A Fatal Waltz

Chapter 10

After days and days the snow had stopped falling, but the sky was gray, matching the slush as it grew dirty beneath the wheels of fiacres. The paltry light that seeped through lingering clouds was absorbed by the city’s buildings; nothing glimmered. Even the electric lights that filled the new Court Theater looked dull to me. Another week gone, and no evidence to exonerate Robert.

Cécile, Jeremy, and I spent the morning at the third-floor studio on Sandwirtgasse that Klimt shared with his brother, Ernst, and Franz Matsch. The three men made up the Känstlercompanie, and together worked on murals for public buildings, many on the Ringstrasse. Cécile sat for her portrait while Jeremy and I watched in awe the artist at work. He wore a long smock, and his thick beard stood stiff as he mixed paints and scrutinized his subject, occasionally reaching up to scratch the brindled cat that sat on his shoulder. I was somewhat distracted, watching the time, because although Friedrich may have said that anarchists do not frolic, Herr Schröder had sent a note inviting me to ice-skate with him. We planned to go to the turreted Eislaufverein, Vienna’s new skating palace, straight from the studio, but my friends would leave half an hour before I did, so they could watch the meeting without drawing any suspicion. None of us felt comfortable with me meeting this stranger alone, even in such a public place.

“You are an exquisite woman, Kallista,” the artist said once Cécile and Jeremy had left. He, like most of Cécile’s friends, had adopted her use of my late husband’s nickname for me. “I wish you’d let me paint you.”

“I’ve no time for it,” I said. “Someday, perhaps.”

“I have a strong feeling you will never sit for me. I will have to memorize your grace, your eyes.”

“Your work is so very different from anything else I’ve seen. Your brushstrokes are so intricate, yet they reveal the passionate depths of your subjects with such elegance. I wonder if they recognize themselves. Their faces, their bodies, yes. But do they see in themselves what you do?”

“I couldn’t begin to answer your question. I have no talent for speaking, especially about my work. You will find, if you get to know me, that I am remarkably uninteresting.”

“If that were true, Cécile would have no time for you. I think you’re pretending to be modest,” I said, circling the room, feeling myself come alive in the face of the paintings and drawings that covered the walls, tables, every available surface. It was such a comfortable feeling to be surrounded by art. I breathed in the smell of the oil paints, headier than perfume. “It’s quite a talent to be able to see so deeply into others. Have you ever done a portrait of the Countess von Lange?”

“Kristiana? Yes. It’s at her house. You have not seen it?”

“We’re not particular friends.”

“That is a surprise. You’re so similar.” He pulled a stack of drawings out of a portfolio and began paging through them.

“Similar? I don’t agree at all,” I said.

“She’s more cynical and more worldly, yes, but she’s older than you. Give yourself a few years. You both have the same sort of spirit, the same stubbornness.” He handed me a large piece of paper. “This is a study for her portrait.” She was beautiful; that I knew already. But Klimt had captured, even just in pencil, her strength, her elegance, and her heartbreak. There was a profound sadness in her eyes. “And you both love the same man.”

“I—”

“It is time for you to meet your friends,” he said, taking the sketch back from me.

I left at once, glad to be away from the drawing, not liking in the least the thought that I might be like this woman—my rival—at all. And once again, I was wondering how deep Colin’s feelings for her had been. All this left me utterly morose as I made my way to the park. When I arrived, Jeremy and Cécile were on the ice, making their way effortlessly around the rink, arm in arm.

I strapped on my skates. A brass band began to play a delightful march, and for a moment I allowed myself to be caught up in excitement and anticipation. I stepped out, ready to join the parade of gliding skaters, realizing immediately that I did not have even an ounce of their grace. My ankles bent hideously, and I would have fallen flat on my back were it not for the quick reflexes of a nearby gentleman.

“Your friend is an excellent skater,” he said, and as soon as I saw his face, I recognized Herr Schröder from Friedrich’s sketch. But his eyes took me by surprise. They were dark, with flecks of gold that rendered them entirely mesmerizing. “Is she here to protect you from me? Or is that the role of her amiable and useless companion?”

Undaunted, I took his arm, and we began to slowly circle the rink. “I’m not foolish enough to have come here alone.”

“Your German is appalling. Speak English.”

“My German is nothing of the sort,” I answered, refusing to switch to English. “And it’s leagues better than your English.”

“Why have you sought my company?” he asked.

“I’m here on a…diplomatic…mission. A man was murdered in England shortly after receiving a warning that came from Vienna. I want to know who sent it.”

“What makes you think I would know anything about it? Because I am an anarchist, I’m likely to be a murderer?”

“I did not accuse you of murder. But you think freedom can be obtained through violence, so, yes, I think you’re likely to be connected in some way.”

The muscles in his arm tensed. “You know nothing about anarchism.”

“There’s no need to get upset. I sought you out not simply because you are an anarchist, but because your name was mentioned to me by a friend. As it is, I’m not particularly concerned with what you do, so long as you help me identify the person who sent this information to England.” He said nothing. “If he is a member of your, well, I suppose ‘organization’ wouldn’t be a proper word to describe a group of people opposed to order. What would be?”

Now he laughed. “Organization will do. We’ll agree that the irony is deliberate.”

My laughter joined his. “Will you help me?”

“I don’t like being charmed by someone who embodies everything I despise,” he said.

“I’m hardly to blame for anything you despise, particularly where politics are concerned. I’m not allowed to vote, after all.”

“Voting is a useless exercise. No matter who is elected, no one wins but the government.”

“So as a person who does not vote, I should earn your anarchist approval.”

“Faulty logic, Kallista.”

“I did not give you permission to call me that.” As I struggled to keep my balance, Herr Schröder tightened his hold on my arm, steadying me.

“Friedrich told me it’s your name, and I don’t see why I need permission to use it.”

“I won’t argue the point. We both stand to benefit by finding this informer.”

“I don’t see how I benefit.”

“It was not merely a vague warning that was sent to England. It included detailed information about a plot with which you are intimately acquainted.” I was bluffing a bit, but saw no other option. “I’d think you’d want to know if someone in your ‘organization’ is sharing that sort of thing. Particularly if you have any desire to see your plan executed.”

“Why would you have even the slightest knowledge of such things?”

“Because I have worked with Mr. Harrison.” I watched his face, but it revealed nothing.

“There are few people I trust less than Harrison.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I don’t trust you either,” he said.

“Let me assure you, Herr Schröder, the feeling is entirely mutual. But it’s also irrelevant. As I said, we both stand to benefit.”

“I can uncover this person on my own,” he said. “Why bother to share the information with you?”

“Because you’re an anarchist. You believe in equality. My right to this information is equal to yours.”

“More flawed logic, but I appreciate the sentiment. And because I find you inexplicably beguiling, I will see what I can discover. Meet me at the Griensteidl in three days. I’ll come in the morning, but I don’t know what time.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful of Harrison. He’ll know that we’ve met.”

“Why should that matter?” I asked.

“Everything matters to him. He is a dangerous man because he has his government’s unqualified support despite the fact that he is more ruthless than they know, and pursues agendas of which they would not approve. You should be careful.” He dropped my arm, skated away from me, and left the rink.

I realized at once that I was in danger of falling. I began to slowly move my feet, but this was a mistake. There are circumstances when speed is in fact steadier than caution; this was one of them. With no momentum, I lost my balance almost at once, my feet flying out from under me, and fell flat on my back. I tried to get up, but fell again. This time, my hat flew off my head and slid across the ice.

Jeremy appeared from nowhere and bent over me. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing more serious than wounded dignity. Though I will confess to wishing bustles hadn’t fallen out of fashion. At the moment I’d welcome the extra padding.” I brushed snow off my slim-fitting chocolate brown coat, trimmed with mink and tortoiseshell buttons.

With a strong hand, he pulled me to my feet, then retrieved my hat and placed it on my head. “It’s rather fun rescuing you.”

“This does not constitute a rescue, Jeremy,” I said, smiling and securing the hat as firmly as possible with its untrustworthy pin. “Had Herr Schröder thrown me over his shoulder and attempted to abduct me, then you might have managed a rescue.”

“Might have? You doubt my abilities?”

“Not in the least. It’s the circumstances that I find unlikely.” I looped my arm through Jeremy’s, buried my hands in my fur muff, and soon we were circling the rink at a leisurely pace.

“Isn’t that your dear friend, the Countess von Lange?” Jeremy asked, directing my attention to an elegant figure executing a series of perfect spins at the center of the ice. When she finished, she saw us staring at her and waved, looking more sophisticated than ever in a gorgeous green velvet skating costume.

“What a treat to find the two of you together,” she said, her narrowed eyes belying the smile on her face. “Have you heard from your devoted fiancé?”

“Of course,” I said, wishing it was not a lie. “We correspond regularly whenever he’s away.” In fact, I’d had no word from him since he left Beaumont Towers. The letters I’d sent him in Berlin to inform of my trip had gone unanswered.

“Really? How very curious. I shouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“Are we gentlemen such cads?” Jeremy asked. “I am, certainly, but Hargreaves is disgustingly good.”

“I didn’t think he’d know where to find you,” the countess said, her voice full of laughter. “And there’s been no point sending a letter to him since his departure from Berlin.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, not wanting her to know that, so far as I knew, he was still in Berlin. “It’s been my experience that he always manages to get my letters, no matter where he is. But then, he’s particular about having them forwarded to wherever he goes.”

“So he knows you’re in Vienna?”

“Of course,” I said, clutching Jeremy’s arm awkwardly, hoping that I would not fall.

“You know, Lady Ashton, you are a very bad liar.” She twirled in a circle again, then skated off, the sound of her laughter bouncing after her.