The author of the Molly Murphy mysteries now turns her attentions to the mischief, mishaps and musings of minor English royalty

My ridiculously long name is Lady Victoria Georgiana Charlotte Eugenie. Thirty-fourth in line for the throne, I am, as they say, flat broke. When my brother Binky cut off my meager allowance, I bolted from Scotland – and my engagement to Fish-Face (I mean, Prince Siegfried) – for London, where I have:

a) built a fire in the hearth – entirely on my own, thank you very much
b) fallen for an absolutely unsuitable Irish peer
c) made a few quid housekeeping incognito, and
d) been summoned by the Queen Herself to spy on her playboy son.

Less than thrilled with this last bit, I’m wondering what to do, when an arrogant Frenchman – who was trying to swipe our family estate! – winds up dead in my bathtub. Now, my new job is to clear that very long family name . . .