“Put it on and let’s practice,” Josephine instructed.
There followed a hilarious half hour while Mimi and Renate adjusted the coat to fit her and shortened the pantaloons. Her hair was re-pinned close to her head and stuffed under a tall, military hat with dangling gold braid. A pair of boots was found to complete the outfit and Esther stalked up and down the dressing room issuing ridiculous orders and making unreasonable demands of imaginary underlings.
Josephine showed her how to walk more convincingly and taught her how to lower and gruff her voice to sound more realistic. “Best not to talk unless you have to,” she advised.
“Where do I come from?” Esther wondered.
“Wherever you like. Make up a country name if you have to. What’s one more nationality in Vienna these days?”
Esther laughed, and Josephine swaggered to the door.
“Very well, old fellow, let’s go!” Josephine invited.
Esther hastily swung on her own cloak over the uniform. Josephine pushed it to one side, so that it dangled gallantly off one shoulder. Esther stuffed her reticule into the cloak pocket, complete with the letter opener and the documents which she hoped she’d be able finally to trust to Garin.
Mimi and Renate both hugged Esther and wished her well so fervently, that it came to her they imagined she was going to meet a lover for the first time. Remembering Garin’s kiss the night before, she grew warm with embarrassment and something else she didn’t want to look into too closely.
“Send your maid back with the uniform when you’re finished with it,” Mimi said. “And collect your own clothes when you like.”
“I’m so much obliged to you both,” Esther said fervently. “Thank you!”
Josephine dragged her off, and the short journey from the Burgtheater stage door to the Hofburg was accomplished without incident.
“That’s the other beauty of dressing as a man,” Josephine observed. “You’re very rarely accosted with lewd suggestions.”
For Esther, the evening was definitely an education. “I never realized before that I’d been so sheltered,” she observed.
“Oh, we’re all sheltered from one experience or another,” Josephine said, taking her arm. “Now, let’s weave a little. I don’t imagine you’ve been completely shielded from gentlemen far into their cups!”
Esther had so much fun with that performance that she even forgot to be nervous as they stumbled past the guards and into the depths of the palace, still pretending to look for their passes.
At the top of the first carpeted staircase, Josephine released her. “Well, my appointment is this way. Where is yours?”
“The other, I think. Josephine?
Already hurrying along the corridor, the girl glanced back.
“Thank you!”
Josephine gave a slightly twisted smile. “Thank me in the morning. If you still wish to.”
Esther didn’t really have time to dwell on the meaning of that. A group of Russian officers were clumping up the stairs behind her, singing noisily. She fled along the corridor, which was lit from ornate wall sconces, showing shiny, polished floors and elegantly papered walls. Holding the image of the rough map in her head as she went, she found the second, narrower staircase and the long, winding passages at the top. According to the map, she needed to go to the end of this corridor and turn left. The X was close to this corner. Her heart beat faster as she drew nearer, for this, surely, would be the moment of truth.
Though she met very few people, she knew they were there. Laughter and voices of both genders emanated from behind closed doors. Occasionally, shadows moved and breathed in dark alcoves between the rooms or windows. Instinctively, she kept her gaze straight ahead, trying not to give herself away by shock or embarrassment at what she was fairly sure was going on. This area of the palace seemed to be an outrageous contrast of palatial luxury and squalid decadence.
Was this where Otto’s quarters were? She could imagine him here, almost walking toward her. A chill ran down her spine. All the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up in alarm as she approached the corner. She reached inside her cloak, unfastening the reticule, closing her fingers round the comforting handle of the sharp little letter knife.
For the benefit of the couple whispering in the last window embrasure, she maintained her swagger as she rounded the corner and came to yet another corridor. Although the far end of it was in darkness, the first half was as well-lit as the rest of the palace.
Behind her, the whispering stopped.
The X was opposite what appeared to be double doors on the diagram, and with relief, Esther recognized them about a quarter of the way down the passage.
She marched evenly towards them, listening to the heels of her borrowed boots clicking on the polished floor. Although she heard no footsteps behind her, she imagined someone following her. Garin? The man from the alcove? Friend or foe?
For the first time, she felt fully the utter recklessness of coming here alone when she’d no idea who or what would confront her. She didn’t regret it, not yet, but she admitted to herself she was scared witless, like a sheltered young soldier facing his first battle.
She stopped at the double doors, glancing from them to the darkness at the end of the passage, then back. Should she open the doors and go in? Knock? Or just wait?
She drew in her breath and lifted her free hand to knock, just as some movement from the darkness distracted her. And then she heard the unmistakable click of a firearm being cocked.
From sheer instinct, she spun away from the darkness and began to run in the opposite direction. But someone else was running straight toward her, a man she knew only too well. She was trapped and there was no room for the sort of disappointment that would break her heart, only for blind, numbing terror. Garin leapt at her, just as the gun exploded, shatteringly loud.
She flew through the air, hitting the floor with a winding bump, Garin’s weight on top of her for the barest instant. Her ears rang. Her chest hurt.
“Not you,” she whispered in anguish. “Not you.”
Stupid thing to say, especially if they were her last words. But she’d no time to dwell on them or on anything, for he half-rolled, half-lunged toward the wall, dragging her with him into the shadows.
“Right now,” he said grimly, “I’m all you have.”
Chapter Nine
She could see nothing in the blackness, and yet her senses were full of him, his breath against her ear, the hard weight of his body crushing hers, a clean, subtle scent she hadn’t even known she associated with him. She couldn’t think beyond the pain of betrayal, so much worse when his nearness affected her like this.
Stupid, stupid…
She drew in her breath, finally to scream, but his hand clapped over her mouth.
His heart drummed furiously over her breast, as shocked, muffled voices issued from beyond whatever door he’d dragged her behind. They spoke in several different languages, demanding to know who’d fired a pistol and what the devil was going on.
“It’ll be the damned Russians again,” someone said. “At least I can’t see any bodies.”
“That looks like blood to me,” someone else observed. Had the shot hit her, then? Was that the source of the pain?
The voice from the corridor went on. “Well, whoever it belongs to has clearly gone – probably before the Tsar catches them.”
“Or the Emperor’s guards…”
The voices faded. Garin’s hand and then his weight shifted, and he hauled her to her feet, dragging her with him. Her mind was so full that her legs seemed to trot and stumble along beside him without her permission. Confused demands and accusations surged into her mouth, and yet all that spilled out was, “Where are we? What is this place?”
“Secret passage,” he said, releasing her wrist to busy himself with something. An instant later, a light flared upward from the floor over his crouching form. His handsome face looked grim and shadowed and alien, very far from the man
she’d so foolishly begun to trust.
The questions died in her throat. When he rose with the lantern in one hand and seized her wrist once more, she jerked instinctively away from him. It made no difference. He simply dragged her with him. As sense began to return, she realized this was not the best place to run from him. She’d no idea where the passage led or how to get out of it; plus he seemed to have the only light. There would be better opportunities to escape.
She forced herself to calmness, almost passivity. The reticule containing the documents he’d already returned to her once—why had he done that?—bumped against her thigh as she stumbled and ran beside him through a long passage and, down a narrow curving staircase.
Pushing open a door at the foot of the stairs, Garin led her into what seemed to be a gloomily lit kitchen area. He doused the lantern, left it just inside the secret door, which he closed by some means she couldn’t even make out. It vanished once more into a slightly dingy wall.
Silently, he drew her on, his fingers firm now around her elbow. He strode on down the passage, past an empty kitchen, to a door at the end which opened into a courtyard.
Sharp, cold air hit Esther’s cheeks, whipped at her cloak. Chickens clucked and fluttered at the disturbance. Somewhere in the distance, a dog growled a low warning. Esther looked about her, peering into the darkness, which was pierced here and there by dim lights, possibly from the palace or from outbuildings she couldn’t make out. She tensed, searching, and waited for her opportunity. Garin gave her no time, simply hurried across the yard, forcing her to trot along at his side.
They came to the thick, stone wall of another building, and Garin moved along its shadows, as silent as a cat. By then, Esther had her bearings, had even spotted a path leading away from the palace buildings and, presumably out of the grounds. She kept her eye on that path, relaxing in Garin’s hold so that he would think her compliant. Without warning, he stopped in his tracks. She bumped into him. A second later, she realized why. Footsteps thudded on the cobbled yard, two men, judging from the voices and gust of laughter. And they were about to turn the corner and come face-to-face with Esther and Garin.
Bits of their conversation in German drifted to her on the sharp breeze “…a pistol was definitely fired, and rather too close to the Emperor’s quarters…”
“Probably the Russians dueling in their cups again,” the other voice said in a resigned kind of way. “They seem to forget where they are.”
“Well, we have to find whoever was involved.”
Look no further! Salvation was about to march towards her in the shape of palace guards. She tensed, ready to shout just as soon as the soldiers swung round the corner. She could even see the bobbing light from the lantern they carried.
And then, abruptly, she was pushed up against the rough stone wall. In one swift, shocking movement, Garin knocked off her soldier’s hat and dragged his fingers through her hair. As pins flew everywhere, he dragged the cloak fully around her, concealing her male attire, and spread her falling hair over his arm.
“What—?” she began in panic, but he simply bent his head and covered her mouth with his, effectively silencing her.
Ruthlessly ignoring her struggles, he held her so close to his body she could barely move, his arms like steel around her. As the soldiers drew nearer, their light flashing over her, she heard their ribald comments, even if she didn’t understand all the words and wanted to scream out her innocence at the top of her voice. But smothered by his mouth and overwhelmed by the strength of his strong, hard body, she never stood a chance. And yet he wasn’t hurting her. He was kissing her as her would-have-been saviors swaggered away from her, still joking.
Her whole body shook. She tried desperately to make it stop—she couldn’t think through the tremors. Heat surged through her. It didn’t even feel like anger—surely it should have been anger, or, at the very least, fear?—but something a lot more pleasant.
Garin released her mouth long enough to cast a quick glance over his shoulder.
Esther dragged her trapped hand free and clutched his arm, though with what purpose she hadn’t worked out. It jerked in her hold, and her fingers felt wet and sticky. Garin stared down at her. Unexpectedly, his fingers brushed against her lips, which parted involuntarily in a silent gasp. Her heart seemed to dive downward into her stomach. What was going on? Why was he being gentle now?
Something was wrong here, something misunderstood… Releasing all but one of her hands, he pulled her on to the end of the building, around the corner, and to a door which he pulled open.
A stable. She could smell the horses at once. And she couldn’t afford to linger for the sake of curiosity, not if she could escape the danger. Hauled inside to deeper darkness, she stood passively while he pushed open a creaking stall door and gave a low whistling sound. A horse whinnied and clopped closer to them. She even felt its breath.
And this, she knew, was her moment. As soon as Garin’s grip relaxed on her arm, she tore free and bolted out of the stable door, running like a hare back the way they’d come and then toward the path she’d spotted earlier. Stumbling through the darkness, she kept going, sure she could see a gate ahead. She could do this, she could…
Behind her, horses’ hooves cantered toward her. But there were people around. Although it was late, Vienna never slept. All she had to do was scream and surely someone would come to her rescue.
As the horse bore down on her, she opened her mouth and screamed. And then, something whipped hard around her, winding her to abrupt silence. She was flying through the air, only to land with a bump on the moving horse.
“Sorry,” Garin’s voice muttered in her ear, just as a vile-smelling handkerchief covered her nose, her mouth, and she breathed in dizziness. She tried to buck and struggle, but his arms held her, the fumes choked her and she floated into oblivion.
*
The world came back slowly. Which was odd when it seemed to be in constant motion. She was on horseback, nestled in someone’s arms, against a hard, solid chest. That was him, Garin. Just for an instant, she felt comfortable and safe, with that odd, sweet little thrill of excitement that had always gripped her in his presence. And then memory swam back.
She supposed she should be frightened, but everything just felt too woolly for her to be aware of more than profound disappointment.
“What did you give me?” she asked hoarsely into his coat. In truth, she was surprised her mouth worked well enough to pronounce the words.
“Oil of vitriol,” he replied as if from a great distance.
Indignant, she tried to open her eyes, moved her head to peer up at him. The world was fuzzy, flickering, rocking to the canter of the horse beneath them. Garin’s countenance swam into focus above her, but still she wasn’t afraid. Beyond him she could see no city lights, only the patchy glow from the moon and stars.
He said, “I was in a hurry.”
“Is that the best explanation you have?” Although she suspected she’d have more dignity if she pulled away from him and sat up straight, any movement seemed to be too difficult.
There was a distinct pause before he answered, “Yes.”
It struck her then that his body, his arms felt curiously rigid against her, as if he was holding himself—and her—in place by willpower.
She blinked, several times, forcing the fuzziness away. “Shouldn’t you slow down? Where are you taking me?”
“No,” he said. “Safety.”
“Safety?” she exploded, urged into motion at last by sheer outrage. “You attack me, kidnap me with the aid of oil of vitriol, taking me away from my father and Juana—”
As if by instinct, his arms tightened around her as she wriggled upright, the better to berate him. Furiously, she struck one arm aside and even in the pale moonlight, she saw his sudden, silent grimace of pain. Her knuckles were wet. So was his arm. A confused memory stilled her. This had happened before, in the stable yard at the palace when he’d assaulted her. Ignoring t
he sudden heat of her anger at that particular assault—yes, truly, it was anger—she stared up at his passive face which now betrayed no hint of pain or anything else.
“You’re hurt,” she accused. “Bleeding.”
“It’s a graze,” he said indifferently.
“Let me—”
“Be still,” he said harshly, slowing the horse to a trot. At least he could still control the reins. “We’re almost there. Look.”
Unconvinced, she turned her head and gazed straight in front. It wasn’t a comforting sight.
The ruin must have been almost hidden from all directions by the trees and undergrowth, and by the hill sloping up on one side. The tired horse picked its way over a stony, weed-strewn track to the rusty gates and came to a halt. Without warning, Garin slipped off the horse, but although he stumbled slightly, he landed on his feet and remained upright as he took the reins from her and led the horse the few paces to the gate, which he opened with a large key.
“This?” Esther said with foreboding.
“It’s cozier than it looks.” He led the horse along another path and under a broken arch, into a closed courtyard surrounded by a semi-ruined building, although the side to the left seemed to have glazed if dirty windows. There was even a roof in places.
It was from this side a man strode out, scowling by the light of his lantern. A stocky man in a shabby coat, for some reason he looked vaguely familiar.
“You brought her here?” he said in German, then he raised the lantern high and swore. “What happened to you?”
Wordlessly, Garin handed him the reins.
“He needs a surgeon,” Esther said severely.
“No he doesn’t,” Garin retorted. “But he has lost a bit too much blood. Dietmar—Miss Lisle.”
“Mr. Dietmar,” Esther said, dismounting before either of the men could help her. “I’m going to need hot water and a clean needle and thread. And a bandage of some kind.”
“I’ll bring them,” Dietmar said, leading the horse toward one of the more tumbled-down sides of the building. “But I wouldn’t count on using them.”
Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2) Page 9