A Fatal Waltz lem-3

by Tasha Alexander

  He laughed louder and slapped the table with his palm. “I’m to believe that you’re stealing state secrets from a lover?”

  “Yes.” I looked at him with a level stare.

  “A lover or your fiancé?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might.” He drained his glass with astonishing speed and motioned for the waitress to bring another.

  “I’m aware of much more than you give me credit for. You undoubtedly know about Mr. Harrison’s escapades at Beaumont Towers? That he stole papers from Lord Fortescue’s room? I believe they had to do with your plans?”

  He flinched, and I knew my deduction was correct. How I wished I’d been able to see the papers! I was beginning to enjoy this.

  “Did you know that Fortescue accused me of taking them?” I asked, swigging my own beer and trying to ignore its bitter taste. “You would do better to ally yourself with me than Harrison. Harrison sought my assistance in England, then double-crossed me. What makes you think he won’t do the same to you?”

  “I’m beginning to think this isn’t all fantasy on your part. Harrison—”

  “Harrison attacked me this morning. He wouldn’t do that if I didn’t threaten him.”

  “He’s not concerned about you, it’s Hargreaves who worries him.”

  “I have access to everything my fiancé knows.”

  “And I’m to believe you’d double-cross him?”

  “The Countess von Lange is his mistress. He’d sworn to me that he’d broken it off with her.” I paused, bit my lip, and lowered my eyes, hoping that I looked wounded. “I learned this morning that he has not.”

  “Kristiana?” The familiar way her name tripped off his tongue and the flash of anger in his eyes were telling.

  “I’ve been told you know her well, but it seems your acquaintance is…closer than I realized. I do hope you’ve been careful. She’d be all too willing to share your secrets with Mr. Hargreaves.”

  “That is none of your concern.” He drained his second beer.

  I shrugged. “Everything she does is my concern so long as he’s betraying me with her.” My nerves were beginning to lose the steel I’d tried so hard to inject into them. Acknowledging in a semi-public fashion that Colin had been unfaithful to me stung, even if it was not true, and I realized that this was partially due to my suspicion that Kristiana was doing everything in her not inconsequential power to tempt him.

  My cheeks grew hot, and I feared that my companion would catch my lie. Instead, he misinterpreted what he saw.

  “You’re angry, aren’t you? Can you prove to me that you have access to Hargreaves’s information?”

  “Of course I can,” I said, filled with uncertainty, hoping upon hope that Colin would help me with this.

  He pulled a piece of paper and a pencil out of his jacket pocket and scrawled something on it before handing it to me. “We must do this privately. I can be found at this address every afternoon between two and five. Bring me something as soon as you can that will prove you’re telling the truth.”

  This time he spoke to me in German.

  23 December 1891

  Darnley House, Kent

  My dear daughter,

  I have heard the most outrageous thing from Lady Elliott. She claims that you visited Robert Brandon at Newgate. I tell you this not to send you scurrying to ease my mind on the subject, but to offer you a bit of amusement.

  Your father and I are going to Balmoral after Christmas and I am beside myself that you will not be able to join us. Perhaps, though, Mme du Lac has arranged for you to spend time with the Hapsburgs. I am delighted to learn that you have been presented to the empress! She is an eccentric woman, but much to be admired. If she takes a liking to you, I wonder if she might be persuaded to come to your wedding. Imagine if you had her in addition to the queen! Your father once met the tsarevitch, Nicholas, of Russia. I wonder, if we set our minds to it, if we could have a guest list superior to that of Princess Louise when she married that abominable German prince last summer.

  Oh, my dear Emily, you know how pleased I am at your engagement, but when I think of the tsarevitch, who is not yet married, I must say that you should have tried harder for a royal match. Such a thing is always difficult for a commoner, but a girl of your wealth and beauty could have tempted a prince. Not, mind you, that I mean any disrespect to your dear, departed husband.

  Do write soon and tell me all about the parties in Vienna. Lady Paget says the atmosphere is hideous there, and that the balls are poorly organized. Hardly surprising. But I am glad you are enjoying the pleasure of such high company. It was wise of you to leave England with this scandal of the Brandons brewing. I fear for poor Ivy. No one will marry the widow of a murderer.

  Prince Eddy’s marriage to May is set for the twenty-seventh of February. I have already told the queen you will be there.

  I am your loving mother,

  C. Bromley

  Chapter 16

  Mr. Harrison’s presence everywhere I turned had become more and more unsettling. Cécile and I were in our sitting room at the Imperial—a lovely space, furnished in Louis XVI antiques—ostensibly chaperoning Friedrich and Anna, who were leaning extremely close together on a sofa. I’d planned to work on my Greek, but was too distracted to think. When I went to my bedroom to collect my books, I found a bullet resting on top of them. When I returned to the sitting room, I gave it to Cécile, who was suitably horrified.

  “What are we going to do about this, chérie?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Obviously the hotel’s increased security measures aren’t enough.”

  “This is dreadful, Kallista,” she said, the bullet still in her hand.

  “Beyond imagining. But we cannot be daunted. Terrified, yes, but daunted, no.”

  “Robert Brandon is lucky to count you among his friends,” Cécile said.

  “There’s no fear I would not face to save him.” Strong words that were not matched by a calm demeanor. I sat on my hands to keep them from shaking.

  Cécile straightened her shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to ask Sissi to send someone from the palace. We need a better guard.”

  “Merci,” I said.

  “And in the meantime, I will not allow this despicable man to torment us. I will distract you. You do realize that Christmas is in two days?”

  “I’m not feeling particularly inclined to celebrate,” I said, wondering when Mr. Harrison would tire of leaving bullets and decide instead to shoot them.

  “We will have a small party here.” Cécile was holding Caesar on her lap while Brutus stared up at her with longing eyes. I took pity on the dog and picked him up, regretting it at once as he began to gnaw on my lace cuffs.

  “Must we?” I returned the dog to the floor and gave him a biscuit.

  “I’ve invited Klimt. Monsieur Hargreaves, of course, and Jeremy. Friedrich has nowhere else to go, and it might be amusing if you could convince Monsieur Schröder to join us. I was thinking of telling Jeremy to ask Rina.”

  “Rina?”

  “Oui. I think he’s fond of her. Do you object?”

  “Of course not. I’m just surprised. Are you sure?”

  “They were quite friendly when you were meeting with Schröder at the restaurant. And yesterday I overhead him having an earnest discussion about houses in a neighborhood not far from here.”

  “You think he’s going to take a house in Vienna? Why would he do that?” I asked.

  “Not for himself. For her.”

  “Surely not!”

  “I confronted him about it. He’s concerned for her safety. You’ve seen the neighborhood in which she lives, Kallista.”

  “Yes, it’s dreadful,” I said. “He’s right to try to take her out of it. I just don’t—”

  “You’re shocked at the thought that he might make her his mistress.”

  “No! I—” I paused. “Yes, I am. And I’m ashamed of myself.”

  “Is it because
of her class?”

  “No, it’s just…such a blatant thing to do. And it ruins her while it saves her. There must be a better way.”

  “It is preferable to leaving her in a slum, don’t you think?”

  “Of course.” And it was, but it did not sit well with me for a host of reasons I did not entirely comprehend. “I suppose he won’t see her often. It’s not as if he often travels to the Continent—”

  “Are you jealous?” Cécile asked.

  “Not in the least!” I said. “I just…I’ve never before known someone who’s done such a thing.”

  “You undoubtedly know many gentlemen who’ve set up households for women. But until now, you were blissfully unaware of it.”

  “I’m not sure that makes me feel better, Cécile.”

  Cécile looked over at Friedrich and Anna. “What can we do to convince her parents that they should be married?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ve given the subject sadly little thought. It’s not that I don’t wish to help them—”

  “You do not have the luxury of focusing on such pleasantly challenging endeavors at the moment. I spoke to Klimt about the university murals. It will be two years at least before anyone will be given the commission. And the fact is, it’s unlikely that it will be awarded to anyone but Klimt and his brother.”

  “Poor Friedrich. There must be something that we can do.”

  “Leave our young lovers to me. I will see them engaged before we leave Vienna.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” I said.

  My fiancé was waiting for me when I arrived at the Griensteidl. Jeremy had come with me, but did not go inside, only checked to make sure Colin was there. I nodded to Viktor to indicate that I wanted my usual and dropped into a chair, beginning to feel my nerves calm the moment I breathed in the rich smell of coffee. I might not like to drink it, but its scent provided instant comfort, undoubtedly because the Griensteidl had started to feel like home.

  “This paper,” he said, waving a copy of the Neue Freie Presse in front of me. “It’s outrageous the way they report on every detail of suicides in the city, almost as if they’re sport. One more spectacular than the next.”

  “I wonder if it encourages people?” I asked, pulling off my gloves and removing my hat, glad to be discussing something other than Mr. Harrison and Herr Schröder, even if only for a moment.

  “There’s a strange culture of death in Vienna. You should see the parades of people leaving flowers in the cemeteries on All Saints’ Day. The Neue Freie Presse runs lengthy critiques of what’s left at famous graves. Did Beethoven get better flowers than Schubert?”

  “Friedrich told me about that,” I said, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “Morbid.”

  “Of course many of the suicides end up in the Friedhof der Namenlosen, the Cemetery of the Nameless. A bleak, unhappy place.”

  “But full of flowers and devout prayer on All Souls’ Day,” I said. “Lady Paget says that even the children here throw themselves in the Danube if they can’t do their schoolwork. She’s exaggerating, I’m sure, but it’s all so very different from England.”

  “Where none of it would ever be spoken of.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “Though I’m not sure if that’s entirely a bad thing.”

  “How was your meeting with Schröder?”

  “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.”

  “How so?” Colin asked, and I described for him exactly what had happened. “You have quite a flair for this, my dear. You’ve no fear at all, do you?” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  “It was rather thrilling,” I said, feeling a creeping flush of excitement along with a sigh of relief. I’d been afraid that he’d be angry at being put in what could be considered an awkward situation. “I hope you don’t object to my giving your mistress back to you.”

  “I couldn’t care less what Schröder thinks of me so long as it does not trouble you.”

  “I’ll tolerate you living a debauched double life so long as it’s fictional. But I’m afraid I may have overstepped my bounds, offering to give him information.” The curl had fallen back in my face. Again I pushed it behind my ear, but it would not stay.

  “No doubt you have, but I admire your boldness.” He stared at me with an inspiring intensity.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I opened my reticule to pull out a hairpin, refusing to admit defeat to a defiant curl. Instead of finding the pin, however, my hands rested on the cool surface of another of Mr. Harrison’s bullets. I placed it on the table in front of Colin. “Mr. Harrison’s been leaving these for me to remind me that he can reach me anywhere.”

  Colin grabbed both of my hands and squeezed them hard, his eyes full of concern. “How many times has this happened?”

  “I don’t even know. I seem to find them everywhere I go, including my hotel room,” I said. His face was calm. “I admit it scares me.”

  “It should. I’m not suggesting it should dissuade you from continuing your work, but you must proceed with extreme caution.”

  “I’m being careful. We’ve already spoken to the hotel manager about further increasing security, and Cécile’s going to have Sissi send a guard from the palace.”

  “An excellent idea. But…” He stopped and met my eyes. “It is so very tempting to order you to stop. To send you back to London. To—”

  “To behave like the typical overprotective English husband.”

  “The role does have some merits.” He squeezed my hand.

  “Not for us,” I said.

  “No, though it would make this much easier.”

  “Easy does not equal worthwhile.”

  “So what are you going to do about Mr. Harrison and his bullets?” he asked.

  “Be more vigilant,” I said. “I will take every reasonable precaution.”

  “Don’t limit yourself to reasonable ones.”

  I smiled. “Jeremy will keep me safe.”

  “I’m inclined to believe that Harrison won’t harm you. It wouldn’t forward his plans. But I can’t be certain. Are you sure you want to continue?”

  “There can be no answer to that question but yes,” I said. “You must trust me to be careful.”

  “I will, Emily. But be forewarned. If the situation deteriorates, I will put a stop to this.”

  “You can’t,” I said.

  “I can.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Well, I’d lose all respect for you if you did, so I suppose I’ll have to make sure it never happens.” My flip tone did nothing to lighten the mood. “Will you help me with Herr Schröder? Can you give me something for him?”

  “I can draw up some correct, official, and utterly useless documents. That should secure his trust. The key is to produce something that he can verify with just the right amount of difficulty. How did you manage to take over my work for me? At this point I think you’ve a better chance of uncovering his plans than I do.”

  “Perhaps, but you may be better able to stop them than I.”

  “Why does this make you more irresistible than ever to me?” he asked.

  “More irresistible than ever, am I? Have I mentioned that my mother’s hoping to have half the royal families of Europe at our wedding? Wouldn’t you prefer to elope?”

  “Can you convince the queen?” He smiled.

  “I’d rather work on you,” I said. “I know I’ve no chance with her.”

  “I’m known for my strength of will.”

  “Only because I’ve never really tried to tempt you.”

  “How is it that you’ve managed to construct a game in which my default position requires denying everything that I want?”

  “You’re too loyal to your queen, my dear,” I said.

  “It’s not that. I’ve already tried her patience once, when I refused the O.B.E. She handled it well enough, blaming my eccentricity on my family. She knows I come from a long line of gentlemen who turned their backs on r
oyal attention. But I would hate to test her again.”

  “You turned down being made a knight?”

  “I’ve no desire to be ranked above anyone else. We have not earned our positions, Emily. We hold them because of luck.”

  “I do, certainly, but not you. The queen wanted to knight you because of the work you do for the Crown.”

  “Work I would never have been able to undertake had I not been born to a privileged life. It’s my duty to serve my country, but the manner in which I fulfill that obligation makes me no better than the lowest sailor in the Royal Navy. We are both doing what we can for Britain.”

  There is something about watching a gentleman who is not only passionate about what he does, but very good at it, too. Every nerve in my body was tingling as I listened to Colin speak.

  “You’re flushed,” he said. “Are you unwell?”

  “Quite the contrary,” I said. “You’re lucky we’re in a public place.”

  “Or unlucky.” He traced the rim of his coffee cup with a finger. “Though I don’t believe you’d speak with such restraint were we alone.”

  “You underestimate me.”

  He shifted in his seat. “That’s quite enough temptation, my dear.”

  “All right.” I flashed him a smile. “I’ll change the subject entirely. When can you get me something for Herr Schröder?”

  “I’ll send a set of papers to you at the Imperial. Let me know what your anarchist friend says after he sees them.”

  The next morning Cécile, Jeremy, and I breakfasted at Klimt’s studio. Cécile had ordered the staff at the Imperial to pack up and send over a stunning assortment of pastries, fruit, and even hot dishes. The only flaw was that the hotel’s coffee had not traveled well; it was entirely too cold. Undaunted, my friend prepared some herself on Klimt’s small stove.

  “She’s all energy,” Jeremy said, watching Cécile bustle about. I began to think that his manner towards me had thawed.

  “You’re quite right.” I passed him a nut-filled pastry. “Do you want anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”