Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “It seems incredible. But if there should be any truth to it… what should I do?”

  “Consult your lawyer,” Lambert advised. “Do not meet Kepler or Rabenstein alone; always have at least two witnesses at your side. Do not sign anything without talking directly to the other party, and reading it through word by word. Ideally, have your lawyer check it before you sign anything.”

  Milla nodded at him approvingly. For a prince, his advice was surprisingly practical. “Don’t sign anything at all, I would suggest.”

  “Kepler will have me foreclosed upon, if I don’t sell.”

  “He’ll still have to go to law for that, and your lawyer can stall him at least a while. If I succeed in exposing him,” Milla said, “once he is known for what he is, and with any luck is in prison, he may be unable to obtain a court order against you. Play for time. Be sick and unavailable when he next calls. But don’t let on that you suspect him, that we have had this talk. He may be dangerous if thwarted.”

  “I see.” The old lady took a fortifying sip of tea. “You have certainly given me much food for thought, and a glimmer of hope. Thank you.”

  Milla nodded, uncomfortable with thanks she did not yet deserve. She had some ideas as to how to help the old lady, that she would keep to herself for now, so as not to raise false hopes.

  “Your horses are splendid,” she changed the subject. “Where did you obtain that incredible grey stallion?”

  Chapter 28

  Barnaby walked on stockinged feet, silent, listening intently. Milla had returned, supposedly from an excursion to inspect some estate Kepler wanted her to buy. She was in the drawing room, in conference with Marie and Louis.

  “How is Mr. Winthrop?” was the first thing she asked. He smiled to himself. Was she worried about his health, or whether he was properly restrained? If she only knew it, she had ample reason to worry about the latter.

  “Reading quietly,” Marie reported. “An hour ago he told me he felt sleepy, and not to disturb him.”

  “At three in the afternoon?” Milla sounded slightly surprised, as well she might. “Well, then he’ll be well-rested for dinner. We have work to do. A burglary, I think.”

  Barnaby blinked in surprise.

  “Do be careful, Ma’am,” Marie advised in a resigned tone.

  “What did you find out, Milla?” Louis asked. “We’ll end on the gallows yet if we go on like this.”

  Milla proceeded to tell them about an old lady who had supposedly signed a promissory note without receiving any money in return, and was being forced to sell her ancestral estate. “To more than one person, I suspect,” Milla concluded. “Veronique could no doubt tell us exactly how this kind of trick is named in criminal circles.”

  “Well, I call it outrageous,” Marie said indignantly.

  “You want me to find this note, I gather,” Louis stated, not particularly upset, from what Barnaby could tell. This was probably all in a day’s work for the wily Frenchman. “The mission brings back old times. But I have already searched Kepler’s rooms in the Hotel Bitterschwarm, inch by inch. He did not have any promissory notes there. And neither did I find it in the Doktor’s apartments.”

  “Perhaps they did not yet have it in their possession?” Milla suggested. “I received the impression that Frau von Meybrinck had only signed it quite recently – perhaps the day before Kepler presented it to her for payment. After all, she cannot remember signing at all. They could have put any date on it that they deemed convenient.”

  “Very well. If I am caught and hanged, give Veronique my love,” Louis said. Barnaby drew in a deep breath, surprised. Louis and Madame Rallien? Well, they were both French, and of compatible ages… but, still! Not that he cared, as long as Milla was not involved in whatever affair these libertine French had going.

  “We would get you out, even if we had to blow up the prison.”

  “I know, and they could hardly keep me for long in this piddling excuse for a state. But I shall be careful. They may be more on guard than the last time.”

  “I could come with you,” Milla offered. “To distract them, if necessary.”

  Barnaby’s blood ran cold at the suggestion. He had heard enough.

  “I can do that,” he announced, and entered through the doorway behind which he had been lurking.

  Milla’s eyes flew to his unshackled legs. “You freed yourself!” He could not tell if she was sorry or glad.

  “Did you doubt that I could? You will be missing a crocheting needle.”

  They looked at each other, and Milla began to chuckle. “How absurd. And gratifying that you are still in our midst. Do I understand that your compulsion to flee from me has weakened?”

  “Almost totally gone.”

  “If you mean it,” Louis said, “I would not mind your assistance in this burgling expedition. But you must do exactly as I say; I have many years of experience.”

  “As a burglar?”

  “As a spy.” Louis’ brown eyes met his in silent challenge.

  Barnaby exhaled in sudden realisation. “You are… can you be Madame Rallien’s deceased husband, the notorious Colonel Rallien?”

  “At your service.” Louis bowed ironically. “And not quite deceased, though I came deuced close to it in Russia. I trust you will keep this information to yourself, Mr. Winthrop.”

  “God, yes. My father would explode if he ever learned…" Barnaby glanced at Milla. “You knew all the time?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned back to Louis. “I did think you were a bit too assured, too educated, too insolent for a servant.”

  The Gallic shrug that answered Barnaby’s comment was an unspoken admission.

  “We have more urgent things to discuss. Did you hear everything? About poor Frau von Meybrinck?” Milla asked. “I should have been suspicious of your wish to sleep in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “I have the story more or less, but there are some details that escape me.” Barnaby was eager to hear more of this villain who went around mesmerizing others into harmful behaviour, against their interests. What had happened to this old lady was not unlike Barnaby’s own experience. He needed to see the man for himself, punish him for his transgressions.

  “You are supposed to have departed Regensbad, Mr. Winthrop,” Marie reminded him. “If you run into the doctor, he may mesmerize you yet again, and get you to tell him everything.”

  “He won’t get me to sit still for that a second time.”

  “I hope not. That cannonball was not doing the floorboards any good. As it is, I don’t know how we’ll explain the dents to the landlady.”

  Milla did not check her maid’s pert remarks, and looked distracted. Briefly, he admired the way her long dark lashes half veiled those remarkably luminous eyes, the straight nose, the way her nostrils moved almost imperceptibly as she breathed in and out. Every single detail about her was fascinating. And none more so than her unpredictable, stubborn mind.

  “There is a Treatment scheduled tomorrow afternoon, Saturday,” she said. “Both Rabenstein and his sister will be absent from home.”

  “And Kepler is to attend a dinner party tonight, at Frau Maierberg’s house,” Louis said. “That will be a good time to have another go at his lodgings, if that Prussian valet of his is not hanging around – the fellow who sold you the shares, in disguise. He has his own room on the top floor, but comes and goes downstairs.”

  “Have you searched the valet’s room too?” Barnaby asked. “Perhaps he is guarding the important documents there, since his master goes out so often.”

  “We’ll check it out.” Louis regarded Barnaby, and shook his head. “Had we known you would overcome the mesmerism so quickly, Veronique need not have departed for Ulm at all.”

  “I am not completely over it,” Barnaby admitted. “I still cannot remember that evening, and why I felt – still feel to some extent – that I must depart this place, that there can be nothing between Lady Fenton and myself. Don’t retur
n my purse until I am quite cured.”

  ***

  Veronique arrived that same night, in a light two-seater berline drawn by four horses. After her lithe descent, a tall, spindly gentleman of perhaps fifty stiffly climbed down from the suspended body of the coach. Barnaby watched at the window, standing far enough back that nobody on the street should recognize him.

  Marie led the arrivals inside, while Louis gave the coachman directions to the livery stable. Eventually, the whole household gathered in the living room, where Milla thanked Professor Matthiess for having joined them so quickly. At least that was the general sense of her words, Barnaby gathered. How had Milla become so fluent in such a short time? German was not an easy language.

  Fortunately, the Professor spoke excellent French, having studied mesmerism from the Marquis de Puységur, an eminent practitioner of the art and direct disciple of Franz Mesmer. “Mesmer himself is still alive, in Austria,” he told them, “and from what Madame Rallien has been telling me, I wonder if this so-called Doktor Rabenstein studied under him in Vienna.”

  “Very likely,” Milla said. “I hope we did not inconvenience you too much, Professor?”

  “I had to delegate a lecture, send my regrets to two hostesses, and postpone a few consultations. You understand, mesmerism is not my main specialty; I am primarily consulted for liver diseases. But no matter, such an interesting case may yield material for a monograph, and would have drawn me regardless. Where is the patient who has to be restrained against imminent departure?”

  “That would be me,” Barnaby said apologetically. “I have overcome the suggestion to return to England, but some of the effect still lingers. Can you help me get rid of it?”

  “I believe so,” the Professor replied. “In fact, I am very curious to observe the results for myself. Could you tell me in your own words what you remember, and how you reacted to the previous magnetism?”

  “Magnetism?”

  “There are various ways to describe the effect – mesmerism, magnetism, or hypnotism. Some still maintain there is an invisible effluvium involved. We have lively debates about it, in our scholarly papers.”

  Barnaby nodded. “Until this happened, I did not truly believe that this effect existed. I thought it was all a trick, like stage magic.”

  “It most definitely exists, but it is still mysterious in its effects, causes, and limitations, even to us who practice it,” Matthiess replied. “If you are willing, I shall magnetize you, and ask you to remember and tell us what happened on the previous occasion. Afterwards you should recall everything. I shall try to undo the effect of commands you may have received, though I cannot guarantee the results.”

  “Well, I am not needed for that,” Marie announced. “I shall order dinner in the meantime.”

  “You will join us at table, Professor?” Milla asked.

  “Willingly. Thank you, Lady Fenton.”

  “Perhaps we should also leave,” Madame Rallien suggested with a look at her husband.

  “You are not eager to observe the experiment, Madame? I would prefer to have several witnesses,” the Professor objected.

  “I do not mind,” Barnaby said, not quite truthfully. They already knew far too much, damn them, though nothing as damaging as he now knew about Louis. But, if he had to be magnetized a second time, he too preferred to have witnesses about.

  The process was far quicker and simpler than he had imagined. The Professor made him look at his watch fob as he talked for a minute or two, in a commanding voice.

  “You are now magnetised, and recall everything of your past,” Matthiess announced.

  “Already?” Barnaby asked. He felt fully conscious, though strangely disinclined to look away from the Professor.

  “You tell us, Mr. Winthrop. When did you first meet Doktor Rabenstein?”

  “Wednesday night. I was returning to the hotel from that tedious dinner. Kepler joined me on the street, and introduced Rabenstein as a friend. He invited us to have a drink at the hotel. I declined at first, but he pretended that he wanted to consult me about some problem in connection with Lady Fenton. We had brandy in a corner of the empty dining room.”

  As he spoke, the memory returned. So that was what Rabenstein looked like! He had fallen into their trap like an unwary rabbit.

  “Rabenstein asked about my family, my fortune, and my exact relationship to Lady Fenton. They wanted to know any secrets I might have, and I told them… I told them… about the will of the late Lord Fenton, that we recovered and burned two years ago.”

  “Oh, no,” Milla said in dismay. “Not that they can do much with that knowledge, except to cause damaging gossip. There is no proof.”

  Gossip could be bad enough. At the Professor’s prompting, Barnaby went on. “Rabenstein was not satisfied, but I could not tell him anything else of interest. He informed me that Lady Fenton and Major Kepler were lovers, and engaged to marry. She had cruelly toyed with my affections. I hated and detested her now and should depart immediately, as soon as I awoke the next morning, without contacting her again.” As he heard Rabenstein’s vicious lies in his mind, repeated them for the others, he could not believe how easily he had been fooled. Hot anger pooled in his stomach.

  “Interesting,” the Professor observed, making a note in a small leather-bound notebook. “And then?”

  “He asked about Madame Rallien, what did I know about her.”

  “Vilain!” that lady cried. “What did you say to that?”

  “I told him that she was the daughter of a notorious swindler, and the widow of an equally notorious Napoleonic spy.”

  The Professor started, and peered at Madame Rallien questioningly. Madame Rallien smiled blandly. “True, but all in the past.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Milla said.

  “Rabenstein and Kepler asked me how I had come by that knowledge. They were very interested in my father’s work for the War Office, and his political influence in the Tory party.”

  “I wonder why,” Milla murmured. “What can that possibly benefit them?”

  “Rabenstein ordered me to forget the meeting, forget that I had ever seen or spoken to him. Kepler pressed the half-finished brandy bottle into my hand and I staggered upstairs. I overslept.”

  “Hmm,” the German commented. “I wonder at the significance of oversleeping. Perhaps your mind or body rebelled against a command it strongly rejected. Listen carefully, Mr. Winthrop. The orders given by Rabenstein, all of them, are withdrawn. You will remember everything, you no longer hate or detest Lady Fenton, and you will stay and leave as you please. You will not be susceptible to Rabenstein’s mesmerism in the future. Count to twenty, slowly. When you are done you will be fully awake.”

  Barnaby already felt awake, but he obediently counted. “That’s it?” He shook his head in confusion.

  Milla was staring at him anxiously. “How do you feel about me now? Do you still believe I am Kepler’s mistress?”

  “Of course not. I humbly beg your pardon, that I ever doubted you.” He could not fathom it. How could he have wronged her so, on the say-so of a stranger?

  “Oh, good. And you forgive me for tying you up, drugging you, shackling you?”

  He pretended to consider. “Well…” She looked so adorably anxious that he wanted to kiss away her worried expression, beg her pardon on his knees, if only they had been alone.

  “You can discuss it later,” the Professor interrupted their exchange, “I want to know every single thing you did and said, how you felt, and especially how you managed to partially defeat their orders before my arrival. It is, indeed, an extraordinary case.”

  “We have several similar cases to bring to your attention, Professor,” Milla told him.

  Chapter 29

  Milla was grateful that the exhaustive review of the case postponed the overdue confrontation with Barnaby. He could hardly berate her in front of Professor Matthiess.

  She could not expect him to overlook being drugged, kidnapped, and tied up.
He would not publicly denounce or punish her, but he would remember all his family’s doubts about her suitability, her character. She was not the kind of woman who could fit into his proper, well-ordered life. She was too eccentric, too savage. Too different.

  She felt like howling, wanted to smash something into a thousand shards, even as she smiled graciously and added wine to the gentlemen’s glasses. Louis had left soon after the "cure" to arrange a room for the Professor in the Hotel Bitterschwarm. Taking his luggage there would furnish a perfect excuse to enter the premises, and abstract the concierge’s spare master key.

  Would Barnaby want to move out? He could hardly remain in her bed, her room, now that the reasons for kidnapping him were no longer valid.

  Of course, in the hotel he would run across Kepler and his servant. Likely, they had suborned some of the hotel employees to inform them promptly of all new arrivals. Even if he took rooms elsewhere, the rumour mill in the small spa would betray his presence within hours. He must remain with her, in safety. No matter how he felt about his temporary loss of freedom, how much he resented her for it, she would not let Barnaby risk another such episode. Her nerves would fray under the strain.

  At last, they were done discussing the case. Louis accompanied the Professor to his lodgings, where he would rest for an hour and change before returning for dinner. She had instructed Louis to pay for the room, and all travel expenses. The Professor would also receive a handsome bonus, on top of whatever fee he might charge. It was the least she could do.

  Veronique went to rest also, after her long journey. Milla and Barnaby were left alone, looking at each other.

  “Now you can scold me for what I did,” Milla said. “Don’t spare my sensibilities, Barnaby. If you are angry, that is understandable. But I don’t regret anything. I did what I had to do to protect you, and I would do it again. Go on, tell me that I overstepped. I would welcome a fight, to be honest.”