“Did you see them?” Dietmar asked.
Garin shook his head. “I heard them, though, and I saw the hoof prints over the carriage tracks.”
“Weber himself and Nieder?”
“Probably. He won’t involve more people than necessary in this.”
“What are they doing here?” the general demanded. “What do they want?”
“To put it bluntly, to kill your daughter for fear she saw who shot Prince Otto, and for Josephine because she can identify the man who set your daughter up for the attempt on her life.”
For the first time that Esther could ever recall, Vanya looked seriously perturbed. “In that case, isn’t my mother also in danger?”
“Possibly, but she’s only met the foot soldier, and I doubt he’s received orders to—er—remove her.” Garin accepted coffee from Esther with a quick glance of gratitude.
“Then we just sit here and wait for them to go away?” Lord Harry demanded in disgust.
Garin drank some coffee and lowered his cup. “We could. But I still don’t put it past Weber to set fire to the house while we sleep. It might be unlikely,” he added hastily as the Countess opened her mouth, “but I don’t think we can take that risk. I think we need to leave all together, with the ladies in the carriages and as many of us armed as possible. We might be able to pick off Weber and Nieder as we go.”
“Sounds less risky than dying in our beds,” snapped the general. “It’s a good enough plan. We have plenty of soldiers among us, and I have my pistol.”
“And I mine,” Lord Harry said stiffly.
“Um,” Esther said, a little nervously. “I think I might have a better plan.”
*
“What do you suppose they’re doing in there?” Nieder asked. He and Weber were hidden among the trees just a little way up the hill, from where they could see the main door, part of the courtyard, and the gate.
“Making friends, probably,” Weber said disparagingly. “And once they work out it was a trick, hopefully they’ll move the girl. I shoot her and we melt into the countryside. Then we take care of the whore in Vienna and pocket the fees. Not as much as we’d have gotten for killing Metternich, perhaps, but a lot less outcry to go with it!” He sat up, suddenly. “Wait, though, something’s happening…”
The young lads who’d taken care of the carriage and horses had reemerged from the house. They crossed the courtyard out of sight but came nowhere near the gates.
“In the stable again?” Nieder suggested.
“They must be leaving,” Weber said, nudging his underling with a grin. “What did I tell you?”
A few minutes later, two other young men emerged from the house—gentlemen this time. Weber thought by their posture and the familiar shape of their hats and coats that they were army officers. They strolled away from the door to meet the horses the first two youths had presumably prepared for them. Vaulting into the saddle in the assured, showy manner of the most annoying cavalry officers, they trotted briskly up to the gate. One of the stable boys ran to open it for them.
“Who the devil are they?” Nieder demanded.
“God knows. Who cares? Zelig must have sent them away so they can smuggle the Lisle girl out without spreading gossip in Vienna. Keep your eye on the door.”
*
On the overgrown track leading away from the monastery, the two army officers broke into a gentle canter and grinned at each other.
“There’s definitely someone on the hill, watching,” Esther said. “I saw movement between the trees there. It’s probably too far to shoot someone from with any accuracy, though. Even with a rifle.”
“Are they following us?” Josephine asked.
“I don’t hear or see anything. They must still be watching the house.”
“Well, I have to say your act has improved since the Burgtheater.”
Esther laughed. “I find myself studying how men move and posture. Added to your teaching, how could I go wrong?” Then she sobered, biting her lip. “What if they shoot Lizzie or Juana or the Countess in mistake for one of us?”
“No one could mistake either the Countess or your duenna for one of us,” Josephine scoffed. “They’re both much too imposing. And your Lizzie is too obviously Colonel Savarin’s—they’d have to be imbeciles to make that mistake.” She glanced around at Esther. “But it’s him you’re really worrying about, isn’t it? Because he saw the man who shot at you, too.”
“He saved my life,” Esther said into the wind.
“And lived. Don’t you know that he’s a survivor?”
She nodded, for she did know from instinct and from observation that he could take care of himself. But it didn’t help. She gave Garin’s horse its head and let it gallop. The wind whipped against her face, buffeting her body. Above them, the sky grew dark and ominous. There was going to be a storm.
About a quarter of an hour later, as they rounded the corner of a wooded hill, they found the road blocked by several green hired Imperial carriages and gentlemen on horseback. Esther reined in Garin’s horse.
“Oh dear,” she murmured to Josephine. “We’ve stumbled upon a retreating party of pleasure. I hope none of them are known to us!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Josephine pointed out. “Just remember who you are, old boy! Lieutenant Smith, regiment unspecified. We’d better be slightly foxed again to avoid answering any awkward questions.”
Esther straightened her back. “With luck, we should just be able to ride past them with a few greetings and bolt onward to Vienna.”
“Let’s hope so, because if anyone ever gets an inkling that Miss Lisle is out gallivanting in the Vienna Woods with an infamous courtesan, your reputation will never recover!”
They were greeted by an amiable Austrian gentleman of middle years who appeared to be organizing the retreat, handing ladies into carriages and seeing to the bestowal of baskets, easels, and other equipment into the carriage at the front.
“We block your way,” he acknowledged. “I hope you forgive.”
“De rien, monsieur,” said Josephine, who had decided to be French for the day. “We all raced the storm back to Vienna, I think.”
“It’s been such a beautiful day up until now. The ladies were sketching and painting. Auguste has been reading us his poetry…”
“How wonderful,” Esther said, taking out her flask. “Care for a drop, sir, while you wait?”
“Ah, thank you, no…Madame, a place is held for you in the second carriage,” he added to a haughty young woman, whom he conducted away from them.
Esther pretended to swig from the flask, which really did contain brandy, and passed it to Josephine. She hoped their behavior would deter too close contact, for she recognized a few faces among the ladies and gentlemen of the party. With foreboding, she began to suspect the recognition worked both ways, for a young Russian officer began to gaze in their direction and edge nearer.
Esther put on her best scowl and slapped her thigh, as though Josephine had just told her a bawdy joke. The Russian kept coming.
“He knows us,” Esther muttered under her breath. Was it her Russian admirer from Metternich’s masked ball?
“He thinks he knows me,” Josephine corrected. She didn’t seem terribly worried.
Instead, her lip was curling as she positively glared in the young officer’s direction. She said something indistinguishable to Esther, nudging her, as if it were a great joke about the man she watched. Obligingly, Esther guffawed and slapped her thigh again. Josephine belched loudly and contemptuously, and the Russian veered away, mounting his horse and riding straight-backed to the front of the cavalcade, which finally seemed ready to advance.
“Oh, well done,” Esther applauded. “Poor man! He must be racking his brains to remember who you are and how he offended you.”
“So long as he realizes I’m not Josephine at this moment, that’s fine with me.”
Within a few minutes of their departure, rain began to spit down on them, a
nd most of the riding gentlemen squeezed themselves into covered carriages instead, attaching their horses to the rear.
“We can probably get past now without seeming unnaturally rude,” Josephine observed.
“Just as well,” Esther returned. “This is taking forever and we are going to get soaked.”
As if on a stage cue, as soon as they began to advance past the lumbering carriages, the first bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Some of the carriage horses tossed their heads as thunder rumbled in its wake, but none of them seemed terrified enough to bolt. And then the heavens really opened.
Their amiable Austrian acquaintance pushed down the window of the carriage beside them.
“Take shelter with us, good sirs!” he begged. “The carriage at the front has space, if you don’t mind falling over easels and baskets! The count’s guests left earlier this afternoon, so I’m sure he’ll be glad of your company.”
“Thank you!” Esther exclaimed. “But we’ll be fine, if we can just ride ahead. Good luck, sir.”
With Josephine at her back, she cantered forward through the rain, which ran in small rivers down over her hat and over her face and neck. She just hoped it wouldn’t pull down her hair. Clutching on to her hat with one hand, she approached the front of the cavalcade. Soon they’d be able to stretch into a gallop and be back in Vienna in no time. Josephine claimed to know the way to the summer villa being used by the Launcetons, which was where they were to meet up with the others.
The door of the front carriage opened, blocking their way past, forcing them to pull up sharply or ride into the ditch, and a man’s head poked out. Count von Meyer.
Chapter Seventeen
Inevitably, Prince Otto objected when they put him in the trunk.
Although logic had convinced Zelig that sending Esther and Josephine ahead in disguise was the safest escape plan, it didn’t sit easily with him. He itched to be with them, assessing and avoiding danger, protecting them. Protecting her. But he knew from the odd flashes of movement on the hill, that at least one of their observers was still at the monastery. Hopefully, the other remained there, too, and hadn’t followed the young men galloping back to Vienna.
“It’s a simple matter of choice,” he said coldly to the prince. “Either you lie down in the trunk or Dietmar lays you out cold. Either way, you end up in the trunk.”
“But I won’t be able to breathe.”
“Sadly, you will. There are holes bored in the sides. It may be a bumpy trip, but you’ll survive.”
“It will open my wound again,” Otto complained.
“Not if you go in of your own volition. And trust me, if you make a sound, you will be dead. The men pursuing us want you dead. If they find you, I won’t be able to save you.”
“The English have a saying about a rock and a hard place,” Otto said bitterly. He got into the trunk.
Dietmar closed the lid, and he and Zelig hefted the trunk by the handles on either side.
Dietmar swore. “We’ve been feeding him too much.”
“Ha!” said the prisoner with muffled derision.
Dietmar struck the side of the trunk with his free hand. “Shut it, you.”
They carried the trunk to the back door and up the outside stairs to the courtyard where Menno had left the cart. Between them, they heaved the trunk on with the other pieces of luggage. Zelig left Dietmar and the boys tying a tarpaulin over the top. They would all travel in the cart. The others were already piling into the two carriages—Lizzie and Vanya’s borrowed equipage, and Countess Savarina’s hired carriage from the Imperial fleet. The countess’ carriage, carrying General Lisle, Mrs. MacVey, and Lord Harry, would be driven as normal by her coachman. As on the way out here, Zelig would drive the other carriage, containing Lizzie and Vanya, Countess Savarina, and her companion. This would give Zelig an invisible position from which to see everything ahead.
Despite the drenching rain, he swung his carriage through the gates at a fair clip, both to give Weber the idea that he was in a hurry, and in the vague hope of catching up with Esther and making sure all was well with them. He could see their horses’ hoof prints on the muddy path, filled with water. It was some comfort as they bowled rather fast along the ill-kept road to the better used one, where, after a little while, the hooves became muddled with others and with the tracks of what seemed to be several coaches.
Unease tugged at him, for although it wasn’t unusual to find pleasure parties in this area of the Woods, coming upon a party of this size was bad luck and was bound to involve at least some interaction. He couldn’t be alone in finding Esther’s male impersonation unconvincing, and he could never rule out this was something more sinister. He didn’t like that he could see no trace of pursuit, as if there was no reason for Weber to hurry because someone else was already ahead to catch his quarry.
Shaking water from his hat, he yelled down to those in the carriage. “Vanya! Have you ever driven a coach of this size?”
Vanya’s head stuck out of the window. “Once! I was drunk and tipped it into a ditch,” he said cheerfully.
Zelig gave up. “Menno!” he shouted to the cart behind.
Weber and Nieder quickly forced the lock on the monastery door and barged inside, pistols at the ready, just to be careful. As Weber had suspected, the place was empty. The kitchen was clean and tidy, and no possessions were left casually lying around. Clumping upstairs, he found a bare bedchamber, with little more than a change of male clothing and some soap. He ran downstairs again.
“Anything?” he asked Nieder, whom he could see in a passage beyond the kitchen archway.
“A few bedrooms. A couple with a few clothes, all male. No sign of the girl. But there are stairs here, going down to a cellar or something.”
Weber hurried along the passage and down the stairs. A row of open, empty cells had him scratching his head. He walked the length of them while Nieder lit a lantern and held it to illuminate every corner.
Weber paused by the last cell. “Someone’s slept recently on that mattress. Look at the imprint.”
“Well, he—or she—isn’t there now. Do you think it was the girl? Would he have kept her locked up?”
“Probably,” Weber said scathingly. “He thinks she killed her betrothed, that prince.”
“Did she?” Nieder asked.
Weber shrugged. He knew exactly who’d killed Prince Otto.
“Wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Nieder observed. “He was a total bastard, by all I hear.”
Weber grunted. “They’ve flown, all back to Vienna.”
“Then your little scheme didn’t work?”
“They’re still on the open road,” Dietmar said complacently, “and more to the point, so is our ally.”
*
“Gentlemen,” Count von Meyer mocked. “Do come inside out of the rain. My coachman will tether your horses to the carriage.”
“Thank you,” Esther said at once. “We’d rather just ride ahead.” But before she could turn away, a movement inside the coach drew her attention to the pistol held casually in Meyer’s hand. It pointed at her.
“You mistake me, Miss Lisle,” he murmured in English. “It wasn’t a request. Get in.” His gaze flickered to Josephine, briefly scanning. “And the whore. How thoughtful to bring her.”
“Run, Josephine,” Esther breathed.
“Don’t be so foolish,” Meyer snapped.
Josephine decided the matter by dismounting and handing the reins to the waiting coachman. Esther followed suit and the two women sat opposite Count von Meyer. Although there was no sign of the pistol as the horses pulled the carriage into motion, Esther didn’t doubt that it was still there, still leveled at her. Or perhaps at Josephine.
“You would really shoot me here?” Esther said, shakily. “Surrounded by all these people?”
Meyer appeared to consider. “I’d rather not,” he confessed. “But I could. Kill one, blame the other. Or I might actually get away with reloading and shooting
you both. Hopefully the thunder would disguise the shots. I would have to hide your bodies under the seats until I could safely dispose of you both, of course, but hey-ho, there are always difficulties with such endeavors.”
“I suppose you would know, from the experience of killing Prince Otto,” Esther said with conscious bravery.
“It was not my finest hour,” Meyer said ruefully. “I didn’t even know you were there until Hannes told me.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Esther murmured. She wondered if it would save her life, the information that if Otto wasn’t dead, as she could hardly be a witness to his murder.
“And then,” Josephine said, “you failed to kill her at the Hofburg.”
“That was not, strictly speaking, my failure,” Meyer said. “But I take your point. The little things have not been well managed. Trust me, I endeavor to do better. So I’ll make a deal with you, ladies. If you stay quiet until we reach Vienna, then I’ll swear to discredit you rather than kill you.”
“How?” Esther demanded.
“Questions, questions. You know, you should be grateful to me for removing Otto. He’d have made a dreadful husband, and he’d never have brought you a crown. But then, you were only ever spying on him, weren’t you?”
Esther flushed.
Meyer laughed. “But do you know the really funny thing? He was spying on you, too—or at least on your father and the British embassy through you.”
“I know,” she said coldly. “And we were both extremely foolish to believe we were useful.”
“My dear, Otto never wanted to be useful,” Meyer scoffed. “He wanted to be powerful, that wretched little man.”
“Very wretched, and faithless. But he didn’t have the monopoly on foolishness. For example, did you know that by employing Herr Weber in your affairs, you have implicated yourself in the plots of his other employer, Prince Otto?”
Meyer didn’t blink. The very fact gave him away and he was hiding surprise. “What plots?” he asked casually.
Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2) Page 18