A Fatal Waltz

by Tasha Alexander

  “What time is it?” I asked. “Have the gentlemen already left to shoot?”

  “They were getting ready to leave when I came upstairs. It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

  “Help me get dressed, quickly.”

  Less than half an hour later I was rushing towards the library, where I hoped Mr. Harrison and Colin would still be waiting for me. The sight that greeted me when I opened the door took me aback, and I slowed my pace as I entered the room.

  “Good morning, Lady Ashton,” Lord Fortescue said. “Did you sleep well? A guilty conscience often makes peaceful rest difficult.”

  “I’ve no doubt you speak from experience,” I said.

  “I’ve had quite enough of your insolence. What were you doing in my room last night?”

  “I wasn’t in your room last night.”

  “It would be best if you didn’t lie.”

  “I’ve no need to lie. Your room is the last place I would ever go.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “You are not good at this, Lady Ashton. How did this make its way to the floor by my bed?” He held up a bracelet: a simple gold bangle that I’d worn the day before.

  “I don’t know. It must have fallen off my wrist.”

  “While you were in my room.”

  “No—” The door opened, and Colin and Mr. Harrison entered the room.

  “What did you find?” Lord Fortescue asked.

  “All of them,” Mr. Harrison said, holding up a neat stack of papers. “They were in her room underneath a copy of the collected works of Aristophanes.”

  “This is outrageous,” I said. “I—”

  Colin raised a hand to stop me, his eyes on Lord Fortescue. “This is nothing but the barest sort of circumstantial evidence. Anyone could have put that bracelet on your floor, and anyone could have put the papers in her room.”

  “Perhaps, but I think the police would believe my version of the story. And I’m certain I could come up with at least one witness who saw her leaving my chamber. I wonder what Sir Julian would make of all this? I’m certain he’d want to run something about it in his paper.”

  “You’ve no more interest in involving the police or the newspapers than I do,” Colin said.

  “Quite right, as always, Hargreaves. Do you think Her Majesty would be interested in hearing my story? Would it cause her to lose faith in her favorite agent?”

  “It’s more likely to shake her faith in her favorite political advisor. The papers were in your possession. You should have seen to it that they were in a secure location.”

  “The queen would not approve of your marrying a woman suspected of theft.”

  “It does not become a man of your position to attack a lady. Save your venom for some other adversary,” Colin said. Through all this, Mr. Harrison had remained silent, leaning against a bookshelf, inspecting his fingernails. His jacket hung open, and I saw that he was carrying a pistol under it.

  “Ah.” Lord Fortescue laughed. “So you don’t view her as an equal, just as a mere lady? Can’t imagine she’ll be happy to hear that.”

  “She’s my equal, but your superior. You degrade yourself by trying to insult her.”

  “A devastating observation. Think on it, though, Hargreaves. Can you afford a wife whose integrity is so easily compromised?”

  “I’ve done nothing to compromise my integrity,” I said, my voice strong. “Other than having the poor judgment to converse with you after dinner.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re using the rope I’ve so generously left for you. You’ve let us all witness the danger of women trying to think for themselves. I’ve nothing further to say on this subject for now. But remember, Lady Ashton, that regardless of the opinion of your fiancé, I could use this incident against you. Do not try to cross me again. And when I need something from you, don’t forget that this will become public should you refuse me.” With that, he stalked out of the room, Mr. Harrison following close behind, a cold smile on his face.

  I turned to Colin at once. “I’m so sorry,” I said, and told him the details of my arrangement with Mr. Harrison.

  “A clumsier plan than I would expect from Fortescue.” He frowned and took my hand. “You must be more careful, though. What made you trust Harrison?”

  “His story seemed reasonable; what he was asking of me, nominal.”

  “But what made you think he was trustworthy? It’s simple to tell a reasonable story that is full of lies. Consider a man’s character before you decide to believe him.”

  “Forgive me?” I asked, feeling like a child who’d been scolded for interfering with adults. It was unlikely that Kristiana had ever found herself in a comparable situation. She was Colin’s colleague, his professional equal. I was the lowest sort of amateur. Was he drawing the comparison, too?

  “Of course I forgive you. But you must promise that in the future you will be completely candid with me before you embark on anything like this.”

  “I promise.” I hated that he had to ask this of me. “What was in the papers Mr. Harrison took?”

  “He was correct when he told you they were politically sensitive. But that’s all I can say. Don’t worry any more about Fortescue. There’s enough political trouble brewing that he’ll soon have no time to worry about you. I fear there’s more at stake than any of us realizes.”

  “Was there truth in what Mr. Harrison said to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you could tell me more,” I said.

  “So do I. Because I suspect you wouldn’t be daunted in the face of danger. There’s something surprisingly appealing about you wanting to play spy.” He took me firmly by the arms and kissed me, harder than usual. “You’ve always had a deleterious effect on my self-control, and I’m afraid this only makes it worse.”

  “I’ve never been particularly fond of your self-control,” I said, returning his kisses and pulling him closer.

  “How soon can we be married?” he asked.

  “I’m free this afternoon, if you don’t have other plans.”

  “If only,” he said, kissing me deeper still. It was a very good thing we were not depending on my own self-control. At that moment, I knew I had none left.

  6 December 1891

  Berkeley Square, London

  Madam:

  I am forwarding via express the enclosed letter, as a missive I received from Madame du Lac’s maid alerted me of her mistress’s situation.

  —Davis

  30 November 1891

  Rue Saint Germain, Paris

  Ma chère Kallista,

  You know how much I have anticipated seeing you this Christmas. Aside from the pleasure I always take in your company, I had looked forward to at last seeing your country estate. Not, mind you, that I believe Ivy’s claims that Ashton Hall could rival Versailles—size alone makes that impossible—but I think this will be your last year in possession of the house, and I would like to see it and your late husband’s antiquities.

  But I am afraid that I have to cancel our plans. I have received a most distressing telegram from my childhood friend, Sissi. Oui, that Sissi—Elisabeth, the empress of Austria. She is suffering from a deep depression and asks that I come visit her. She never recovered from the loss of her son to suicide—Do you know the story of the scandal at Mayerling? It happened soon after your own husband died, so you may not have heard the details.

  The Crown Prince Rudolf and his mistress, a young woman named Mary Vestera, were found dead at the prince’s hunting lodge, both shot. Supposedly they had planned to die together—he killed her and then himself. I’ve never quite believed it. It was all hushed up at once, but of course that serves only to make rumors spread more quickly.

  It seemed a straightforward case, but there are many people who believe the couple were murdered. Sissi is one of them. Unfortunately, she’s no more likely to be told the truth about that night than you or I. One would think that she would be in a position of power, but some scandals are so great that the
y must be hidden from everyone.

  I think if they weren’t so very set on keeping the truth hidden, I would be more inclined to believe the official story.

  I cannot ignore my friend’s pleas to visit her—but still very much want to see you, too. Consider coming with me. The city is stunning at Christmas, incomparable for New Year’s, and after that, the Fasching carnival will be at its peak. For a connoisseur of the waltz, there is no better place.

  I realize it would be impossible for you to get away until after Christmas, but will hope to see you soon after the New Year, once your other guests have returned to their own homes.

  Odette continues her unbearable moping and is cheered only momentarily when letters arrive from Davis. I had no idea your butler was such a romantic. I believe he is sending her poetry. What a pity I can’t convince you to move to Paris. I fear that one of us is bound to lose a treasured servant before long.

  I am your most devoted friend,

  Cécile du Lac

  Chapter 4

  I was terribly disappointed to read Cécile’s letter. I understood, of course, why she could not come to me at Christmas, but I would miss her keenly. The idea of meeting her later in Vienna was appealing and something that merited serious consideration, but it would be difficult to get away until late January—my parents planned to stay at Ashton Hall most of the month. After that, however, I would be more than ready for a flurry of waltzes.

  Lord Fortescue would not have liked it in the least, but at the risk of courting more of his displeasure, I planned to spend the remainder of the day cataloging the art that filled Beaumont Towers. If I was careful to limit this activity to times when the gentlemen were out shooting, it was unlikely in the extreme that he would notice what I was doing. Unfortunately, I found very little of interest. A wooden box caught my notice—smooth mahogany inlaid with a circle of mother-of-pearl in the center—and I opened it, hoping to find treasure inside. Instead, I saw one slender dueling pistol with silver mountings that bore the symbol of the Baron of Beaumont: a griffin in profile.

  The inside of the case was fitted to hold two guns, cradled in crushed velvet, but the second space held no weapon. Fabric tabs protruded from both edges of the lining, and when I pulled on them, the interior fitting lifted out of the box. Underneath, against bare wood, were the charred remains of a burnt piece of paper that crumbled when I tried to examine them. Frustrated, I closed the box and moved upstairs to unoccupied bedrooms. As I walked into a small anteroom on the second floor, I saw a woman sitting, one hand over her eyes, her shoulders shaking.

  “Lady Fortescue?” I crossed to the windows and pulled open the heavy drapes to let some light into the room, which was a charming space: cozy, warm, comfortable. Quite unlike the rest of the house. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I—oh, Lady Ashton, forgive me.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m rather overwhelmed at the thought of tonight’s dinner. I prefer a quiet life to political entertaining.” The prime minister as well as several cabinet ministers were due to arrive after lunch, when the day’s meetings would begin.

  “There’s no cause for worry. Lord Salisbury is perfectly amiable. But surely you’ve met him before?”

  “No, Lord Fortescue knows I am happier when I can stay at home and only rarely asks me to socialize with him. We’ve a very comfortable arrangement. But one can’t very well bow out of a party one is hosting.”

  “You’re fortunate to have such an understanding spouse,” I said, resolved not to make a cynical comment about marriages and arrangements.

  “I’m loath to refuse him anything. He’s returned me to my family’s estate after many miserable years.”

  “I can’t imagine the difficulties you’ve been through,” I said. She looked away, then wiped her eyes again. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t bring up unpleasant subjects.”

  “Some things, Lady Ashton, are simply too painful to revisit, no matter how much time has passed. It is most distressing when one is forced to. Will you excuse me? I’ll need to change my dress before we walk out to join the gentlemen for lunch.” She gave me what might be construed as a semismile, then left the room.

  When I saw her that afternoon she was perfectly composed, standing quietly by herself, hands neatly folded in front of her. She had not walked with the other ladies and was waiting near a large pavilion that would shield us from the slightest hint of inclement weather. Ivy and I arrived with the count and his wife, who somehow managed to look elegant in the ankle-length tweed skirt and sturdy shoes that were de rigueur for trekking from the house to the field. The morning’s bag had been lined up for us to admire before we ate, and we all did our best to muster appropriate enthusiasm over the bounty.

  “How many of them are yours?” I asked Colin.

  “I didn’t count,” he said, giving me his arm and steering me away from the group.

  “It’s rather obscene, don’t you think? There must be fifteen hundred birds here.”

  “At least. But I spent a weekend in Buckinghamshire, where we shot nearly four thousand. Even Bertie speculated that perhaps we’d overdone it.”

  “Obscene, particularly as the Prince of Wales is not known for his moderation. If he thought—” I stopped at the sound of raised voices coming from the edge of the field.

  “That’s quite enough, Brandon.” Lord Fortescue’s face was a brighter-than-usual shade of red as he walked towards the rest of the group.

  “Sir, I’m—” Robert’s reply was interrupted at once.

  “What you are is not trustworthy.” His voice strained as it grew louder. “You had no business speaking to Gladstone.”

  “I only thought—”

  “I don’t remember giving you permission to think. Get out of my sight.” He threw down the rifle he was holding and stalked towards the pavilion, turning back once to look at Robert. “Go!” Robert hesitated for a moment, nodded at his wife, and set off in the direction of the house. Ivy started to follow him, but a quick shake of his head told her to stop, which she did, wavering as she stood. Colin moved to her side at once and steadied her.

  “What happened?” I asked, joining them as the rest of the party looked on in shocked silence.

  “They’ve been arguing all morning. Your husband and Lord Fortescue don’t share the same views on the Irish situation. Evidently Mr. Gladstone learned that and approached Brandon looking for support for a Home Rule bill. Fortescue, as you might imagine, does not approve of his allies speaking to the opposition.”

  “What a dreadful scene,” Ivy said, her face blanched, hands trembling. “Everyone’s staring.”

  “Fortescue shouldn’t have reprimanded him in public,” Colin said.

  “He shouldn’t have reprimanded him at all. I don’t see that Robert’s done anything wrong,” I said. The count approached us, smiling.

  “My dear Mrs. Brandon, Lord Fortescue’s temper is notorious. Think nothing of this little incident. Come, join me for lunch. This will all blow over in no time.”

  Ivy took his arm and gave a brave smile. “You’re right, of course,” she said. They walked ahead of Colin and me.

  “Is he right? Will this blow over?” I asked.

  “Fortescue’s not the sort to forgive what he views as a lapse in loyalty. Robert’s career will face a serious obstacle if he loses his mentor’s support.”

  A luncheon following such an event could not be pleasant, despite the fact that the spread before us was lovely. The pavilion itself was rustic, formed from unhewn logs, but the tables inside were decorated with every bit of finery: bright flowers cascaded from tall silver vases, and the flatware that surrounded each set of porcelain plates was polished to a nearly blinding shine. But all the beauty in the world could not cut through the tension engulfing us. Which was fitting, considering that I planned to take the opportunity to confront Mr. Harrison.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked, sitting in a chair next to his.

  “Do what?” His smile took a
way none of the coldness from his eyes.

  “I suppose you’re just another of Lord Fortescue’s lackeys,” I said. “I should have known better than to believe that you would be here if you weren’t in his good graces. You were invited to help him in his quest to destroy me.”

  He laughed. “Destroy you? How pre-Copernican! The universe does not, in fact, revolve around you, Lady Ashton. It revolves around the sun. You give yourself too much importance. Fortescue’s merely trying to free Hargreaves for his daughter—a crime no worse than those plotted daily by mothers in drawing rooms across England.”

  “Why did you steal my bracelet and leave it in Lord Fortescue’s room?”

  “I couldn’t risk letting him know that I’m the one who wanted the papers.”

  “But you don’t have the papers. You gave them back to him.”

  “I copied all the essential information from them. Our plan worked flawlessly.”

  “For you, perhaps,” I said. “I’m somewhat less pleased. Don’t try to involve me in another of your schemes.”

  “My dear Lady Ashton, if I need your assistance, I’ll have no trouble persuading you to help me.”

  “You could not be more wrong, Mr. Harrison.”

  The remainder of the luncheon break did not improve. Our host snapped at everyone, guests and servants alike, and eventually we were all left sitting in uncomfortable silence. The food itself was spectacular—no beer and sandwiches here. A man of Lord Fortescue’s girth required regular and substantial meals, and we were treated to service that rivaled that inside the house. I did not, however, feel entirely right eating pheasant stuffed with truffles after seeing how many of the birds’ brethren had rained out of the sky that morning. And there was more shooting to come. Once we had finished eating, the ladies dutifully watched the gentlemen return to their sport, Ivy standing with me at Colin’s side.