A Fatal Waltz

Chapter 14

“Maudlin,” Cécile said, tossing aside a collection of Goethe’s poetry. We were in the sitting room of our suite, taking tea. “I much prefer something French.” Odette, singing a mournful-sounding aria, came in with our mail, which she handed to Cécile. “Nothing from England for you today?” she asked her maid.

Odette did not reply, only increased the volume of her song as she disappeared into her mistress’s bedroom.

“You see what I suffer?” Cécile said. “Your butler is ruining my peace of mind.”

“I can accept that so long as Klimt is keeping you happy,” I said.

“I like him because he has no expectations. We’re perfectly suited to each other, at least for the moment.”

“What about after the moment?”

“Why would I bother to even begin thinking about that? I’m not looking for a grand passion, Kallista. I had that once and don’t want to suffer through it again.”

“You’ve never told me this,” I said. “Who was it? I know not your husband.”

“Non, not him. It was a long time ago, but not long enough that I’m ready to think about him again.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Non.”

“Not at all?”

“Perhaps a very little bit. That’s the trouble with grand passions, bien sûr. You can never entirely cleanse yourself of them. It’s best to avoid them altogether.”

“So who was this grand passion?” I asked.

“Someday I will tell you the story, but no time soon. It’s too frustrating.”

“I don’t like to see you frustrated,” Colin said, coming into the room.

“You, Monsieur Hargreaves, are divine.” She offered him her hand, which he kissed before sitting next to me. “Not only to say that, but to come in at the exact moment I want the subject of our conversation changed.”

“I’m glad to be of service, and you, madame, are enchanting as always.” He accepted the tea she poured for him. “I’ve figured out Harrison’s game, and the stakes are higher than I thought.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“He’s trying to draw England into a war with Germany. A few years ago he was involved in a failed plot to persuade the crown prince to overthrow his father.”

“Rudolf?” I asked. Colin nodded.

“Obviously nothing came of it. The goal had been to see the prince, who was much less sympathetic to the kaiser than his father, on the throne. Rudolf would then abandon Germany and ally Austria with England and France. Fortescue was always opposed to the scheme, so far as I can tell. Didn’t think it particularly mattered who Austria is allied with.”

“Did you know that Rudolf wrote pieces for Wiener Tagblatt?” Cécile asked.

“The newspaper?” I asked.

“Oui. A very liberal newspaper.”

“What did the emperor think of that?” I asked.

“I don’t believe he knew,” Colin said. “Did he?”

“He did not,” Cécile said. “Rudolf published under the name Szeps. His father would not have agreed with much, if any, of what he wrote.”

“So Harrison and his crew tried to convince him to stage a coup?” I asked.

“Yes,” Colin said. “But they failed.”

“How would this lead to war now?” Cécile asked.

“Germany is becoming increasingly aggressive in her nationalism, and there are many who believe war is inevitable,” Colin said. “Harrison seems to have abandoned his plan to gain Austria’s support and is instead trying to instigate some sort of incident that will precipitate a major conflict between nations.”

“But that makes no sense,” I said. “First he thought we needed Austria’s support, now he doesn’t?”

“He knows he won’t get it. So he believes we should fight now, before Germany and her allies grow more powerful.”

“Are you quite certain nothing came of his earlier plot?” I told them about the letter I’d seen on the empress’s desk. “From what I read, it sounded as if the French and English were involved with Mayerling.”

“It’s possible that Harrison has a French ally,” Colin said.

“Could you ask the empress about it, Cécile?”

She sighed. “I don’t think it is a good idea. She’s fragile, and dredging this up will only cause her more pain.”

“But if she’s looking into the matter herself—,” I began.

“So far as I know, she’s learned nothing new in more than a year. And before that, she learned almost nothing. She’s a mother grieving the loss of a child and is desperate for there to be an explanation more significant than a lovers’ suicide pact.”

“But what if she’s right, and what if we could find the truth?” I asked.

“Right now we need to focus on Harrison and Brandon,” Colin said. “If what happened at Mayerling is related, we’ll figure it out. But I don’t think it’s necessary to disturb the empress at this point.”

“Lord Fortescue controlled those around him with blackmail. If he had evidence that Mr. Harrison had anything to do with the crown prince’s death—”

“—Fortescue would have absolute control over him,” Colin finished for me.

“And now that Fortescue is dead, Mr. Harrison is free to pursue his agenda,” I said. “How convenient for him.”

“Harrison didn’t kill Fortescue. He was standing next to me when we were shooting.”

“He might have hired someone else to do it,” I said.

“Possibly.” Colin nodded, but his face revealed not the slightest hint of agreement. “But I find it hard to believe that an assassin would use a dueling pistol from his victim’s house.”

“Why not? It makes it look like an ordinary murder,” I said.

“An ordinary murder? You’re becoming entirely too corrupt, my dear.”

“Isn’t that why you love her?” Cécile asked.

“Among other things.” He smiled.

“I’ve read enough sensational novels to know that it’s perfectly reasonable to begin a murder investigation by ascertaining what individuals benefit from the victim’s death,” I said. “Clearly Mr. Harrison has benefited. Robert has not.”

“They believe his motive was anger, not that he stood to gain something,” Colin said.

“You don’t believe that he’s guilty, do you, Monsieur Hargreaves?” Cécile asked.

“Of course not. But Emily wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t have someone playing devil’s advocate.”

“No one else at Beaumont Towers stood to gain from Lord Fortescue’s murder. Poor Mary’s going to once again be dismissed from her home,” I said. There was a small dowager’s house on the estate, and it was to there that she would be banished once her husband’s eldest son descended to collect his inheritance.

“Harrison is a likely suspect, but if we’re to consider the murder as assassination, we need to look at all of Fortescue’s political enemies.”

“All of Britain and most of the Continent,” I said.

“Unfortunately close to the truth.” He had stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” He kissed me quickly and nodded at Cécile. “I must go. I’ve an appointment I cannot miss. Will I see you tomorrow?”

AS HAD BECOME MY HABIT, I went to the Griensteidl early the next morning, and spent more than an hour happily studying Greek and drinking hot chocolate. I’d neglected my studies since Robert’s arrest, and even now felt pangs of guilt at being so pleasantly employed when my friend was suffering in Newgate. Friedrich was sitting with me, reading classified ads from the newspaper out loud.

“‘To the exquisite lady sitting in the Café Griensteidl with a male escort yesterday: she had the kindness to hand a copy of the magazine Kikeriki in a most sympathetic manner to a gentleman at a neighboring table, and would do said gentleman an even more incalculable kindness by indicating to Box 672, this newspaper, when and at what café he would be allowed to hand a Kikeriki to her.’” He gulped his coffee. “Was it you?”

“Me? Hardly.”

“I sat with you for a while yesterday. I was hoping that I’d made it into the paper—even if only as your escort.”

“Did you see me hand a magazine to anyone?”

“No.” He looked back at the paper, smiling to himself. I returned to my Greek until my companion jumped up from his chair. “I’ll leave you to her,” he said.

“What?” I asked, starting to call after him, but stopping as the Countess von Lange, dressed to stunning effect in a crimson gown, slipped into the chair he’d just left. She was holding a coffee cup full to the brim, but she moved with such grace that she did not spill a drop.

“I understand you’ve been meeting with my friend Gustav Schröder. I told him to speak freely to you.”

“Does he need your permission?”

“No, but I’ve convinced him to trust you.”

“That’s very good of you. I owe you more than thanks.”

“Your debt is already paid. You care more for your friend than I guessed.”

“And you are less selfish than I expected.”

She laughed. “Not at all. Colin came to me last night.” I wished I could will away the color flooding my cheeks. “You are uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” She couldn’t be telling the truth. I didn’t believe for an instant that he’d gone to her after he’d left me. Yet even as I began running through the reasons that I would never doubt him, a nagging, searing feeling shot through my stomach. The countess was nothing short of an exquisite beauty, a person to whom Colin had, at some point, felt a strong attraction. I trusted him, but not her. Just how persuasive could she be?

“You’ll find, I think, that marriages invariably wind up tedious. Best that you learn that before you march down the aisle. I can see you’re pained now, but it will pass, especially if you keep yourself distracted.”

“You’re quite mistaken. I wouldn’t have agreed to marry if I thought the result would be tedious.”

“Is he amused by your naïveté, I wonder? Surely not. He’s far too sophisticated for that. You are quite pretty in an innocuous sort of way. I can see that he would find you attractive, even if he is used to someone more—” She paused and smiled. “Well, no need to discuss that.”

“No, there’s not. Will you excuse me?” I was not about to sit and listen to more of her nonsense. I pulled on my coat and went outside. The snow had stopped, and the sun had burned away the clouds, but the air was colder than it had been since I’d arrived in Vienna, and a wicked wind nearly knocked me over. Strong arms kept me from falling.

“You must be more careful, Lady Ashton.” Mr. Harrison’s hat was pulled low over his face.

“Let me pass,” I said. He gripped my arm tightly as he forced me across the street and into a narrow alley.

“I’ve been hoping to have a conversation with you. Your fiancé is asking impertinent questions.”

“Is he getting too close to the truth?”

He swung me around, slamming me into the wall of a building. “If anything interferes with my plans, he will suffer for it.”

“Unhand me.” I spoke through gritted teeth, equal measures terrified and outraged. No one had ever touched me like this. I could not help recalling the calm manner in which Herr Schröder had admitted to killing when necessary. Would Mr. Harrison do the same? Fear seized me.

He shook my shoulders. My head banged against the brick wall, and for an instant I could hardly see. “You will stop him.”

“You’re a fool if you think I could keep him from his duty,” I said, the very core of my body shaking.

“You’re a clever girl. Find a way to distract him, or he will be eliminated.” He shoved me against the wall again, then stepped away and brushed something from the sleeve of his coat. “I will be keeping a close eye on you. And don’t forget that I can reach you anywhere.” He flung a bullet at me and walked away.

I watched him go, but was unable to summon the courage to order any of my limbs to move and follow him. Instead, my knees buckled, and I sank along the wall until I was crouched in the snow, my teeth chattering uncontrollably, my breath coming fast and ragged, tears freezing on my cheeks.

“Emily!” Jeremy came racing out of nowhere. He lifted me to my feet, then tore off his gloves and wiped my tears with his bare hands.

“How did you find me?”

“I was looking for you in the Griensteidl. The countess told me you’d gone outside. What happened?”

“I—I—” I could not slow my breathing enough to speak.

“It doesn’t matter.” He embraced me, his arms clutching too tightly, and I buried my head in his chest. He smelled like tobacco and peppermint, and with my eyes closed, I could almost imagine I was a little girl, safe in my father’s arms. But then he pulled away, and looked at me with wild eyes. “Em…”

He kissed me, hungrily, with a raw passion that terrified and excited me. I had not the presence of mind to stop him.

“Bloody hell, Em, forgive me.” He pulled away, then closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “You can’t forgive me. It’s unforgivable.” He rubbed his temples. “I only wanted to comfort you, I never meant—”

“It’s all right.” I was too overwhelmed to care, and of the affronts I had suffered that day, this was the least troublesome, at least for the moment. “Will you take me back to the Imperial?”

“Of course.” He hesitated before taking me by the arm, as if he weren’t sure whether he should touch me at all, and led me out of the alley, flagging down the first fiacre that passed. We did not speak until we’d reached the hotel and were standing at the bottom of the magnificent stairway that led to my rooms.

“It might be best if you took Hargreaves with you to meet Schröder tonight.”

“He’s working. But Cécile and I could—”

“No. You can’t go into that neighborhood unprotected. I’ll come.” For the first time I could remember, I saw no hint of laughter or joy in his eyes.

Jeremy escorted me to my suite, insisted that I see a doctor, and waited, standing near the fireplace in one of our parlors, to hear the diagnosis. Satisfied that I was not seriously hurt—a mild concussion, but nothing to cause alarm—he left when the physician did.

The moment they were gone, Cécile rapped her fan on the marble-topped table that stood next to the chaise longue on which we were sitting. “This has become too dangerous. The man could have killed you.”

“He wouldn’t kill me. If I were dead, I couldn’t do anything to stop Colin’s investigation.”

“Monsieur Hargreaves would agree with me. No unnecessary danger, Kallista. We should leave Vienna.”

“Not until we’ve either found out who sent Lord Fortescue the warning or uncovered Harrison’s plot,” I said.

“Leave it to Monsieur Hargreaves.”

“No, Cécile. He’s been sent here for a specific reason. And though I don’t know the details, I do know it’s not to find information that can exonerate Robert.”

“He’s perfectly capable of doing that along with whatever his mission is.”

“But I’m perfectly capable, too. More than capable, in fact. And I like doing this, Cécile. I’ll be careful. There’s no need to worry.”

“You are taking Jeremy with you to meet Schröder?”

“Yes,” I said. “Although I’m not certain it’s a good idea.”

“What can that mean?” Cécile’s talent for picking up on any sort of romantic signals was unparalleled.

“Something happened after he found me this morning.” I described for her every detail of what transpired between us.

“Mon dieu! Well, I won’t have to worry about you then. He’s enough in love with you that he can be counted on to keep you from being harmed. Still, I’m going to accompany you as well. I’m curious about this anarchist. Any man with passionate beliefs is worth knowing.”

“I’d wager that he’s over forty, Cécile. He might even be fascinating. What would Klimt say?”

“Very little,” she said, smiling wickedly.

22 December 1891

Berkeley Square, London

Dear Emily,

I’ve been feeling vaguely useless, stranded here in London, unable to offer Ivy much in the way of comfort or relief, horribly jealous that you and Cécile are once again charged with the interesting tasks.

For once, I have an interesting tidbit for you: I’ve learned that the gun used to kill Lord Fortescue has been misplaced. It somehow never made it from Yorkshire to London. Suspicious? Of course it is! Disappearing murder weapons are always significant.

How was your intrepid friend able to persuade Scotland Yard to divulge this information? Mr. Michaels (who’s down from Oxford on the unlikely errand of Christmas shopping at this late date) is closely acquainted with a member of the police force who slipped and mentioned it when they were having a lunch that included several bottles of very expensive wine. Must be kept quiet, of course—it’s not something they’ve told the general public—but I thought you should know.

The weather is dreadful here, and Robert must be suffering more than ever in Newgate. Ivy is unwell—I think you know why—and though I know she’ll be all right, I’m worried, Emily. She’s gaunt. I know you are doing all you can, but I must implore you to hurry. Nothing is good here.

I am yrs., etc.,

Margaret