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| About the Book |
Book Title: Death of a Princess
Series: Empire of Shadows, Book #3
Author: R.N. Morris
Publication Date: 5th November 2024
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Pages: 192
Genre: Historical Crime / Mystery
Any Triggers: Description of illness, death, violent crime, murder, sexual references, sexual threat.
Summer 1880.
Lipetsk, a spa town in Russia.
The elderly and cantankerous Princess Belskaya suffers a violent reaction while taking a mud bath at the famous Lipetsk Sanatorium. Soon after, she dies.
Dr Roldugin, the medical director of the sanatorium, is at a loss to explain the sudden and shocking death.
He points the finger at Anna Zhdanova, a medical assistant who was supervising the princess’s treatment.
Suspicion also falls on the princess’s nephew Belsky, who appears far from grief-stricken at his aunt’s death.
Meanwhile, investigating magistrate Pavel Pavlovich Virginsky arrives in Lipetsk from St Petersburg, seeking treatment after a nervous breakdown.
Against his better judgement, Virginsky is drawn in to the investigation. But is he getting closer to the truth or walking straight into a deadly trap?
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| read an excerpt |
Princess Yevgenia Yekaterina Elizaveta Maria Nikolaevna Belskaya entered Treatment Room 2 of the Lipetsk Sanatorium in a state of some nervousness. Her grey hair was tucked inside a paper cap and she was dressed only in the terrycloth robe that the sanatorium had provided.
An austere female in a white doctor’s coat welcomed her with a brisk, unsmiling nod. Beside her, a chit of a girl in a nurse’s outfit was pouring a dark, viscous substance from a metal pail into a shallow ceramic trough raised on a plinth. It made a noise like smacking lips as it slopped in.
From time to time the girl put down the pail and spread the substance with her hands.
The woman in the doctor’s coat gestured towards a platform next to the trough, a half-step up to it. ‘If you could take off your robe and then get into the bath.’
The princess wrinkled her nose distastefully. A pungent, peaty smell permeated the room. ‘Take off my robe?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
At 81 years of age, Princess Belskaya still retained some of the vanity of her youth. However, she found that the best way to preserve that was to keep the truth of her physical condition a closely guarded secret.
She had never been what you might call a beauty, she knew that. But she had once achieved a certain haughty allure that had succeeded in turning heads. It helped to be skilled in the cosmetic arts, though now she worried that she was losing her touch. These days, she preferred to dim the oil lamp on her dressing table and chose not to stare too deeply into the looking glass, even after she had layered on the powder and rouge. Her condition kept her a virtual prisoner in her luxurious St Petersburg apartment during daylight hours. If she ever did venture out, she invariably wore a dark veil and lace gloves, keeping every square inch of skin covered.
She wore no make-up now, exposing the raw, stripped vulnerability of her face. In places, her skin was like peeling paintwork. Flecks of blood seeped through the cracks.
There was a time when she had promised men cruelty and domination, which some perversely craved. Her body had been something to be proud of; revealing it was a favour bestowed on eager lovers. That was not the case any more. Her spine had begun to curve. Released from the intricate corsetry that maintained her figure, her breasts and belly sagged like slack cushions, though her body had never suffered the indignity of childbirth. And her skin… well, her skin was the reason she was here.
The princess stuck out a pout that was a homage to her disdainful youth. ‘But I’m not wearing anything under it.’
The young nurse put down her bucket with a jarring clank. It was not loud enough to mask her impertinent snigger. Princess Belskaya felt the tension quiver in her arm as she held herself back from throwing a slap. She would rue the day she dared to laugh at a member of the noble Belsky family!
The girl must have seen the thunder in Princess Belskaya’s face. The blood rushed into her cheeks and she cast her gaze down on the floor. Princess Belskaya took in the state of the girl’s fingernails, curls of dirt tucked away behind the crescent-shaped tips. ‘Her hands are filthy.’
‘Naturally. As you yourself just saw, Agafya has been spreading the mud which we will use in your treatment. She is about to apply more mud to your skin and so there is little point in cleaning her hands now. I assure you that the mud is hygienic and uncontaminated with anything that could harm you. In fact, it has healing properties which Dr Roldugin believes will help with your condition.’ The woman belatedly added the honorific title: ‘Your excellency.’
‘I’m not having her touch me.’
The woman’s face remained professionally neutral. ‘Agafya is an excellent therapeutic nurse, trained to the highest standards. Many of our patients ask for her specially.’
‘Why?’ The princess’s surprise made her genuinely curious.
‘They say she has a healing touch.’
Princess Belskaya narrowed her eyes as she looked at Agafya. Could it really be so? Could the Lord truly have bestowed healing powers on this oafish peasant girl? It would not surprise her. He had a peculiar inclination towards the meek. She supposed there was some lesson to be taken from it but she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it was.
It was only in recent years that the princess had acquired what might be described as religious inklings. She had lived out her younger days secure in the knowledge that there was no God and she would live forever. Now, at the beginning of her ninth decade, she was not so certain on either point. And so, more and more, she had turned to the Church.
She sighed in resignation. ‘Is there really no one else?’ But she had already decided to surrender to the inevitable. She would not risk offending God, if he had chosen to work through this humble girl. Still, she could not quite bring herself to concede graciously.
‘I assure you, you will be in very capable hands,’ insisted the woman in the white coat.
‘Dirty hands.’
‘Soon your entire body will be covered with the same dirt.’ The woman held out a hand. ‘You may give me your robe.’
But Princess Belskaya wasn’t ready yet. She yanked on the belt to cinch the robe more tightly around her. As if to say, I will not be told what to do by the likes of you. Only a few minutes earlier, in the changing room, she had been reluctant to put on the robe, horrified by the thought of who might have worn it before her, even if it had been freshly laundered, as she was assured. Now, she could not bear to take it off. Well, she was under no obligation to be consistent.
The woman sighed impatiently. ‘If you don’t disrobe, we cannot begin the treatment.’
‘Where is Dr Roldugin?’
‘It is not usual for Dr Roldugin to be present when the treatment is administered to female patients. I’m sure you understand.’
Yes, of course. Roldugin was a man. And yet, he had already seen the full horror of her condition. And he was a doctor, after all. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Medical Assistant Zhdanova.’
‘Are you supposed to be some kind of doctor?’
‘I am trained in medical science to a level that qualifies me to operate as a physician. However, because I am a woman, I am not allowed to use the title doctor.’
‘Ah, I see. You’re some kind of feminist. One of those new women we hear about.’
‘I am merely explaining my position.’
Princess Belskaya sniffed the air again. ‘It smells disgusting.’
Medical Assistant Zhdanova gave an exaggerated bow. ‘One gets used to it.’
‘As a fishmonger gets used to stinking of fish.’
‘It is a rich and complex smell. It smells of the Black Earth, of Mother Russia and her healing properties. I find it comforting, as do many of our patients.’
Buy Link:
Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mvOpq8
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Author Bio:
Roger (R.N) Morris is the author of 18 books, including a quartet of historical crime novels set in St Petersburg featuring Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate from Dostoevsky’s great novel Crime and Punishment. These were followed by the Silas Quinn series set in London in 1914. He has been shortlisted for the CWA Duncan Lawrie Gold Dagger and the CWA Historical Dagger.
A former advertising copywriter, Roger has written the libretto for an opera, modern retellings of Frankenstein and Macbeth for French school children. He’s also a scriptwriter for an award winning audio producer, working on true crime and history podcasts including The Curious History of your Home.
His work has been published in 16 countries.
Married with two grown-up children, Roger lives in Chichester where he keeps an eye out for seagulls.
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