“Kaiser Wilhelm,” I finished.
“The second of that name,” the chancellor said with a grave nod. “Those of us outside of the empire had hopes for his father, a great and progressive man. When he ascended to the throne last spring, we believed it was a new beginning for all of us. We did not realize he was doomed,” he added, crossing himself. I had been in Madeira at the time, but I vaguely remembered reading about the three-month reign of Kaiser Frederick. He had been a gentle soul, progressive and forward thinking, unlike his warlike and reactionary son.
The chancellor went on. “For thirty years, Kaiser Frederick bided his time, waiting for his turn to remake Germany, to bring her into the light with the help of his empress.” His empress was of special interest to me. She was the eldest child of our queen, Victoria, and had been named for her august mother. As Princess Royal, she had been the apple of her father’s eye, schooled by Prince Albert in the English principles of liberality and fairness. Throughout her long marriage to Frederick, she had remained steadfast in her beliefs, in spite of the damage this caused to her popularity with the Germans. They clung to the glory of their warlike past, and her eldest son, now the kaiser, had followed in those traditions.
“The empress was unpopular,” I began, but the chancellor made a noise of derision.
“Unpopular! She was reviled, treated with the greatest of contempt by her own son. All those years, waiting to put her mark upon Germany, and her husband’s reign lasts no more than three months. A single season for them to rule, and even that was thwarted. Everyone knew Kaiser Frederick was ill when he ascended. The court and the army looked beyond him, as if he were already a ghost. They did not even bother to bend a knee to his will. They did as his son bade them, and as soon as Wilhelm became emperor, they turned on Empress Frederick with all the savagery of which they are capable.”
“She was not mistreated?” Stoker asked in horror.
“She was,” the chancellor confirmed. “Actually shoved about by her son’s men. They came to her palace to remove her papers—her personal and private papers—because her son believed her a traitor to Germany. She, who did nothing but work for the peace of Europe,” he added bitterly. His color was high, the dueling scars on his cheeks standing out white against his scarlet skin.
He took a few deep breaths. “But they found nothing. She is as cautious as she is clever,” he added with a sly smile. “She sent her papers to England and she thwarted her son. For all his cruelty, he is not intelligent. He could never anticipate how far she would go to secure peace in Europe.”
“How far would she go?” Stoker asked.
The chancellor paused, assessing us carefully. “I will tell you something that you must vow never to reveal outside of this room. I require your word of honor, both of you. On pain of death.” The words were startling, but his manner was grave. Stoker and I did not look at one another as we swore. The chancellor reached into his portfolio and drew forth a document.
“The Alpenwald is one of the few German-speaking states to resist Bismarck’s aggression. She remains independent in spite of the danger.”
“The danger?” I asked.
He pointed to the map, sketching out a movement. “Should Germany decide to go to war, she will attack France first. The Alpenwald lies in the clearest and most direct route. We would be destroyed if we oppose the German Empire. But oppose her we will,” he finished fiercely. He went to the desk and unlocked a drawer, drawing out a leather portfolio stamped with the crest of the Alpenwald. “This is a treaty between the Alpenwald and France. It is a binding pact of mutual defense against the German Empire.”
Stoker gave a soundless whistle as we bent to read the text. It was in English and brief, bereft of the usual flowery diplomatic language that characterized such things. It was a promise, to be signed by both governments, to protect one another and come to each other’s aid in the event of German aggression.
“How on earth did you manage to get the French to agree to this?” Stoker asked.
“I did not,” the chancellor told him. “It was the work of the Empress Frederick.”
“Our Princess Royal Victoria?” I goggled at him. “Our British princess has brokered a treaty against her own son’s interests?”
“Because his interests are not those of good and peaceful men,” the chancellor said sternly. “She has tried the whole of her life to instill in him the principles of democracy upon which she was weaned, but his upbringing was taken out of her hands by his grandfather. He was schooled to admire all things military and warlike, to love aggression and fighting and the glory of Germany.” His moustaches quivered in disgust. “He was never taught to cherish peace, to work for the good of his people. His mother is deeply afraid, you see. She has seen a change in him since he ascended the throne. For decades, Bismarck counted upon being able to control Wilhelm when he came to power. But the chancellor grows old and he cannot keep Wilhelm under his thumb. The kaiser does as he pleases, and he sees himself as a new Frederick the Great, bestriding Europe and the rest of the world. He cares nothing for peace and freedom, and in the great battle, his mother will be on the side of the angels. She does what she can for the cause that is just, and we are grateful to her,” he finished with fervor. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his bald head, dabbing at his eyes. The subject was clearly an emotional one for him, and Stoker and I looked at the maps until he had regained control of himself.
The chancellor grasped my hands suddenly. “Miss Speedwell. I would not ask if it were not of the greatest importance, my dear. But the future of Europe depends upon thwarting the ambitions of the kaiser. If we do not stand together, he will do everything in his power to set us against one another.”
“What do you need of me?” I asked gently.
“The treaty is to be signed tonight,” he began. “Miss Speedwell, you cannot conceive of what this treaty will mean for us. The protection of France! Of the whole of the British Empire! We will sleep easily in our beds at night.”
“But surely there are other ways—” I began.
His hands tightened on mine. “There are none,” he insisted. “Do you know how long it took to arrange this treaty? It has been accomplished with great difficulty and in perfect secrecy. The rest of the world believes that the princess is in London simply to honor the English mountaineer and to go to the opera. They have no idea why she is here, and that is how it must remain. A social visit, an occasion for beautiful clothes and pretty music. But it is so much more.” His tone softened, and a pleading note crept in. “It is the very destiny of Europe. We want peace for our children, Fraulein.”
“I understand,” I said slowly. “But if you put out a statement saying your princess has fallen ill—”
His grip grew painful. “We have talked of this!” he said, his brows snapping together sharply. “The French would take it as a grave insult. They would believe that the Alpenwald does not negotiate in good faith. They would look at your German queen here in England and think that because we too have German ties, we have persuaded her to deal more generously with us. They would become suspicious, the French. They would refuse to sign the treaty because they would fear we strike deals behind their backs. They believe everyone is as cunning as they are,” he finished, his mouth tightening in disapproval.
Stoker stepped forward. “Even if Veronica does this for you, it will not be legal because the princess herself has not signed the treaty.”
“I have thought of that,” the chancellor replied happily. He dropped my hands and dove into another portfolio on the table. He drew out a lengthy piece of parchment also embellished with the Alpenwalder crest. “This document gives Miss Speedwell the authority to sign the treaty on behalf of the Alpenwalder delegation as a proxy of the princess. Naturally, it must remain secret,” he added, “but if there were ever a need, it would stand up in court. Miss Speedwell would be acting with all of the author
ity of the Alpenwalder government.”
I took the parchment and studied it, Stoker reading over my shoulder. “It seems legal enough,” I murmured. “Do you not think so?”
He shrugged. “What I do not know about international diplomatic law would fill the libraries at Oxford,” he said. He passed the page back to the chancellor. “The greater difficulty is not in Miss Speedwell performing this masquerade again. It is that this must end, sir. Surely you see that? She cannot continue the charade until you are ready to leave for home.”
“Can she not?” the chancellor asked, patting his lips. He stroked his moustaches into shape. “The signing of the treaty is tonight. Then there is only the opening of the exhibition at your club of lady explorers. After that, we return to our own country and Miss Speedwell is free to resume her own life.”
“And if Her Serene Highness is still missing?” Stoker demanded. “What then?”
The chancellor held up a hand. “There is no need to fear this,” he said. “Our princess has always come back to us. She will do so again.”
Silence held the room for a long moment.
“What must I do?” I asked at last.
The chancellor, realizing the battle had been won, did not revel in the moment, but his eyes gleamed in satisfaction. “There is a simple ceremony to sign the treaty. A representative of Her Majesty’s government to witness the affair, a French delegate, and yourself. These are the only three people who will be signatories to the document. It will be a very short meeting. The treaty itself has already been agreed and copies sent to each party. Everyone brings his own and each of the three will be signed and countersigned. Once the signatures have been placed, that is all.”
“That is not all!” the baroness put in sharply. “Have you forgot where the meeting is to take place?”
I turned to the chancellor, dread gripping my heart. “Excellency, where are you sending me this evening?”
“It is nothing, child,” he said, raising his hands in protest. “An entertainment, a party.”
“A formal dinner,” the baroness interjected.
“Excellency?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.
He looked from one of us to the other, then surrendered. “Very well. It is a formal dinner. At Windsor Castle.”
CHAPTER
19
I dared not look at Stoker; I dared not speak. With that perfect unspoken communication we sometimes shared, he intuited my disordered thoughts and gave voice to them.
“And who will be in attendance at this dinner?” he asked smoothly. “The queen? Members of the royal family?”
“Oh no,” the chancellor hastened to explain. “Her Majesty is at Osborne House, as is her custom this time of year, I am told.”
“And the rest of the royal family?” Stoker pressed.
The chancellor shrugged. “The Prince of Wales is also away. At his country house, somewhere in the east,” he said, waving a vague hand.
“Sandringham House,” Stoker supplied. “In Norfolk.”
“Yes, that is it. I hear there is very fine shooting to be had,” the chancellor said in a wistful tone. “He gathered there for the holidays with his children and he also plays host to his sister the Empress Frederick and her daughters.”
“So there will be no member of the royal family at Windsor tonight?” Stoker said.
The chancellor’s complexion turned ruddy again. “You are thinking it is an insult to my princess? To the honor of the Alpenwalders that there is no member of your royal family to receive her?”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Stoker assured him. “I merely find the choice of venue curious if the family are not meant to attend.”
The chancellor shrugged again. “It was the request of the Empress Frederick. She wishes to make it clear that although none of the British royalties will sign the treaty, it meets with their approval. A gracious gesture,” he added.
“Indeed,” Stoker murmured.
The tight band around my chest eased. I breathed a little easier. “Do you know who will be in attendance?” I managed.
“A French delegation and assorted English representatives from within your government. From our side, naturally I will escort the princess and she will be attended by the baroness.”
“And by me.” Maximilian appeared in the doorway looking like a man whose conscience had kept him awake. His eyes were a trifle puffed and his moustaches drooped a little.
The chancellor looked pained. “As you are not yet formally affianced to Her Serene Highness—” he began.
“All the more reason to include him,” the baroness put in. “It will demonstrate to the French that the treaty has the support of the entire Alpenwalder aristocracy and not merely the princely family.”
Maximilian smiled at the baroness. “Just so.”
The chancellor huffed into his moustaches. “Very well. I will send word that there will be two additional members of our party,” he assured the duke, as casually as if he were bringing an extra guest to tea.
Stoker turned to me. “You cannot attend a formal dinner at the queen’s castle and pretend to be foreign royalty.” The baroness began to speak, but Stoker raised a hand. “I think Miss Speedwell and I will require a few minutes’ privacy to discuss the matter,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. The chancellor and baroness withdrew, Maximilian trailing after them. He closed the door behind him, but it would not have surprised me to find him spying through a keyhole.
I folded my arms over my chest and regarded Stoker.
“I managed it well enough last night,” I reminded him.
“Because no one was near you! You were surrounded by Alpenwalders and by me,” he pointed out. “You spoke to almost no one, and you had nothing to do but sit quietly and occasionally wave. A clockwork mannequin could have done as much.”
“Thank you,” I said, my tone acid. “It was actually a trifle more complicated than that.”
“Yes, I quite forgot. You also had to hold up a tiara. However did you manage it?”
“There is no call for sarcasm,” I said.
“What approach is called for?” he inquired. “Should I simply fling you over my shoulder and stalk out of here until you come to your senses?”
“Certainly not. Do not think I will play the Sabine,” I warned him. “I mean to do this. Besides, we needed a pretext to spend time with the Alpenwalders to investigate Alice’s relationship with Gisela. We could hardly do better.”
“Than a semi–state occasion in a royal residence?” His tone softened. “You have not considered the complications. Veronica, it is a formal dinner at Windsor Castle. It will be full of British dignitaries and officials, people who could easily unmask you for the imposter you would be.”
“I am not acquainted with any members of the government,” I protested.
“Just because they are not known to you does not mean you are not known to them!” He thrust his hands through his hair, disordering it violently. “Veronica, be reasonable. You simply cannot swan through the gates of Windsor Castle as if you have a right to be there.”
“Don’t I?” I asked softly.
I said nothing more, but I did not have to. He came forward and simply enfolded me in his arms. “I thought you wanted nothing from them.”
“I didn’t! At least until I met Eddy,” I corrected. Our latest foray into murder had seen us making the acquaintance of my half brother, Prince Albert Victor of Wales, Eddy to his intimates. I had found myself growing quite fond of the young man during our short time together. He was silly and frustrating to an impossible degree, but I could not deny the attraction of spending time with those of my own blood. Growing up without family, I had never really placed much importance upon the connections of genetics. I had consoled myself with those whom I met upon my travels whose tastes and values aligned with mine, with t
hose who had proven themselves loyal and trustworthy out of true affection, not the obligations of blood.
Eddy had been different. We were nothing alike, my half brother and I, but I had been conscious of a deep pull to watch over him, a protectiveness I had seldom experienced before. And I wondered if it were unique to that young man or if I would feel the same towards others of my family, towards the home I had never known but to which I was tied by blood. For eight hundred years, my ancestors had lived and died in that castle. Would I feel any sort of recognition? Any variety of belonging? This was perhaps the best opportunity I would have to find out.
“Well, I suppose it is only a mercy that she will not be there,” Stoker said finally, resting his chin on the top of my head. He did not have to specify. I knew precisely whom he meant. “You can at least say hello to her portrait, I suppose.”
“Something like that.”
“You will be disappointed,” he warned me. “She looks very much like a turnip.”
I stifled a laugh and he drew back, his gaze intent. “I am deadly serious. She looks like a turnip in a black bonnet. Or I suppose since they have state portraits there you might see one where she is a turnip in a tiny crown.”
I poked him firmly in the ribs. “Behave. You forget I have seen her once before.” I had watched her Golden Jubilee procession from a distance, scarcely able to see the small, rotund figure that had been smothered in ruffles and lace and tucked into a royal carriage. I looked up at him. “You understand, do you not?”
“Better than you think. For all my bluster about my family, I still find myself running to them in spite of my best efforts.” He dropped a kiss to the top of my head. “I know you well enough to understand that you are going to do this with or without my blessing so I may as well accept it.”
“Besides,” I told him, “we still do not know anything about who might have been aware of Gisela’s connection to Alice and who might therefore have wanted Alice dead.”
An Unexpected Peril Page 21
