Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “No, it makes perfect sense,” Veronique explained in her flawless English. “These days there are so many spurious titles that a person with a humdrum, normal name appears truthful by contrast. Genuine aristocrats have become highly mistrustful, and are ever more adept at sniffing out impostors. Besides, I strongly suspect that the Major is not a legitimate military rank, and two false titles are twice as easy to uncover as one.”

  “If you have made your marks pliable and receptive in advance, no need for noble pretensions,” Louis agreed. “I wonder how well that ploy works in practice, if some people are able to throw off hypnotic suggestions? I must say, I have never heard of a swindler using mesmerism like that.”

  “No, indeed. My father would have despised the very notion.” Veronique considered the bread basket and chose a crisp roll covered in poppy seeds. “He was proud of his ability to persuade anyone of anything, no matter how absurd.”

  “It sounds as though he was using a kind of mesmerism too, perhaps without realising it,” Milla commented. “Do you suppose it has something to do with the deep voice? Can women do it, too? Despite being forewarned, it was by no means easy to resist Doktor Rabenstein.”

  “I certainly wish I could mesmerize people,” Veronique said. “That ability would have been very useful during a number of tricky situations in the war. But perhaps it is harder for women, for while I have not heard of many mesmerists, all of them were male. Supposedly, dark, piercing eyes are helpful as well.”

  “We could find some more reputable mesmerist and take lessons, to see if you and I can learn the art,” Milla suggested. “See if you can find such a fellow, Louis, and set up an appointment.”

  “Oui, mon general.” He twinkled at her in that special way he had. Despite everything, Veronique was a lucky woman. “Though it seems doubtful that another expert will be resident in this modest spa. It may have to wait until we relocate to a larger city.”

  “Now that we know how the Doktor influences his victims, can we do anything about Frau von Martenberg?” Marie asked. It had been gossip about that rich lady’s strangely changed attitude, and surprising liberality towards the cause of converting the heathen Africans, that had first put them on the trail of Doktor Rabenstein’s activities.

  “Not yet, if at all,” Veronique advised.

  Louis nodded. “It is by no means certain that we could even do so. Presumably, the lady has forgotten all about the command she received while mesmerized, and believes her sudden generosity to be her own idea. She will hardly thank us for interfering, or pointing out how she was duped. And we don’t know her heirs, and owe them nothing.”

  “What about the two men who were mesmerized together with you, my lady? Marie persisted. “Can they at least be warned?”

  Milla shrugged. “I don’t think so. That general could be dangerous, if he realised that I overheard his guilty secret.” She had not told the others the exact details of what she had learned. “We only exchanged a few words, but I did not much take to him. Let him suffer. As to the French prince, he’ll have to take his chances.” It served him right, to her mind, for lacking the backbone to stand by his woman.

  “Once we are done with these crooks,” Veronique suggested, “we could write to the victims’ families anonymously, and suggest that they look into the background of this Major Kepler.”

  Milla nodded in agreement. “When the Major calls,” she told Marie, “don’t admit him any more quickly than you would any other unknown caller, and don’t betray that we are expecting him.”

  “I shall follow him when he leaves, and find out what else he is up to,” Louis said. “We already know he’ll be seeing that General and the Frenchman. What trick do you suppose he’ll use to extract their money?”

  “Probably an appeal for some spurious good cause, as in Frau von Martenberg’s case, or some variant of the Spanish Prisoner,” Veronique said. “Since the men are pre-disposed to trust him, it would be fairly easy to set up.”

  “Why is it called that?” Marie asked.

  “The original version was based on the story that a very rich nobleman has been imprisoned in Spain under a false name,” Veronique explained. “With a relatively modest outlay, his safety could be assured, in which case the grateful family would shower their benefactor with riches. It had to be done immediately, before the Spanish authorities could find out the prisoner’s true identity. The mark is promised a rich return on his investment in this humanitarian cause.”

  “Why doesn’t the prisoner’s rich family pay the ransom themselves?” Marie asked, shaking her head. “Do they really need to involve another person in the scheme, who does not know any of them personally?”

  “That is, of course, the logical objection, but you’d be surprised how many people are satisfied with vague explanations, and invest large sums in rescuing the non-existent prisoner,” Veronique said. “There are many variations. It can be any cause that offers a great reward, and is tailored to the victim’s particular weaknesses. Their own greed or vanity renders people credulous. My father used to say there was no more refined pleasure than to see an intelligent, educated man persuade himself into ruinous folly, with only the lightest of nudges.”

  “Your father had peculiar pleasures,” Milla said mildly, putting down her empty teacup.

  “He was incorrigible, and utterly without shame. If he were still alive, he would try to persuade you to join him in his swindles, Milla. What he could not have achieved with a partner of your birth, beauty, and wealth! He already did well enough with my help until I refused, and got married instead.”

  “Well, if he were here, he would have to be disappointed,” Milla said. “There is no need to swindle people when you already have sufficient capital. Why did he not invest his early gains in some more respectable industry?”

  “Because, in his way, he was as foolish as his victims, and addicted to the risk of the game. Honest trade, or honest work, were utterly boring in his eyes. Even had he known that it would lead to a bad end, he could not have given the life up. Now he lies buried in Poland under a false name, and only we know what became of him.”

  “I wonder if Major Kepler is like that,” Milla mused. “The doctor and his assistant, Rosa, did not strike me as revelling in the daring of their scheme. It was routine for them, once they presumed we were under his influence. The assistant is a full partner, I suspect, from the way they acted together.”

  “Perhaps she is Rabenstein’s wife, or sister,” Veronique speculated, “and this Major may well be a brother or cousin. For obvious reasons, many crooks like to keep their crimes inside the family. A falling-out can have disastrous consequences.”

  ***

  That afternoon, Milla and Veronique attended a concert at Regensbad’s city hall, a modern building featuring Corinthian pillars, marble statues of the nine Muses, and excellent acoustics. Milla wore a new and very becoming dress of striped green batiste and a straw hat trimmed with matching lace and silk flowers. Despite the considerable progress she had made, she doubted she would ever equal Veronique’s effortless elegance, almost irrespective of the materials at hand. The Frenchwoman’s neat, tall figure and proud carriage, combined with her rich chestnut hair and expressive hazel eyes, seemed made to show off her garments to greatest advantage. Of course, Parisian ladies were renowned for their sense of style, while Milla had hardly paid attention to clothes for the first seventeen years of her life.

  Even so, it was Milla who received, by far, the largest part of compliments from their acquaintances. The average age of the concert attendees must be well over fifty, so Milla, not quite twenty-two, had an advantage that was only embellished by her title and fortune. Everyone wanted to be presented to the beautiful English widow, and older gentlemen especially seemed fascinated with her dark curls and blue eyes. Students had written passionate poems and fought silly duels in her honour, and she had long since given up counting the number of honourable or less respectable offers she had received and rejected
.

  The concert programme was light and cheerful. Presently, the audience were chatting and drinking white Rhenish wine during the half-hour intermission.

  “May I present a friend to you, Lady Fenton?” an elderly lady asked, and received permission with a nod.

  “This is Major Kepler. He has come straight from Berlin.”

  Milla lightly inclined her head, and murmured “pleased to meet you” in German as her new acquaintance bowed over her gloved hand.

  The Major was just over six feet tall, in his early thirties, and unquestionably a fine figure of a man. His shoulders were broad, his light brown hair well-cut, and his moustache emphasized regular features and a firm chin. His grey eyes looked straight into Milla’s with the polite admiration of a gentleman meeting an attractive young lady. He was good. Had she not been aware of his ulterior purpose, she would not have suspected a thing.

  As they looked at each other, Kepler’s well-shaped lips widened into a smile. His teeth were white and regular.

  “You are not in uniform, Major,” she murmured. “Yet there is a distinct military air about you.”

  His back seemed to grow even straighter. “Prussian officers are recognizable even in mufti, Lady Fenton. A life dedicated to honour and duty inevitably marks a man.”

  “And what brings such a dedicated soldier so far south, to this spa in Bavaria?” she asked. “Is it your health? The thermal spring is supposed to do wonders for ulcers.”

  He chuckled. “Luckily, I am not plagued by those. The original purpose for my journey was forgotten the moment I spied your classical profile in the other aisle of the concert hall, Lady Fenton. I could hardly wait for the performance to end, so as to discover who this stunning lady might be.”

  Milla smiled blandly. Accepting fulsome compliments was routine for her. “Let me make you known to my companion, Madame Rallien,” she said. “Major Kepler.”

  Veronique had been talking to an elderly dowager, and turned towards Milla and Kepler upon hearing her name. She and Kepler stared at each other for a moment with narrowed eyes, like two cats unexpectedly meeting in the same territory. Milla could almost see their hackles rising, but both mastered themselves in a moment, and exchanged cool but correct greetings. She had to find out what was going on the moment they were private. If Kepler had recognised Veronique, what would he be thinking? That a rival swindler had got her hooks into Lady Fenton, presumably.

  She tried to look innocent and gullible. “I was just remarking to my companion that it would be pleasant to have a gentleman’s escort to this kind of entertainment. Alas, we are both widows and all our surviving relatives are far away.”

  He was quick to accept her hint. “If you need a man’s arm for any event, mine is completely at your service, Lady Fenton.” He gave her a meaningful look – or was it supposed to be soulful? Milla nearly giggled. “May I call upon you tomorrow, to receive your further commands?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, affecting indifference. From the way his brow twitched, he had expected rather more warmth. Of course, she must not let on yet that she could resist the Doktor's order. “Something tells me that we shall find we have much in common,” she added with a suggestion of simper. He relaxed.

  “My own intuition tells me the same. I shall count the hours, Lady Fenton.” He kissed her hand again, and moved away without hurry. Both Veronique and Milla watched his back as he retreated.

  “I take it you know each other?” Milla murmured.

  “Yes –,” Veronique broke off. “Good evening, General Mistelbach, how did you enjoy the Haydn piece?”

  Other people were too close, eager to talk to and court the rich Lady Fenton. It would have to wait. Milla put on her social smile, gracious without being condescending, and forced her mind to concentrate on gossip and small talk. At least it was good practice for her German.

  Chapter 5

  “This is a disaster,” Veronique told Milla as soon as they had reached the safety of their lodgings. They repaired to the drawing room, where Milla poured two glasses of wine from a carafe. It was still a good hour until dinnertime.

  Milla handed one of the glasses to her friend. “Who is the man? It was evident you recognised each other. Does Kepler know exactly who you are?”

  “He met me as Veronique Matisseur, when we were both children. His father and mine had joined forces to carry out a daring coup in Strasbourg. I must have been about ten, and he a year younger. So he is thirty-five now.” She scowled. “I did not much like him then, but the problem is, how much does he know about my later life? About my husband? If he did not recognise the name before, he’ll make it his business to look into my history now.”

  “That was a long time ago. Yet you immediately recognised each other after all this time?”

  “I have a good memory for faces, and so does he. The family was German – from Cologne, I think, not Prussian as he pretends now. They lived from swindles, as we did.”

  Milla took a sip of her wine, listening attentively.

  Veronique put her glass down on the table with a small thud. “What will he discover, if he makes it his business to investigate the past and present of Madame Rallien? And what would he do with the information? This group lives on blackmail, at least in part.”

  “Hm.” Milla thought it over. “The war has been over for six years. People move on with their lives, and so do governments. You may be able to leave the past behind at some point.”

  “Here in Bavaria, perhaps, but the Bourbons never forgive or forget. Spies are not amnestied, you know. Even your English family would be thoroughly shocked if they realised that you have fallen in with your former enemy.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Milla said impatiently. “How well did this Kepler, or whoever he really is, know you all those years ago in Strasbourg? Why did you react so strongly to each other? Do you know his real name?”

  “His father went by the name of Jacob Heidtmann, but I suspect it was just another nom de guerre. While he travelled, he dumped young Martin in father’s nursery for a good month. Needless to say, we did not get on. He was a sly, selfish little boy, and a bully.”

  Milla tried to mentally reduce the tall Major to a half-grown boy. No moustache as yet… “He is still sly and selfish. So, his first name is Martin?”

  “There was no reason to change the name, as young Martin did not figure in their scheme, so I suspect it is real. However, with professional crooks you cannot ever be sure.”

  “This complicates matters.” Milla took another small sip from her crystal-cut goblet. The wine was rich and sweet, but she never drank more than one glass before dinner. “While it heightens the stakes, we are still ahead.”

  “Of all the cursed bad luck – I’m sorry, Milla.”

  “We could leave Regensbad, abandon this game,” Milla suggested, reluctantly. “It is not worth the risk.”

  “I hate running away,” Veronique said. “And now that he has seen me, the danger might follow us. It all depends on what connections Kepler has. If he is merely a swindler living on his wits, he might hesitate to denounce a rival, for fear of drawing too much attention to his own activities. I wonder if it would help to talk to him?”

  “About what?”

  “I could tell him that, since the end of the war, I am living by bilking rich ladies, and that I won’t give his false identity away, if he’ll be discreet. It might confuse and stop him for a time, till he is sufficiently secure in your favour to have you chase me to the devil.”

  “That would not take long, if the Doktor's mesmerism had worked. How very vile, to be considered a mere puppet dancing on his strings…”

  Veronique toyed with her gloves, a rare sign of inner perturbation. "Have you heard anything from London? How likely is it that someone will join you here?”

  “Not very,” Milla said morosely, regretting that she had ever, in a weak moment, confessed to her friend that she missed a certain young gentleman she had known in London. “If he
cared, he would have come after me long before this. What is the saying – aus den Augen, aus dem Sinn?” Of course, leaving as she had done would have put off any man with the least pride and self-respect. She sighed.

  “If he liked you then, why did he let you depart in the first place?”

  “It is not as though he had a choice. There had been talk of my going to Italy, but I did not inform anyone of my departure date. From his point of view, I just left in the middle of his courtship. I did want him, but when I knew his proposal was imminent, I … I ran away.”

  Veronique frowned. “That does not sound like you, Milla. Whatever your reasons, if you left him hanging like that, he may still be angry. I suggest you forget this young Englishman and find someone else.”

  It was not as though Milla had not looked, or received plenty of other offers. “Who would you suggest?”

  “Not Kepler, of course. But in all this time, did nobody else touch your heart, even a little? You are so young and lovely that it seems incredible.”

  Milla shrugged. “Most men are tedious beyond words, interested in nothing but their narrow concerns, full of overweening conceit and self-importance. I suppose a few men are tolerable, but lately I was not tempted for a moment.”

  “You are amazingly hard-headed for your age.” Veronique regarded her like some zoological curiosity, making Milla twitch. “It may be for the best. Strong feelings can lead to torment and suffering, I should know.” A momentary sadness shadowed her face. “Yet, for all that, I would miss love, and being loved in return. My life would be empty and stale without that supreme emotion. It is worth any risk and pain.”

  Milla shook her head. “It seems folly to me to put that much dependence on any one person.”

  Her life had taught her to rely only on herself. Her parents had loved Milla in their way, but they drowned when she was just a child. Her oldest brother had ignored her, gambled away her portion, and nearly let her starve. Her other brother and his new wife had seen her as an encumbrance. “I will not depend on anyone loving me. Risking one’s heart and very life for an emotion seems a very poor bargain. Friendly affection and companionship is all I want from a husband.”