“She hasn’t sent you word like she said she would,” Nieder pointed out as they crossed the street.
“Doesn’t matter, does it? She just needs to go.”
“Yes, but why would she walk straight into the lion’s den unprotected? If she thinks Z’s gone mad and dangerous, how does she imagine she’s going to save her son without us?”
The answer to that became abundantly plain when the countess sailed down the steps from the hotel and into the carriage, closely followed by her mousy companion. Directly behind them came a regal lady in innumerable shawls and scarves, then General Lisle, another military gentleman Dietmar had never laid eyes on before, and Lord Henry Niven. And close behind them strode a straight-backed man-servant with a mean face—clearly another one-time soldier—who climbed up onto the box beside the driver.
While the ladies and General Lisle piled into the carriage, Niven and the unknown military gentleman mounted horses held for them by grooms, and set off at the same time as the vehicle, clearly accompanying it.
Dietmar swore fluently. That, he had not expected.
“Must be a bit crowded in there,” Nieder remarked. “At least the weight will slow us down. That must be good for us, right, sir?”
“Oh excellent,” Weber said between his teeth. “Bloody excellent.” He rounded on his underling. “Get the horses.”
*
Zelig chose to allow his prisoner a little exercise in the morning sunshine, partly to see what good a little reminder of fresh air and freedom in the prince’s nostrils would do.
“It’s a pleasant morning for walking, or riding,” he observed.
Otto glared at him. “You mean you’ll allow me through the gates?”
“No, I mean it’s a pleasant morning. Enjoy what you have.”
“Easy for you to say,” Otto muttered.
“Is it? Tell me, Otto, what is it you want of life? What are your aims?”
“Apart from killing you, and punishing your insolence for addressing me by my Christian name?”
“Well, yes. I was hoping for a somewhat larger ambition, for yourself and your country.”
“I will be the King of Kriegenstein.”
“And?”
“And rule!”
“How?”
“As I see fit!”
Zelig waited for more, but that appeared to be all the prince had to say—or think—on the matter.
“That’s what I feared. I have to inform you, the chance of your success in these ambitions is increasingly unlikely. I received a letter from Vienna. You’ll be glad to hear that the Russians evacuated Saxony and the Prussians moved in, using Kriegenstein as a corridor where necessary.”
Otto smirked. “And my father is still king.”
“In name, perhaps—at the moment. The Prussians have overrun Kriegenstein, too, and the king, your father, has fled, as I understand, toward Vienna to request the help of the Congress.”
Otto stopped in his tracks, staring at Zelig. “You lie.”
“No. There could never have been any other outcome. Once your safe conduct let them in, they were never going to leave. I suppose in the end, the king will return to being a private gentleman, hopefully with land, unless you gave that away, too.”
Otto flushed, clenching his fists.
“I wouldn’t,” Zelig said mildly. “But, I confess I was being somewhat unkind. You wouldn’t have given the land away. Rather Count von Meyer has taken it from you.”
Otto’s mouth fell open, before he snapped it shut, breathed once and said, “You lie, again.”
“Oh Meyer has undoubtedly betrayed you. We have enough of his correspondence with the Prussians to know that, though we don’t know precisely what he gets in return. Whatever it is, you can probably undo it.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me how,” Otto said bitterly.
Zelig raised his eyebrows. “Do I really need to? You discredit Meyer, of course.”
“What, the man who persuaded Napoleon to make my father a king? The man who served my father faithfully for decades, whom he clearly trusts a great deal more than he trusts me? How the devil do I do that?”
“Tell the truth,” Zelig said, looking toward the gate. In the distance, his ears had picked up the sounds of horses hooves, and something more.
“About what?” Otto demanded.
The something more was surely the rumbling of carriage wheels, and it was all getting closer. Dietmar had no reason to be in a carriage. God knew it had been hard enough getting Vanya’s borrowed vehicle along these tracks.
Zelig dragged his gaze back to Otto. “About your assassin. And about how you told Meyer about him. Come, I think that’s enough exercise for one day.” Zelig took Otto’s arm, and despite the prince jerking away and struggling, he urged him inexorably back across the courtyard and down the steps which led to the cellar door. Behind him, the wheels of the carriage rumbled closer.
*
Countess Savarina felt as if every bone in her body had been jolted into the wrong place as her carriage lurched and bumped its way along the country tracks through the Vienna Woods. As they drew closer to where Dietmar said they were going, she began to suspect that the road was kept deliberately overgrown for reasons of discouragement. It was a frightening thought.
At one point, the carriage’s slow progress dwindled to a halt, apparently so that Dietmar could address a large peasant lad by the side of the track.
“Open the gates,” Dietmar instructed. “And tell Himself I’ve brought visitors.”
“I think we should leave that a surprise,” growled Baird, the general’s manservant.
The carriage lurched forward again, through a pair of rusted iron gates which the big lad opened for them.
The courtyard within was not encouraging. Although a few hens pecked about the place, most of the surrounding buildings were clearly in a state of neglect that amounted to ruin.
“What is this place?” the Countess demanded, trying to keep the fear from her voice, as Dietmar himself handed her down from the carriage.
“A disused monastery,” Dietmar replied. “Napoleon’s troops plundered it during the war.”
“And my son is kept here?” she said, outraged.
Dietmar sighed. “No one is kept here!”
“Well I must say,” Lord Harry contributed, looking around him, “I can’t see why anyone would stay of their own free will and—Hoi! Where are you going?”
Apparently considering his civilities were over, Dietmar was striding toward a door in the left-hand building, which seemed to be in a better state of repair than the rest of the place.
While the general escorted the ladies at a rather more civilized pace, Lord Harry and Baird ran after the agent, so that all three men reached the door at more or less the same time. Baird thumped on the wood, yelling, “Open up!” at the same time as Lord Harry pulled back to set his shoulder to the door.
Dietmar, quite casually, lifted the latch, causing Baird to stumble in behind his own fist, and Lord Harry to positively fly inside, right shoulder first. By mutual agreement, Countess Savarina and the general hurried forward, closely followed by Major Belling and Anna.
Inside, four people sat a kitchen table, their stunned faces all turned toward the door. They seemed to have been enjoying a convivial breakfast served to them by an angelic blond lad standing behind them with a coffee pot.
“Nice entrance, Harry,” said an admiring voice the countess knew very well indeed.
Letting out a cry, she dropped Lisle’s arm and ran to her son.
Vanya’s jaw positively dropped. “Mother?” he exclaimed, standing up only just in time to receive her.
Countess Savarina flung herself into his arms crying, “Vanya! Thank God, thank God! What have they done to you?”
“Er… fed me breakfast?” Although he gave her a brief hug and kissed her cheek, he was clearly eager to disentangle himself. “What the deuce brings you here?”
“What an ex
cellent question,” Esther said. “Father? Goodness, is that Juana? And Major Belling! How on earth did you find us?”
Standing back just a little from her son, Countess Savarina saw Esther embrace her father and Mrs. MacVey. She saw Lizzie standing by the table beside another young woman, both looking bewildered. Everyone seemed bewildered, although it began to strike the countess that no one seemed very relieved to be rescued. If anything, surely, those expressions were dismay.
“What an excellent question,” said another voice from the back of the kitchen. “How did they find us, Dietmar?”
Agent Z. It could only be the infamous Agent Z. Countess Savarina turned slowly to face him. Although casually dressed, his black coat open and his cravat loosely knotted, he looked more severe than villainous. He had straight brown hair, refined, and unsmiling features, and yet somehow he managed to dominate the room. But more than that, something nagged at Countess Savarina. Familiarity.
A country inn, with Lizzie and Vanya and a gaggle of rude children and dogs…and this man. Surely, this man had been there.
“Herr Schmidt,” she uttered.
He jerked her the briefest of bows before he returned his attention to Dietmar who said resignedly, “I brought them, sir. It seemed the lesser of two evils. They were about to kick up an almighty fuss in Vienna. They seem to think you’re imprisoning and torturing their children.”
“What, all of us?” asked the irrepressible Vanya. “All on his own?”
Countess Savarina glared at him. “Would you make fun of a parent’s anxiety? Of mine?”
“Yes, if called for,” Vanya said disloyally.
“What we need now,” said Herr Schmidt savagely from the back of the kitchen, “is a very large, disobedient dog. I don’t suppose you brought Lady Launceton’s family, too?”
Lizzie, wretched girl, emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Dietmar only shook his head.
“Father, what is this about?” Esther asked. “Why did you not stay in Vienna?”
“We had reason to believe you were not safe,” Lisle said stiffly. “Are you? Has he hurt you?”
“Not in the slightest!”
“But who are all these people?” Mrs. MacVey demanded. And in silence, everyone began to look at everyone else.
“Well, you know Lady Launceton,” Esther said quickly, and Lizzie gave a quick curtsey. Grudgingly, Countess Savarina allowed her daughter-in-law to have a certain natural grace, before she turned her attention to the other young woman who wore rather too elaborate a gown for the occasion, too low cut for morning wear.
“Oh, good God,” exclaimed the general is dismay, as though he recognized this vulgar creature.
“What the devil is she doing here?” Lord Harry demanded, rounding furiously on Herr Schmidt. “Have you no sense of propriety? No shame?”
Herr Schmidt—or Agent Z—met Lord Harry’s gaze and curled his lip. “No,” he said briefly.
Harry started toward him, but Vanya caught his arm. “I wouldn’t, Harry,” he murmured. “The man fights dirty, and I should know. On the other hand,” he added, turning to the vulgarly dressed girl who stood now slightly flushed, though with her chin set at a defiant angle.
“I am not Herr Zelig’s mistress,” the girl said clearly. “He could not afford me.”
This overset Countess Savarina all over again. Not so much that the girl was clearly a courtesan, and quite blatant about it, but that if she wasn’t here for Agent Z, then there was only one other eligible man present.
“Vanya,” she uttered in dismay. “How could you?” Although she’d been disappointed in Vanya’s choice of a bride, she was realistic enough to recognize that she’d probably have been disappointed with whomever her son married. But she could not countenance such humiliating incivility as taking his mistress with him on his wedding trip, or whatever was going on here.
Lizzie began to laugh again.
“How could I what?” Vanya demanded furiously. “Fraulein Josephine is here as Herr Zelig’s guest, as are we all, except for you lot who were never invited. Now for God’s sake, show some civility or go away!”
“Vanya!” exclaimed his mother, but anything else she might have said was lost in the whiplash voice of Agent Z.
“Dietmar. How did they find you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Esther, ashamed that her first reaction on seeing her father and Juana was one of dismay rather than pleasure, was too flustered by the sudden invasion to think how it was they’d come here, until Garin asked the question.
Silence fell. Even the boys, who milled around the edges of the crowded kitchen, paused to stare at Dietmar like everyone else.
“There was a note,” Dietmar said, “yesterday, asking me to call on Countess Savarina at my earliest convenience.”
“Earliest convenience,” the Countess muttered discontentedly. “Ha!”
“A note from whom?” Garin asked urgently.
“From Countess Savarina herself.” He frowned. “At least…”
Garin swung on Countess Savarina. “But why were you so worried that your son had left Vienna? He’s on leave and the world knows him as a creature of impulse.”
“He didn’t take Sasha,” the Countess said, as if that explained everything.
“Perhaps…but then why did you think Dietmar knew where to find him? Who told you he did?”
The Countess drew herself up. “Herr Schmidt, I really don’t appreciate—”
“Who?” Garin interrupted, without apology. He stood now in front of the countess, holding her gaze.
She looked as though she would burst with indignation, or even slap him. Certainly, her fingers twitched and curled. She said icily, “The other police agent, who was a lot more polite than you.”
“Did he have a name?” Garin asked.
“Weber, since you ask. Baron von Hager himself recommended him to me.” Or was it Weber himself who’d told her that?
“How…unfortunate,” Garin observed. Anyone might have thought he no longer cared about the information he’d extracted, but Esther saw the tightness across his shoulders as he exchanged glances with Dietmar.
“He took advantage,” Dietmar said flatly. “And we’ve all been tricked, and me most of all. I should have asked these questions before I started out.”
“Don’t distress yourself,” Vanya advised. “Better men than any of us have seen their intelligence crumble before my mother’s onslaughts.” He shifted his gaze to Garin. “What do you want to do, my friend?”
“Friend? Friend?” repeated the general. “What the devil is going on? No one looks imprisoned to me, and Esther has never looked better!” He rounded on Countess Savarina. “Madam, it seems we were mistaken.”
The countess, no doubt perceiving that she was about to be made the villain of the piece—or at least the chief dupe—tottered on her elegantly shod feet, shading her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, my nerves will not bear this!” she uttered, and swayed alarmingly.
Major Belling, who was nearest, grasped her and lowered her into the wooden chair by the table that Vanya kicked into place for the purpose.
“It is warm in here,” Harry said, “compared with the cold outside.” He reached in his pocket, rummaging, then frowning. “I had a handkerchief. I always have a handkerchief!”
Esther glanced at Lutz. But Garin was ahead of her, simply holding out his hand. For a moment, Lutz pretended not to see, then pushed forward muttering, and took the fine silk square from his pocket, slapping it into Garin’s hand. Garin held his gaze and with an audible groan, Lutz plonked a purse on top of the handkerchief.
Lord Harry’s eyes widened. “Why you little—” he exclaimed, lunging for the boy, but Garin stepped swiftly between them.
“He mistook you for an enemy when you barged into his home looking for a fight,” Garin said mildly. “It’s his way of fighting back.”
“Yes, well, he’ll fight his way back into prison with that behavior!”
“Let it be, my lord,” Esther said quietly. “You have your things back, and he won’t do it again, will you, Lutz?”
Lutz looked inclined to be mutinous, but fortunately, Countess Savarina moaned again—perhaps, Esther thought unkindly, because Lutz had briefly removed her from center stage. Lord Harry snatched his possessions from Garin and wafted the afflicted lady with his handkerchief. Vanya looked amused.
Lizzie brought her mother-in-law a glass of water.
Abruptly, Garin said, “Menno, Lutz, see to the carriage horses, will you? Kai, perhaps you could find some refreshment for our unexpected guests.”
“Where are you going?” Esther demanded as he strode to the door in the wake of the two boys.
“To look for signs of more company.” He glanced at her, his eyes cool and hard. And yet she knew, somehow, that he was not calm at all. He was afraid. “On no account must you or Josephine go outside.”
Although it went against the grain, she nodded once. “But you? Will you be safe?”
“Oh yes,” he said, and went out.
For several moments there was almost complete silence. Until the sound of distant clattering and shouting could be heard, not from outside, but below.
“What’s that?” the general demanded.
“Oh, that’s just the prisoner clanking his chains in the dungeon,” Esther replied, vaguely. She was thinking about a new idea.
*
“There are two of them, I believe,” Garin said, when he returned to find everyone sitting around the kitchen table in slightly tense if civil conversation, drinking coffee. They were like rare, brilliantly-feathered peacocks who’d somehow wandered off from a palace lawn and found themselves in a peasant’s yard. They didn’t care for the surroundings or the company, but they needed to make the best of it before they could get back to the palace.
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