A Fatal Waltz

by Tasha Alexander

“Mr. Sanburne’s personal effects would have been returned to his family, wouldn’t they? And that must have included one of the pistols and perhaps their case.”

  “It’s odd they didn’t send both of them,” he said.

  “Perhaps Schröder stole it after his brother was killed. We can find out easily enough how he came to get it.”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t matter.” He was pacing again.

  “I don’t believe for a moment that Mr. Sanburne killed himself because he didn’t stop the duel. Did you know about his suicide? I thought he’d died of influenza.”

  “That was the story circulated by the family. His sister was in dire enough straits without having the stigma of suicide to contend with.”

  “I’ve one other distressing piece of news. Would you like it now, or shall I wait?”

  “May as well bludgeon me with all of it at once.”

  “I believe I know who warned Lord Fortescue.”

  “One of Schröder’s men?”

  “Not quite. Schröder is having an affair with a woman who is…connected with politics in England.”

  “Who?”

  “The Countess von Lange.”

  “Kristiana?” he asked. I nodded. “How do you know this?”

  “I was suspicious when I saw his reaction when I told him she was still romantically involved with you.”

  “But you have no firm proof?”

  “Jeremy confirmed it this afternoon.” Meeting Colin’s eyes was difficult. I was afraid of what I might see in them. “She is not an infrequent guest at Herr Schröder’s house.”

  If he felt any emotion at that moment, he did a superb job of hiding it. His demeanor did not change in the least, but he did stop pacing. “I’ll speak to her at once. If it was she, and she’s been hiding it all this time…” He paused. “No. I can’t imagine she would do that. She’s unscrupulous in many ways, but she would never stand by and send an innocent man to his death.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said, but I was skeptical, and not entirely pleased that he was so quick to defend her. “But if so, it doesn’t bode well for Robert unless there’s another part to the story that we’re missing.”

  “While we’re on the subject of illicit loves, have you talked to Bainbridge?”

  “What on earth do you mean?” I asked, hoping I looked imperturbable.

  “He’s in love with you, and I’m feeling a bit guilty for sending you around with him. He must be feeling supremely tortured. But I can’t go myself without neglecting my own work, and I can’t let you continue what you’re doing alone.”

  “I could ask Cécile to come instead.”

  He shook his head. “You’re treading in parts of the city that could turn dangerous in an instant. I’d prefer to know that you’ve a gentleman to—”

  “To protect me?”

  “Forgive me, yes.”

  “Do you want me to stop what I’m doing altogether?” I asked.

  “Would you?”

  “No.” I stared at him, feeling more than a little uneasy.

  “Good. I think it’s easier that we are both embroiled in complicated messes. I don’t mean Bainbridge—I mean the work. Neither of us would ever expect the other to stop.”

  “Of course not. But Colin…”

  “What is it?”

  I could not meet his eyes. “He kissed me.”

  “I know. Kristiana saw everything and was all too glad to tell me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I should have told you as soon as it happened, but I—”

  He put three fingers on my lips. “I have never doubted your fidelity.” My breath started coming more quickly as our eyes met. “Perhaps I’m overconfident.”

  “Not at all. No one else could be to me what you are,” I said.

  “I’ll have to make sure you never forget that.” He kissed me, slowly at first, gradually increasing the intensity and depth till I was so consumed with pleasure that were I the sort of woman who fainted, it would have required several applications of smelling salts to make me sensible enough to tend to the mundane rituals of daily life.

  COLIN CONFRONTED KRISTIANA as soon as he’d left me. She admitted that she had spoken with Lord Fortescue when she saw him at Beaumont Towers about trouble brewing in Vienna. But she insisted that she did not warn him of any specific threat. Most particularly, not a threat against him. All she’d told him was that the city was like a tinderbox, ready to burst into flame at the slightest provocation.

  Lord Fortescue, she said, was hardly interested. He’d commented that the Balkans were headed for disaster and that Britain would keep out of any trouble in the region for as long as possible. This, he said, was a problem for the emperor of Austria and the kaiser to address. Britain was not concerned.

  But why, then, had he confided in Robert that he’d been threatened? A dark thought crossed my mind, and I pushed it away before it could fully form. It was impossible to ignore altogether, though. Robert had lied about the gun; could he have invented the conversation in which his mentor told him he’d been threatened? Or, Kristiana might have spoken to Lord Fortescue before he’d received the written warning. Someone had stolen political documents from Beaumont Towers—documents significant enough that their disappearance had merited charging Robert with treason. If Mr. Harrison was the culprit—something I did not doubt for an instant—he might have also stolen any written evidence of the warning sent to Lord Fortescue.

  Snow fell all that day and through the night, leaving the inhabitants of Vienna to crawl out from under their warm covers in the morning and find their city still reposing beneath a glistening white quilt of its own. When I dragged myself from my bed, I did not get dressed, but pulled on a robe, moved a chair in front of one of the enormous windows in my bedroom, and sat, watching the snow but not really focusing on it. I had slept fitfully, plagued by troubling dreams. Meg opened the door to bring me tea, but I had no time for it. Having spent too long mesmerized by the snow, I would now have to hurry to keep my appointment with Herr Schröder.

  Jeremy and I walked in silence to the Stephansdom. As we approached the cathedral, I saw Rina standing outside. Jeremy took her arm and invited her to join us; they sat together in the nave, keeping in sight of the chapel where I was to meet the anarchist. He was kneeling when I arrived, a look of such piety on his face that I could not help but laugh.

  “Surely you’re not a religious man?” I asked, dropping to my knees next to him in front of Saint Valentine’s small altar.

  “Not at all. You’re as likely to get results from sacrificing a goat as you are from praying here.”

  “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why not? Afraid we’ll be struck down?”

  “Yes, actually,” I said, feeling prickles up and down my arms.

  “It’s all mythology. Ours is just more modern.”

  “I’m not here to debate religion. What do you have for me?”

  He stared at me for a moment before answering. “You are a beautiful woman. It is unfortunate that you are caught up in any of this. You have not made a wise choice in deciding who to marry.”

  I sighed. “Herr Schröder, I’ve no interest in being lectured on my romantic life. I’m perfectly capable—”

  “You’ve no idea what misery your choice will bring you.”

  “Is this about Kristiana?”

  “No,” he said. “Although I wouldn’t discount the possibility of her heaping grief on you. He’s in great danger, Hargreaves. You know enough about his work to understand the risks he takes.”

  “He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

  “Is that what you believe?” He drummed his hands on the railing in front of us. “He’s good, I give you that. But no one in his situation is ever safe.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’ve been asked to kill him,” he said, and I felt as if the blood had stopped flowing through my body. “An easy enough assignment. He’s careful, but not
invincible.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m feeling rather conflicted about the whole thing, actually.”

  “Don’t be facetious,” I said, trying to keep my knees from shaking, my teeth from chattering.

  “I’m not being facetious. I’m being straightforward. It’s a job, Kallista. He’s a threat to my goals and those of my partner in a certain matter.”

  “Who is your partner? Harrison?”

  “Very good.”

  “I thought you didn’t trust him,” I said.

  “I don’t.”

  “And he’s the one who wants you to—”

  “Yes.” He stood up and wandered over to the case of relics. “He’s paying me well. But if I eliminate Hargreaves, they’ll send someone else to take over his job. Someone to whom I will not have access via you.”

  “So my ability to steal information from him can keep him alive?”

  “As long as what you give me is worthwhile.”

  “I’ll make sure it is.” I gripped the railing, steadying myself as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed me.

  “There is one problem, though. You are here to help a friend, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “The answers you seek are in England, not Austria. If you stay here, your friend will hang.”

  “I’m certain that Harrison stole some documents from Beaumont Towers. I need to know what they say and if, among them, there was a letter that contained a specific threat against Lord Fortescue.”

  “You’re not in a position to make demands,” he said.

  “I will make demands when I think it necessary. You are asking terrible things of me. This is the least you can do for me.”

  He smiled. “I’m not ready to divulge that information. Perhaps once my own plans are complete. Of course, the more quickly you supply me with what I need…”

  “You’re abhorrent,” I said.

  “Far from it. Any of my colleagues would have already completed the job. You’re lucky I’m sophisticated enough to see the value in keeping him alive.”

  WE WENT STRAIGHT from the Stephansdom to Colin’s rooms, but he was not there. Without pausing to think, I looked everywhere I could: the Griensteidl, the Imperial, even the von Langes’ residence, but he was nowhere to be found. In the end, I returned to his apartment and bribed the Hausmeister to unlock the door for me, then insisted that Jeremy leave me alone. Rina was still with us, and I did not want her to see my emotions come completely undone. It was not easy to force Jeremy out, but sincere promises that I would not leave the house unaccompanied—I would either wait for Colin or send word to the Imperial that I needed an escort—eventually worked.

  As soon as they had left, I began tearing about, searching for anything that might indicate where he’d gone. It was irrational to think that he had already come to harm; I believed Herr Schröder would not kill him. Not yet, anyway. But I was taking shallow half-breaths and wouldn’t be able to stop until I saw for myself that he was safe.

  He had three rooms that seemed large enough when I’d first entered, but their walls grew closer and their ceilings lower as I felt an increasing sense of desperation. I found nothing of use in the sitting room and passed through his bedroom to a small chamber that contained a desk. Without hesitating, I began to rifle through the drawers, hoping to find a calendar, but stopping at the sight of a bundle of letters.

  They were from me. He’d kept every word I’d written to him, even a note scribbled on a scrap of paper torn from an opera program. I’d passed it to him while we were watching La Traviata at Covent Garden. At once I was consumed with emotions: love, confusion, anger, and an undeniable desire to collapse in tears. Why could we not share an uncomplicated life together? Safe, dividing our time between England and the Continent. I returned the letters to the drawer and staggered back to the bedroom, where my strength left me. I dropped onto the bed and sobbed, vaguely aware of the sound of pealing church bells outside welcoming Christmas Eve.

  I didn’t hear him open the door or step into the room, but gradually became aware of the smell of cinnamon and tobacco and a hint of shaving lotion. He was standing in front of the window, his figure a silhouette, light spilling around him.

  “I hardly know what to say. Is there an appropriate response to finding you on my bed?”

  “Colin—”

  “You’re crying.” He sat and pulled me up beside him. “What is it?”

  I could not help myself. I put my head in his lap and made no effort to slow my tears. He said nothing, but rubbed my back until it had stopped heaving, then pulled me up and kissed the top of my head, so gently I could hardly feel his lips. I opened my eyes and saw his, inches from me, full of concern.

  “My dear girl, what happened? What are you doing here?”

  I sat up straight, took his hands, and blurted out what Herr Schröder had told me. “I’m scared,” I said. He smoothed my forehead and put his hand on my cheek.

  “There’s no need for concern. As I’ve already told you, I’m accustomed to people wanting to kill me. And now that I know who’s trying to do it, it will be that much easier to avoid.”

  “I cannot treat this with casual disregard,” I said, my stomach burning. “Of course there’s need for concern.”

  “You must trust that I know what I’m doing, Emily. That I’m capable of handling this. I understand how shocking it all seems to you.” He ran his hand through his wavy hair. “This is why I’ve always been loath to marry. It’s a terrible situation to expect a wife to bear. But I cannot hide it from you.”

  “I would not want you to,” I said, my voice so low I could hardly hear it myself.

  “For the moment we must deal with the situation at hand. But then, my dear, you are going to have to consider whether you still want me, knowing that this sort of thing will almost certainly happen again.”

  “Does it have to?” As soon as the words escaped my lips I regretted them, and I shook my head, which had begun to throb again. “Yes, of course it does. I would not love you so well as I do if you were capable of compromising all that’s important to you.”

  He did not look at me, and I realized that this was perhaps the first conversation we’d had where his eyes were not fixed on mine. Even when we’d first met, his ability to maintain eye contact had been striking, almost unnerving. I took his face in my hands and turned it to me, but he removed my hands and rose to his feet. The bitter taste of fear stuck in my throat.

  “The very nature of what I do compromises your happiness.”

  “Don’t start pacing,” I said.

  He didn’t listen and began taking slow, measured steps back and forth in front of the window. The snow was still falling. “There will be no easy joy for us.”

  “I’d rather share bursts of joy with you between weeks of unease than years of meaningless comfort with anyone else.”

  “We’ll see if you still believe that at the end of all this.” He took me by the hand. “Come. I’d better give you something more for your friend. I’d prefer not to die before New Year’s.”

  24 December 1891

  Berkeley Square, London

  My dear Emily,

  I feel terrible to be so selfish at this time of year, thinking of nothing but my own dreadful situation, consumed with gloom. You, my friend, are my only hope, and I know that writing and saying that does nothing but make you feel pressure. But I do not know what else to do.

  My world has fallen apart.

  Robert still refuses to allow me to visit him. I can hardly bear it. It’s become increasingly clear that no one holds out much hope for my dear husband. Nearly all our friends are in the country for Christmas, but of those who came to town to shop, very few came to see me. The ones who did might as well have been making calls of condolence. They speak in hushed tones about only the safest, most trivial subjects, all the while looking afraid that I will mention my husband’s plight. I’m sure that were I to raise the subject, they woul
d race from the room.

  And I’m ashamed to admit, Emily, that I’ve hardly any hope myself. It’s as if I’m betraying Robert too.

  I’ve not the courage to write to him about the baby. Wouldn’t knowing make his present situation that much worse? I’m not good at being this alone.

  Forgive me for sending you such uneasy Christmas greetings.

  I am your most devoted friend,

  Ivy

  Chapter 18

  Mon dieu!” Cécile dropped the gingerbread cookie she was holding. I had met her coming out of the Imperial on my way back from Colin’s and agreed to go with her to the Christkindlmarkt, a Christmas market in the Am Hof square. So it was while we were surrounded with dolls, toys, candy, and all things festive that I told her of Schröder’s revelation. “You cannot allow Monsieur Hargreaves to continue this.”

  “I will not ask him to stop.” We passed by an enormous Christmas pyramid and a row of beautifully decorated fir trees.

  “Oh, chérie, you are right, bien sûr. C’est très difficile. What can I do to help you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you believe he will be safe so long as you’re giving Monsieur Schröder what he wants?”

  “Can you trust a man who admits to killing?” She did not answer my question, so I continued. “I’m almost beginning to hope that whatever this dreadful plan of his is comes off without the slightest hitch.”

  “You don’t wish that.”

  “I might.” I frowned. “We must find out what it is.”

  “Isn’t that what Monsieur Hargreaves is trying to do?”

  “Yes, but perhaps we can beat him to it,” I said. “I want to determine whether the destruction they’re planning would be worse than losing him.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “I’m not prepared to answer that question at the moment.” I’d been tugging at the trim lining the cuffs of my coat, and it was beginning to unravel. Meg would not be happy with me. “I need you to find out if the empress can be of any service to us.”