Congress of Secrets

by Stephanie Burgis

  Only too well, Peter thought with grim humor. Sighing, he moved forward and assumed an expression of grave sympathy.

  “Marta, my dear—Josephine …” He caught one hand from each of them. “My dear ladies. I’m horrified that this has been asked of you. Of both of you,” he added, as he saw the mutinous expression on Josephine’s thin, sharply pretty face. “You deserve to be housed in the finest rooms in the city. And you shall be! But first …”

  He stepped back, releasing their hands and stretching out his arms to encompass the whole of the company. “First we must prove ourselves. And we shall! To Vienna, to the empire, and to all the honored visitors who’ve come from across the Continent. Everyone will know our company’s name … your names,” he added, aiming the amendment at Karl’s glower. “You will be famed and admired. But first we must give our debut performance! Is that not worth a minor sacrifice or two?”

  He knew he had lost them even as the last words left his mouth. Faces that had been smoothing into placidity erupted into new and greater outrage.

  “Minor?” Marta demanded. “Minor?! Your leading lady is being forced to receive her admirers in the tiniest of cramped, little moldy rooms, and to share it with the smelly costumes of a minor player, and you say—”

  “A minor player?” Josephine flung her head back. “According to the critics in Prague after our last performance—”

  Karl stepped forward, raising one hand to silence the rest. “When exactly are we to see our pay rise?”

  Peter’s head began to throb.

  Behind him, he heard a cough. He turned.

  “Herr Riesenbeck. And honored company.” His new acquaintance of the day before stood in the first row of the stalls, every bit as neatly and soberly dressed as Peter had remembered. He smiled slightly and bowed, extending his gesture to include the company as a whole. “Vaçlav Grünemann. We met yesterday at the inn, but perhaps you don’t remember …”

  “On the contrary.” Peter jumped down from the stage, grateful for the sudden interested silence that enveloped the watching company. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear sir.” As he took Grünemann’s hand, Peter scrutinized his face as discreetly as he could. It was similar, truly, to the face he’d thought he’d glimpsed in the aristocratic crowd the night before … but what of it? There must be a thousand men in Vienna of whom the same could be said. This man, at least, would never stand out in a crowd.

  “In fact, I was hoping to see you again, sir,” Peter said, as he released Grünemann’s hand. “If you’d do me the honor of accepting free tickets for both yourself and your friend to tonight’s premiere performance …”

  “I wish I could accept, but my employer keeps me far too busy.” Grünemann smiled dryly. “The life of a nobleman’s attendant is not always an easy sinecure. I’ve come with an invitation for you, however. My employer was most intrigued by the reports he read of your company’s prowess. He hopes that perhaps early this evening, before your performance, you might do him the honor of visiting his town palace for three quarters of an hour to describe your play to himself and his company? It will be a small group, but distinguished, I think you’ll find. Of course, if you are already engaged …”

  “On the contrary. I would be delighted to accept his invitation.” Peter took a deep breath, struggling to keep outright elation from showing on his face. “Your employer’s name and address—”

  Grünemann shrugged uncomfortably. “He is a very private gentleman, I’m afraid. He requested me not to give any information”—he glanced meaningfully at the listening actors, before meeting Peter’s gaze—“until we are entirely alone.”

  “I understand.” Peter kept his voice as bland as Grünemann’s own, as if he received such invitations every day of the week. In Vienna, the nobility ran their own private theaters, as well as helping to subsidize the national Burgtheater itself. To attract the favor of an aristocrat of wealth and influence was an event of miraculous proportions. “How shall I find him tonight?”

  “If it please you, I can meet you behind the theater at twenty past six this evening and escort you myself.”

  “Excellent. Most excellent!” And if ever he had been granted a perfect deus ex machina to save him from a certain disaster … Peter waited in bubbling impatience for Grünemann’s small figure to exit the auditorium, then turned back to his gaping company. Now. He jumped back up onto the stage before any questions or disputes could be remembered. “Ladies! Gentlemen!” He clapped his hands together. “You heard what honors may lie ahead of us. Now let the rehearsal begin. First scene!”

  The cries of the street sellers and the dull roar of the passing crowd pressed against the glass windows of the Prince de Ligne’s carriage as it rattled through the packed and heaving city center. Despite the gilded crest on the doors, it was not a luxurious carriage. It might perhaps have been well-sprung in the past but not since the last century. The cushions were covered with detailed embroidery that must once have glittered brightly with gold thread, but the colors had dulled and the cloth had worn thin without repair.

  Still, when Michael considered how his travels through Vienna had risen, from smuggling himself through the city gates to walking straight across the city the day before, he was well contented with his current elevation. After all, the carriage looked vastly impressive to outside observers … and, as any gamester knew, appearances were everything.

  “So, Prince Kalishnikoff.” The Prince de Ligne leaned forward in the small carriage, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Tell me. How did you come to know our entrancing friend?”

  “Lady Wyndham, you mean?” Michael let his lips quirk into a fraction of the mad grin that wanted to be released. “To be truthful, Your Highness, I can hardly remember a time I didn’t know her.”

  “Truly? I’m surprised she traveled so far in her youth. These English aristocratic families are so insular. And then the wars …”

  “Ah, but my father sent me to England as a boy, to study at Eton for a year. It was my one glimpse of life abroad.”

  Had Caroline invented brothers or sisters for herself? Michael was tempted to spin a tale of five mischievous older brothers, each with their own singular trials and travails—all of which Caroline would be forced to remember for her own future conversations with the prince—but he regretfully gave up the plan as flawed, this late in the others’ acquaintance. Ah well. Best to remain simple, as always.

  “Lady Wyndham’s father was an old friend of my own father, from the days of his Grand Tour through Europe. He was kind enough to have me stay for the school holidays during my year in England.”

  “Ah. And then later …”

  “I met her again by the happiest chance at last night’s ball, only hours after I arrived in this city. Good fortune indeed.”

  “Indeed.” The Prince de Ligne narrowed his bright eyes, his gaze still fixed on Michael’s face. “May I be so importunate as to ask, Your Highness, what it is, exactly, that you hope to accomplish at this Congress? For I cannot imagine that you came to Vienna merely to renew old friendships, charming though they may have been.”

  “Need you even ask?” Michael met the old man’s gaze steadily, even as his pulse sped up. The game had begun. “I’ve come like every other ruler whose possessions were stolen and annexed by the Corsican monster. The treaty of the Peace of Paris issued an invitation to this Congress to all the Powers engaged in Bonaparte’s long wars. How could I not accept that invitation, after ten years of exile? Bonaparte took everything from me.”

  “Mm …” De Ligne leaned back into the thin cushions, looking pained. “Forgive me, my friend, but I feel I really ought to drop a word of warning in your ear. You see …” He paused. “One article of the treaty did indeed issue such an invitation, and all Europe can bear witness to it. But that was not the only article of the treaty. And there were other articles that were never publically witnessed.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I, of course, was n
ot there.” De Ligne shrugged delicately. “And yet, rumors say, and the behavior of the delegates confirms … that there was a secret article included in that treaty. That article confined all decisions on the disposal of Bonaparte’s conquered territory to the four Great Powers alone: Russia, Austria, Prussia, Great Britain … and none other.”

  Michael’s eyebrows rose. “And the rulers of the conquered territories?”

  “Must petition the Great Powers for the gift of their own lands’ return, apparently. But a power does not become Great by listening to subtle moral misgivings, you know, or by indulging in open-handed acts of generosity.”

  “I … take your meaning.” Michael drew a deep, steadying breath.

  It was going too perfectly to be believed.

  He’d imagined it would be a challenge to assert his right to monetary compensation for his “loss” without accepting the “return” of his land and powers—a gift that he could never dare accept. Kernova might be a tiny and distant principality, but it was filled, after all, with people who had met the real Prince Kalishnikoff before that drunken sot had safely left the Continent.

  But if the Prince de Ligne was correct …

  Michael hardened his face into melancholy fortitude. “Might I ask you for one more piece of advice, Your Highness? Among the many politicians gathered here, who would be the best to approach with my dilemma?”

  “Well …”

  “I do understand that perhaps nothing can be done. I may never see my home again.” Michael gave his lips a bitter twist. “Perhaps the Great Powers of the Congress will find it best, in their wisdom, to barter my homeland to the highest bidder … and I have no armies or funds to spend in my defense. And yet …” He set his jaw. “I find I cannot quite give up without a fight.”

  “Of course not.” The prince regarded him, frowning, for another moment, then nodded abruptly. “Very well. I shall introduce you to Monsieur le Baron de Talleyrand, the French foreign minister.”

  Michael tilted his head, as the ill-sprung carriage bounced and jolted beneath him. “But France was not on your list of the Great Powers.”

  “Indeed not. Therefore, Talleyrand is all the more amenable to the breaking of that secret pact—and all the more interested in finding moral high grounds from which to forcibly lever it open. Better yet, he’s bound to be at luncheon today … but whether on the right-or the left-hand side of the staircase, I cannot tell you.” A boyish grin broke across the prince’s elfin face, setting it alight with sudden glee. “Have courage, Your Highness, and harden your stomach—if the worst comes to pass, we can always eat luncheon twice and listen to each hostess pass judgment on the next!”

  Michael leaned back into the thin cushions of his seat as a vast contentment rose within him. “I can hardly wait.”

  Caroline was midway through her letter writing when the drawing room door opened. A discreet cough captured her attention, and she looked up.

  “Charles.”

  She smiled and lowered her quill pen as her secretary walked into the room. He closed the door so carefully behind himself that Caroline raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes?”

  He crossed the room in silence, lips pursed. Only when he stood beside her did he finally speak, in a low tone. “Lady Wyndham …”

  Caroline gestured to the chair beside her. “Do sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Charles sat and regarded her gravely, blinking behind his spectacles. “I’ve made my room safe for any inspection, I think. And your study as well.”

  “Excellent.” She smiled encouragingly. “And …?”

  “Lady Wyndham …” His hands clenched into a knot of tension on one knee. “I must ask you to forgive me for what I am about to say.”

  “Good God, Charles, what’s amiss to inspire such an ominous tone from you? Have half my housekeeping accounts gone astray?” Caroline forced a laugh into her tone. “Did one of Vienna’s ominous secret policemen take you out drinking last night and force you to reveal all your darkest secrets?”

  “Of course not!” He flushed. “I hope your Ladyship knows me better than that.”

  “Of course I do.” Caroline restrained a secret sigh of relief. “Forgive me my levity. You may speak freely, of course.”

  “In that case …” He paused a moment, then met her gaze. “Would it be too impertinent to ask what Prince Kalishnikoff is truly doing here?”

  Ah. Caroline sighed inwardly. Of course, she should have expected this.

  She widened her eyes in innocent surprise. “My dear Charles. Have I forgotten to explain? His Highness is an old friend from many, many years ago. I hadn’t realized he would be here in Vienna—in fact, I didn’t even recognize him at first glance, as you may recall. So many years had passed that his appearance had quite altered—and of course, he did not know my married name. But once we renewed our acquaintance at the ball last night …”

  She shrugged. “You know how difficult it was to find available apartments in this district even when you reserved this one for me months ago. It’s almost impossible to find any accommodation in the whole of Vienna at the moment. How could I refuse the pressing request of such an old friend?”

  “Naturally. And yet …” Charles looked down at his clenched hands and drew a deep breath. “I shall be truly impertinent, now. I did witness your meeting, yesterday, and it led me to think—if you were not, in fact, old friends … if there was any other tie that bound you and forced you into sheltering a man you held in distaste, a man who was threatening you in any way …”

  “Charles!” Caroline forced a gurgle of laughter into her tone. “I fancy you’ve been reading Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic novels. What’s put these follies in your head?”

  “If any of that were true,” her secretary continued, inexorably, “I hope you would have confidence enough in my discretion to confide in me. And I would do all that was in my power to aid you, without reserve.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I would do anything for you,” he added softly.

  Caroline stared at him. The light response that she’d prepared withered and faded away, unspoken, as she met her secretary’s steady gaze. His expression was intent … and unmistakable.

  She drew a deep, careful breath. “I thank you. Sincerely, I do.”

  For the first time in the conversation, she was aware of how close they sat to one another. His knee rested only inches away from hers, though she had thought nothing of it until now. He was—she calculated rapidly—twenty-four? Or twenty-five? At least ten years younger than her, certainly. A boy, no more. It was absurd to even consider him in that way. But he was a boy looking at her with all the force of a compelling first attachment.

  Unmistakable danger hung in the air.

  Caroline smiled. In all the masquerading of her past years, she did not remember ever having to judge a smile quite so carefully, imbuing it with friendly warmth … but nothing more.

  “I do trust you,” she said. “I’m very grateful to know I can rely on your assistance so completely.” She made a rueful face. “And of course, you are correct. I wasn’t pleased when I first saw Prince Kalishnikoff. The last time we saw each other, we parted … badly.”

  To say the least. Michael’s face through the flames, distorted by smoke; the police surrounding Caroline, holding down her arms …

  She swallowed and forced sincerity into her tone. “But all of that was resolved at last night’s ball. Truly, there is nothing for you to fear for me. I am genuinely delighted to have him here as my guest from now until he chooses to move on.”

  Charles looked at her steadily, without speaking. The muscles in his shoulders bunched beneath his coat as if he were bracing himself for action … or barely restraining himself from it. Caroline eased a fraction of an inch further away on her seat, endeavoring to make the movement look casual.

  “But of course,” she finished pleasantly, “I do appreciate your kindness.”

  Inwardly, she winced at the banality of her own words. But what
else was there to say?

  “I am glad,” Charles said, his voice as colorless as water. “And relieved. Of course.” He straightened his shoulders. “In that case …”

  “Yes?” Caroline felt her heart beating uncomfortably quickly. Of all the unexpected and unwelcome complications …

  “If you’d allow me, Lady Wyndham, I would like to remind you of an offer you made when you first hired me. You said then that you would aid me with my alchemical research.” She could read no trace of emotion on his face. “I would be most grateful if you would help me now by showing me how yesterday’s ritual was accomplished, as you did agree when we spoke yesterday.”

  “So I did,” Caroline said. “I remember. But, Charles …” She drew a breath, suppressing a flare of sudden panic, and forced her voice to remain mild. “I would beg you to reconsider. A transfer of energy may sound fascinating to a man of scientific bent, but the aftereffects—”

  Lying limp and weeping on the cold stone floor, incapable of movement, helpless to struggle—

  “I don’t fear the effects,” Charles said.

  “But—”

  “Please, my lady.” He stood with a sudden jerk, only barely maintaining a submissive edge to his posture. His eyes glinted with the ominous beginnings of impatience. “Let me decide for myself what is too dangerous. This was, after all, part of our agreement when you hired me.”

  “I understand,” Caroline said evenly. She fought to keep her expression impassive as panic gibbered silently within her. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t …

  But what other option did she have? She breathed a silent curse and gave in.

  “I will show you, then,” she said. “Of course.”

  Cold fear seeped through Caroline’s chest at her own words, but she kept her smile firm.

  She’d promised to do anything to bring her father back, and she would hold to that promise. No matter what it cost her.