“It’s all right.” I was too overwhelmed to care, and of the affronts I had suffered that day, this was the least troublesome, at least for the moment. “Will you take me back to the Imperial?”
“Of course.” He hesitated before taking me by the arm, as if he weren’t sure whether he should touch me at all, and led me out of the alley, flagging down the first fiacre that passed. We did not speak until we’d reached the hotel and were standing at the bottom of the magnificent stairway that led to my rooms.
“It might be best if you took Hargreaves with you to meet Schröder tonight.”
“He’s working. But Cécile and I could—”
“No. You can’t go into that neighborhood unprotected. I’ll come.” For the first time I could remember, I saw no hint of laughter or joy in his eyes.
Jeremy escorted me to my suite, insisted that I see a doctor, and waited, standing near the fireplace in one of our parlors, to hear the diagnosis. Satisfied that I was not seriously hurt—a mild concussion, but nothing to cause alarm—he left when the physician did.
The moment they were gone, Cécile rapped her fan on the marble-topped table that stood next to the chaise longue on which we were sitting. “This has become too dangerous. The man could have killed you.”
“He wouldn’t kill me. If I were dead, I couldn’t do anything to stop Colin’s investigation.”
“Monsieur Hargreaves would agree with me. No unnecessary danger, Kallista. We should leave Vienna.”
“Not until we’ve either found out who sent Lord Fortescue the warning or uncovered Harrison’s plot,” I said.
“Leave it to Monsieur Hargreaves.”
“No, Cécile. He’s been sent here for a specific reason. And though I don’t know the details, I do know it’s not to find information that can exonerate Robert.”
“He’s perfectly capable of doing that along with whatever his mission is.”
“But I’m perfectly capable, too. More than capable, in fact. And I like doing this, Cécile. I’ll be careful. There’s no need to worry.”
“You are taking Jeremy with you to meet Schröder?”
“Yes,” I said. “Although I’m not certain it’s a good idea.”
“What can that mean?” Cécile’s talent for picking up on any sort of romantic signals was unparalleled.
“Something happened after he found me this morning.” I described for her every detail of what transpired between us.
“Mon dieu! Well, I won’t have to worry about you then. He’s enough in love with you that he can be counted on to keep you from being harmed. Still, I’m going to accompany you as well. I’m curious about this anarchist. Any man with passionate beliefs is worth knowing.”
“I’d wager that he’s over forty, Cécile. He might even be fascinating. What would Klimt say?”
“Very little,” she said, smiling wickedly.
22 December 1891
Berkeley Square, London
Dear Emily,
I’ve been feeling vaguely useless, stranded here in London, unable to offer Ivy much in the way of comfort or relief, horribly jealous that you and Cécile are once again charged with the interesting tasks.
For once, I have an interesting tidbit for you: I’ve learned that the gun used to kill Lord Fortescue has been misplaced. It somehow never made it from Yorkshire to London. Suspicious? Of course it is! Disappearing murder weapons are always significant.
How was your intrepid friend able to persuade Scotland Yard to divulge this information? Mr. Michaels (who’s down from Oxford on the unlikely errand of Christmas shopping at this late date) is closely acquainted with a member of the police force who slipped and mentioned it when they were having a lunch that included several bottles of very expensive wine. Must be kept quiet, of course—it’s not something they’ve told the general public—but I thought you should know.
The weather is dreadful here, and Robert must be suffering more than ever in Newgate. Ivy is unwell—I think you know why—and though I know she’ll be all right, I’m worried, Emily. She’s gaunt. I know you are doing all you can, but I must implore you to hurry. Nothing is good here.
I am yrs., etc.,
Margaret
Chapter 15
I may have reacted in the most casual sort of manner to Jeremy’s kiss, but in fact it had unsettled me. My mind was so cluttered with troubling emotions I could hardly form a coherent thought. The kiss itself did little more than give me pause; it had come in a heated, raw moment, and I felt no guilt about it. Jeremy was a consummate flirt. But had this kiss meant something to him?
I had several hours before we were due to meet Herr Schröder and was desperate to talk to Colin. I hesitated to walk alone after my encounter with Mr. Harrison, so took a fiacre. Cécile offered to go with me, but I wanted to be alone with Colin, and neither of us saw danger in the trip so long as I took a carriage. As I neared the house that contained my fiancé’s apartment, I saw the countess leaving the building. She chatted familiarly with the Hausmeister while he held the door for her. I supposed they were old friends. Not in the mood for confrontation, I ordered the driver to stop where we were, and I ducked out of the open carriage and across the street into a Durchhäuser, one of the many passageways that ran through the courtyards behind houses in the city. The air was still bitter cold, but I welcomed the burning as I drew it into my lungs. It felt like painful purification. I peeked out and did not see Kristiana. Perhaps she had hired the fiacre I’d abandoned and gone home.
Wanting to be certain she had left, I counted to two hundred in Greek, then paused. Another hundred, and I was too cold to delay any longer.
Colin’s rooms were on the fifth floor, but I bounded up the stairs, barely noticing the effort it took. He opened the door himself when I knocked, and I fell into his arms the moment I saw him.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting me down in a singularly uncomfortable chair. I tried sitting forward, then sitting back, then teetering on the edge, but nothing made it better. “Awful, isn’t it? All the furniture’s that way. Apologies.”
“It’s fine.” I stared at him before continuing, relishing every line on his face, wishing I could lose myself forever in the warmth of his eyes. This was not the first time I’d been inclined to throw myself on him and beg for assistance. Not that I wanted to stop my investigation or for him to take it over. But in difficult moments, the lure of a strong shoulder and an offer of protection are potent temptations.
“Emily?” He was standing in front of me, arms crossed. “What is it?”
“I love you because you challenge me, because you see my potential and want me to reach it.” My head had begun to throb. Or had it been throbbing all along, and I hadn’t noticed?
“You don’t have to be strong all the time.” He tugged at one of my curls. “I can, occasionally, be of some use, you know.”
“I know that.” I picked up his hand and kissed his palm. I would take his comfort, but I would never ask him to take care of me.
“You haven’t told me what happened today.”
“I had a rather serious encounter with Mr. Harrison.” I described in detail everything that had transpired. The first thing Colin did was feel the back of my head, searching for and finding the large lump that had developed on it.
“Have you seen a doctor? Let me call someone.”
“I did already. It’s fine. No need to worry.”
“Do you feel ill?” he asked, his hand now resting on my shoulder.
“No, though I do have a rather spectacular headache.”
“My dear girl.” He kissed my forehead.
“I’m worried about Schröder’s threat against you,” I said, looking into his dark eyes.
“It’s nothing. He can’t harm me, and he knows it. He’s only trying to scare you.” He sat in a chair across from me, pulling it close so that he could hold my hand. His grip was tight, his expression serious. “I’m much more concerned about what Harrison’s done to you. I can’t ha
ve you hurt.”
“I’ll have to be more careful about going places alone.”
“You’ll have to stop doing it entirely,” he said. “It’s an unnecessary risk. Can you count on Bainbridge to accompany you when you need him?”
“Yes, of course.” I spoke rather too quickly, immediately feeling nervous and wanting to redirect the conversation. “I’m still worried about you. I think you’re a bit too cavalier about your own safety. Why couldn’t Schröder hurt you?”
“Because, my dear, I am at least four times as clever as he, and I’ve dealt with adversaries more sinister than he can ever hope to be. I can take care of myself.”
“But—”
“In my line of work this sort of thing falls in the realm of the ordinary. You needn’t worry.” I did not reply. He was unnervingly calm, not flustered in the least to have his life threatened. I couldn’t imagine anyone could be so immune to such a thing, regardless of his line of work. “I’m sorry, Emily, I can see you’re troubled. I can’t expect that this won’t be hard for you, but I don’t want to have to shelter you from these things.”
“I’d never want that,” I said, knowing it to be true, but wishing that it weren’t so difficult. “My head hurts, that’s all.”
“I’m so sorry.” He placed a gentle hand on my cheek, leaned forward, and kissed me. “You’re going to try to see Schröder tonight?”
“Yes. I’ve no illusions about him giving me information about his plot. I only want to determine whether it’s possible he has ties to Britain.”
“I’ve a meeting at the Hofburg, or I’d come with you. You’re taking Bainbridge?”
“Yes.” Jeremy again. I bit my lip, debating whether to tell Colin about the kiss. Honesty is, in theory, always the right choice. But what good could come of full disclosure in this situation? I remained silent, wondering if I was setting a bad precedent.
“Good. He’ll keep you safe.” The easy manner with which he said this cut, filling me with guilt. Lying, even by omission, didn’t come easily to me. “I wish I could do it myself.”
“So do I,” I said, again feeling the urge to change the subject. “The Countess von Lange tells me she’s a friend of Herr Schröder’s. Do you know what their connection is?” I asked.
“I didn’t know they had one.”
“Are you certain that you can trust her, Colin? I say that not as your fiancée but as your colleague.”
“Together we’ve faced difficult foes, and she’s never once let me down.”
“But is the situation different now?” I asked, unable to meet his eyes.
“Because I’ve left her? You think she’s a woman scorned?”
“No, I don’t think she’d allow herself to be scorned.” I had to tread carefully here, or I would look like a jealous society girl. “But she knows Schröder. Why doesn’t she find out for us what we need to know? She wouldn’t even give me the names of his compatriots. I don’t expect her to befriend me, but—”
“Did it occur to you that she might be acting like this to give you room to solve things for yourself? How would you feel if she were to swoop in and save Robert?”
“It wouldn’t trouble me in the least so long as he was out of Newgate.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Emily. Maybe she’s helping you more than you know. Her husband brought you the list of names, correct?” I nodded. “Do you really believe that he got it without her knowledge? She’s far too careful to allow such a thing.”
“I’ll defer to your judgment this time. Don’t, however, expect me to make a habit of it.” I wanted to ask him if he’d seen her the previous night, why she’d come to him this afternoon. I wanted to further question his faith in her. But if I were to keep my small secret from him, I could hardly expect him to divulge everything to me. I trusted him enough to allow him secrets of his own.
That said, if the countess had dropped suddenly off the face of the earth, I would have felt very little regret. A person’s maturity can only be expected to go so far.
That evening we took a fiacre to the Ofenloch, leaving the classic elegance of the Ringstrasse behind us and descending into the grimy neighborhoods where Herr Schröder’s associates lived. If they were dingy during the day, they were darkly terrifying at night, when the figures that stepped out of shadows would be unidentifiable until they were too close to escape from, even by running. Jeremy sat across from Cécile and me, keeping quiet and looking sullen the whole way.
“I have never seen you so dull,” Cécile said, leaning forward and poking him with her walking stick. “Have you grown tired of protecting hapless females when you could be courting a mistress?”
How I wished she’d said anything but that.
“I find doing anything on behalf of hapless females tedious—not that it stops me, mind you. But though Emily could be described as many things, hapless is not one of them.”
I smiled at him, but he did not look at me. Instead, he was staring intently at his gloves.
“I cannot have you glum,” Cécile said. “It is intolerable. I spent the entire afternoon with Friedrich and Anna and cannot stand even one instant more of romantic angst.”
“Angst?” I asked. “I thought they were blissfully happy?”
“Oh they are, chérie. Until they remember that their time together is limited. Then it’s all weeping and sighing and—” She stopped and shrugged.
“I can assure you, Madame du Lac, that there is no angst of any form in this carriage tonight,” Jeremy said.
Cécile reached over and took his hand. “I’m so glad, mon ami. I was afraid you had decided to never flirt with me again.” She winked at him, and he laughed.
“Far from it,” he said, kissing her hand. “You’re irresistible.”
“And old enough to be your mother,” she said. “I begin to care less and less that you are not so handsome as Monsieur Hargreaves.”
“Coming from you, madame, that is a compliment of the highest order.” The carriage slowed as we reached our destination. Jeremy paid the driver and helped us down from our seats. The street was filthy, and a man stumbling in an intoxicated blur nearly knocked into me as we made our way to the door of the Ofenloch. Jeremy steered me to safety with a firm arm, a thin smile on his face. I wanted to make a teasing remark about him rescuing me, but no longer felt I could do such a thing. My head hurt all the more at the realization of this.
The inside of the tavern was not at all what I had expected, particularly given its surroundings. An enormous fireplace filled the room with a cozy warmth, and boisterous laughter came from the patrons who occupied nearly every table. There was a bright energy about the place, a sort of sincerity in the atmosphere that I hadn’t often felt.
“There’s Rina,” Jeremy said, walking towards her without pausing to make sure we were following. When he reached her, he bowed as carefully as he would have at a party at Buckingham Palace. He kissed her hand, and she blushed, her expression turning hard the moment Cécile and I reached them.
“I brought your muff,” she said, grabbing it from a chair and thrusting it at me. She was wearing what must have been her best dress, a carefully constructed copy of last year’s latest fashion. The material, a soft wool, claret-colored, was worn but well cared for.
“I meant for you to keep it,” I said, hoping this would not embarrass her. She looked at me through narrow eyes.
“I s’pose you’ve got so many you won’t miss one?”
“Not at all.” I had no desire to flaunt my wealth. “But it looks lovely with your hair and ought to be yours.”
“Then I guess I might as well keep it.” She tried to glare at me, but I could see in the dim light that her eyes were shining, just a bit. “Who’s your friend?”
“I am Cécile du Lac.” She shook the girl’s hand and sat down at the table. “What shall we eat? I’m famished.”
This seemed to take Rina by surprise, as she jumped and looked at Jeremy, who sat across from Cécile, next
to the chair where the muff had been. “Schnitzel, I imagine.”
“It’s the best in Austria,” Rina said, taking the chair next to Jeremy. “I didn’t think you would want to eat.”
“It is rather late,” Jeremy said, meeting her eyes. “But I assumed that you were sending us somewhere worth the wait.”
Cécile looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“Is Herr Schröder here yet?” I asked.
“Ja.” The voice came from behind me, and I suddenly wished I were seated with my back to the wall. He stepped forward. “Come sit over here with me, Kallista.”
Jeremy gave me a questioning look and Rina glared at Herr Schröder, who took not the slightest notice of her. I flashed an uneasy smile to Jeremy before sitting at a table near enough that he could keep an eye on me.
“I feel lucky to have tracked you down,” I said in German.
“I’m not pleased Rina told you where to find me. I didn’t think we had anything else to discuss,” he answered in English.
“You’re wrong.” I did not switch to my native tongue. A waitress deposited tall glasses of beer in front of us. “I know about your plans, and so does the British government.”
He laughed and replied in German. “I do like you, Kallista. You’re full of spirit. Misguided, but entertaining nonetheless.”
“So you’re not hoping to assassinate the kaiser in spectacular fashion and blame England for it?” He did not reply. I’d spent no short time planning what to say to him, how to trick him into confessing something, and bluffing seemed my best—if not only—option. I’d decided it was reasonable to surmise that if anarchists were planning something during the kaiser’s visit, a dramatic murder would be at the top of their agenda. “I need you to help me find out who warned Fortescue. In exchange, I will provide you with England’s plans to thwart your attack.”
“You have no way of learning such a thing.”
“Do not underestimate women, Herr Schröder. You’d be shocked how loose a man’s grip on his secrets becomes when he’s with his mistress.”
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