A Fatal Waltz lem-3

by Tasha Alexander

  “Pourquoi?”

  “Because I’ve directed Davis to give her a tour of London.”

  “Must you encourage them, Kallista? Nothing good can ever come of it.”

  “Not for us, maybe, but certainly for them.”

  I had no intention of showing up unannounced at the Carlton Club. Instead, I’d sent a note to Mr. Macinnis and had the boy who delivered it wait for a reply. He agreed to meet me at the British Museum at eleven o’clock. No sooner had I stepped inside the magnificent building on Great Russell Street than a sense of calm melted through me. The familiar galleries welcomed me, and as always, I felt a mythic enchantment at finding myself surrounded by so much history.

  Mr. Macinnis was waiting for me in front of the Judgment of Paris vase my husband had donated to the museum shortly before his death. I’d suggested this location because the Rosetta Stone seemed too obvious.

  “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to see me,” I said, giving him my hand as he approached me.

  He bowed and kissed my hand. “Your note took me by surprise. Sanburne’s name is not one I’d hoped to hear again.”

  “I can well imagine, and I apologize for dredging it up. I must start by saying that I know all about the scandal in which he was involved. Please don’t feel any need to protect me from unsavory information. I’m here because what happened all those years ago may pertain to the murder of Lord Fortescue.”

  “You’re absolutely on the wrong track, Lady Ashton. Fortescue was the most upstanding man in the empire. Capital fellow. I feel like I owe him my life. Or at least my daughter’s.”

  “How so?”

  “It was Fortescue who alerted me to Sanburne’s deviant nature. Had he not, I can’t imagine the life my Helen would have led.”

  I cringed at this harsh assessment of Albert Sanburne. “Lord Fortescue told you?”

  “Yes. Sanburne had fled to Vienna, and I went after him, wanting to confront him in person. Helen was deeply in love with him. Ending the engagement broke her heart. Frankly, I wanted to kill him.”

  “It must have been awful. What did he say?”

  “Very little, actually. It was a pathetic scene. He cried and begged my forgiveness. Killed himself the next day. Only honorable thing the man did in his life.”

  And just then, my heart broke more than a little for Albert Sanburne. I found myself unable to speak for a moment. “Does anyone else know this?”

  “We kept it as quiet as possible. Helen had suffered enough, and I didn’t want the fingers of scandal to touch her. Furthermore, I saw no reason to put Sanburne’s family through more grief. I knew that his sister, Mary, would have a difficult time finding somewhere to live after his death. I circulated the story that he’d died of influenza, although I imagine it didn’t make things all that much easier for the girl. Still, better than if people knew there’d been a suicide in the family.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  “I appreciate your telling me all this,” I said.

  “I nearly refused to talk to you,” he said. “But I’ve never felt good about how things turned out with Sanburne. Despite the fact that—well, the less said about it the better.”

  I thanked Mr. Macinnis and made my way back through the fog to Berkeley Square, as the beginnings of a most unwelcome thought started to weave their way through my brain. And though I would have liked more than anything to ignore them, I knew I could not.

  Margaret met me at my front door. “Any word from Colin?” I asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. Nothing,” she said. “But your mother! Heavens!”

  “Oh, dear.” I removed my hat and handed it, along with my coat, to a waiting footman. “What has she done?”

  “She’s got Ivy upstairs and refuses to allow her out of bed, let alone to come downstairs. And she’s bent on marrying me off to one of Lady Elliott’s sons.”

  “Not Henry?”

  “Yes, Henry.”

  “No, he’s all wrong for you.”

  “How long is she going to be here? I’ve always considered your house a safe haven, Emily. This is intolerable.”

  “You don’t need to explain, Margaret. I lived with her for years.”

  “What happened with Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Emily! Are you back?” My mother was calling down the stairs. “Come up here at once.”

  I heaved a sigh and started up the steps, Margaret following behind. “I want to hear about Hamilton,” she whispered.

  “It will have to wait.”

  My mother led us to the yellow bedroom, where Ivy was perched in bed, her feet propped up on a towering stack of pillows.

  “You’ve not yet finished your broth, child.” My mother picked up a bowl from the bedside table and thrust it at Ivy. “You must apply yourself to it if you want a strong boy.”

  Ivy did as she was told, her eyes wide. Mother turned to me. “I’ve told your cook she needs at least six bowls of beef broth every day and a strong glass of red wine. She must not be exposed to anything unpleasant during her confinement—”

  “Her confinement?” I interrupted. “Mother, you can’t possibly expect that she’s going to stay in bed for the next…I don’t even know how many months.”

  “Six.” Ivy’s voice was barely audible.

  “Finish your broth.” My mother turned to me and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve removed all the inappropriate materials from this room.”

  “Inappropriate materials?” I asked.

  “That pile of papers, of course. What were you thinking, giving her Oscar Wilde to read? I fear for your common sense, Emily.”

  “You mean the script of Lady Windermere’s Fan? Where is it? What did you do with it?”

  “I threw it directly in the fire. Appalling man, Wilde. Not an ounce of restraint in him.”

  “The fire?” I leaned back against the wall and rubbed my forehead. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Stand up straight, Emily. Have you no concern for your posture? Of course I put it in the fire. What else would you have me do with such a vile thing? I opened it up. ‘I can resist everything but temptation’? What sort of a person says such a thing?”

  “I found it rather amusing,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s wholly inappropriate for a lady in Ivy’s condition, and you, my dear, aren’t even married.”

  “But I was married,” I walked to the fireplace and knocked the logs with a poker, but every trace of the script was gone.

  “And Miss Seward! What if she were to get her hands on such a thing?”

  “Oh, Lady Bromley, I would never give it so much as a passing glance,” Margaret said, a broad smile on her face.

  “Now there”—my mother nodded at Margaret—“is a girl with good sense.”

  “Where is Cécile?” I asked.

  “She’s bathing,” my mother said, doing her best not to frown. “The French do have different habits than we English. But Madame du Lac is from an excellent family. Did you know, Miss Seward, that I believe they may have connections to royalty?”

  “Fascinating,” Margaret said. “I always thought I saw something regal in Cécile’s manner.”

  “I am looking so forward to getting to know you better while I am here, Miss Seward. I’m beginning to think my initial impression of you was entirely wrong.”

  “Will you excuse me, Lady Bromley? I’m going to the library to try to find something inspiring for Ivy to read.” Margaret winked at me as she backed out of the door.

  “Go with her, Emily,” my mother said. “Ivy needs to rest. You may come up in a few hours and say a quick hello, but you must not bother her.”

  I threw a sympathetic glance Ivy’s way as I left the room. Margaret was waiting for me in the hall, sitting on the floor, laughing silently.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’ve decided to befriend your mother.”

  “You’re awful,” I said, pulling her to her feet and heading back downstairs. “Be car
eful, or she’ll have you engaged by the end of the month.”

  “There’s no danger of that happening. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

  “Is Cécile really bathing?”

  “She is. Meg was assisting her. Odette and Davis left together hours ago. Everyone belowstairs is buzzing about it.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because after I watched them leave, I went downstairs myself to see what everyone was saying. You’ve a charming group of servants.”

  “Would you expect anything else?”

  “No. They’re awfully protective of you. And terrified to learn who will go with you to Park Lane and who will be left behind once you’re married.”

  “I’ve not even begun to think about that.”

  “Hearts will be broken. Depend upon it.”

  Just as we reached the bottom of the steps, someone knocked loudly on the front door.

  “I’ll play Davis,” Margaret said to the footman who’d stepped forward to answer it. He bowed and returned to his post while she swung open the heavy door to reveal a distinguished-looking gentleman. “Mr. Michaels!” Margaret grinned. “What a surprise to see you. Come in. You remember Lady Ashton?”

  “Of course.” He nodded at me, started to reach for my hand, then stopped and turned to Margaret. “I was concerned when you did not reply to my last note.”

  “So you came back to London?”

  “I thought you might have taken offense to my most recent comments on Ars Amatoria.”

  “No, far from it. I thought they were quite brilliant,” Margaret said. “Shall we go to the library?” My mother came down the stairs just as we started for the hallway, and I hung back to wait for her.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  “Mr. Michaels. He’s a don at Oxford.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “I understand he’s from a very wealthy family,” I whispered. “Have you heard the stories about Henry Elliott?”

  “No. Do tell.”

  “I will as soon as I return. I’ve an appointment I must keep.” I felt a wicked smile on my face. “Could you chaperone them for me?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Margaret turned back and winked at me. She had no idea what was in store for her.

  I made my way to Paddington Station and caught the first train to Windsor, where I found Mrs. Reynold-Plympton in her animal-filled drawing room sewing a black mourning band onto a handkerchief. She hardly looked up when her butler announced me.

  “How did you find Mr. Hamilton? Was he of any use to you?”

  “In a way,” I said.

  “Do you want tea?”

  “No, thank you. I want to ask you a question that’s undoubtedly inappropriate.”

  She tossed aside the handkerchief. “My favorite kind. What is it?”

  “Why did Lord Fortescue propose to Mary Sanburne?”

  “It does seem an unlikely match, doesn’t it?” she asked. “She brought him no money, and she’s certainly no beauty.”

  “And it does not appear there was much affection between them.”

  “There was enough to make the arrangement palatable to both of them.”

  “But he adored you,” I said.

  “In his way, yes.” Her smile was thin.

  “Why did he choose her?”

  “It was odd, really. Quite unlike his usual decisions. Basil told me in no uncertain terms that he’d always felt bad about what had happened to her family, especially after the queen gave him her father’s title and estate.”

  “So he married her in an attempt to make up for all that?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “Did she know that?”

  “I believe he told her when he proposed.”

  I rested my hand on my chin and bit my lip. “I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to watch the man you love marry someone else.”

  “Marriages are just a form of doing business,” she said. “It never troubled me.”

  “I can’t believe that. You love him.”

  “Loved him. He’s gone now, and I can’t even mourn him openly.” She closed her eyes, one hand clutching at her knee, the other clenched in a fist brought to her mouth.

  “He shouldn’t have married her,” I said. “He should have waited until…until he could have had you.”

  “Yes, well, Basil was never the sort of man to bow to anyone else’s wishes. We got along well precisely because I could accept that.”

  “But it’s so sad.”

  “Yet much better than nothing.” She folded her hands in her lap and straightened her back. “It was the right thing to do, marrying her. How could I fault him for it? It was the only thing I’ve ever known him to do that was completely selfless.”

  Chapter 25

  Two more days passed without a word from Colin. Without knowing even the name of the town where he had gone, there was no way I could reach him, or even send an inquiry to the authorities. The kaiser would arrive in Vienna tomorrow and attend the court choirboys’ performance the following day. I should have told him everything I’d learned from the empress, not just skeletal facts. Withholding the information hadn’t accomplished anything positive, only put innocent people at risk. But surely he’d figured it out.

  If he were still alive.

  A sentence that I couldn’t bear to say aloud. Not to Margaret, or Ivy, or Cécile, or even to myself. I tried to focus on Robert in Newgate, hoping that would push thoughts of Colin from my mind. This was futile, of course, but also unnecessary. I should have realized that my mother’s presence would serve as its own monumental distraction.

  “I’m not sure what to think of this don of Miss Seward’s,” she said, accosting me in my bedroom as I was dressing for dinner. “He’s well-mannered and decent enough looking. A bit old for her, perhaps, but she’s the sort of girl who could stand a firm guiding force in her life.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked in the mirror, watching Meg expertly win another struggle to force my hair into submission. “They are very well suited to one another, but I’m not sure that Margaret has any intention of getting married.”

  “You talk such nonsense, Emily. The girl needs to be married. Mr. Michaels has a decent income. Not spectacular—I certainly wouldn’t want you to settle for such a thing—but she is American, after all, and she does have a fortune of her own. It’s a pity she and the Duke of Bainbridge were never able to work out their differences, but really, she may be better off where she is.”

  “Can it be, Mother, that you’re contemplating the arrangement of a love match?”

  “Love’s all well and good, so long as it doesn’t distract from what’s really important. You never did tell me why you object to Henry Elliott for her.”

  “Well…” I watched her in the mirror. “It’s not so much that I’ve an objection to Henry. But I’ve heard that there is a certain young woman with an impeccable background and egregious fortune who’s set her cap for him.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal a confidence.” Particularly when it was entirely fictional.

  “Does Henry know this?”

  “If he doesn’t, he will soon.”

  “How interesting. I shall tell Lady Elliott to keep her ear to the ground. Perhaps I should speak with Mr. Michaels this evening.”

  Already I felt sorry for Mr. Michaels. He did not stand a chance.

  I missed Ivy that night. Cowed by my mother, she was keeping to her bed, but I was beginning to think she was enjoying herself. I’d slipped her my copy of Lost and Saved, Caroline Norton’s sensational novel of Beatrice Brooke, who is tricked into believing that her lover has married her after she falls ill while they’re on an illicit trip to Egypt. Melodrama at its best.

  I paid only the slightest attention to my friends that evening. After dinner, when we’d retired to the library, I sat at my desk and started to write a letter to Colin, balling up the pape
r before I’d finished three sentences and beginning again.

  “That’s your fifth fresh start,” Margaret said half an hour later, carrying the decanter with her and refilling my port. “What are you writing?”

  “Apparently nothing,” I said.

  “I wish someone would spend half that time crafting a letter for me,” Jeremy said.

  “You’d have to be less of a cad to earn such treatment,” I said.

  “You needn’t be so cruel.” He sipped his port.

  “Emily’s horribly cruel,” Margaret said and then lowered her voice. “But I’m having more fun than I would’ve thought possible playing with her mother. She’s unexpectedly amusing.”

  “You say that now,” I said. “I wonder if you’ll still believe it next week when she’s started planning your wedding.”

  “It will never happen. Besides, I’d have to get married in New York. I’m safe.”

  “No one is safe from Lady Bromley,” Jeremy said. “I’ve known that since before I could walk.”

  Margaret circled the room, filling everyone’s glasses and only briefly joining Cécile and Mr. Michaels in an animated conversation before stopping in front of my mother. “Now, Lady Bromley, you must humor me and try some port.”

  “I categorically refuse,” my mother said. “It’s unseemly.”

  “Do you really think so?” Margaret asked, her face a mask of mock sincerity.

  “There’s no question.” She dropped her voice to her favorite and overly loud stage whisper. “What would Mr. Michaels say?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. He thinks it’s an excellent vintage.” She pressed a glass into my mother’s hand. For a moment it appeared as if she would drink it, and I prepared myself to be overwhelmed with awe for Margaret. But alas, it was too much to hope. My mother deposited the glass on a table and asked for sherry. I was about to ring for Davis when he entered the room.

  “This was just delivered,” he said, handing me a wire. I tore it open at once, hoping it was from Colin. It was not.