“The visit with the Baron, my lord?” Darling asked.
“Yes, that...” He hesitated for a moment, then made up his mind. “Darling, I expect you’re well ahead of me on this one. The fact is, we’ve got two jobs to do in Vienna, and the second is to meet some sort of courier who will give us something that we must take back to England in secret.”
“You’re not referring to the snuffbox, my lord?”
“I—” That stopped him short; he rubbed his chin reflectively. “You know, Darling, that’s a notion. Though why a courier would knock me over the head—no, we’re supposed to receive a small packet of papers from an old Army chum of mine at the café in the Sacher House. And that’s not until the day after tomorrow.”
“And Captain McDonald, is he—?”
“I don’t know. I was a fool not to insist on that bit of information, but they wouldn’t give me the courier’s name.”
“Balls!” Darling looked instantly abashed at his own crudeness, but Scoville had to smile.
“That about sums it up, Sergeant. Someone has blundered.”
~
“Philharmonikerstrasse 4, bitte,” Scoville told the cabman. While planning the trip he had considered stopping at the Imperial Hotel, but had decided upon the Sacher, instead. The Baron was certain to be in residence at the Imperial, and this was one time he preferred to keep business and pleasure—or more accurately, one business and another—as clearly separate as possible.
Besides, he liked the Sacher. It was a hairsbreadth less grand than the Imperial, its vaulted ceilings perhaps not quite so high and gilt-encrusted, its paintings worth only a duke’s ransom, not a king’s. It had never been a royal residence as the Imperial had, but what the Sacher’s chef could do with coffee and chocolate was sheer genius. And it was directly across from the Opera House, a building that Scoville could gaze at for hours without tiring of the elegant balance of its architecture.
Lord Robert would never be so disloyal to London as to make an unfavourable comparison between the city of his birth and any other in the world. But Vienna, with its wide, open thoroughfares, had a bright gay charm unlike any other city he’d ever seen, the hybrid vigour of a cultural crossroads. He could spend a month here just visiting museums and galleries, and not reach the end of them. Ever-changing music, new ideas in art, the finest opera, and the food! The Viennese even had legends about their coffee, and it deserved them. He could smell the aroma here in the street, wafting out from the cafes.
The cab driver clucked to his horse and drove them quickly to the hotel. While Darling saw to the luggage, Scoville found a quiet corner of the lobby where he could sit and compose a telegraph message that would convey sufficient urgency without attracting any undue attention. He finally decided upon “Dear Uncle John, suffered minor injury on the train, urgent you send name of doctor you mentioned last week.” If that didn’t do the job, he’d have to talk to someone at the Embassy and hope that they were au courant.
He took his message to the concierge and arranged to have it sent; by the time he was finished, Darling was at his elbow with the key to their suite.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having our briefcase locked up in the hotel safe, my lord.”
“Excellent, Darling. Glad you thought of it. Does it still contain the antique item we acquired on the train?”
“Of course, my lord. If our visitor wanted the item smuggled across the border, this ought to make it impossible for him to take it back the same way he left it.”
“My thought exactly. Well done. Let’s nip upstairs and have a wash, then find a bite to eat. Did they give us a suite with a view?”
“Second floor front, my lord.” Darling grinned; he was aware of Scoville’s infatuation with the Opera House. “I shall place a chair directly opposite the window, for your ease of viewing.”
He really was indecently attractive when he smiled. “Don’t tease, Darling,” Scoville grumbled, giving his baser instincts a mental thump.
“Of course not, my lord. I was merely admiring your lordship’s appreciation of fine architecture.”
“And that’s two ‘lords’ in one sentence. For heaven’s sake, man, have mercy!”
“Yes, my lord.”
~
Scoville and his man were in the café, working their respective ways through plates of weinerschnitzel and chicken-and-leek strudel when a bellboy brought the return telegram from Smythe. Scoville unfolded the message while Darling tipped the messenger.
“Interesting,” he said as soon as the boy was out of earshot. “We are to visit the British Embassy at our earliest convenience, and take care for our personal safety.”
“A pity they didn’t consider our personal safety from the first.”
“Quite. Well, marching down to the British Embassy should make us as inconspicuous as the changing of the Guard, so I can only assume that a cat somewhere has escaped the bag. We must go—this wire names no names.”
Darling took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “Therefore it either is McDonald and they want to avoid naming him in a telegram, or it is not, and—”
“And they don’t want to name the real contact. Or it was McDonald and he’s met with foul play and all hell’s about to break loose, in a most clandestine way. Sorry, Darling, I really had not expected this.”
Darling shrugged. “No one’s shooting at us, my lord—not yet, at least. It could be worse.”
“I expect it will be, before we’re done. It’s not so much that I mind, it’s that if we’d known what to expect I wouldn’t have this Belgian lacework decorating my scalp.”
“Are you certain you’re well enough to go out in the night air, my lord?”
“Oh, yes. Itches like the devil, but I believe that’s a good sign. And for heaven’s sake, it’s coming on to summer.” He folded the telegram and placed it in an inner pocket. “Our earliest convenience will be after dinner. I refuse to be hurried through a good meal. Here, try some of this erdäpfelsalat—they’ve given me far too much for one.”
Darling nodded, his mouth being too full to reply.
“I’m glad of this, actually,” Scoville said. “I’ll have the chance to ask for a hint as to what’s going on in the larger scene before I smooth the Baron’s ruffled feathers. And perhaps the Embassy will have some notion of what’s become of McDonald.”
“If they know, my lord.” Darling said, scooping a small portion of the tangy potato salad onto his plate. “It was late and I was not at my best, but he seemed very anxious to avoid being seen. If I erred in sending him away—”
“No, Darling. I appreciate your taking the role of dragon at the gate. If he had to insist on waking me up only to tell me who knocked me on the head, he wasn’t half anxious enough. Cecil’s wily. It’s just as possible he was being pursued by someone he’d loved and left and was looking for a place to lie low. He has an amazing talent for giving offence.” That was not the sort of remark he ought to have made, but he could rely on Darling’s discretion. “We can’t assume he’s our contact, after all. Half my club knew we were travelling to Vienna. Anyone might have told him.”
At Darling’s frown, he added, “Yes, that would be stretching coincidence very thin, but it is possible.” He’d sooner believe McDonald was an annoying complication than imagine he’d been entrusted with important State documents. If he was their contact, the man who recruited him must not have known him very well.
Scoville banned any further business discussion and ordered himself a slice of sachertorte and a cup of coffee. Darling had the same. When the meal came to a satisfactory close, they sought the concierge once again, and asked that gentleman to summon a cab.
~
Jack dismissed his worries about Lord Robert’s health as soon as they stepped out into the lingering twilight. The sun was down, but it was May, after all, and the day’s warmth still lingered. The fresh air would do them both good.
Since the cabdriver was Viennese, it was reasonable to guess that he wo
uld have at least a smattering of many languages, English among them. Further discussion of their current affair would have been out of the question even if they had anything left to say. At this point it was useless to speculate.
His lordship was always able to find something to talk about, of course, and turned to a familiar topic that alternately amused and annoyed him. His Grandmama had written his mother about his Obligations, and his mama had relayed the message as she always did. The letter had arrived just before they departed for the Continent.
“Apparently being a kind and generous uncle to my elder siblings’ spawn is not sufficient proof of my devotion to family. Grandmama is renewing her campaign to see that I secure a wife and kiddies as quickly as possible.”
“She is a very determined woman, my lord.” Darling liked the old lady, in small doses. He would not have wanted to work for her, though. She was the sort of crusty individual best admired at a short remove.
“Excellent word. Determined indeed. Much as I appreciate her fine qualities, you know as well as I that it’s a hopeless case, and I’m reaching the point where I no longer find her instructions entertaining. I don’t suppose you have any useful ideas for spiking her guns?”
“My lord, it is hardly my place—”
“I don’t know who else’s it might be, Darling. If anyone knows me, it’s you. And I’ve never known you to give me bad advice, even when I have to pry it out of you. You have my permission to speak freely, Sergeant—there is no one else to whom I might turn.”
Darling wondered whether his lordship’s head for wine had been softened by that thump it had received. “My lord... May I presume so far as to postulate that you do not expect, ever, to meet a woman who would be a satisfactory wife?”
“Good heavens. Took me at my word about speaking freely, didn’t you?” Lord Robert smiled in a melancholy way. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You’re the only one who could.” He fell silent for a little while, then finally said, “Jack, I can’t bear the idea of marrying a woman I dislike just to satisfy my family. And tying myself to an unsuspecting woman that I did like—like, not love—would make two people miserable. Three, counting yourself—”
Jack sat up in shock, not sure he had heard correctly.
“Since such a marriage would put me in a permanently rotten temper,” Lord Robert finished. “And that would be bound to have an adverse effect on your peace of mind.”
Jack wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“Therefore—yes, Darling, you may make that assumption. I can’t bring myself to contemplate anything so entirely wrong for me as marriage. What I need is an unassailable reason to deny myself the wedded bliss my female relations would force me into—something to stop their pestering once and for all.”
“They mean well, my lord.”
“They do.” He laughed ruefully. “They really do. That’s why I can’t simply tell them to mind their own damned business. The way they see it, I am their business.”
They rode for a few minutes in thoughtful silence. Then Jack said, “My lord, you must invent a woman.”
“What, pretend to be engaged? That wouldn’t serve for long. There’d be that telltale lack of a fiancée.”
“No, my lord. An unattainable woman. So long as the ladies think your heart untouched, they will be persistent as water on stone. But because they do want to see you happy, if you could convince them that the subject is painful for you, they might desist.”
“Yes, that might work. I’m always tempted to go ahead and tell them the truth, but that would only make it worse. My mother would think she failed, my father would die of fury, and they’d all want to ‘cure’ me.”
Over my dead body! Jack restrained himself. “What I’m suggesting, my lord, is that you invent a long-lost love to whom you gave your heart, who married another or suffered untimely death.” He placed a hand on his heart and rolled his eyes in a tragic manner. “She is forever out of reach, but you cannot love another.”
“You scheming devil!” his lordship said admiringly. “You’ve been reading trashy novels again, haven’t you?”
“No, my lord. It was a trashy melodrama, in a theatre far below your mother’s standards. The story would have no effect on the matchmakers outside your family, of course.”
“The husband-hunting mamas can go hang. It’s mainly my mother I’d like to discourage.”
“Untimely demise would be the most effective.” Jack was beginning to enjoy the drama of his brain-child. “No one could attempt to discover the lady’s identity in order to ask her why she chose you over your rival. Or—I hesitate to suggest this—you might tell your mother that while you were in the Army, you married unwisely—”
“What?”
“To a young lady in another country—Italy, perhaps—who has since vanished, and you do not know whether she is alive or dead.”
“Oh, that would never do. Seriously, Darling, you don’t suppose my mother would rest one moment until she unearthed the poor girl, do you? Alive or dead, that wouldn’t stop her. Vesuvius pales by comparison. I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until she had names, dates, and places.”
“I see your point, my lord. Your lady mother would be indefatigable. I have only one other suggestion, but you may not appreciate it.”
His lordship waved a careless hand. “Go ahead, demolish what’s left of my reputation! What is it? A secret seraglio? Loathsome disease?”
“If your lordship recollects our extremely close call at the Battle of Maiwand...”
“I almost wish I could forget it. We lost so many good men.” Lord Robert leaned back in the seat, his face suddenly sober. “Overrun by those devils two minutes after the doctor sewed up my leg, and him shot too, with the bandage in his hand. If his orderly hadn’t been as quick on his feet as you were, we’d both have been buried there. About the third time you saved my life, wasn’t it?”
Darling shrugged. “I was considering the geography of your injury, my lord. If your mother believed that the wound was not to your leg, but higher, and slightly more central, so as to interfere with dynastic ambitions...”
His Lordship winced. “Ye gods, man, that’s brutal.”
“Yes, my lord, but only consider—it is one thing that you can be certain she would never share with her friends, and perhaps not even with your grandmother. You might explain to your esteemed parent that you feel you must tell her outright, since she had not been able to apprehend your subtle hints.”
Lord Robert gave a most ungentlemanly snort. “So subtle as to be nonexistent.”
“You are a master of subtlety, my lord. Such restraint you have, such consideration for the young lady who would, as your wife, never know the fulfilment of motherhood.”
“Motherhood looks like a lot of damned hard work, from what I’ve seen of my sister’s family. Not to mention nine months of serious discomfort to acquire the little devils.” He shuddered. “Another reason to avoid marriage—I shouldn’t want to be responsible for putting any woman through that!”
“I suspect your lady relatives care less about your prospective wife’s discomfort than the acquisition of grandchildren, my lord. But I believe your mother would refrain from matchmaking if she has the least regard for your feelings, any sympathy for the anguish you feel when you realise you will never hear the patter of little feet—”
“Enough! Darling, I once told my mother that if I longed for the patter of little feet I would buy a spaniel.” He frowned, considering. “Perhaps I should. She’d remember, I’m sure—she never forgets a thing.”
“Spaniels are generally good-tempered, affectionate creatures, my lord. Considerably more so than most children.”
“Or wives. Though I really shouldn’t say that, life is probably as short on choices for women as it is for men like myself. I’m lucky to have you, Darling. It’d be damned lonely otherwise.”
It was a very good thing that they were in an open cab, surrounded by the eve
ning traffic from restaurants and other establishments, or Darling might have thrown his arms around his employer and lost his position. “I consider myself very fortunate, my lord.”
Lord Robert laid a hand on Jack’s arm. It was an unusual gesture; he seldom made any sort of physical contact. “Darling, I’ve been meaning to mention this for some time now.” He hesitated, as though not sure how to proceed. “I want you to know that if you find yourself a girl—a special girl—that is, if you should decide matrimony is the thing for you—well, you mustn’t let my misogyny stop you. We’ll find a way to work things out.”
You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Jack had to swallow before speaking, and he chose his words with care. “I’m quite happy with circumstances as they are, my lord. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman who would entice me to renounce my bachelor status.”
Was that a sigh of relief from his lordship? “Well, I’m selfish enough to be happy to hear it,” he said, “Even if I’m not quite selfish enough to insist on keeping you to myself.” He looked around as though trying to find a distraction. “Ah, I believe we’re nearly there. Enough of domestic matters, let’s turn our attention to foreign affairs.”
~
“Dead?” Scoville said. “How? Who was he?”
They hadn’t been met by the Ambassador himself, but by Sir James Woodward, a member of his staff. Sir James was a square-faced, iron-haired man of vigorous middle age who was probably the Embassy’s Intelligence Officer. In his large, comfortable, and extremely private office, Sir James gave them some excellent sherry and a summary of how their assignment had been intended to proceed—and how it had gone wrong when McDonald had disappeared and his contact was found murdered.
“No one you would know, my lord. He was involved in the German munitions industry, but he had the pragmatic attitude that all secrets sooner or later cease being secret, and wished to profit from accelerating the process. As to how, it appeared to be a robbery. He was struck on the head from behind, a single blow that killed him instantly.”
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