Meg opened the door a sliver. “Madame du Lac and the duke are already breakfasting, milady. That painter was here, too, but he’s already left.” She wrinkled her nose, disapproving of Klimt’s presence so early in the morning. I, on the other hand, welcomed the distraction and considered shoving the bullet into my night-stand drawer. I willed away my feeling of unease and wondered when Klimt had appeared at the Imperial—he hadn’t been at the ball or the café afterwards, and I thought it unlikely that he’d come for breakfast. Unfortunately, I’d have to wait until I had Cécile alone to find out any details.
“Are you ready to get dressed, ma’am?” Meg asked.
I was in no mood to rush, and took my time selecting a gown of the softest midnight blue wool. Its bodice crossed in a deep v in front, blue paisleys embroidered along the edges. Underneath was a matching high collar, trimmed with dainty Venetian lace identical to that peeking out from the bottoms of the sleeves. The color brought out the blue of my eyes, and my cheeks were flushed with the memory of dancing with Colin the night before. I was succeeding, at least for the moment, in distracting my mind from Mr. Harrison’s bullet.
I went out to the sitting room, where Cécile was pouring coffee for Jeremy.
“Em, it’s not right for you to be so alluring this early in the morning,” Jeremy said, adding no fewer than four lumps of sugar to his coffee.
“Apologies,” I said, taking a cup of tea. I put the bullet on the table and told my friends where I’d found it.
“Mon dieu,” Cécile said. “This is unacceptable.”
“We shall have to ask the hotel to provide us better security,” I said. “I cannot have this man in our rooms.”
“Let me speak to the manager for you,” Jeremy said.
“I’d appreciate that. If he could perhaps station someone at the top of the steps, watching the hallway, I’d feel much better.”
“I can’t imagine there will be any difficulties in arranging that.”
I picked up an apricot pastry. “You look exhausted.”
“Dancing until four and rising at eight is taking its toll on me,” Jeremy said.
“Perhaps you’re getting too old to stay out so late,” I said. I felt something tugging on my skirt. “Brutus! Stop!” I picked up the dog and handed him to Cécile, who glared at him and fed Caesar a biscuit.
“That’s unfair, Emily. I’m in the prime of life and intend on staying there.” He took a long drink of coffee, frowned, and started adding more sugar. “I’ve already decided to never admit to being older than thirty-two. That is, once I reach thirty-two.”
“Darling, you forget that I know exactly how old you are,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I must to keep you honest.”
“You do know, I hope, that no man under the age of forty can even approach fascinating,” Cécile said.
“I’ve no interest in being fascinating, Madame, merely young,” Jeremy said.
“Such a mistake.” Cécile shook her head. “You’ll learn eventually.”
“I wouldn’t want to set you up for disappointment. I rarely learn anything.” Satisfied that his coffee was at last sweet enough, he drained the cup and filled it again at once.
“So am I to believe that Klimt is not yet fascinating?” I asked.
“He will be in time. For now, he’s merely amusing.”
“And brilliant,” I said.
“Yes, brilliant, too,” Cécile said.
“So a chap can be brilliant without being fascinating?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes,” Cécile and I answered in chorus, then started to laugh.
“You ladies are brutal,” Jeremy said, spooning up more sugar, then dropping it back into the bowl. He scowled and pushed his coffee away from him. “Where are we off to this morning, Em?”
“The count asked to meet me here,” I said. “But I didn’t want him to come to our rooms. So we’re to see him at the Griensteidl.”
“I take it he won’t be expecting me?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” I said.
“Capital.”
“How is the empress, Cécile?” I asked.
“Melancholy, depressed. I worry for her. She’s beginning to remind me of Hamlet, which is toujours disappointing in a friend.”
“Will you have time to see her this morning?” I asked.
“Not before my guests arrive.” At the ball the previous evening, we’d had Lady Paget introduce us to Frau Eckoldt and her daughter. Cécile, who had heard all about Friedrich’s plight, had convinced Anna’s mother that she was in dire need of someone to help her with conversational German. This was nonsense, of course. Cécile’s command of the language was flawless; she’d even mastered Wienerisch, the Viennese dialect. Furthermore, everyone at the Hapsburg court spoke French. But Frau Eckoldt was easily deceived, and I had no doubt that Cécile would face little if any difficulty in persuading her that Anna was the perfect person to coach her on idioms.
I glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We’d better hurry, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll go find us a carriage,” Jeremy said, abandoning his coffee.
“We’re walking,” I said. Meg helped me with my coat and I slipped my hands into a fur muff as Jeremy moaned.
“Walking? In the snow?”
“It’ll be fun.” I had purchased new boots several days earlier and was confident that my feet, protected by thick leather, fur lining, and sturdy soles, would remain warm and dry for the duration of our stroll. We bade farewell to Cécile and headed outside. Jeremy frowned at me as he lifted the hat from his head and knocked off the snow that was quickly piling on it, but he gave me his arm and we set off along the Kärntner Ring towards the opera, where we turned onto Operngasse and then Augustiner Straße. The fresh snow was soft, piling on top of the frozen sidewalks and cushioning our steps. Jeremy started to slide through it rather than walk as we made our way along the Hofburg.
“Easier than ice skating,” he said. “And it gives me an excuse to hang on your arm in an entirely inappropriate manner.”
“If you grab me much harder, I’m going to fling you into the street.”
“I might enjoy that.” His smile brightened his entire face. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to encourage your young friend Anna in her forbidden romance?” he asked.
“Why would you ask such a thing?”
“The Viennese are worse even than we English when it comes to class. At least we stick together, more or less, as a group. They’re divided into little cliques.”
“I’d no idea you were a scholar of the culture.”
“I met a charming woman who told me all about it a few nights ago. She married a man of higher rank and is ignored by his peers. Apparently marrying up is only acceptable if the spouse of lower position is a foreigner.”
“I do hope you were able to offer her a modicum of comfort.”
“Unfortunately I was not. My affections are otherwise engaged.” Snow was stuck all along his eyelashes.
“Who’s the lucky girl? And who’s her unfortunate husband?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“You are a dear boy,” I said, squeezing his arm and dropping my head against his shoulder. “I do hope she appreciates you.” We did not speak again until we had shrugged off our coats inside the Griensteidl.
“Come,” I said. “My table is in the back.”
“Your own table?”
“At least I’m not receiving my mail here. Friedrich does, as do most of his friends.”
“Very like a nonexclusive London gentlemen’s club,” Jeremy said, pulling out a chair for me.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “But I’d wager that Vienna’s cafés are far superior, if for no reason other than that they are open to ladies.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” Viktor took our orders and returned almost at once with our drinks.
“I mentioned to von Hofmannsthal that you liked his poem. He was quite pleased,” Viktor said.
“I’m glad,” I replied, looking around but not seeing the poet. “One of these days I shall have to meet him.”
“I’ve no doubt that would please him. Do either of you require anything further?”
“No, thank you, Viktor,” I said. He bowed and left us.
“Are you searching for a poet, Em? What would Colin say?”
“He wouldn’t say a thing. I admire Herr von Hofmannsthal’s work and nothing else. And at any rate, I’ve no time for the pursuit of poetry at the moment.”
“Good, because I’ve no interest in discussing it.” Jeremy wrapped his hands around his cup. “I don’t know when I’ve been so happy to have hot coffee. How can you bear walking around in this city when it’s so cold?”
“I rather like it. The air snaps me to attention. It’s invigorating.”
The count arrived as I was saying this. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Jeremy, but forced a smile on his face and greeted me with his usual handküss. “Küss die Hand, gnädige Frau. You have brought a protector with you?”
“She’s in trouble if she’s looking to me for protection,” Jeremy said, crossing his legs and tipping back in his chair.
“I know I’d never need protection from you,” I said, smiling sweetly at the count. “Particularly after you so generously offered to help me.”
“You are an exquisite dancer, Lady Ashton. I was quite overwhelmed last night.”
Jeremy choked on his coffee, then descended into a coughing fit. “Pardon me. It’s extremely…hot.”
I glared at him. “The Viennese waltz is the pinnacle of dance.”
“You must stay for the Fasching,” the count said.
“I’d love to, more than anything. But if I’ve not cleared my friend’s name…”
“She can’t abandon him,” Jeremy said.
“Of course not. That is why I’ve extended to you my assistance. I apologize that my wife declined hers.”
“I understand.”
He leaned close to me and whispered so that Jeremy, who was pretending to read a newspaper, would not hear. “She does not want to let Hargreaves go.” He tugged at his mustache. “Everyone here has a lover, Lady Ashton. It may offend your English sensibilities, but there is no use in pretending otherwise.”
I needed to tread carefully now, and found doing so something of a challenge. I was not accustomed to this level of candor, particularly when it came to another woman’s affection for my fiancée. “I’m not used to it, that’s all.”
“They’ve worked closely together for many years. It is hardly surprising that they were more than friends.”
I wanted to ask him if he knew whether Colin had really proposed to her, and if so, when. Did he know how long the affair had lasted? I bit my lip. What I really longed to know, only Colin himself could tell me: Had he loved her? Why had he stopped? What did he feel for her now? My brief marriage had taught me very little about love. I hadn’t felt even the slightest affection for my husband until after his death, yet I still sometimes felt an uncomfortable tug when I thought about Philip, knowing that I was now engaged to his best friend. In the end, when it was too late, I had grown to love him dearly.
But how much stranger would it be to have loved someone and stopped, not because of death, but because of something else? How would it feel to pass him on the street? To see him with another woman? When I thought about my love for Colin, it was inconceivable to me that one could have such strong emotions for a person only to have them fade away completely. Surely some tenderness lingered. And if it did…I hated to even think about it.
I pushed the thought from my mind. “Were you able to find anything?”
He pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and placed it in my hands. “Schröder’s associates. You did not get this from me. I included a small note, should anyone press you to tell what I handed you.”
“Danke vielmals,” I said. “No doubt we shall see each other again soon.”
He kissed my hand. “I look forward with great intensity to our next meeting.” And with that, he left the café.
“Shall I press you to tell?” Jeremy asked, dropping the newspaper onto the table. “I’d hate for his small note to go to waste. Pitiful excuse, Em. I’m not sure I approve of any of this, and I certainly don’t trust him. He’s the sort who gives us rakes a bad name.”
“I won’t let him cross any inappropriate boundaries.” I ripped opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. The first, as promised, had a list of names and addresses. The second, a quote from Goethe’s famous work The Sorrows of Young Werther:
Never have I moved so lightly. I was no longer a human being. To hold the most adorable creature in one’s arms and fly around with her like the wind, so that everything around us fades away.
Jeremy took the pages from me and read, then rolled his eyes. “Appalling, Em, appalling. The man is a disgrace. But at least he gave you addresses. Just make sure he doesn’t try to extract any additional thanks from you.”
“There’s no need to worry. I danced with him five times last night. That’s thanks enough.”
“There’s always cause to worry when you involve yourself with a man who is so quick to betray his wife.”
“A rich criticism coming from you,” I said. “I think he considers himself the wronged party,” I said. “And as I’m Colin’s fiancée, flirting with me is easy revenge.”
“I suppose I’m only jealous, but still, I don’t approve.”
“When did you develop morals, Jeremy? I’m not sure I like it.”
“Then I shall abandon them at once.” His eyes sparkled. “With your permission, of course.”
Friedrich walked into the café, a swirl of snow following him through the door. I waved him over at once. “Who is your friend?” he asked.
“Friedrich Henkler, meet Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bainbridge, Earl of Northam, Viscount Bridgewater. Am I forgetting any of your titles?”
“Scores of them,” Jeremy said, shaking Friedrich’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure. Coffee?” He flagged down Viktor, who brought Friedrich’s usual beverage and a torte without having to be asked.
“I’m surprised there are so many people here today,” I said. “I thought no one would want to fight the weather.”
“No one wants to heat his apartment,” Friedrich said, devouring his pastry.
“I understand you are soon to be the beneficiary of Lady Ashton’s machinations,” Jeremy said.
“Lady…oh, ja, Kallista.” Jeremy raised an eyebrow as Friedrich nodded at me. “You promised not to set up a commission.”
“This has nothing to do with art.” I explained to him the plan Cécile and I had concocted. “She’s meeting with Anna and her mother right now. If all goes as planned, you should be able to see her at the Imperial in another day or two.”
“I cannot begin to express my gratitude,” Friedrich said.
“Please don’t try,” Jeremy said. “I haven’t the stomach for fawning this morning. Are you an artist?”
Friedrich nodded and passed his sketchbook across the table. Jeremy started to flip through it in his usual casual manner, but stopped after the first few pages.
“These are striking. So alive. I’m not much for art, you know. But this—this I like. Do you paint as well? Where’s your studio?”
“I share one with four other artists. We’re not far from Klimt’s. You know his work?”
“Of course,” Jeremy said. “Is your style similar to his?”
“Not at all. I’m afraid mine is rooted more in realism.”
“I’d like to see your work, Mr. Henkler,” Jeremy said. “I understand you did a magnificent sketch of Lady Ashton.”
“It would be my pleasure to show you.” Friedrich ripped a scrap of paper from his book and scratched an address on it. “If I’m not here, I’m at the studio.”
“Well, I won’t come until this dreadful snow has stopped. Tomorrow, perhaps? In the afternoon? Four o’clock?”
&
nbsp; “Very good. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“We need to go,” I said.
“So soon?” Jeremy asked. “I’ve only just got warm.”
“You need better boots.” I pulled on my coat and hat. “Friedrich, if I don’t see you here tomorrow, I’ll have the duke let you know when you should come to the Imperial.”
“A million thanks, Kallista. Anna and I will be forever indebted to you.”
Jeremy leaned close to me as we walked towards the door. “It’s unexpectedly delightful to see you mingling with the masses.”
“Why would you say such a thing? Do you object?”
“Not particularly. It’s just surprising, that’s all. He seems like a capital chap. Where are we going now?”
“To the first address on the count’s list,” I said. “It’s a short walk from here. I looked at my map while you were discussing your new passion for art with Friedrich.”
“I’m certain I don’t agree with your definition of a short walk. Should I plan to freeze to death before we reach our destination?” We’d come to the front of the café, and he swung open the door, but I paused before exiting, distracted by the sight of someone sitting near the door, his face half hidden by a newspaper: Mr. Harrison.
“Coming?” Jeremy asked. “There’s going to be a snowdrift inside if I don’t close the door.”
I followed him out, and we crossed the street. We’d gone less than a block when I knew that we were being followed.
“This isn’t going to work,” I said. I looked around and saw the elaborate tiles of the Stephansdom’s roof, which was the only object in sight not covered with snow; the pitch was too steep to allow accumulation. I took Jeremy’s hand and pulled him towards the church. “I’ve always wanted to see where Mozart was married.”
Chapter 13
We ducked through a side door, disappointed to find that the massive Riesentor—the Giant’s Door—was closed, and walked down the nave in the direction of the high altar at the opposite end of the cathedral. I sat on an empty pew.
A Fatal Waltz Page 13
