One by one the dishes were placed on the table. Tiny finger sandwiches with cress poking out of them, cake stands dotted with miniature éclairs and strawberry tarts. It was enough to bring tears to the eyes of one who had been living for the past two days on toast and baked beans. The tears were not of joy, however. I had been to enough royal functions to know the protocol. The guest only eats what Her Majesty eats. And Her Majesty was not likely to take more than a slice of brown bread. I sighed, waited for her to take brown bread, then took a slice myself. "I thought I might employ you as my spy," she said as tea was poured. "David has persuaded Lord and Lady Mountjoy to give a house party and to include this woman and her husband-"

"Her husband?" I knew one should never interrupt the queen. It just slipped out.

She nodded with understanding. "Such behavior may well be considered acceptable in America. She is apparently still living with her husband. He, poor creature, is dragged around to provide respectability and to dispel rumors. Of course, one can never dispel rumors. I suspect that this woman is relentlessly pursuing David. You know what he's like, Georgiana. An innocent at heart, easily flattered, easily seduced." She put down the slice of brown bread and leaned a little closer to me. "I need to know whether this is a mere flirtation for this woman, or whether she has serious designs on my son. My worst fear is that, like all Americans, she is fascinated with royalty and dreams of being Queen of England."

"Surely not, ma'am. A divorced woman? That's impossible."

"Let us hope it is impossible."

I nodded. "You said you wanted me to be your spy?"

"I do indeed. The house party at the Mountjoys' should give you ample opportunity to observe this woman and David together."

"Unfortunately, I haven't been invited," I said.

"But you came out with the Mountjoys' daughter, didn't you? I'll let it be known that you are currently in London and would like to renew your acquaintanceship with the girl." (She pronounced it "gell.") "And you need to be out in society if you're ever going to find yourself a husband."

RHYS Bowen has a pet peeve with most bookstores. "There is fiction and literature along the wall," she says, "and then mystery on a separate shelf. I don't mind the mystery novels being separated, because it makes it easier for fans to buy the books, but the terminology makes it clear we are not, and never will be, literature."

This distinction, Bowen claims, is not only unfair but inaccurate. "Why should a book be less because it involves a crime?" she asks. "A murder and its subsequent disruption of a community is surely one of the great stories of a society. Obviously, within the genre there are books meant to be read for entertainment only, but on the other hand, there are so-called mystery novels being written that deserve the label of great literature." Two books she cites as examples of the latter are Denis Lehane's Mystic River and Reginald Hill's On Beulah Height. "I think if snobby readers of literary fiction gave more mysteries a chance, they'd be pleasantly surprised."

Rhys Bowen (a pseudonym) was born in Bath, England, of a Welsh/English family and educated at London University. After graduation she went to work for the BBC in London, specializing in drama and becoming a studio manager. She also started writing her own radio and TV plays. "Needing to escape from the dreary London weather," as she puts it, she accepted an invitation to work for Australian Broadcasting in Sydney, where she met her future husband, John. They eventually settled in the San Francisco area, where they raised four children.

In California, Bowen started writing children's picture books, then moved on to young adult novels, writing many best-selling titles. She also wrote some adult historical sagas and some TV tie-ins. When she had exhausted her enthusiasm for writing in these fields, she decided to write what she likes to read: mysteries with a great feel for time and place.

"For me," Bowen says, "the setting in a book can either enhance the mood, heighten the suspense . . . or it can be in ironic contrast to the story-think of an English village, Miss Marple style, and a body lying in the vicarage, a killer on the loose. It is this contrast of setting and plot that makes the cozy mystery more startling than the hard-boiled mystery. If my character is slinking through the back alleys of the city, one can expect danger to be lurking. If my character is drinking tea at the manor house, one doesn't expect a body in the next room."

For the settings of her first mystery series, the Constable Evans novels, Bowen drew on childhood memories of her Welsh relatives. She switched gears in 2001, conceiving the Molly Murphy series, about a brash, fearless Irishwoman who struggles to survive as an immigrant in New York City.

Fans of Her Royal Spyness will be delighted to learn that it is the first installment of Rhys Bowen's latest series, and a second Georgie novel is on the way. "It's going to be called A Royal Pain," Bowen says, "and I've been chuckling all the way through the writing process." This time out, Georgie is ordered to host a visiting German princess straight from the convent. "I have a feeling she's going to make Georgie's life hell," Bowen says. And considering how Georgie's first adventure took her perilously close to a love affair, one has to wonder about what the future holds for her in that arena. Bowen seems to have things well in hand. "I aim to keep her single and available for a long while," the author says. "That Darcy O'Mara is simply too unreliable to make good husband material at the moment."