zed explained. So he was Lord Sze. I’m just the Ziyahn.

Dickon stared. Are you saying that’s how you want us to address you?

No! I mean – I don’t know. If we were in Asia my family would address me as Ah Wei, as Papa did. The boy’s name. But it never sounded right, here. He rolled off the hassock and sat up, suddenly unsure.

The surname was the false flag. Saylor, short for Sailaway. He was close enough for me to stroke a thick straight black lock from his forehead. But you really are Zed, dear. Your papa was christened with his English father’s name, and he gave it to you. In English you are genuinely Zedekiah.

"Stick to Zed en famille, Tad suggested. Changing over from Sailaway was rough. I don’t think I could do it again."

Like the way I’m Lord Richard to outsiders, Dickon said. In public we’ll always address you as Wei Ziyahn, so you’re respected.

Yes, let’s do that. Zed sighed. This is going to be complicated.

And that other title, dear, I said. What was that?

Raja Muda is how you address the next king of Gazerakastara. Raja means king. Did you see how there were both Goza and Paru in the delegation? Three from each island. Together like that, it shows they’re desperate.

Dickon pondered this, while Tad mouthed the strange syllables under his breath to be sure of the pronunciation. Tad’s father was a professional man, and Dickon is the son of an earl. But my stepson now outranks all of us, everyone I’ve ever known. Another thing I somehow never contemplated: my stepson shall be a king. In stratified and socially-obsessed Britain the prospect’s a little daunting.

Zed scowled at the other two, suddenly a boy again. If you chaps come over stiff-necked, I’ll kick you. Dickon swiped at his face, Tad knuckled his head, and Zed responded by exchanging mock punches with them both. And the awkward moment passed in horseplay. For now at least, nothing has changed.

The secret diary of Tryphenia Tylerton

Rosina’s spread here in London isn’t very big by Chicago standards, but my! It’s very grand. And there are parties! I’ve met some fine prospects already. I’ve asked Rosina’s mama Lady Gowthorpe to introduce me to Prince Albert Victor. He’s third in line for the British crown, and would suit me down to the ground!

From the letters of Marian, Lady Donthorne

30 September

Limmeridge House

My dearest sister,

That you are sleeping badly is not to be wondered at, my love! It is always so, so hard to let your son go out into the world. When our own Wally went to Milan, you remember I cried for a week! The loving mother’s heart cannot but sink, when the beloved boy becomes a man and departs. And oh! Such perils Zed will be going into, I shudder to contemplate. I shall make him some shirts. 

But – dear Marian, Zed’s destiny is not a surprise. For years now you and Roderick have been preparing. Perhaps you are upset because it’s so sudden?

Once Zed is gone to the East you must come up to Limmeridge, and make a long stay with Walter and me. I shall be arriving on Tuesday, and we may have a long comfortable talk about all these events. How I look forward to seeing you!

All my love,

Your sister

Laura

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

2 October

The footman took our evening cloaks and the men’s silk toppers before we ascended the great marble staircase. It shall look best if your stepmother and I go in first, Roderick said. Then they’ll announce you, the guest of honour, separately. You shall be taking Lady Gowthorpe in to dinner. She’s certain to ask you about the state of education in Parubalatang.

Capital. Zed made a tiny adjustment to the set of his high starched collar. I’ll tell her that it’s in a parlous condition, but I hope to introduce an English education system.

If Parliament is willing to allocate funding for it, Roderick added.

Right-oh. Pounds, shillings, and pence. Will anyone I know be there?

I flicked an infinitesimal speck of lint from the great badge pinned to the left breast of my son’s formal coat. It’s not precisely an order like our Western decorations, but it’s his father’s crest. The snarling white cat’s head is rendered in cloisonné, and the eyes are two magnificent marquise-cut topazes. Family, you mean? Your Uncle Walter. Ched, of course, since he’s Lord Gowthorpe’s aide, and he’ll have brought your sister Lester. Brecon and Stowe shall be in attendance with the countess.

Chat with friends and family some other time, Roderick warned. No one will be offended. This evening is business, so that the Select Committee members can get to know you.

I’ll bear it in mind, sir.

The way Zed is so serious about his duty is a pleasure to see. I cast a final glance at the reflection in the enormous gold-framed mirror over the fireplace. Although my gown was not new it was important this evening to wear the famous silk of Parubalatang. The fabric was woven with gold in one direction and red in the other, so that I glowed like iron in the forge, a brilliance greatly augmented by a diamond necklace and ruby aigrettes in my hair. Beside me Roderick was dignified in his formal evening coat crossed by the blue sash of the Garter. A foreign order or two was pinned on the left and the gold chain of his pince-nez hooked discreetly into the buttonhole on the right. And Zed was so tall, slender yet strong, darkly handsome, that my heart swelled with pride.

Sir Roderick Donthorne and Lady Donthorne, the servant intoned, and we swept through into the great drawing room.

Bald but possessed of a vast shaggy white moustache, Lord Gowthorpe welcomed us and immediately took Roderick aside for a consultation. I espied my daughter Lester by the fireplace, neat but inconspicuous in icy pink. But it was more important to greet my noble cousin. Dear Herbert, a good evening to you. Did Winny come with you?

Herbert Lowry, earl of Brecon and Stowe, is stouter now around the middle, and distressingly thin on top, as if all his hair has crept downwards to the chinstrap beard at the lower edges of his face. She cried off – Cressy’s increasing, you remember. So I brought Dickon instead. Cousin, we must put our heads together about him.

My heart sank. You mean his engagement to Merry?

As a matter of fact, Marian –

But at this moment the servant announced, Sze Wei Ziyahn, Raja Muda. Poor fellow, he made a dreadful hash of the foreign sounds!

Zed strode in, visibly not a white man and yet a perfectly dressed Englishman, a paradox that always gives me a thrill of pleasure. His father was just the same. He looked older than his years, a man among men, dignified and adult. Among all these gentlemen of rank with their decorations the cat badge looked proper yet distinctive.

There was a murmur of discreet excitement, and everyone edged over to be introduced. I should take this opportunity, I said, now that Zed’s no longer in hiding, to thank you, Herbert, for the constant, prompt and effective help you’ve given us all these years. By helping to cloak him from his father’s enemies, you preserved his life. I shall always remember it.

Pray don’t mention it, Marian. Only a callous villain could have turned away the boy in his plight. He gazed across at my tall square-shouldered son. That was the only time I ever saw young Zed afraid.

I shivered as the cold breath of old grief blew upon my bare shoulders. The day Tsan was murdered.

Yes. It was half past three in the morning, and your footman came banging on our door at Upper Belgrave Street. A note from Tad, begging Dickon to come straight away. Of course Winny and I came with him.

I cannot recall it. That night had been so shattering, pieces of it are lost to me. Tsan, my beloved husband, had died in my arms.

They had carried you to your chamber, and Winny leaped in to help your maid wash off the blood. Dickon ran up the stair to the boys’ chamber and I followed. And dashed if we didn’t hear a cry, ‘Halt! State your business!’ It was Tad at the top of the stair, armed with a bow and arrow.

Indeed!

No other, standing in the breach defending his brother. Dickon cried, ‘It’s me, Tad! And Father!’ And Tad replied, ‘Oh, thank God, cousin.’ We hurried up and found the poor young heir sitting on the floor between the beds, sobbing into a pillow. ‘It’s awful when your father dies,’ Tad said, and burst into tears himself. The three of them huddled together, sorrowing … He’s not a sentimental man, but the memory made my cousin shake his head.

I shall always be grateful that Dickon is his friend, I said softly.

A bow and arrow, hah. Takes an adult to see the larger peril. Both parents murdered. The son the last survivor, in imminent danger. I hauled Tad aside and said, ‘Find clothes for the pair of you. Shove them in a pillowcase, anything. We’re going to Cranmorden. This instant.’

Herbert’s ancestral home in Gloucestershire, Cranmorden is as well defended as any fortress. The tears stood in my eyes. You were his saviour.

That wasn’t the worst, Marian. In the train, on the way. The first shock of grief had passed. Zed said, low, ‘Dickon. Tad. Now I have to do it all by myself. They’ve killed my father, and my mother. They look to kill me. And yet I must go there. Live among both tribes, and rule them. Alone. I can’t do it, fellows.’

Oh, my poor son. I stared across at the tall confident young man so urbanely chatting with some members of Parliament. If there was anything left of that bereaved boy, it was well hidden. But I don’t doubt that Tad and Dickon instantly came alongside.

Oh yes, they were all squeezed on one side of the compartment. They hugged him and cried, ‘Don’t worry, Zed, we’ll go with you.’

And they shall. He has never complained to me, of the burden he bears. But Zed is glad for their support, and grateful for my help.

He could not have come even this far, without you.

And you, Herbert.

Then Ched approached. My son-in-law Lucas Chedworth Nettaway is one of those many younger sons of blood who shall not inherit wealth or title, and so must make their own way in the world. Ched had done this by working for Scotland Yard and then the Foreign Office. He and Lester have been happily married for nearly two years now. His noble parents withhold their approval, but the feeling may alter with a first baby.

To my surprise Ched had a totally unfamiliar young female in tow. Miss Marian, my lord, may I present Miss Tryphenia Tylerton? She’s visiting from the United States. Miss Tylerton, Lady Donthorne, and his lordship the earl of Brecon and Stowe.

A lady and an earl, the girl cried in a strong American accent. Well, that’s fine! Pleased to meet you! She shook our hands in turn, beaming with a delight so ingenuous one could not be offended. She was taller than I and lean, perhaps nineteen, with a direct blue gaze. Straight straw-coloured hair was rolled up into a simple knot, and her cerulean silk gown was in the first style of fashion and had probably been purchased this week. Tolerably pretty, but no beauty, the fashion in Britain being for maidens somewhat more generously upholstered.

Ched, like Lester, knows everything. Very quietly he murmured in my ear, Rich and looking to marry title.

And as Lord Gowthorpe’s assistant you’re escorting her. You should introduce her to your older brother. Major Bevis Nettaway would someday be Viscount Dewleigh.

When Ched grinned, his large perfect teeth could be admired. Bevis is safe with his regiment in Cyprus. Besides, she has higher ambitions. Had to tell her that Prince Albert Victor’s set is too rich for my blood. And that all the dukes I know’ve been married for decades.

From her greater height Miss Tylerton gazed down at the earl with ingenuous confidence. Rosina told me you have a son my age, Mr. Brecon.

Accustomed to deference, the earl was taken aback. Quickly I said, I’m sure you shall wish to know that the earl is properly addressed as ‘my lord.’ His son is engaged to my daughter. Where in America are you from, Miss Tylerton?

Oh, thanks; much obliged. I’m visiting Rosina Gowthorpe from Chicago. Papa used to be in cattle futures there.

Surely livestock do not need their fortunes told? I’ve been to America, but have never travelled as far as Chicago.

But greying elders hold little interest for the energetic husband hunter. Miss Tylerton’s gaze slid past us both. Is that stunner the guest of honour? Tall, dark and handsome! Mr. Nettaway, come on and present me.

Obligingly Ched conducted her over to where Zed was talking to Walter and a trio of solemn older MPs. I wasn’t looking to announce the young people’s engagement for some time yet, the earl remarked. But I’m relieved you mentioned it now. Dickon had better be grateful for the rescue, is all I can say.

Many American heiresses cross the Atlantic hunting for a noble mate, I noted. Look at Lady Churchill, or Baroness Fermoy.

Parvenus, the earl growled. No, Dickon could have done worse. Merry’s a delightful girl and, thank God, English to the marrow.

Even his son’s close friendship with Zed has not greatly altered the persistent insularity of the earl’s character. They’ve been devoted to each other for so many years, it seems meant to be.

Then I blinked. Miss Tylerton had pried Zed away from the MPs. Dickon had joined them, and plump Miss Gowthorpe. Suddenly the dull diplomatic occasion was punctuated by the laughter of young people. What had happened to the serious young monarch hoping to secure the backing of the British government? I glanced at Lester, who immediately grasped the situation and rustled over.

Dickon was saying, I’ve hired a boat for an expedition to Kew on Sunday, Miss Tylerton. The Botanical Gardens are lovely this time of year. Tad and his sister are coming, and Zed too. Would the two of you like to join us?

Oh Rosina, can we?

Miss Gowthorpe, who had been briefed as thoroughly as anyone, said, We’ll discuss it later, Triff.

And Lester broke in, They’re going in to dinner, Dickon – I believe you’re taking me in. Zed, don’t you have a lady to escort?

So I do, Zed said.

Why, I was hoping to sit next to you, Mr. See, Miss Tylerton cried.

Zed blushed but excused himself to find Lady Gowthorpe. Miss Gowthorpe hastily handed the brash heiress off to an elderly Foreign Office functionary. I loitered for one moment more to murmur, Oh no! Herbert, can Dickon admire her?

Unhelpfully the earl replied, If Dickon is promised to Merry he’s safe enough. Now your Zed, I wouldn’t care to pass any guarantees. And at that moment my own escort came to claim me.

I thought that useful conversation was at an end, but my dinner partner was Sir Thaxted Sinclair-Smith, an elderly and stooped man with thick white hair and the droopy eyes of an old hound. No one will tell me what he does at Scotland Yard, but Lester invited him to her wedding, proof he’s of significance. Annoyingly intelligent persons are always her preferred associates. Now he conducted me to the dinner table and held my chair for me.

Well, Lady Donthorne. He groaned as he lowered himself into his seat. One must assume that either distance, or an unfamiliarity with English custom, impeded the young Ziyahn’s enemies. His disguise was so thin it could have been pierced by anyone of discernment. Or I suppose it’s possible they’re all fools.

I adjusted my froth of flame-coloured skirts. Murdering each other in the Malayan oceans probably diverted their attention. Years of experience have taught me that men are easily bullocked by flattery. You know everything, Sir Thaxted. Tell me, who is that blonde creature poor Miss Gowthorpe is saddled with?

Friend from school, I gather. Not quite a lady.

No. But a fountain of American dollars undeniably has dazzle. Finger by finger I drew off my gloves, smoothing the kid and folding them into my lap.

Were I you, Lady Donthorne, I’d make an expedition to the sources of that Nile. The young man’s task is going to be tremendous enough as it is.

The footman unfolded my napkin for me. My stepson is too steady of character to be distracted from his goal. He knows that a monarch must make a prudently political marriage.

Sir Thaxted grunted. In the drooping folds of flesh his pale eyes are fearfully sharp. Boys of twenty-one don’t always think with their brains.

Turtle soup was ladled into my plate. Yes, sherry… My daughter tells me, Sir Thaxted, that the question of that horrifying Jack person still vexes the Yard. Is that indeed so, after all these years? The Ripper was a more impersonal topic, safer than Zed.

That made him smile. The mills grind slow but exceeding fine, my lady. We’ll lay him by the heels yet. Have faith.

Sir Thaxted does not dispense warnings lightly. It was a relief when, in the carriage on the way home, Roderick revealed that we were all invited to a house party next week. Hatfield House, he said, rubbing his gloved hands with satisfaction. The Prime Minister wants to have a leisurely conversation.

This is excellent, Roderick. Zed, you must have made a good impression this evening.

Zed leaned back in the seat across from us, running a finger around his high collar. Yes, I spoke to every single FO fellow there, and answered each MP’s questions. Sir Roderick and I spoke Chinese with Mr. Ballylawn, and I aired my Malay for the Rev. Addington. I take it a house party means I’ll miss going to Kew with Dickon.

I’m afraid so, my boy. The Prime Minister must take precedence.

I will skip over the house party in Hertfordshire. It was one of the dullest occasions I can remember, Lord Salisbury being a Conservative Party stalwart. I was shown all over the historical house, which I never enjoy, and the gentleman talked only to each other about foreign policy. But I can endure much in the cause of my children. I wore beautiful gowns and was decorative and well-bred. Zed’s seriousness and determination made a good impact.

Found screwed into a ball under the bed in the best guest bedroom at Lord Gowthorpe’s house on Portman Square

September 29

Joliet State Penitentiary

Joliet, Illinois

My beloved daughter,

Tryphenia, I must insist that you reply to my letters at better length. Your last (enclosing your current address, for which I am most grateful) was insufficiently detailed.

You need not fear that my mail is opened. I’m on good terms with the warders here. Where is Portman Square and why are you living there? Are you keeping a careful record of your expenditure? Recall that I did not sign over all my assets to you for you to spend on gowns!

Your own affectionate

And increasingly worried

Pa

Marian, Lady Donthorne’s journal

7 October

He didn’t want Zed to miss the fun, Tad said on Tuesday at breakfast. So Dickon moved the trip to this Saturday. I trust you’ll make room for us in your social schedule, brother.

Something in his stepbrother’s tone made Zed look up from his porridge. It’s none of my doing, Tadpole. It’s my duty. I must get this King and Ziy business right, or die trying. Zed is the youngest of the three, but has always seemed the eldest, matured by tragedy.

Everything’s going to alter now. Tad shook his head and spooned jam onto his toast.

It was always going to, darling, I put in. People grow, and change. Your sisters and brothers, we all marry, and have children, and – someday a long time from now – we’ll all die. All we can do is kiss the moment as it flies, because it cannot stay. Your papa taught me that.

And in the meantime we’ll have some bully fun, Zed said. Dashed kind of Dickon to rearrange things so I can come after all. Who else is going to be there? Miss Gowthorpe, Miss Tylerton, us three, and you, Merry.

My pretty daughter, just back from a house party in Sussex, agreed. Six is an agreeable party.

Because Merry’s engaged, I’ll be joining you as well, I said. And your Aunt Laura’s arriving tomorrow. If she’s well enough for an outing, she would enjoy the gardens.

Tad has never known any other rule, but Zed said, You can’t be worried about Dickon taking liberties with Merry. We’ve all lived at Cranmorden for weeks on end. Why canoodle on a steamer to Kew?

It’s how it might look, dear.

The commonplace reply, but Zed grinned at me, the dark Asiatic eyes glinting with sudden mischief. Did you know that a king of Gazerakastara’s allowed to have four wives?

I almost choked on a bite of toast, and Merry gave a little squeak of astonishment.

Wow! Tad set down his teacup so that it sloshed. That would suit me down to the ground! How do you pick ’em, Zed? Like in that racy painting, line all the ladies up and compare? And you’ll be the Ziy as well. Perhaps you could have four more on that side!

It’s not usual in child-rearing, but my first husband Theo and I have always supplied the fullest of knowledge to all our children. Now I must remember that they are no longer boys, but grown men. Zed laughed at the raillery.

Merry said, Every wife needs maintenance, brothers. Gowns and hats and gloves, and that’s before the children start to come. Multiply by four, never mind eight, Zed, and you had better have deep pockets. She smoothed down her summer muslin, a confection of kingfisher-blue pleats that had indeed been notably expensive. If my daughter is going to marry a peer’s son she may at least dress for it.

Mr. Leong took care to drop the notion into my ear as the delegation was getting onto their ship to carry my reply back to Asia.

I expect he has a pretty daughter, I said tartly. But not so pretty that she can count upon being your queen.

You shall have ten thousand papas trailing daughters past you, Merry remarked.

Make them queue up, Tad advised.

For sure I’ll have to marry for political alliance. It’s lucky I can have an even number, so I can divide my wives exactly between Goza and Paru women.

I know that you shall not be ruling a Christian nation, Zed, I said more seriously. You’ve been a fish, carried into the air and living in the nest with the birds. Returned to your native waters, you shall swim away. And your stepfather counsels you to be practical. But as a loving wife and mother, I do hope that you’ll marry for love. As your father did – we fell in love at first sight, you know.

Your red kite, Tad remembered, drawing him to Feather Island!

Truly my son, Zed replied, I’d like that. And the other two, Theo’s children, nodded their agreement.

Then Merry stared narrowly at her stepbrother. That’s not stubble, is it? Zed, I’m offended at your slovenliness. You forgot to shave.

Another change – sorry, Tad. I’m growing out my moustache. And no haircuts from now on. Where I’m going, long hair on a man is important. Mr. Muniandy reminded me of it, and he’s right.

Tad sighed again. Your name, your future, even your appearance. When will it end?

Zed answered the implied question rather than the actual words. You’ll always be my brother, Tad. And all of you, my family. The lump in my throat refused to wash down, even with hot tea.

11 October

I was not displeased to see Ched Nettaway escorting our two guests this grey morning, but he apologised anyway. Aunt Laura, Miss Marian, good morning. Sorry to thrust myself in on the festivity. But poor Wei Ziyahn, he’s to have no rest night or day. Lord Gowthorpe’s set me to spend the day improving my Malay with him.

Meanwhile Miss Gowthorpe and Miss Tylerton dashed on board and attached themselves firmly to the two eligible young men. Dickon, just alighting from his own carriage, rounded out our party. The little private vessel had deck benches for sunny weather, but because of the mist and damp we gathered in the cabin.

Our two guests gazed with envy and some dislike as Merry swept in. This is not rare. I am notably unlovely, and her father Theo was extraordinarily ordinary in appearance. So how we came to produce a beauty is a mystery. With her great grey eyes, delicious complexion, and profusion of dark ringlets, Merry draws attention wherever she goes. She has learned excellently well how to manage her gifts, however, and immediately sat between them and began some girlish chat. By the time we cast off the three girls were all happily discussing the trimming of hats.

Laura and I took seats on the windward side, away from the smoke of the boiler. I said, I’m to blame, I’m afraid, boys. I knew some one of us would have to learn to speak the Goza dialect of Malay. The moment Ched demonstrated his gift for languages I made him take lessons.

You have such foresight, Marian, Laura said.

"I did not