A Fatal Waltz lem-3

by Tasha Alexander

  “This borders on libel,” I said, folding the paper and tossing it to Davis. “You may as well burn it. And don’t bring me tomorrow’s edition.” I paused and rubbed my hand across my forehead. “No. Ignoring it won’t help. It’s better that I know what’s being said.”

  The door opened, and one of the parlor maids stepped into the room, curtsying neatly in front of me. “The Duke of Bainbridge is here, madam. Would you like me to bring him to the drawing room?”

  “Please do.” Knowing it was unlikely he bore any glad tidings, I wanted to speak with him without Ivy. “Davis, ask Mrs. Brandon to wait for me in the library when she’s finished her breakfast. The duke and I will come to her as soon as we can.”

  I had never before given much thought to the drawing room at Berkeley Square, but as I walked into it today, its warmth struck me. Walls draped in red silk, Venetian marble mantel framing a blazing fire, chairs meant to be comfortable, their curved backs and soft leather like a gentle embrace. Despite its palatial proportions, it felt like a snug, welcoming home. The precise opposite of Beaumont Towers. Jeremy was idly slouching in a seat near the fireplace, but leapt to his feet when he saw me.

  “I can’t remember the last time you received me in a drawing room. You treat me more like a favored suitor with every passing day.”

  “You’re a dreadful flirt and know perfectly well that the way to my heart is through my library. The drawing room is a vapid and soulless place.” I smiled as he kissed my hand.

  “Soulless. Perfect for me.” He sat down. “I’ve just come from Newgate.”

  “Newgate?” There was not a person in England unaware of the horrors associated with London’s most notorious prison. “Of course. That’s where they would have taken Robert.”

  “I’ve just visited him. He asked if you would come to him.”

  “Of course. I’ll get Ivy at once.”

  “No. He doesn’t want her to see him in his present circumstances. He was very clear on this point.”

  Jeremy insisted on accompanying me to the prison, and I was grateful for this. The drive, filled with nervous discomfort, seemed to stretch to eternity. My stomach was uneasy, and I couldn’t keep my hands still. When at last we arrived, I was horrified to find Newgate more appalling than I could have imagined. Whitewashed walls did nothing to hide the filth and stench that filled the place. Jeremy spoke to the warden near the entrance and in short order convinced him to have Robert brought to me.

  “I don’t like giving prisoners special privileges, Your Grace.”

  “It’s not for him, sir, it’s for her. Do you really expect her to go all the way inside?”

  The warden looked at me through narrowed eyes and grunted. “Very well. Wait here.” This was one moment where I did not object to being treated like a lady; I had little desire to see firsthand just how awful the depths of the prison would be. He returned ten minutes later and led us up a maze of stairs to a small office. “You may speak to Mr. Brandon for ten minutes, but I will have to remain in the room with you.” He unlocked the door and swung it open.

  Robert was standing with his back to us, facing windows that looked out on the Old Bailey, where his trial would take place. The buildings of the prison and London’s Central Criminal Court were joined by a series of dismal passages; I wondered if Robert was considering what it would be like when he was led through them to face his prosecutors. The warden locked the door after he’d closed it behind us and returned the key to his pocket. It was an odd feeling to know that I could not leave the room without his assistance.

  I crossed the room to Robert, who was still staring out the window, despite the fact that he must have heard us enter, and spoke to him in a low voice. “It would be ridiculous to ask if you’re all right, but I don’t know where else to begin.”

  He turned to me, his face drawn and pale, dark smudges beneath vacant, frightened eyes. “I’m relieved that you’re not fluent in the language of conversing with prisoners. If you were, I’d have to forbid Ivy from speaking to you.” He nodded at Jeremy, who was hanging back near the warden.

  “I’m a bad enough influence as it is,” I said.

  “I know that you and I have not always agreed when it comes to subjects on which you hold firm opinions. I’m a traditional man, Emily. I believe there is a natural order to things, and that, as a gentleman, one of my primary responsibilities is to shield ladies from the uglier sides of life.”

  “It is sometimes better to see the truth.”

  “Not necessarily.” He glanced towards the warden, who had sat on a chair and was pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper as Jeremy looked over his shoulder. “But at present, I find myself in the unhappy position of having no one to whom I can turn other than you.”

  “How can they believe you killed Lord Fortescue?” I whispered.

  “They’ve no other reasonable suspect.”

  “At least half the population of England is rejoicing to see him dead,” I said, careful to keep my voice low. “And you don’t stand to benefit from the death of your mentor. Why would you have killed him?”

  “He publicly insulted me in a manner certain to destroy any hopes I’d have of a political life. It’s well known that I’m an excellent shot and would have had no difficulty in carrying out the murder.”

  “Perhaps not the technical aspects of it, but I know you’re not capable of killing a man.”

  “But I am, Emily. I have,” he whispered.

  I was stunned. “But…surely not…”

  “No, not Fortescue. It was ages ago. A duel.”

  “A duel?” I could not image mild-mannered Robert agreeing to duel.

  “Ivy does not know this, of course, and you are not to tell her. It would only cause her further anxiety.”

  “I don’t see that it matters regardless. You didn’t kill Fortescue.”

  “No. But the gun used to kill him was a dueling pistol.”

  “I don’t understand why this matters,” I said, frowning.

  “Fortescue knew about the duel and has a file that proves my involvement.”

  “Why would he want such a thing?”

  “To hold over me, Emily.”

  “Hardly seems like grounds for blackmail,” I said. “Repugnant though it is, dueling is still considered by some gentlemen an honorable activity.”

  “Not for cabinet ministers.” He stared out the window. “But that’s out of the realm of possibility for me now.”

  “Why did you ask to see me, Robert?”

  “I don’t know who killed Fortescue, but I’m convinced that he was assassinated. He told me that he’d received a warning while we were at Beaumont Towers.”

  “From whom?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that it came from Vienna, that he was personally threatened in it, and that it contained information about a planned attack against a high-ranking political figure.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell the police this?”

  “Yes. But they found nothing to corroborate my story at Fortescue’s house.”

  “I read that there were papers missing. Surely this could be among those stolen.”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” he said. “But I can’t convince anyone else.”

  “We have to find out who sent the message,” I said.

  “That’s why I asked to see you.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “My father was just here with his solicitor and has vowed to spare no expense in mounting my defense, but all his pretty words couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. It was perfectly clear that neither of them holds out much hope that I will be acquitted.”

  “But surely your solicitor—your barrister—someone will be able to discover who sent the message to Fortescue.”

  “The only way to do that would be to send someone to Vienna, and no one aside from myself seems to think that’s a worthwhile endeavor. I realize that it is wrong of me to impose upon your friends
hip with my wife. With Hargreaves out of the country and my colleagues turning against me with dizzying speed, I’ve no one left with proven abilities to handle any sort of investigation but you. I asked Bainbridge, but…”

  “He didn’t know what to do.”

  “Precisely. But he did suggest that I speak with you. It is unconscionable to ask a lady to embroil herself in such a thing, but I can’t deny the fact that you’ve succeeded”—he sighed—“rather spectacularly when you’ve taken up cases in the past.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “As little as possible. I don’t want to place you in any danger. If you could go to Austria and find out who sent the warning and get that person to talk—perhaps to Sir Augustus Paget at the embassy in Vienna—then the authorities here might be persuaded to believe me.”

  “Do you know anything else that might be of use?”

  “Only that Fortescue was concerned about a group of anarchists there, headed by a man called Schröder. But I don’t know if they are connected to any of this.”

  “I will do everything I can,” I said.

  “I am indebted to you beyond measure.”

  “No, you’re not. I haven’t succeeded in helping you yet. But I hope, soon, to be able to say that you owe me your life.”

  “I look forward to the day.” He managed a slight smile.

  “I’ve something for you,” I said, and pulled out from behind my back a book. “It wasn’t easy to convince your jailer to let me bring it, but Jeremy’s wallet is very persuasive. I know your views on popular fiction, and can’t resist taking the opportunity to persuade you that sensational novels do, in fact, have some merits.”

  He looked at the cover. “Lady Audley’s Secret? I’ve heard more than enough about this atrocious story.”

  “Even my late husband enjoyed it, and you know how seriously he took his academic pursuits.” Philip’s reputation as a gentleman scholar was unparalleled.

  “I will read it, but only because there’s nothing else here for me to do.”

  “Precisely why I thought now the perfect time to corrupt you.”

  “First ladies drinking port, now this. Is there no end to your debauchery?” He was trying too hard to take a light tone.

  “I will do everything in my power to secure your release.” Our eyes met only briefly, both of us all too aware that any power I might have was negligible at best. I squeezed his hand.

  The warden coughed. “No touching the prisoner, madam.”

  “I want to go to Vienna.” Ivy’s delicate complexion had lost all its glow. She’d hardly flinched when I told her she couldn’t come to Newgate, but her eyes were swollen and red when we returned.

  “You must stay here. What if Robert asks to see you?” I was more concerned with what I could not say to her: If I failed to uncover anything in Vienna he might be executed before I returned to England. “And if he does, you can update him on anything I’ve discovered. It’s a pity they won’t let you touch him. Much can be said during a prolonged embrace.”

  “Emily!” She looked at Jeremy.

  “Let me assure you that I’ve heard far worse, Ivy,” he said. “I’ve been in the middle of far worse.”

  “You’re very kind,” Ivy said, blushing.

  “Good. I’ve made you smile again. There’s no use giving into melancholy, no matter how desperate the situation. It will all turn out in the end.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy.”

  “I wired Margaret. She sent a reply back express and is coming in from Oxford as soon as she can, so you won’t be alone. I want you both to stay at Berkeley Square while I’m gone.” After I’d sent a wire to Cécile informing her that I hoped to travel with her to Vienna at once, I’d dashed off quick letters to Colin’s brother and sister-in-law as well as my parents, all of whom were expecting to spend Christmas with me at Ashton Hall. Although William and Sophie would accept the change of plans with grace—they were accustomed to Colin’s work causing similar disruptions—my mother would not react well.

  “Robert’s parents are already in town. I’m afraid they’ll want me to stay with them.”

  “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Margaret will take care of everything,” I said.

  “And what about me? You can’t cut me out of the excitement now,” Jeremy said.

  “Are you planning to stay in London or return to the country?” I asked.

  “Neither,” he said, eyes full of mischief. “I’m coming to Vienna. You, darling, need someone to keep you out of trouble, and I am just the man for the job.”

  “I don’t imagine Cécile will object to traveling with you, though she’s sure to remind you at regular intervals that you’re not as handsome as Colin,” I said.

  “Looks aren’t everything, my dear girl.”

  8 December 1891

  Somerville Hall, Oxford

  My dear Emily,

  I received your wire and am sending my reply express, as what I want to tell you is too long for a wire. First, inform Ivy to expect me in London at once.

  Second, you’ll find it impossible to believe, but Mr. Michaels offers whatever assistance he can give. I informed him in no uncertain terms that he would be completely out of his element in this situation.

  But I will confess to being pleasantly surprised that he offered. And though now is perhaps not the most appropriate time to mention it, he accepted my smoking at his dinner party with nothing more than a single raised eyebrow.

  I am yrs., etc.,

  Margaret

  Chapter 8

  Traveling with Jeremy was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Our mission was a grim one, difficult and daunting. But my friend patently refused to be morose, insisting that I would be in a better position to pursue my work in Vienna if I arrived relaxed. He goaded me, flirted with me, and if I so much as sighed, he read aloud to me from the script of Oscar Wilde’s new play, Lady Windermere’s Fan, which was set to open in the West End in February. Try though I might, I could not convince him to tell me how he managed to persuade the author to give him a copy.

  Cécile met us at the Gare de l’Est when we arrived in Paris, and together we boarded the Orient Express. Along with an inordinate number of trunks and her minuscule dogs, Brutus and Caesar, Cécile had brought a picnic for us to share, preferring to dine in the privacy of our compartment so that we could speak freely about the plight of the Brandons. Although the food in the dining car would no doubt have been spectacular—we were on board the most luxurious train in Europe—we did not much suffer. Cécile’s basket was filled with magnificent treats, all of which were served on china and silver by an attentive member of the wagons-lits staff. Jeremy retired soon after we’d finished eating, though I suspect he did not stay alone long. The lure of the smoking car and the company he’d find there would have been too much for him to resist.

  The stress of the previous days left me exhausted. The valet had made up the bed in my compartment, which was snug and cozy and reminiscent of the most comfortable rooms in a country estate. Very small rooms, of course, but the effect—achieved with a combination of wood paneling and dark paint with gilt trim—was lovely. When I crawled into my surprisingly soft bed, the lull of the car’s movement on the track sent me to sleep almost at once. Jeremy’s theory proved sound: By the time we reached the Westbanhof station in Vienna the next evening, my mind was clear and focused.

  I’d never been to Vienna before, but had always imagined it to be an ornately beautiful place. The reality of it did not disappoint. The Ringstrasse, which Emperor Franz Joseph had ordered built over the remains of the city’s ancient walls, was a series of wide, circular boulevards lined with grand buildings: the Kunsthistorisches Museum, which housed the imperial art collection, the Naturhistorisches Museum, one of the world’s finest natural history museums, and the opera, among others. Now, in winter, with snow covering them, they all looked like prettily decorated cakes set among parks on a tree-lined cobbled street.


  We’d reserved suites at the exquisite Hotel Imperial, which had been constructed some years earlier by the Prince of Württemberg as his palace. He sold it when he decided to leave Vienna, and the buyers converted it into a hotel. The prince’s private apartments on the belle étage had been turned into an enormous suite, and it was here that Cécile and I ensconced ourselves, surrounded by every luxurious thing. We had two bathrooms, beds dressed in the finest linens, and multiple sitting rooms, walls covered in pale blue silk that highlighted elaborately carved moldings. Electric chandeliers lit the room, but candles had been placed strategically throughout, in magnificent silver holders, in case the suite’s occupants desired softer light.

  Even the route to our rooms was spectacular, up the grand staircase, fashioned from gleaming, pale marble. The high ceiling, smooth columns, and classically styled statues on the landing were worthy of Versailles, although Cécile was quick to point out that the scale was far too small to be part of the Sun King’s palace. Still, it was difficult not to feel royal in such impressive surroundings.

  It was too late in the evening to make an unannounced visit, so I instead sent a note to the countess telling her to expect me in the morning. I hoped her contacts with the British intelligence community might prove useful to me. After Meg helped me into a favorite gown—crimson silk covered with intricate beadwork—I joined my friends for dinner in the hotel’s dining room, where the food, all of it delicious, was more French than I would have expected. The next morning, the concierge gave me directions to the von Langes’ house, and I left the Imperial by eight o’clock, feeling not the slightest concern that I might be calling too early. Though I should be loath to admit it, I rather liked the idea of disturbing Kristiana. Regardless, I’d given her fair warning.