by Burnett, May
Veronique’s expression was sceptical. “If that young Englishman of yours was the conventional, chivalrous kind, he would have wanted his wife to need him, to love him. Did you tell him that you were not interested in that, that you did not need anyone?”
Milla bit her lips, passing those last weeks in London under review. “I may have done, though not in so many words,” she admitted. “My friend Abigail advised me not to dissimulate my true nature, to make society accept me on my own terms. Would that not apply to a lover as well? And remember, it was I who left, not the other way round.” She absently touched her hair; no locks had escaped from their confining pins. Lady Fenton was always neat, unlike that wind-blown girl of her youth.
“If he thought you more helpless, in need of him, he might have come after you,” Veronique speculated.
Milla doubted it. In any case, she would not pretend to be other than she was.
Veronique make a brushing motion with her hand. “You may be well out of the affair. Did you not mention that he was merely a second son?”
“Yes, but what has that to do with the matter? His father is an earl; he is well-to-do, and perfectly eligible. My own father was a mere baron, the lowest rank of the peerage.” Besides, Barnaby was tall and strong and those blue eyes of his, that intense gaze focused entirely on her, had stirred Milla’s blood. Also, those big, long fingered hands, with which he held the reins when he drove, sitting so close beside her… his happy, carefree grin when something pleased him… she had been a fool to leave London before ever tasting those well-formed lips. Now she never would get the chance; indeed, it was surprising she had not yet received news of his engagement to some fawning debutante.
“If you truly want him, I advise you not to waste any more time,” Veronique said tartly, echoing Milla’s unvoiced concern. “If Mr. Winthrop still has feelings for you, any hint of trouble, of needing his help, may bring him to your side. If not, it might be better to know that it is a hopeless cause, stop moping after him, and find someone else.”
Milla nodded, her mind racing. Barnaby had been most constantly at her side when she had been in trouble, blackmailed and kidnapped… in the aftermath of her rescue his interest had seemed to strengthen, and his courtship became more pronounced. Had Milla been ready to be tied down, after those two quiet years in the countryside, she could have brought him up to scratch on any of a half-dozen occasions. Perhaps he had been waiting for the perfect opening.
Her lips curved into a smile. Trouble was not hard to find – she sought it out, it followed Milla around. So far, she had dealt with each instance successfully, but it might be pleasant to have a constant ally at her side, the way Veronique had in her Louis.
If she hurried, there was just time for a letter to England before she had to change for dinner…
Chapter 6
All trunks were packed, and good-byes said. Barnaby was about to turn in early for his last night in London, since he would be boarding a vessel bound for Amsterdam at five the next morning. When Jeremy came to call, he regarded his brother with mild surprise. They had already taken leave of each other the previous day in the unceremonious manner of adult Englishmen.
“Two things you ought to know,” Jeremy began, “I had a word with Milla’s banker, and he confirmed that he was worried she might have fallen under some unwholesome influence. The bulk of her fortune has been transferred to a banking house in Frankfort during the past twelve months.”
“Perhaps she simply gets better service and interest there, and her German bankers don’t gossip about her affairs,” Barnaby suggested.
“Indeed, and I wouldn’t have come just for that,” Jeremy said. “In fact, it is Abigail who insisted that I show you Milla’s latest correspondence – a letter arrived just today, that seems pertinent and even ominous. Here, you’d better see for yourself.”
Barnaby frowned as he reached for the sheet of delicately tinted, pigeon-blue linen paper. Was that a faint sweet fragrance of Milla hanging about it? Refraining with difficulty from raising the page to his nose to sniff, he quickly ran his eyes down the lines.
Dear Abby,
I hope that this letter finds you well, as I am in this pleasant little spa of Regensbad.
How is your little Michael, now that he has completed his first year? I hope he continues to thrive and delight his fond parents and grandparents. I look forward to observing you in your role as mother, a role that seems made for such a caring and warm-hearted woman. I won’t ask how your husband is doing, as he is too splendidly strong and lordly to admit of any worry on his behalf.
Your frequent reminders that I should think of returning to England are beginning to have an effect… on several occasions of late I have wished you were here at my side, to give me the benefit of your wise counsel.
However, it is impossible for me to leave this place before I have dealt with a few small complications. Sometimes people are not who you thought they were, and decisions that were taken upon what looked like reliable advice turn out to be less advantageous than expected. But I won’t bore you with any details of tedious business concerns. Please, do not worry about me; you know that I have a talent to extricate myself from difficulties without taking permanent harm. There is nothing wrong, at least nothing that I cannot deal with.
Please extend my best wishes for their health and happiness to all your family, and mine, if you should meet North and Susan.
Barnaby stared at the page. It was so damnably vague, but clearly there was some serious problem. He cursed the distance that still lay between him and Milla in that Bavarian spa. She was an Englishwoman, she should be home in her own country instead of gallivanting around the Continent, getting herself into who knew what hot water…
“I see – or rather I don’t see, but thank you for bringing this news to me,” he told his brother. “Please assure Abigail that I will do anything in my power to assist Milla in this mysterious difficulty. I should have checked upon her earlier; perhaps things might not have come to such a pass… but as long as it’s merely a matter of money, I daresay it is not the end of the world.”
“You have ample funds with you?” Jeremy asked. “If not –”
“Yes, cash and a letter of credit, just in case. Don’t worry about it. But I have a feeling that money alone won’t be enough to untangle Milla’s affairs.”
“Affairs,” Jeremy repeated thoughtfully. “She is a beautiful young widow, who may well have taken lovers. It is almost the expected thing, as long as she’s discreet about it. Since you are still not indifferent to Milla, can you cope with discovering that she’s been, ah, gathering more varied experience?”
Barnaby’s heart twisted at the thought. “Let’s not assume anything. I won’t play the jealous suitor – I have no right,” he said with tolerable calm, though his mind and heart disagreed. “Whatever happens, you can assure Abigail that I will help her friend to the best of my ability. I already told North and Susan the same. They are understandably worried. It is a pity that Susan and Milla never became close.”
“Susan tried,” Jeremy defended their sister, “but Milla never gave her a chance. She can be hard and downright callous, Barnaby. You know that I was relieved when she left two years ago, after my wedding, and nothing came of your obvious attraction.”
Barnaby frowned at him. Jeremy had never sufficiently understood or appreciated Milla.
“I know, you are a grown man and have to make your own decisions. Whatever happens, Abby and I shall support you.”
Barnaby nodded, letting it go. Most likely he would return as single as he was now; but at least he might find out what had driven Milla away from him, why she had not even waited for his proposal. It was high time to have this thing out between Milla and himself.
Chapter 7
“Major Kepler has sent flowers,” Marie informed the others late the next morning. Milla had just returned from an invigorating walk with Veronique, and was putting away her silk-fringed parasol.
“There were six bouquets this morning. His is of average size, daffodils and other spring flowers. The card only has his name, nothing more.”
“An interesting choice,” Veronique commented. “Most men would have begun their siege with roses.”
“I daresay he does not want to tip his hand this early,” Louis guessed. He was leaning against the doorjamb of the drawing room, arms folded. “He supposes you are unaware of the Doktor’s command. If you are hopelessly, irrationally attracted to Kepler, then you are the one supposed to court and catch him, while he is best served by feigning indifference at first.”
“That makes sense,” Milla agreed. The scoundrel! “A good thing that I am not hopelessly, irrationally attracted to him, or to any man. The very idea makes me nauseous. What have you found out about Kepler?”
“He lodges in the Hotel Bitterschwarm, in one of their best rooms, and travels with a valet,” Louis reported. “Unlike him, I think the valet is truly from Prussia, judging by his accent and ramrod spine. Kepler has called upon Monsieur Lambert, and the General, and several more people yesterday, leaving his card. There is no overt connection between him and Doktor Rabenstein at all.”
That surprised Milla. “Surely they must meet and consult now and then?”
“It would be safer to send unsigned notes,” Veronique said. “Or to use the Doktor’s assistant and the Major’s valet as go-betweens. Rosa is the Doktor’s sister, it turns out. Their true name is not Rabenstein, but Karl and Rosa Meinfried, from a town called Schwaz in the Tyrol.”
“How did you find that out?” Milla was impressed. “Did you bribe someone?”
“I searched their lodgings while they were doing private consultations,” Louis said. “They had some old letters hidden in a double bottom of a trunk.”
“Could you tell if Rabenstein is a genuine doctor?”
“Yes, oddly enough, it would seem that he is. He has a diploma from Vienna University, under his original name of Karl Meinfried. I wonder if he learned mesmerism there? Regarding your wish to study it yourself, I have not found any other practitioner of that black art in Regensbad, but I have a lead on one in Ulm.”
“That diploma may be forged, of course.” Veronique handed her straw hat, trimmed with cherries, to Marie. “It is hardly proof positive. Though perhaps Rabenstein took to a life of crime when he was exposed under his regular identity? And how did he fall in with Kepler, who hails from Cologne? They are probably not related after all. They are very different physical types.”
“We are co-operating closely and are unrelated, and of different nationalities,” Milla pointed out, as she passed into the drawing room. The others followed. “Common interests are enough. And what better incentive than gaining access to various large fortunes?”
“Kepler will likely call today, as soon as the hour is sufficiently advanced,” Veronique said. “If you like I can go in first, and sound him out, as we discussed.”
“I would like to hear what he tells you,” Milla remarked.
“I, too,” Louis said.
“We could put up the Chinese screen in here, in front of the side door,” Marie suggested. “That way you could listen and leave discreetly, and then enter from the main door a few minutes later.”
“Very well,” Milla decided. “Louis, you can stay there while I talk to him with Veronique at my side. I think it will be best not to see him alone this first time.”
“He may order you to send me away, or to do some quite unexpected thing, to test the effect of the secret command,” Veronique warned. “I’ll try to run interference, if so, but we’ll have to play it by ear.”
“My favourite kind of game.” Milla smiled in anticipation. “Have you given thought to how we can permanently frustrate them, without calling attention to ourselves? Perhaps something like the fate of Madame Mercurio, the medium in Baden? She fled all the way back to Galicia when we publicly exposed her right in the middle of that séance.”
“This is a larger group of villains, and more dangerous,” Veronique warned. “Not that Madame Mercurio did not deserve her comeuppance. The way she preyed on the hopes and fears of the recently bereaved was nothing short of cruel.”
***
“This way, Sir,” Marie said to Major Kepler when he arrived on the dot of three o’clock, the proper time for a morning call. “I shall see if my lady is at home.”
“I am sure she will be.” Behind the screen, Milla and Louis exchanged wry glances at the patronizing certainty in Kepler’s voice. The coxcomb! She would make him regret bitterly that he’d tried to bamboozle her.
A minute later Veronique entered the drawing room.
“Major Kepler, is it?” she asked. “Strange, I seem to remember that you bore a different name when I knew you as a child.”
Kepler snorted. “And you were Veronique Matisseur. I did not expect to meet you here, of all places, playing companion to an Englishwoman. It is hardly a role that suits you.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Veronique retorted sharply. “It is not in my interest to let you prey upon her, Martin.”
“I no longer use that name. I could tell Lady Fenton about your past, what you are, Veronique. Surely you would not want that.”
“What I am? I am a war widow, and unlike you, the name I bear is real and legal. I never joined my father’s profession, and have nothing to fear from your revelations. Whereas you, Martin, seem to be following in your father’s footsteps. What are your intentions vis-à-vis Lady Fenton?”
“Whatever they may be, you will not be around to observe them, Veronique.” The Major’s voice was cold. “She is mine now, and I can only recommend that you decamp of your own volition, before I make your employer throw you out in disgrace. Never doubt that it is in my power.”
“Nonsense,” Veronique scoffed. “I know Lady Fenton so well by now, she will not easily be turned against me.”
“Would you like to bet upon that? I shall give you a small demonstration when she comes, that she’ll do anything for me.”
“You overestimate your charms. You were an unpleasant boy, and the man is no better. I shall advise Lady Fenton to have nothing to do with you.”
“Advise what you like, it will not avail you. Where is she? Do you screen all her visitors?”
“Only the riff-raff,” Veronique said contemptuously. “She will be here soon enough. I give you fair warning, Lady Fenton is not an easy victim to fleece. I should know – it has taken me long enough to get there. I am not minded to share.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Neither am I, ma chère Veronique.”
Milla slipped out, leaving Louis alone behind the screen, listening to the sparring with a disgusted expression. He probably wanted to burst into the room and pummel the presumptuous Major. Well, he’d get his revenge soon enough.
When she entered the room two minutes later, Veronique was scowling.
“You remember Major Kepler? We met him at the concert,” she said to Milla.
Kepler bowed with an enigmatic expression on his handsome face.
“How could I forget a martial hero in such a short time?” Milla smiled at him guilelessly and held out her hand, over which he bowed again, and simulated a kiss. “Thank you for the flowers, Major. They were a welcome breath of spring.”
“They must blush and hide compared to your beauty, Madame.” He stared deeply into her eyes. Was he also adept at mesmerism? So far, Milla felt no wish to obey him whatsoever.
“I have never seen eyes of such a marvellously vivid blue,” he said in a vibrant voice. “They remind one of a deep summer sky reflected in a tropical ocean.”
“Have you seen many tropical oceans, Major?” Veronique asked. “If so, do tell us about your travels.”
Kepler ignored her comment. “You will think me very forward, Lady Fenton,” his tone turned intimate, “but I have a small request, to show that you are as kind and generous a lady, as I have been assured by several mutual acquaintances.”
Veronique sniffed derisively. Milla frowned at her briefly.
“Obviously I would not want to destroy your faith in my benevolence.” She fluttered her lashes at the Major. His own grey eyes reminded her of the sea on a dismal rainy day, and the pupils were drawn together, quite small. Something told her that he did not particularly like her – well, neither did she care for him in the least.
“Will you honour me with your company, Ma’am, at Wednesday’s ball?”
“It is a public ball,” Veronique said sharply, “not the kind of event suitable for a dowager Viscountess. All kinds of undesirable persons can attend, merely through the purchase of a ticket.”
“Let’s not be so exclusive,” Milla said to Veronique, “why not have some simple fun once in a while? Nobody back in England will ever know. It is not as though I were a delicate flower straight from the schoolroom.”
“You are as fresh, and far lovelier than any flower,” the Major said. “At my side, you need not fear anything. If some ruffian should accost you, I shall quickly send him about his business.”
“I am sure you will,” Milla agreed. “Not that anybody would dare.”
“If you are determined to expose yourself like that,” Veronique said, “I must go with you, to ensure that your reputation does not suffer.”
The Major gave Milla a look.
“Uh, I don’t know,” she said weakly, as though torn between two stronger wills. “We can discuss it later, Veronique.”
Her companion pressed her lips together and tightly inclined her head.
“I shall count the hours, Major.” Milla beamed at her visitor. “I assume you will fetch me, or us, before the hour? Around eight?”
“You have made me a happy man, Lady Fenton. All of Regensbad will envy me such an incomparable beauty on my arm.”