A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles
Page 23
“I haven't had any,” she said glumly. It was the truth, too, unfortunately.
“Well, that will change once you meet Major Kepler. He is very skilled and will satisfy your every desire, and you his. Now you will forget what we talked of, and only remember how marvellously relaxing and beneficial the mesmerizing treatment proved,” he ordered.
She was not sure if she should answer, but weakly murmured “yes” again.
“Surprising that a beautiful young widow should have no lovers,” the assistant commented sceptically. “There is something about this one … I could have sworn that she was not this blameless.”
“Probably one of those women who detest sex,” the doctor said. “Never mind about that, Rosa. We have implanted the command, let's get on with it.”
Milla felt the copper bath moving on its well-oiled wheels, the water inside sloshing against her breasts with the brisk movement. It had been almost uncomfortably hot at first, doubtlessly to make the victims drowsier, but was cooling rapidly.
A minute later she was unceremoniously left in a small basement lit by a single candle, and the assistant moved away. Milla had expected to see at least one other copper tub parked next to hers, but the chamber was empty. Perhaps a belated gesture at propriety, since she was the only lady undergoing the ‘Mental Water Treatment’ this afternoon. You had to hand it to Doktor Rabenstein: it was ingenious to make his marks pay through the nose for the first step of a thoroughly expensive fleecing.
She waited for a few seconds before pushing up the hinged top, with considerable difficulty due to her prone and water-logged position. The average lady invalid could not have managed, but Milla had never been a weakling. She lowered the top to the side, carefully avoiding any clatter, and climbed out, dripping. The stone floor was cold under her naked feet. She unwrapped the towels from her pillow and quickly dried her feet and legs, so she would not leave watery traces.
A pile of folded linen towels was visible on a table in a corner. Milla wrapped two of them about her curves, a skimpy barrier, before she quietly sneaked outside. If she met anyone in this costume, she could pretend to be sleepwalking, but she hoped it would not come to that. Which way had the wheeled bath turned? The faint sound of voices helped her orient herself, and within the minute she was hovering just outside the door of the larger room.
“You will give Major Kepler money for the business he will put before you,” she heard Rabenstein command. “Whatever he needs, no matter how much. You will refrain from questioning him, and believe everything he tells you.”
This Major was going to be a busy man, Milla reflected as she silently rubbed the towels over her damp shoulders. Wooing her, extracting money from this other fellow – which one was he?
“Do you understand? Repeat my instructions.”
General Massinger had sounded a great deal more peremptory when awake, but Milla identified the voice with ease. As in her own case, the doctor proceeded to probe for guilty secrets. There seemed to be no lack of those.
“So you allowed that other Captain to be executed for cowardice in your son's stead?” the Doctor asked with interest. “Give me the whole name, the exact details.” Through the half-closed door, Milla observed the assistant taking notes. Though she would remember the gist, the elderly general’s tale of military betrayal did not much interest Milla. The war against Bonaparte had ended six years earlier, and though her brother North had fought at Waterloo, it had not touched her directly. For the Cornish fishermen among whom she had spent her girlhood the war had offered lucrative smuggling opportunities, and Milla had not scrupled to take part on several occasions.
“The water is cooling,” the assistant warned when the doctor seemed inclined to probe further into the General's sordid past.
Milla darted round the opposite corner of the corridor as the officer was wheeled away and the next patient brought in his stead.
“Your Highness,” the Doctor said unctuously, in fluent French. This thin, unassuming young man held such high rank? Milla would not have suspected it. Earlier, he had been addressed as Monsieur Lambert. From the conversation she gathered that the man was a close connection of the reigning Bourbons. He too was directed to hand Major Kepler whatever monies he asked for, “for a good cause.” The cause of lining the Major's and the doctor's pockets, undoubtedly.
The prince's guilty secret proved to be a morganatic, illegal marriage to his Swiss mistress. It weighed heavily on his conscience, as a more suitable match to a Spanish princess was being negotiated by the family, and he dared not inform his father of his previous commitment, while the Swiss wife was expecting their second child. From the subdued glee in the doctor's voice, this was a juicy and profitable piece of scandal. As soon as he ordered the Prince to forget all about the conversation, Milla hurried back to the room where she had left her bath and slipped into to the distinctly cool water. Unfortunately she could not re-close the heavy lid from her prone position.
Within two minutes the assistant returned and frowned at her. “My lady, how on earth did you manage to open the lid? When did you wake up?”
“Just now.” Milla affected a confused voice. “I felt terribly frightened, as though I was in a coffin, and was is so dark… I had to open it, but it was heavy.”
“You should have waited for me,” the young woman scolded. “And there was no need for panic, since your head was outside the entire time. Do you remember the treatment?”
“It was marvellously relaxing,” Milla quoted the doctor verbatim, “but I don't seem to remember any details. I must have dozed off. Does that mean I'll have to repeat it?”
“You can, of course, if you want; but the beneficial effect does not depend on your remaining awake. You will find that a wonderful change in your life will happen very soon, my lady. Now let me bring you back to the ladies' massage room for the next part of this afternoon's treatment. Are you fond of rose oil, or do you prefer lavender? What of orange blossom?”
Milla replied with a meekness that would have struck those few who knew her well as highly suspicious. Now that she had ascertained the exact nature of Doktor Rabenstein's game, she could hardly wait to make the acquaintance of this Major Kepler. Very likely the military title was mere invention, and perhaps the Doctor's degree too; though one would expect a reputable spa to check on their practitioners' qualifications. On the other hand, Rabenstein’s gravitas and deep voice gave him an air of immediate plausibility. There were so many small German states that it should not be hard to fake a diploma from some out-of-town university.
No matter. Between Veronique, Louis and herself, the Major and his medical co-conspirators would soon find themselves rolled up, exposed, and confounded. Seeking out swindlers and baulking them of their prey was the most amusing pastime Milla had yet discovered during her travels on the Continent, an excellent use of her rapidly expanding languages. This trio of crooks would learn that they had targeted the wrong victim when they included Lady Fenton in their schemes.
As she relaxed on a raised, cushioned table and let a middle-aged attendant rub rose-scented lotion into her skin, Milla wondered if she would use such methods herself, should she ever lose her fortune. Before she had engaged Veronique Dallien as her companion, and discovered that the Frenchwoman was the daughter of a notorious swindler and a living compendium of confidence tricks, she had had no notion of the depth of human gullibility. According to Veronique, clever people tended to overestimate the cleverness of others, even as honest people overestimated the trustworthiness of strangers, until they learned better.
Fortunately Milla had already secured herself a large fortune by dint of marriage and inheritance. During her travels she had identified a number of profitable investments, and was growing her fortune by perfectly legal and only moderately risky means. Even when she remarried, she would never give up control of her wealth.
Remarriage required a groom, of course … the one element still missing from her plans. Not this Major Kepler, though she
was curious to see how he would approach her, what kind of man dared to toy with her like this.
Perhaps she would deal with him the way she had dealt with that Italian mountebank, Rodolfo. Her late husband had also rued the day on which he tried to take advantage of Milla, and so had a kidnapper back in London. Why did men persist in thinking her helpless and theirs for the taking?
She would not succumb to any of them. When she yielded her body and hand, it would be by her own free choice. The man she wanted was in England, and so far she had not seen anyone who pleased her better. In the autumn she would return to London and see if he was still interested.
“Please turn over, my lady.”
She rolled onto her stomach. The rose oil’s scent was almost overpowering. If Barnaby Winthrop were here in Bavaria, at her side, would this sweet perfume on her smooth skin seduce him out of his annoying scruples? If not, she had other means of persuasion at her disposal.
Soon she would put them to the touch…
This novel will be published in October 2015. There might be editorial changes to the final version.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
The End
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Copyright © 2015 May Burnett. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, events or institutions would be unintentional and mere coincidence.