by Burnett, May
Invigorated by her conversation with the General, she proceeded to the Patisserie for an ice. She also had a selection of pastries packed up, hoping they might sweeten Barnaby’s imprisonment.
“How does one engage an appraiser?” Marie asked. “This is a small place, and the moment you ask about one, everyone will be wondering if you are going to buy a property.”
Milla considered. “Since I’m not about to buy the estate, I don’t really need to bring anyone. But I don’t fancy driving out there all by myself. Louis is needed to guard Mr. Winthrop, and you, too, had best remain behind.” She looked around the tables, wondering which gentleman of her acquaintance might be able and willing to escort her. Her eye fell on the so-called Monsieur Lambert, seated in a far corner. He was stirring his cup of hot chocolate listlessly, shoulders hunched. Hardly appropriate demeanour for a nobleman of his rank, but then Milla had never put great stock in class differences.
Unceremoniously, she joined him at the small table. “Bonjour, Monsieur, do you remember me? We underwent the Mental Water Treatment together.”
He bowed slightly. “Madame, your beauty is not easily forgotten. Who in Regensbad does not know Lady Fenton?” Though his reply was polite, he clearly wished her a thousand miles away.
“Were you aware that the treatment involved mesmerism, and that Doktor Rabenstein uses it to extract valuable secrets from his patients?” she asked him baldly.
He blanched. “Impossible.”
“I can prove my assertion. On the occasion I mentioned, I managed to remain awake and heard him ask you for your secrets. You told him all about your unsanctioned marriage to a Swiss lady, who is expecting your second child, and that your family is even now negotiating a match with a Spanish princess.”
He jerked so violently that hot chocolate spilled all over the white tablecloth. “How can you know? Nobody knows that.”
“I just told you how I learned it, and that I am not the only one who did. Doktor Rabenstein and his assistant took notes as they questioned you. I imagine they confided their discoveries to their ally Major Kepler, as well. They ordered you to forget all about this conversation, and to give Major Kepler anything he might ask from you. I daresay he has been bilking you since, in one way or another.”
“But …but … if that is so, why did you not warn me right away?”
“I owe you nothing, Monsieur, and I did not like the way you are hiding your wife, instead of standing by her like a man. Not that it’s any of my business how you conduct your private life,” she added quickly when he winced.
“What do you want from me, Madame? Are you going to blackmail me with what you learned?”
“Could I? If you were to confess all to your family, nobody could pressure you. But as I said, that’s up to you. I don’t want any money from you, Monsieur Lambert, but you could do me a small favour, nonetheless.”
“I knew it.” His gaze was less than complimentary.
“Tomorrow at ten I am inspecting, at Major Kepler’s instigation, a property outside this town. I said I would take an appraiser with me, but since I know the whole thing is a swindle, that is hardly necessary. I suspect that the seller, a local widow by name of Meybrinck, is another victim of Rabenstein’s mesmerism. I would appreciate your escort, just for two or three hours.”
He frowned. “In the character of an appraiser? I am afraid you have the wrong man. Besides, I have met Frau von Meybrinck and she knows me by name.”
“Naturally, you would come as Monsieur Lambert, a gentleman who is kindly advising me on the value of the estate.”
“If you insist, Madame,” he said ungraciously. “I thought you had a young Englishman with you, for such duties? A tall blond man?”
“Mr. Winthrop had to leave for a time, unexpectedly.” Since Milla was hopeful he would soon be able to reappear in society, she did not claim he had gone all the way home to England. “So, can I count on you? I will come by your lodgings in a carriage at around nine.”
“So early? But I am in no position to refuse, I suppose.”
Milla took her leave of him and walked back to her apartments, deep in thought.
“I’m not sure that was wise, milady,” Marie commented. “You certainly created problems for the crooks, but you also tipped your hand. This Frenchman strikes me as a weak reed. They could easily subdue him again, any time.”
“Perhaps it was foolhardy, but I am done staying my hand, Marie. Anything I can do to spike their wheels, any obstacle I can put in their path to complicate their lives is welcome, until I find the way to completely defeat them. Too bad we still have not heard back from Vienna University.”
“It has not been that long, milady, and such institutions take their time, if they reply at all.”
Milla knew it. It irked her, how the rest of the world moved at a snail’s pace. She would quickly change that, were she ever put in charge.
Chapter 26
Barnaby put down a book that could not keep his attention, and stared at the cannonball attached to his leg. It was so heavy that he could not carry it, but it could be rolled from one room to the other, slowly.
He was fairly confident he could get around the primitive lock on the shackles. Now that his hands were free, he could find some hook, bend a small spoon or fork. Milla’s hairpins were probably too frail for that cast-iron monstrosity. The question was, should he try?
After twenty-four hours of captivity in Milla’s bedroom, he no longer wanted to flee back to England so very urgently. That had not been his own wish, he felt almost sure. And whatever had happened to precipitate this ridiculous situation, he owed it to himself to find out the particulars, if only to ensure it could never happen again. Whether Milla or someone else was responsible for his confused state, to simply leave would be cowardly. The Winthrops did not breed cowards.
He imagined the ball and chain off his ankle. What would he do? He still felt an irrational impulse to depart, if less strongly than before. With a sigh, he decided to hang on to the weight until this urge – was it really compulsion? – had completely passed.
A few days ago, he could have imagined nothing better than to share Milla’s quarters, sleep in her bed – though preferably not alone. The room was faintly redolent of her perfume, roses and something else that was uniquely Milla. It was not her permanent home, just hired lodgings, and yet it thrilled him that he had invaded her bedroom, even under such conditions.
To leave Regensbad, as part of his brain still insisted he should, would mean never making love to her, never having the chance to ravish and plunge into that delectable body. He had come so close… why had he refused her, again, when she had offered to lie with him? He had been a fool. He had been fascinated, had wanted Milla from the first moment he had set eyes on her, walking with Abigail in Hyde Park. She was so unlike other women, so intrepid and clever, that her celebrated beauty was the least of it. Of course, she might also be a lying, betraying jade, as he had firmly believed yesterday morning, still half-believed now. But even so, why would he not stay to enjoy the bounty of her body?
Because it would be wrong. He had told Milla he would not make love to her unless they were married. To go back on his word, to debauch her – even if he were one in a long line of men who had come before – and not offer marriage would be dishonourable. Milla was the sister of his brother-in-law, the daughter of a baron, not some doxy a man could use and discard at the cost of a few coins.
Did he still love her at this moment? To his frustration, Barnaby could not be certain. It was as though his former emotions were locked away in a trunk inside his mind, inaccessible, yet not lost for good. That was definitely abnormal, had never happened before.
It would be wrong to make love to her while he felt so unsettled, could not truly tell her that he loved her as she deserved. The lust Barnaby felt was as strong as ever, however, and his body stiffened at the mere thought of clasping Milla’s naked body in his arms.
Did she deserve his love? He was
uncertain at present, but then, was love ever wholly deserved? Love was like grace, a gift from heaven. Did Barnaby deserve her love, or anyone’s, after falling into this absurd scrape? He could plead that it had not been his fault, but a better man would not find himself wondering if he was in his right mind, chained to a rusty old cannonball.
Perhaps he should try to unlock the shackles after all. If that story about Kepler and Rabenstein had been true, Milla had involved herself in a very dangerous affair. Chained and shackled, he could not defend her if it should become necessary. She was too careless of her safety, thought she could best anyone. That might be true against the ordinary run of villain, but sooner or later anyone ran up against a more dangerous, wilier opponent.
Hunting and thwarting criminals was not a suitable activity for a lady. Even for a man of the world like his brother Jeremy, or Barnaby himself, it would be risky. Milla had been kidnapped less than two years ago, had been rescued from the lair of a dangerous gang. From such an experience, anyone else would have learned to keep away from the underworld.
He returned his eyes to the book with an effort. Such useless thoughts would not solve anything. He needed more information, facts.
If he could unshackle his foot he might eavesdrop on Milla and her staff, listen to her conversations with visitors. He might find out the truth. Could he trust himself to remain long enough, a pretend prisoner? Not that he had much choice. His purse, all his money, including the reserve hidden in the shaving kit, was locked away.
Putting the book aside, he set out to explore the room. There had to be something he could fashion into a lock pick…
As he searched, he repeated in his mind, “Must stay… must find out what is going on,” over and over.
Milla’s books… Milla’s clothes press… her perfume… he sniffed at the dark red crystal flagon. Yes, that was the fragrance he would recognize anywhere. He closed his eyes, inhaling the air above the opened flask, groaning, “Milla!” Where was the Milla of three days ago, the wonderful woman at whose feet he had laid his heart? And where was the Barnaby Winthrop of that day, a man who knew what he wanted, and why?
In Milla’s sewing kit he found delicate but sturdy scissors. Would the thin blades bend or break? Only one way to find out. There was also a metal crocheting hook that looked promising.
Listening hard to make sure his activities remained undetected, Barnaby set to work.
***
That night, Marie fetched a number of dishes from the nearby inn and put them out on the table buffet-style, with settings for four. Barnaby looked uncertainly at Milla. Did she really expect him to sit down to eat with her maid and servant, the slippery Louis?
“This is the custom of the household,” she told him with a wry smile, no doubt guessing at his shock. “Do sit down, don’t look so dismayed.”
He pushed past his instinctive reluctance and complied, and helped himself to food after Milla and Marie had done so. “I am not dismayed as much as surprised. I suppose, under normal circumstances, this fourth setting is Madame Rallien’s? Is she the one who instituted this revolutionary practice?”
Milla smiled. “Oh no, in my household it is I, and no one else, who sets the rules. I grew accustomed to sharing with the staff during my youth in that half-empty castle. There were three servants left in the end, who had nowhere else to go. Everyone contributed to the larder by gardening, fishing, or hunting. It would have been absurd and lonely for me to dine alone in an unfurnished dining room.” She added a portion of rice to her plate. “When I ate out, it was with simple fishermen, where the children shared the table with the adults. I have since adapted to more formal ways, but in my home, I practice what I find most comfortable.”
“I see.” He ate some cured ham. “When you lived in Dorset with Abigail, you could not have done this, or she would have mentioned it.”
“At the time, I was learning how to be a fashionable lady,” Milla said. “Now that I have mastered the subject, I do as I please.”
Barnaby ate in silence for some minutes while the others talked of her excursion to the Meybrinck estate the next morning. Milla had recruited a Frenchman to escort her. His immediate surge of jealousy subsided when she mentioned that he was married. If he felt jealous, did that mean he was still in love with Milla? Or merely possessive, a trait he always deprecated in others?
“I doubt Kepler will join us,” Milla said to Louis. “If he expects the upshot to be an angry, duped buyer and seller, and perhaps expensive lawsuits, he will want to appear as little as possible in the matter.”
“That makes sense,” Marie agreed.
Barnaby stared. The maid had a say in Milla’s intrigues? “When do you expect your companion to return?”
“Perhaps as early as tomorrow evening. The sooner the better. How are you tonight – do you still feel a violent urge to leave?”
“Not quite as strongly as yesterday.”
“Ah.” She beamed. “Perhaps time will do the trick, if that professor proves useless.”
“Why exactly do you keep me here? The excuse that I might be suicidal does not convince me.” He could not imagine laying hand on himself under any circumstances, mesmerised or not.
“We cannot be sure,” she maintained. “Apart from watching over your safety, we still have unfinished business.”
So they did. He did not know what to reply, and concentrated on his food.
“For what it’s worth, I advised to let you leave,” Louis said. “You are damnably heavy to shift, and suitors are a dime a dozen.”
Barnaby glared at him, and so did Milla. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter,” Barnaby told the insolent servant, who only grinned back at him.
“Milady has received a great many proposals, some from titled and rich gentlemen,” Marie informed Barnaby. “An ambassador, two counts, and a millionaire, just in the last three months.” She did not add, but he distinctly received the impression, that she thought her mistress might do better than him. “There were at least four duels fought over her in Vienna, mostly among students.”
“They merely used me as a pretext to cut at each other with rapiers,” Milla said impatiently. “As though I cared for that! Mere puppies.”
From Louis’ ironic gaze, Barnaby gathered that, in the older man’s eyes, that label applied to him as well. He hugged the knowledge to him that with the crocheting needle he could open and re-lock his shackles at will. The invaluable implement, bent out of its original shape, was secreted in the bowels of his mattress. Whenever he wanted, he could leave this strange household – well, he still needed to find out where they had hidden his money.
It was amazing, how much the prospect of escape had cheered him up.
The fact that he had not immediately left, once he had unlocked his shackles, proved that he was regaining control over his will and actions. Perhaps there was something to the theory that deliberately acting against the mesmerist’s command helped break its strength.
“More wine?” Louis held the bottle over his glass.
“Yes, please, by all means.” Milla had excellent taste in vintages, or perhaps it was the Frenchman who had chosen the wines he had tasted so far. The fellow had to be good for something else besides drugging hapless travellers and smuggling them out of their rooms.
“How old were you during the revolution, Louis? And where did you live at the time? Forgive me if I use the first name only. I have never learned your last name.”
Louis’ handsome face remained impassive. If he had been dressed as a gentleman, you would even have called him distinguished. “When the Bastille was stormed, I was still in school, far from Paris.”
“Did you sympathize with the revolution’s ideals?”
“Of course. You cannot imagine the wave of enthusiasm and hopefulness that swept over the country, and I was an impressionable, idealistic boy. It would have been different had I been born an aristo, I suppose.”
“And what did you do later?�
��
“I enlisted in the army.” Louis was unruffled. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have killed my share of men, including Englishmen.”
Barnaby looked at Milla, to see how she would react.
“The war is over.” She sounded indifferent.
“That is all you can say?”
She shrugged her beautiful pale shoulders. “What do you want me to say? I disapprove of war in general; it was a great piece of foolishness and monumental waste. Nobody consulted me when it started, or when it ended. Now that it is over and our side won, what does all that matter? Louis and Veronique are my friends, and I care not about their nationality or politics.”
Barnaby took a gulp of wine. “Your own brother fought at Waterloo.”
“Yes, though I did not hear about it until long afterwards. I had not had any news from North in several years. I’m glad he survived unscathed, but his former profession has nothing to do with the friendships and alliances I choose. My allegiance to England is remote. If anything, I feel loyalty to Cornwall, rather than the kingdom.”
Barnaby imagined a dinner party where she expounded these views to his father, the earl, whose passion was politics and the aggrandizement of British dominions. The feathers would fly, and he’d never hear the last of it. On the other hand, Lord Branscombe’s smugness could be aggravating at times. The occasional challenge might do him good.
Milla was a traitor to her class and her nation, some of his friends would say, if they could hear her now. Still, Barnaby understood why she did not much care about conventional loyalties. That upbringing at the fringes of normal society, her congenital independence and stubborn pride coloured her feelings and views.
“Do you tell me these things to shock me, Milla?” But it was he himself who had asked after Louis’ past, who had introduced the subject of politics and war.
“I promised you earlier that I would not withhold important information from you again. Who I am, how I think and feel, is part of that.” She smiled impishly. “I don’t commonly go around shocking people with my politics. I prefer to provoke them on purpose, when I choose to, not because I do not know better.”