A Fatal Waltz lem-3

by Tasha Alexander

Robert’s parents came to the station with us, clearly displeased that their son was bent on traveling. Ivy clung to her husband’s arm, sorry to lose him again so soon after his return, but there was no trace of anxiety on her face. Her porcelain skin was perfectly smooth. She knew he would come back to her.

  “You must be delighted to be out of bed at last,” I said, hugging her as I was about to board the train.

  “It is a relief, I confess. But your mother was very kind to me in her way.”

  “Be careful, my dear,” I said. “She’s prepared to watch over you for the next six months.”

  “Wire us as soon as you have news,” Ivy said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until we hear from you. I hope—” She stopped.

  “So do I,” I said.

  “I don’t know why you’re all so worried.” Cécile kissed me on both cheeks. “Do you forget that Monsieur Hargreaves is not only devastatingly handsome, but exceedingly clever, too? This Harrison is no match for him. And keep your eye on Jeremy. I expect you to send me news of what is transpiring between him and Rina.”

  We’d barely reached our compartment when a telegram boy burst in, holding an envelope. My heart leapt, certain that it was news of Colin.

  It was not.

  It was for Margaret, from Mr. Michaels. She did not tell me what it said, but it made her blush, and after she read it, she buried herself in some poem of Ovid’s she was translating.

  My stomach lurched as the train started, and it felt as if every nerve in my body was charged with a nervous, biting energy. When I thought about how long it would take for us to get to Vienna, it seemed intolerable, and I wondered how I would survive. Jeremy had drifted off almost before we left the station. I envied him. If only I could sleep.

  Then Robert handed a book to me: Gerard; or, The World, the Flesh, and the Devil by Mary Elizabeth Braddon. “I believe it is her latest,” he said.

  “When did you have time to get it?” I asked.

  “I sent one of your footmen out while Meg was packing your things.”

  “Dare I hope that you’ve begun to see the value of popular fiction?”

  “Not as such. Worthless drivel, all of it, and quite corrupting. But you have convinced me that there are times when that’s precisely what the mind requires, and I think, my friend, that for you this is one of those times.”

  “You enjoyed Lady Audley’s Secret?” I asked.

  “Immensely.” He leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “But I’ll never admit that to anyone but you.”

  “There’s hope for you yet, Robert.”

  He squeezed my hand.

  The crossing to Calais was stormy, but the churning water had little effect on me. I was too lost in my thoughts and worries to take notice of anything short of a biblical gale. When we reached France, it was raining, a cold winter rain that with very little encouragement would turn to sleet. I stepped carefully down the ferry’s gangplank, grateful for Robert’s steady arm, Margaret and Jeremy walking in front of us. We were standing on the dock, prepared to head for the train that would take us to Vienna, when I saw him.

  He was walking with purpose towards the ferry, carrying a satchel, a book tucked under his arm. All of it clattered to the wet ground when he looked up to see me running towards him.

  “Colin!” I threw my arms around him, nearly knocking him over. His embrace engulfed me, and he kissed every inch of my face before pulling back to look at me. “You’re hurt,” I said, gently touching a ragged gash next to his eyebrow.

  “Kristiana is dead.”

  Chapter 28

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I seemed unable to stop repeating the words. We had all gone straight back onto the ferry and were on our way to England, Margaret, Jeremy, and Robert leaving Colin and me alone in my cabin.

  “I am too,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “Was it Harrison?”

  “Yes. She had persuaded Kaufman—one of Schröder’s associates—to talk to her. When she went to meet him, Harrison was there instead.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The most awful part is that I already knew the details of their plans. She needn’t have met him at all. She didn’t know.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, pulling his head onto my shoulder.

  “When I left Vienna before New Year’s, it was to divert the shipment of explosives that was going to Schröder. His plan was to set off a series of bombs while the emperor and the kaiser were attending a performance of the court boys’ choir. I learned the details from the explosive carriers.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “When I realized I could infiltrate the group, I decided not to return to Vienna. The town we were in was remote. I couldn’t wire her.”

  “Colin—”

  “I hadn’t planned to be there so long, but it became clear that if I stayed, I’d have the opportunity not only to uncover the plot, but to sabotage the explosives.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes, not that it mattered in the end. We were able to stop them before they planted the bombs. But I always like to take deeper measures of prevention when I can—a double layer of subterfuge, if you will. If I hadn’t this time, though—”

  “You can’t think that way,” I said.

  “No, I can’t.” His expression was imperturbable, marked by the calm that I’d seen every time he faced difficult circumstances. “She went to my rooms and took the letter and the wires you sent me. Karl found them in her room and gave them to me, afterwards. If she’d only opened the letter, she would have seen that you already knew the plot.”

  “I should have told you everything as soon as I learned it. I—I—was so scared. Scared that if I did, you’d take dramatic measures to stop Harrison, and that Schröder would kill you.”

  “You must learn to trust my instincts when it comes to things like this,” he said. “But I’m glad you left the letter for me detailing Schröder’s plans.”

  “If I’d shared what I knew earlier, Kristiana wouldn’t have died.”

  “You just told me not to think that way. It’s time to take your own advice.” He touched my lips. “You did a marvelous job for Robert.”

  “And you did a marvelous job saving the world.”

  “A bit dramatic,” he said.

  “Maybe.” I kissed him on each cheek. “Or not.”

  “Harrison had arranged it to look as if the British government was involved in the attack. We prevented something that could well have instigated a war. But there’s something tugging at me. There was a small measure of truth in what Harrison believed: if we went to war with Germany today, there’s no question that we’d be victorious.”

  “But there’ll be no war,” I said.

  “Not now, but what if it comes later? What if it is inevitable? He’s right about the kaiser wanting to strengthen his navy.”

  “Which doesn’t mean that he’s bent on fighting with Britain.”

  “Of course not. But if he does, and he builds an army and navy that could threaten ours, it could mean the deaths of tens of thousands of our men. I’ve stopped an attack on innocent victims, but in doing so, have I left the door open for even more death in the future?”

  “No, no,” I said. “The kaiser is the queen’s grandson. He’d never go to war with England.”

  “I’m afraid the era of gentlemen’s diplomacy may be coming to an end, Emily, and I wonder what it will mean for us. For our world.” He gave a weak, closed-lip smile. “But let’s talk no more of that. I’m concerned about you. You’ve faced horrors in these past weeks.”

  I met his gaze but did not speak. He pressed his hands to my face, his skin cool against my cheeks.

  “I don’t know which is worse,” he said. “The terror you feel the first time you witness such things, or the numbness that comes after it starts to become ordinary.”

  “I can’t imagine any of this becoming ordinary.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “I d
idn’t realize I was starting.”

  “You’ve proven your investigative abilities to me repeatedly, Emily. I think I may be able to use you as a partner, not just a wife.”

  “For your work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will the queen approve?” I asked, at once shocked and delighted and full of more than a little pride.

  “I find that I care about her opinion less and less.” He leaned forward and kissed me, his lips soft and light.

  “How much less?” I asked, returning his kiss. “Enough to have the ship’s captain marry us?”

  Laughter stopped his kisses. “Brandon’s right. You do read too many sensational novels. No, not that much.”

  “A great loss for both of us,” I said.

  Our return to England should have been filled with unchecked exultation—and it was for Ivy and Robert, Margaret and Cécile. But Colin and I could not fully give ourselves over to celebration until we’d washed away the memory of death, something that would only come after months had passed. Of all my friends, Cécile understood this best, coming to me at night, when dreams brought me to tears.

  This is not to say, however, that we were consumed with melancholy. London was quiet, nearly everyone still in the country, and we felt as if we had the best parts of the city to ourselves. Lord Salisbury called for Robert, and by the end of the meeting, it was decided that his political fortunes, while not perhaps as stellar as they’d once been, were not irrevocably damaged. I paid another visit to Sir Julian, who was easily persuaded to run a story lauding Robert and presenting him as a victim in a hideous drama. And while victim was not a role to which he aspired, it was preferable to that which he’d played while he was in prison.

  After little more than a week had passed, my mother, swathed in black, returned to Berkeley Square.

  “I come with the most dreadful news,” she said, her voice full of anticipatory pleasure.

  We were all gathered in the library. Robert had been reading poetry to Ivy—Shakespeare’s sonnets, an obvious but sweet choice. Margaret and Mr. Michaels were arguing loudly about a passage from Ovid, while Colin and Cécile played chess. I was reading the book Robert had given me, glad for mindless distraction.

  My mother smiled, her eyes gleaming, pleased to have found an audience. “Dear Prince Eddy, who ought one day to have been our king, has succumbed to pneumonia.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ivy said. “How awful. His poor mother must be devastated.”

  “The Princess of Wales is taking it very poorly,” my mother replied. “But you, Ivy, should not be out of bed. Robert, what can you be thinking to allow her to exert herself this way?”

  “Lady Bromley, let me assure you—” Robert would not be permitted to finish his sentence.

  “Send someone to pack your things immediately. I’m bringing you both back to Kent with me.”

  “You’re too kind,” Ivy said. “But it’s entirely unnecessary. We—”

  “I’ll not hear another word on the subject. There’s no sense in your staying in London, and who are your neighbors in Yorkshire? No, no, no. You’re coming with me. Unless, of course, you’ve already decided to stay with your in-laws. I hadn’t thought to speak to Robert’s mother—”

  Now it was Ivy’s turn to interrupt. “No, no. Thank you, Lady Bromley. I shouldn’t think of refusing your hospitality.”

  My mother gave a smug smile and turned to me; I couldn’t help but flinch. “As for you, child, I don’t know what will happen with your wedding now. Perhaps it would be best if you hold off on plans for the moment.”

  I was about to say that, in fact, it would be best if we were married quickly and with little ceremony, but Colin spoke first.

  “Of course,” he said. “We will proceed however you and Her Majesty feel is appropriate.”

  “I shall consult with the queen at the earliest possible time. It’s too soon now—”

  “Far too soon,” he said. I could hardly believe he was agreeing to this. “But I know that you’ll figure out the proper way to navigate all this, and I thank you, Lady Bromley, for all that you’ve done.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hargreaves, it is my pleasure.” She beamed, then started for the door. “I will go oversee your packing, Ivy. Robert, ring for a footman and have a wire sent to Yorkshire. Your trunks can be sent directly to Kent. Miss Seward, why don’t you come assist me?”

  Margaret stammered something that resembled muffled laughter more than it did a reply, but followed, her eyes flashing apologies to Mr. Michaels. The don excused himself almost as soon as she’d left.

  “Why are you so eager to go along with my mother’s plans now?” I asked Colin, sotto voce, pulling him into a corner.

  “There’s nothing else to be done at the moment, so why cause her alarm?”

  “Alarm?”

  “I think it would be good for us to spend some time alone—together—but away from our friends. I…I need to mourn, Emily. I want you with me. And I don’t want to be here. Not in London, not in England.” The pain in his eyes cut me as I saw all that she’d meant to him. His feelings, even if they were in the past, were still significant, and though this was painful, it also offered hope to me, because I did not want to believe that any love could be so fully abandoned.

  “Of course.” I touched his arm. “Whatever you need.”

  The door opened and Davis came in, holding a letter. “This just arrived express, madam.” He put it in my hand, and I tore at the envelope at once. It was from Sissi:

  Dear Kallista,

  I am most appreciative of your letter. Although I’d hoped for more information, you gave me enough to bring a small measure of peace to my heart. I realize that you were careful to say you had no proof, but the reaction you saw when you confronted him is enough for me. It fits with everything else I know. I hope you do not mind that I shared what you told me with a select associate—a man of action—who, shortly after learning my suspicions, was kind enough to bring me news of the suicide of an acquaintance of yours, Mr. Harrison.

  Another of Vienna’s victims.

  I send greetings from your friend, Friedrich. The emperor was so taken by the sketch he did of me that he asked to meet the boy. I understand his engagement is to be announced any day.

  Do tell Cécile I long to see her again.

  Elisabeth

  I passed it to Colin. “She shouldn’t have done it,” he said, then handed it to Cécile, who shrugged.

  “There are a lot of suicides in Vienna,” she said.

  “I can’t say I feel much of a loss.” I folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope after Ivy and Robert had read it. “Despite Jeremy’s earlier admonition that ‘it is not right to glory in the slain.’”

  “It’s not so much that we’re taking pleasure in the news,” Ivy said. “Simply that we knew his character well enough to feel that justice has been served.”

  We sat in silence for a while, and though we may not have been grieving for Mr. Harrison, we had all faced too much death in the past weeks to recover quickly from news of still more.

  “You’re a grim lot,” Jeremy said, entering the room. “I’m astonished. Given the scene in your entrance hall, I should have thought you’d all be drinking champagne.”

  “Champagne?” I crossed to the door and peered into the hallway. Margaret and Mr. Michaels were caught in a tight embrace, my mother standing not five paces away, a smug smile on her face. As soon as she saw me watching, she poked Mr. Michaels’s back with her parasol.

  “That’s quite enough, sir. Why don’t you tell your friends the news?”

  “News?” I asked, coming out into the hall, the rest of our party following me.

  “Mr. Michaels and I are engaged,” Margaret said.

  “Margaret!” I confess I was shocked.

  “Your mother is implacable, Emily. I could resist no longer.”

  “I knew you were no match for her,” I said, hugging her. Congratulations rained down on the couple, and Davis
, of his own accord, brought both champagne and cigars and did not balk in the slightest when the bride-to-be began puffing on one.

  “Odette is being very good to him, I think,” I said to Cécile.

  “I am most concerned,” she replied. “And ought to return to Paris posthaste.”

  “Speaking of travels…” I pulled Ivy away from the group. “You don’t really want to go to Kent with my mother.”

  “It’s already set in motion, my dear,” she said. “And I’ve neither the energy nor the inclination to fight it. Besides, at the moment, all I care about is having Robert at my side. Not even your mother can take away my joy.”

  Chapter 29

  The weather on Santorini was far from perfect. The sky and the ocean were gray, and rain whipped the white walls and blue shutters of my villa. Colin and I had arrived separately, planning this as a clandestine sort of meeting. We might be engaged, but we could not travel without a chaperone unless we wanted to court gossip, and certainly it could not be known that we were staying together, unsupervised and unmarried. He had come to the island five days before me, but when I reached the house, I could not find him. My cook, Mrs. Katevatis, pointed me outside, saying that, untroubled by the weather, he’d gone for a walk.

  I took the umbrella she offered, but it was barely useful. The wind tugged at it, bending its ribs, and the rain, coming at me horizontally, soaked my coat as I walked along the path that skirted the edge of the island’s cliffs. It was here that twice Colin had stood before me and proposed, here that I now found him, his back to me as he stared out over the caldera. I turned him around and saw his dark eyes, red-rimmed, devoid of warmth, full of sadness. He fell into my arms and cried.

  More than a quarter of an hour passed before he raised his head. “I don’t have to explain this to you, do I?”

  “Not at all.” I knew his pain too well. It was the same I’d felt when at last I’d mourned my husband, two years after his death.

  “It doesn’t have to do with you—you must understand that. What we have, Emily, it’s everything. I did love her, years ago, but that was different. It wasn’t…she didn’t…”