Lowering her voice, she said to Alix, “You see that man there?” She nodded slightly in his direction with her head.
“Yes,” Alix answered, sounding very confused. “Why?”
“I think he works for Inspector Bauer,” Rosalind said. “He was the one who raced after him in the dining car our first night aboard.”
Alix’s eyes became as wide as saucers. She huddled back into her chair, suddenly afraid.
“You don’t think he’s . . . he’s spying on us, do you?”
“I’m certain of it,” Rosalind replied. “I think Bauer is having us watched, to be sure we don’t tell anyone about what happened.”
The sense of panic was even stronger now. Rosalind gripped the armrests of her chair in an effort to steady herself. Bauer is just taking precautions. He doesn’t want a panic, she reminded herself. Father wouldn’t have wanted a panic, either. They were young, and they were female, and so Bauer didn’t trust their discretion. It was that simple.
Rosalind rose to her feet and grabbed Alix’s hand. “Come along,” she said, “let’s get some fresh air.”
•••
The race to the arboreal car, while tugging Alix along behind her, felt rather like a dream—or more accurately, a nightmare. Rosalind kept looking over her shoulder to be sure Bauer’s man was not following them, though there were so many nondescript men in suits about that it was impossible to determine which of them might be with the police. The only real clue she could think of was that a policeman could not afford the expensive clothes of a gentleman, so she kept alert for any men in First Class wearing cheap, drab suits.
“Rosalind, please go slower,” Alix begged. “You are hurting my arm.”
“Oh . . .” Rosalind said, pausing to turn. “I’m so sorry . . .” Her voice died when she saw one of the porters moving down the corridor behind them, carrying an armload of boxes. His mouth was concealed behind his burden, but Rosalind could see his eyes. Was he following them? Was he one of Bauer’s men as well?
“My, you’re in a hurry, Fräulein Wallace,” a voice said.
“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. She whirled around and almost slammed into Erich. He was alone. “Herr Steiner! I am so very sorry!”
Erich looked perplexed, but he kept smiling. “Good afternoon,” he said, straightening his tie. He glanced at Alix and gave her a polite nod. “And hello to you, Lady von Hessen. Fancy meeting the two of you here.”
“In the corridor?” Alix asked.
“It doesn’t seem all that far-fetched,” Rosalind agreed.
“No, no,” he said with a short laugh. He furrowed his brow. “What I mean is that Jacob and I were very concerned when you disappeared last night. We were afraid we may have done something to offend you.”
“Oh. Oh, goodness, no—” Rosalind’s throat caught. “It’s just . . . Well, it’s complicated.”
“I can only imagine,” Erich said. “To have missed such a wonderful ball, you must have had something important to attend to. But it is amusing, because I have spent all day looking for you to apologize and to inquire what might be the problem. And now here you are.”
Rosalind swallowed, willing herself not to cry. “I assure you, our disappearance last night is nothing to do with you.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” Erich said genially, either not noticing their distress or pretending not to. “And Jacob will be relieved as well.”
“We’re just going to the . . .” Rosalind began.
“Yes?” Erich asked, a little too eagerly.
“We’re just going to the arboreal car,” she finished.
“Oh, what a coincidence,” Erich said. “I was thinking of going there, too. May I join you?”
“Well, um . . .” Rosalind stammered.
“Say yes,” Alix breathed in her ear.
Rosalind laughed awkwardly. But she rallied and gave Erich a nod.
“Your company would be much appreciated, Herr Steiner,” she said.
Oh, God, why did everything in life have to be so confusing?
•••
By the time he’d led the way to the arboretum, she’d reined in her muddled thoughts. The rush of fresh air was a welcome relief, despite the crowd of First Class passengers who’d clearly had the same idea. Spotting an empty clearing with a pair of wrought-iron benches, Rosalind slumped into one of them, grateful to be off her unsteady feet. Alix sat beside her.
“Now then, what became of you two last night?” Erich asked as he seated himself on the bench across from them.
“Umm . . .” Rosalind said. “I am terribly sorry, Herr Steiner—”
“I would prefer that you called me Erich.”
After a little hesitation, Rosalind nodded. “If you insist, Erich.”
“I do, Fräulein Wallace,” Erich said, his eyes twinkling.
“If I am going to call you by your Christian name,” Rosalind said, “presumably you ought to do the same. Erich.”
“As you like, Rose—”
“You may continue to call me Lady von Hessen,” Alix interrupted.
Erich blinked, but his smile didn’t waver. “As you wish, my lady. Now then, last night . . .”
“I am sorry,” Rosalind said, “but I really don’t wish to speak about it.”
He leaned forward, his expression one of deep concern. “Yes, of course, as you like,” he said. “Never let it be said that I am a man who intrudes upon a lady’s private affairs.”
“Thank you,” Rosalind said. “It is appreciated.”
“But of course,” Erich told her. “Mmm, tell me though, did you hear that announcement from the captain a few minutes ago?”
Alix fidgeted beside her. Rosalind started to feel queasy. “We did, yes,” she answered.
“I do not want you to think me a gossip,” Erich said, lowering his voice, “but I have a tidbit to share about that.”
Rosalind leaned back against the cold metal of the bench. This was awkward. Yes, she was curious about what Erich might think he knew, but under no circumstances did she want to be caught discussing it.
“Oh?” Alix asked in the silence, her tone both demanding and skeptical. In that one word she had summed up Rosalind’s true feelings on the matter.
Erich slid forward in his seat. “I heard that there was a robbery last night,” he whispered. “Can you believe it?”
Rosalind stopped breathing.
“No,” Alix said dully. “You can’t be serious.”
Was that sarcasm? Rosalind eyed her. Why was Alix playing along? That would be a horrid thing to do, wouldn’t it, knowing what they knew? But perhaps it was simply her way of managing her grief. Or it might be more than that: a shrewd effort not to draw attention to themselves and their loss.
“Of course, there is no need to fear,” Erich said quickly, straightening his posture. “I understand that they caught the man. Some Second Class passenger. People these days, you know. You cannot trust anyone, can you?”
“So it seems,” Alix agreed softly. She stared down at her lap.
“Erich,” Rosalind said, “how did you come to hear about this? Who told you?”
Erich seemed surprised. “No one told me,” he replied. “Well, Jacob did. He overheard it at breakfast. I thought you might be interested. It’s exciting . . . isn’t it?”
Rosalind wanted to scream. Exciting? No, that would not be her word of choice to describe last night’s horror. But it seemed Erich was simply trying to impress her with some idle gossip. The captain’s strategy had been tailor-made to backfire; she could imagine everyone on the train gossiping now. Still, if Erich and Jacob had found out about Bauer’s inane theory regarding the botched robbery, who might be spreading the rumors? No wonder Bauer’s men were stalking her: they probably suspected that she and Alix were the source. The situation was staggeri
ng in its irony.
Alix’s mouth twisted into a frown. She stood. “I think . . .” she began. “I think I am going to find Jacob and have a few words with him.”
“Not on my account, I hope,” Erich said breezily. “It’s just a rumor, you know. Though I am certain Jacob would be glad to see you.”
Alix nodded. She placed a hand on Rosalind’s shoulder. “If I do not see you before this evening,” she said, “dinner?”
“Yes, of course,” Rosalind agreed.
With that, Alix gave Erich another polite nod. But as she left, she said something in German that made him raise his eyebrows.
“What did she say to you?” Rosalind asked once Alix had vanished in the direction of the sleeper cars.
Erich snickered. “She said that she would leave you in my care, and that she expected me to behave as an absolute gentleman. On pain of death by hatpin.”
That made Rosalind smile, if only briefly.
“I don’t know what good talking to Jacob will do,” Erich continued. “He just overheard some idle chat at breakfast.”
“Perhaps,” Rosalind agreed, “but I suspect she will feel better for it.”
“There’s no danger,” Erich reassured her.
Rosalind opened her mouth, but no words would come. She wanted to play along now, too, as Alix had. She wanted so desperately to agree with Erich. But the lump in her throat swelled once more. A tear fell from her cheek. She brushed it aside and sniffed, staring straight at him. “Erich, Cecily was murdered last night.”
The color drained from his face. “This is a joke.”
She shook her head and swallowed. “It is no joke. Alix and I found her. That is why we vanished last night.”
“Cecily dead . . .” Erich put his hand over his mouth and leaned back against the bench, shaking his head. “My God, my God. And the maid?”
Rosalind raised an eyebrow. “Her maid was murdered as well, yes . . .”
“Murdered?” Erich exclaimed. “I meant has someone told her. Both of them were murdered? Oh my God. That poor girl.” He lunged forward and grabbed Rosalind’s hand, holding it firmly. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Rosalind, I do not know what to say. But I am so very sorry for your loss. If there were any way I could undo this for you, I would make it happen.”
Rosalind tried to answer, but her face twisted and she felt the tears coming again. Erich let go and drew a handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed it into her palm. Rosalind nodded, grateful, and dabbed at her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Erich stood. “I simply cannot believe it. Cecily was killed by that . . . that ruffian?” He looked at her again, his jaw tight. “But they caught the man. At least there is that. At least there will be justice.”
Rosalind looked into Erich’s eyes. She fought the urge to tell him everything: about her suspicions, about the absurdity of the whole situation, that she felt certain they had the wrong man, certain that there was something more than robbery behind it all. But there was no point in drawing him into a nightmare about which she herself knew nothing. Instead, she forced a weak smile and passed the handkerchief back to him.
“Rosalind,” Erich said.
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow we stop for the day at Neptune Station. I wonder . . .”
“Yes?”
Erich hesitated. “There is to be another ball. Now, of course, under the circumstances, I do not expect you feel much like dancing.”
“No, not really,” Rosalind said, smiling through her tears.
“No, of course not,” he murmured. “However, should you decide that a dance might cheer you up, I would be honored if it would be with me.” He held up a hand. “But that is not what I want to ask. I wondered if . . . before lunch tomorrow, if you might . . .”
“Yes . . . ?”
“Would you perhaps care to take a walk with me, when we reach Neptune Station tomorrow?” Erich asked. “Just the two of us, or perhaps with Jacob and Lady von Hessen? Just for an hour or two. I confess that I enjoy your company, what little of it I have been privileged to, and I would like to think that I might help ease your pain.”
Rosalind closed her eyes. After a little while, she nodded. “I think that would be most agreeable, Herr . . . Erich. Thank you for your kindness. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to be alone for a little while.”
Erich bowed to her as she stood. “Yes, of course,” he said. “But if you have need of me, please do not hesitate to seek me out.”
“I am grateful of that,” Rosalind said. Then she hurried to the edge of the clearing, back toward the path to the exit.
“Rosalind,” Erich called after her.
She turned back to look at him. His eyes were glistening, as if her tears had become contagious.
“I am . . . I am very sorry for what has happened to you,” he said. “You have all of my sympathy.”
“Thank you,” she said. Before she could start crying again, she ran.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosalind requested that Alix join her for dinner in her compartment rather than in the dining carriages. She couldn’t bear the thought of eating amid the crowd, especially when the other passengers knew nothing of her sorrow, when her presence would reduce what little was known to grotesque innuendo. Imagine, the murdered girl traveling in the company of the railway owner’s daughter! Surely that could not be a coincidence, the gossips would reason. Cecily deserved better than idle talk or cold disinterest, her own penchant for gossip aside. Rosalind did not care to be around people who had no respect for the victims of crimes.
In the dark silence of the meal, however, Rosalind realized that she had not really appreciated how Cecily’s fondness for prattle and nonsense had kept conversation flowing. Whenever there was a pause, Cecily was there to fill it. No longer.
Over the main course of lamb, Rosalind decided to do what Cecily would have wanted, to carry on in her absence. And that meant talking, not merely drowning in the clattering of silverware.
“So you’re related to the Grand Duke of Hesse?” Rosalind asked.
Alix looked up from her food, startled. But then she laughed a little and nodded, seemingly pleased as well. “Yes,” she said. “We are cousins somewhere along the line. I forget how many places removed and that sort of thing. But we visit often. It is rather nice.” She took another nibble of her lamb. “You know, the empress of Russia is another cousin of mine.”
“Really?” Rosalind asked, though she was not surprised. The aristocracy of Europe was so interconnected that she’d grown accustomed to such coincidences.
Alix nodded. “People think that I am named for her, but I’m not.”
“Who are you named for, then?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Alix said. She shrugged. “Hmm. I never asked. Isn’t that silly of me?”
“Not at all,” Rosalind answered. “I’ve never asked why I’m called Rosalind.”
“Because it is a pretty name,” Alix said. “I like it.”
“Thank you,” Rosalind said, blushing a little at the compliment. “Evidently my mother liked it as well. And Cecily liked it most of all.”
Alix put her silverware down. “Cecily liked your name very much. She repeated it often. ‘Rose this’ and ‘Rose that.’ She was very fond of you. At school she would go on and on about Rose, her dear friend Rose. Like you were her big sister.”
Rosalind’s throat tightened. Her eyes began to sting. She drew in a quivering breath, staring at her plate, and then dropped her own silver. “I can’t imagine why,” she managed. “We had only seen each other half a dozen times then. It wasn’t until this year that we spent any proper time together . . .”
Alix reached out and took Rosalind’s hand. “I think, perhaps, she needed someone to look up to. Someone like a sister.” She let go and settled ba
ck into her chair. “How did you and Cecily come to know each other? It seems so strange, being friends across the ocean like that. I mean, if you aren’t related.”
“It was our fathers,” Rosalind said. “Back . . . um . . . ten years ago, I think . . . My father had just partnered with the German government to build the railway. That had been a dreadful year. He’d dragged us all across Europe trying to sell the idea. And no one wanted to buy it. They always would say, ‘We have ships, why do we need a train?’ ”
“How unprogressive of them,” Alix said, digging back into her food.
Rosalind nodded, relieved to have a sympathetic ear about such matters, which she’d never discussed—not even with Cecily. “After the Germans came round, Lord Exham wrote a letter to my father congratulating him on the whole enterprise. He was shocked that the British hadn’t taken him up on it, and he was very keen to become an investor and all that.”
Alix looked up. “Goodness,” she said.
“Oh, yes, it was quite unexpected,” Rosalind said. “Like a bolt from the blue. But it was also rather wonderful. Lord Exham invited my father to join him in building railways in Canada, and then Ireland, and then India, and it just went on from there. Our families became friends, so Cecily and I were expected to become friends. Fortunately, we did.”
“It is difficult not to become friends with Cecily,” Alix said, her voice catching. “It was difficult not to,” she corrected herself.
This time, Rosalind reached out. She placed a hand on Alix’s arm. She knew exactly how the girl felt. It was so horrid, swinging back and forth from grief to futile attempts at forgetting, and then back to grief. “She will be well remembered,” Rosalind said. Her voice hardened. “And avenged, if I have anything to say about it.”
Alix nodded. “My thoughts precisely.” She shook herself and lifted her fork again. “But enough of such talk. Let us remain happy.”
“Yes,” Rosalind agreed. “It’s what Cecily would have wanted.”
“So tell me, Rosalind . . .” Alix said. “I understand that you are a very scandalous person who harbors all manner of unacceptable opinions regarding the world. Would you care to rebut some of these accusations, or are you immensely proud of them?”
The Transatlantic Conspiracy Page 11
