by Vienna Waltz
Despite the warmth from the stove, a chill coursed through her. She subdued the impulse to pull her shawl about her shoulders. “Of course she might have been blackmailing others, as well. By any chance was she blackmailing you?”
“A bold attack. My compliments. No, she wasn’t. Though if she had been, I doubt I’d have admitted it.”
“My thoughts precisely. Of course it also occurred to me that you might have been the person orchestrating her blackmail of Malcolm.”
Talleyrand’s gaze stilled for a moment, steady on her face. “My dear Madame Rannoch. To what end?”
“I don’t know.”
“Even if I could bring myself to do such a thing to Arabella’s son, do you really think I would employ Malcolm’s sister in the matter?”
“That, my dear Prince, would depend on what you expected to get out of it.”
Geoffrey Blackwell dropped into a gilded chair beside Suzanne in her box at the Burgtheater an hour later. “I was working on an experiment all afternoon. Didn’t hear the news until I arrived here. To find us all under a different sort of microscope.” He cast a glance round the theatre. One could almost feel the pressure of the opera glasses turned in their direction. “How are you holding up?”
Suzanne forced a smile to her lips. “I’m not the one in prison.”
“No, but you’re the one having to put up with the intense scrutiny of Vienna, or at least a certain segment of Viennese society. All of whom seem to be in this theatre tonight. I never thought to see Malcolm the center of a scandal.”
“Malcolm has a way of taking one by surprise.”
Geoffrey grimaced. “You’re too sensible a woman to take gossip seriously, Suzanne.”
“With Malcolm I’ve learned not to make assumptions.”
He scraped a hand through his thinning black hair. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
Suzanne shifted her chair toward him. “You knew Lady Arabella Rannoch well, didn’t you?”
Geoffrey’s gaze went straight to her own. The buzz of conversation seemed to fade away about them. “I’m glad Malcolm finally saw sense and told you about Tatiana. You’re better off without secrets.”
“How long have you known?” Suzanne asked.
“Almost from the first. I grew up with Malcolm’s mother and her sisters. When Arabella returned from her trip abroad with her father, she confided her predicament to me. I was a year her junior—just starting at Oxford at the time.”
“She trusted you a great deal.”
He glanced away for a moment, staring out over the heads in the audience below—jeweled, feather-trimmed, combed into stylish disarray or shiny with pomade. “I like to think she did. Though I confess to an unfair advantage. I found Arabella being sick into an orange tree in the conservatory at a ball. I was already interested in medicine, and I noticed other changes in her. I guessed, and she could tell I had.”
“Did she—”
“Confide the identity of the father to me? No.” Anger at the man in question shot through Geoffrey’s eyes. “She refused to do so. She said the truth would do too much damage. Arabella was—” His ironic gaze turned unaccustomedly soft, much as Prince Talleyrand’s had done. “Restless. Mercurial. But something changed in her in those months. It was as though she stopped believing in the possibility of happiness.” Geoffrey stared at the royal blue swags of curtain veiling the proscenium. “I sometimes think she married Alistair Rannoch because he was a man who could be calculated not to touch her heart.”
During the first interval in Schiller’s Don Carlos, Suzanne pressed a note for Adam Czartoryski into the hand of an obliging footman and went in search of Aline. Her cousin-in-law had found Schubert in the passage behind the boxes. He bowed to Suzanne. “I’ve heard, like the rest of Vienna. I’ve been telling Fraulein Dacre-Hammond that I can’t believe it of Herr Rannoch.”
“So many people are saying that this evening,” Suzanne said. “But I have the sense you really believe it.”
A smile crossed his serious face. “I saw how he cared for Princess Tatiana.” He bit back the words and his gaze slid to the side with confusion. “That is—”
Suzanne touched his hand. “No. You’re right, Malcolm did care for her.”
Schubert turned his gaze back to her and gave an awkward smile. “I keep remembering things she said to me. She was quite fearless. That last day I saw her, I stopped by to deliver some music for some new songs. She was in her salon writing letters. I asked if she was writing to a friend, and she laughed and said she wasn’t sure.”
“Do you know whom she was writing to?”
He shook his head. “She drew a book over the letter when she got up to greet me. But then she glanced back at the writing desk and said the oddest thing. That sometimes enemies could be more useful than allies.”
“Madame Rannoch.” Adam Czartoryski stepped into the salon in the Burgtheater that Suzanne had appointed in her note.
“Thank you,” Suzanne said. “I needed to see you. This seemed the safest way.”
“If you hadn’t sent me a note, I’d have sent one to you.”
“You heard about Malcolm?”
He moved toward her and paused, one hand resting on a gilded chairback. “The talk is all over the city, I’m afraid. I’m so very sorry.”
Suzanne looked at the man who had seemed to be beginning to trust her husband. “It’s true Malcolm got to the Palm Palace before I did the night of the murder. But I’m sure he didn’t kill Princess Tatiana.”
“Of course.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I’ve learned to choose my allies carefully and believe in them once I’ve made the choice.” Czartoryski touched her arm. “Sit. You look exhausted.” He pressed her into a chair, poured a glass of wine from a decanter on a console table, and put it in her hand.
Suzanne cupped her hands round the glass and took a quick swallow. She was shaking, which was absurd. “Too many hours of not knowing whom I can trust.”
Czartoryski stood watching her, leaning against the table. “And you aren’t even sure about me.”
“Perhaps not entirely. But I confess I find you surprisingly trustworthy, Prince.”
He gave a brief laugh, pulled up a chair, and sat beside her. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She took another sip of wine. “I’m sorry to be such a fool.”
“There’s no shame in being overset because the person you love is in danger.”
She stared into the red-black of the Bordeaux. “I don’t want to fail him. I’m not used to him needing me.”
Czartoryski squeezed her shoulder. “Well, perhaps it’s not bad to realize that he does.”
She gave a quick smile, one of her habitual masks. “He’ll stop needing me once this is resolved.”
“Do you really think so?” An answering smile, far less defensive, played about Czartoryski’s mouth. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating your husband.”
“Underestimating him?”
“Or the depth of his feelings.”
She shook her head. “Malcolm and I don’t have illusions. It’s one of the advantages of our marriage.”
He was silent for a moment. “There are different types of illusions, Madame Rannoch.”
She cast a quick look at him. The regret in his eyes spoke volumes about the risks of loving.
“But I wouldn’t take back a moment of it,” he said, as though she had spoken. “Don’t make the mistake of not grasping hold of what you can, when you can. There may come a time when all you have are the memories.”
She touched his gloved hand where it lay on the arm of the chair. “I think the tsarina is a fortunate woman for all her difficulties.”
He shook his head. “We’d best talk about what’s to be done next. We’re no closer to knowing whom Otronsky is plotting against. If—”
They both went still at a creak and stir from the side door. “You have all my sympathies, Madame Rannoch,” Czartoryski con
tinued in a comforting voice as the door swung open and Tsarina Elisabeth stepped into the room.
They both sprang to their feet.
“Lisa!” Czartoryski said, caution forgot.
“It’s all right, Adam.” The tsarina closed the door behind her. “I left my box with my lady-in-waiting. She’ll cover for me. Safer to meet under everyone’s noses. And I think it’s high time I spoke with Madame Rannoch.”
The tsarina walked forward, unbound ash blond hair stirring over her shoulders, the gold embroidery on her azure satin gown glinting in the candlelight. “I’m so very sorry, chérie.” She took Suzanne’s hand. “From what Adam has said of your husband and what I have seen, I am sure Baron Hager is under a misapprehension.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The tsarina sank into a chair and indicated that Suzanne and Czartoryski should do likewise. “And from what Adam has told me of you, I make no doubt you will continue the investigation in your husband’s absence.” She smoothed her hands over the shimmering fabric of her skirt. “You still don’t know how it all fits together. Princess Tatiana’s murder. This plot of Count Otronsky’s. The papers she took from me. And of course you’re hampered because you don’t know the contents of those papers.”
“Lisa.” Czartoryski gripped the arms of his chair.
“She already knows enough to destroy us both, Adam. You’re the one who told me we could trust Monsieur and Madame Rannoch.”
“That was—”
“Dear Adam.” A sad smile curved the tsarina’s mouth. “You’ve always been quicker to trust with your own safety than with mine.”
He stared at her for the length of several heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “I’d give my life for you, Lisa.”
She reached out and put her hand over his own. “I know it, beloved. That’s why if you trust Madame Rannoch, I trust her as well.”
“Lisa—”
“We owe it to Tatiana Kirsanova, much as I never thought to hear myself say so.” Elisabeth shivered. “Dear God, I was so angry at her that night. I’ll never forget—”
“There’s no need to go into details,” Adam cut in, a note of warning in his voice.
“No more half-truths, Adam.” The tsarina turned her gaze to Suzanne. “I went to Princess Tatiana’s rooms with Adam the night of the murder. We were going to demand the return of my letters. Instead we saw the woman for whom I was sure I could never feel a shred of sympathy, crumpled on the floor like a child’s doll. We knelt beside her to make sure she was dead. Her blood got all over my gown—”
She pressed her hand to her mouth. Czartoryski got to his feet and took a step toward her, but she forestalled him with an outstretched hand. “No, Adam. I’ve let myself become distracted. It isn’t the details of that night Madame Rannoch needs. It’s why we were there in the first place.”
“Lisa, I beg you—”
“This is my problem, Adam. I need to be part of solving it.”
“If anything goes wrong—”
“That’s been true from the first. I’ve spent too much time hiding and being frightened. Now pour me a glass of that wine with the lovely color, while I explain matters to Madame Rannoch.”
34
Tsarina Elisabeth turned her almond-shaped blue eyes to Suzanne. “If you’ve heard any gossip about me at all, Madame Rannoch, you know my marriage has not been a happy one. Politics brought my husband and me together. At the beginning, I had a young girl’s illusions that there could be more between us. But I soon learned my folly. My husband already had a mistress. I found comfort with Adam.”
Czartoryski slammed the decanter down on the drinks table.
“The world knows that much, Adam,” Elisabeth said. “We were recklessly indiscreet in those days. No amount of pretending now will sweep it under the carpet.”
He put into her hand the glass of wine he had poured, a grim look about his mouth.
“My husband was remarkably understanding in those days. But in the end, my father-in-law had suspicions.” Her knuckles showed sharp beneath her glove as she held the wineglass. “Tsar Paul was not a comfortable man to cross. He sent Adam off to Sardinia as ambassador. After my father-in-law died, my husband recalled Adam.” She risked a glance at Czartoryski, who was staring fixedly at drops of red wine spattered on the tabletop. “But I fear I had finally learned the ways of the Russian court. Those very things that had once appalled me. When I was little more than a bride Catherine the Great’s young lover tried to seduce me. I couldn’t imagine I would ever play those games myself.” She took a quick sip of wine as though steeling herself.
Czartoryski splashed wine into a third glass, snatched it up, and tossed down the contents.
“There was another man,” Suzanne said.
“Alexis Okhotnikov. A staff officer.” Memories drifted through Elisabeth’s eyes. “He wasn’t Adam, but for a time—” She shook her head and shivered. “There’s no need to dwell on that.” She set the wine on the table beside her chair and fixed her gaze on its gilded rim. “Seven years ago, Alexis was knifed leaving the theatre. He died of his wounds.”
“I’m so sorry.” Suzanne reached out instinctively to touch the tsarina’s hand.
Elisabeth gave a sweet, sad smile. “Thank you. It was—” Her fingers curved inward. “I shall always blame myself. But for the purposes of this story, the important thing is that I don’t believe his death was an accident. I’m almost sure my husband’s brother, Grand Duke Constantine, was behind it.”
Czartoryski thunked down the decanter again as he refilled his glass.
“You think Constantine would be incapable of orchestrating murder?” Elisabeth asked.
“No.” Czartoryski’s voice was as hard as the thud of the crystal. “That’s just the point.”
“Why?” Suzanne asked.
Elisabeth drew a breath. Czartoryski had gone still. The candle-warmed air seemed to tremble with danger, as though the answer to this question held the real risk. Secrets more dangerous than the love affairs the tsarina had just revealed.
“You must know that my husband’s father, Tsar Paul, was an unstable man,” Elisabeth said. “And that he was killed in a coup by his own officers.” For a moment, beneath the sapphires, the gold-embroidered satin, and the polished sophistication of two decades of court life, the stark terror of the young Grand Duchess Elisabeth showed through. “We could hear the screams through the floorboards. My husband crouched with his hands over his ears, but I don’t think he’ll ever forget the sound. I know I won’t.”
The tsarina drew a sharp breath. Czartoryski watched her, as though her next word might be a dagger thrust to her own heart. “Even when it was over, when the terrible sounds stopped, Alexander wouldn’t move. I had to take his hands, had to remind him what he owed his people, before he’d go out on the balcony and show himself. If he hadn’t—”
Her gaze shot to Czartoryski’s face. For a moment the horror of what might have been hung between them. “Some say Alexander collapsed with guilt because in killing his father the officers had done what he would have done himself had he been brave enough,” Elisabeth continued. “But there always have been whispers that it was more. That my husband was part of the plot. Or at least knew about it and kept silent.” Elisabeth folded her arms and pressed her fingers against the gathered satin of her bodice. “I fear Constantine thought I had confided my own suspicions about Tsar Paul’s death to Alexis.”
“Dear God.” Suzanne could hear the wind hissing through gaps round the windowpanes, feel the cool draft of air and the warmth of the candle flame.
Elisabeth loosed her hands with deliberation and spread them over her lap. “The papers Princess Tatiana got hold of are letters I wrote to Alexis. Letters I retrieved after his death. Letters I should have burned.”
Czartoryski moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. His gaze now held a tenderness that was more intimate than an embrace.
“I understand your f
ears,” Suzanne said. “And your desperation.”
“Alexander can live with the rumors. Letters in his wife’s hand would be another matter entirely.” Elisabeth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as though she would blot out her imaginings. “You see why I would do almost anything to recover the letters.”
Suzanne frowned at the wineglass in her hand. “As would your husband, presumably.”
“If he knew of them. Which, thank God, he doesn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
The tsarina cast a quick glance at Czartoryski. “You think Princess Tatiana told Alexander?”
Suzanne took a sip of wine and let it linger on her tongue. Smooth but with a sharp bite beneath. “My husband wasn’t arrested just because of his broken alibi. Baron Hager had come into possession of a letter that implies Princess Tatiana was blackmailing Malcolm. Or was about to blackmail him.”
Czartoryski and Elisabeth exchanged an involuntary glance.
“Yes, I know,” Suzanne said. “I think the letter was taken from Princess Tatiana’s rooms before she could send it. I don’t know what it was about, and I haven’t had a chance to ask Malcolm yet. But I’m beginning to think—Perhaps the princess really did invite Malcolm and Prince Metternich and Tsar Alexander all to come to her rooms at the same time the night of the murder.”
Czartoryski’s hand tightened on the tsarina’s shoulder. “To what purpose?”
Suzanne looked between the couple. For whatever Elisabeth had said about their love affair ending, now the bond was unmistakable. It radiated between them. Suzanne wondered what it would be like to know another person so intimately. Whether or not they were sharing a bed, Adam Czartoryski and Tsarina Elisabeth were a couple.
Suzanne drew a breath. “I take it I may count on your discretion when it comes to the secrets of another lady?”
“Of course,” Czartoryski said, with a simplicity Suzanne believed, where more fervent assurances would have rung false.