The Memorist

Chapter 23

Vienna, Austria

September 26^th, 1814

As the twilight deepened around her, Margaux walked the half block to the nondescript gray building, climbed up the wide steps between the two columns, lifted the doorknocker and let it fall.

The door opened a crack and candlelight from inside the foyer spilled out on the landing as the servant peered into her face with surprise. “I’m sorry, Frau Neidermier, but you can’t come in, it’s against the rules for women to visit,” he said once he’d realized who she was.

She walked past him, striding into the anteroom with feigned bravado.

“Can I help you?” he asked, completely unsure of how to handle her forced entry.

“I’d like to see Rudolph Toller,” she said, naming her husband’s business partner, hoping she sounded stronger and braver than she felt. So much depended on the outcome of this meeting.

Staring up at the elaborate domed ceiling Margaux tried to calm her nerves by concentrating on the hundreds of tiny mirrors that twinkled like stars. Caspar had told her there was no more elaborate building in all of Vienna, and she was certain it was true. What a spectacle her husband and his partner had created. What a treasure trove. Tables inlaid with lapis lazuli, carnelian, tiger’s eye, onyx and malachite. Gold fittings and gilt moldings glinted in the firelight. Glazed oil paintings of ancient Egyptian scenes added dimension to the boundaries of the room. And the smell! Burners in all four corners of the room scented the air with the same Cassia incense her husband had given her when he’d come back from his last trip. Being here was like being inside her husband’s mind, seeing through his eyes. Feeling her own eyes brimming, she blinked back tears.

“If Caspar were here now, he’d remind me that it’s a mistake to ever underestimate you,” Toller said as he came out to greet her. “He used to say you were like your homeland’s Mistral-an unrelenting wind. And he was right. You’ve broken all our rules coming here, Margaux. I was going to respond to your letter in time.”

Despite the fact that her husband had trusted Toller enough to include him on his Indian expeditions, the man’s cadaverous countenance frightened her. As he bent down to kiss her hand a whiff of his stale scent reached her nostrils: he smelled as if he were spoiling from the inside out.

“But I don’t have time.”

“Did you come here in your own carriage?” he asked suspiciously.

The three gold keys dangling from the chain around his neck shone in the firelight. Even though Margaux knew he’d replaced Caspar as the Anibus, it pained her to see the necklace on him. As head of the Society, her husband had worn it under his shirt for their entire marriage. When Toller had come to tell her he’d returned home alone from India and she’d seen the keys hanging from his neck, she’d had to hold herself back from ripping them off.

Margaux straightened her shoulders, adding another inch to her slight form. “Yes, I came in my carriage.” It took effort but her voice didn’t waver.

“Is it waiting outside?” Toller asked.

“No. Of course not. My driver is in the park, down the road. I know better than that.”

“Did you tell anyone you were coming?”

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“Forgive me, but we’re more concerned than usual about drawing attention to the Society with all of Europe here in Vienna for the Congress. Thousands of dignitaries and delegates and every one of them with a spy in tow. Despite the supposed enlightenment of our times, the Emperor’s laws make our existence here a crime punishable by law.”

“I know that. Caspar explained it all to me long ago. I wouldn’t-”

“Come, Margaux, let me take you back to your carriage.” Toller took her arm.

She wrested it away and stood resolute. “As Caspar’s wife, by Austrian law what belonged to him now belongs to me. I’m here to claim what he found on his last trip.”

“Those items belong to the Society.”

“No, in fact, they don’t. My income funded every one of my husband’s explorations, Herr Toller. Now, please. Would you be so kind as to give me what I’ve come for?”

“What the devil!” Toller lost his patience. “I most certainly will not.”

Margaux and Major Archer Wells had discussed what would happen if Toller refused, so she didn’t falter. Without waiting for him to accompany her, Margaux crossed the foyer and quickly walked into the inner sanctum as if she’d been there a dozen times before and knew where she was going. It was heady being inside the actual rooms after so many hours of studying their architectural plans with Caspar.

“You’re trespassing,” Toller called out as he chased after her into the library.

Opening a door at the far end, Margaux walked into a closet. Caspar had been so proud of the building’s puzzles and had told her-yes-here was the handle-invisible unless you knew where it was. She pulled on it and a section of the wall swung open and a whoosh of cool air wrapped around her.

“He shared this too?” Toller was behind her, breathing heavily, his voice thick with anger. Grabbing Margaux’s arm again, he tried to pull her back. Surprising herself a little and him more, she kicked him hard enough to hurt him. Caspar had taught her how to defend herself using whatever she had available: her fists, her boots, a pistol or a sword. They lived in dangerous times and he’d wanted her to be safe while he was gone.

With the seconds she gained, Margaux rushed down the dimly lit staircase that circled back on itself as it descended into the catacombs. At the landing, the cavern opened up before her. Dozens of niches were carved into the walls, each one containing a dusty skeleton. A shocked O escaped from Margaux’s lips. Although her husband had described the old Roman burial ground to her, the reality of these long-dead was deeply shocking. Shadows flickered and moisture dripped down the stone walls. The mold was heavy and the scent of decay filled the air.

Holding a lantern, Toller came up behind her, leering. “What’s the matter?”

Margaux started to breathe through her mouth as she proceeded toward the far end of the room toward the crude cell with iron bars: the Memorists’ vault where she expected to find the treasure her husband had found in India: the treasure Major Archer Wells had offered to buy for a sum that was more than enough for her to fund her husband’s rescue. Only the cell was locked.

“What do you think is down here besides our records?” Toller asked.

“The engraved flute Caspar wrote about in the last letter he sent me.”

Toller’s laugh was more sickening than the smell of the dungeon. Stepping up to the rusted iron door, he used one of the keys from the chain around his neck in the lock. “It’s not here. Look for yourself.”