Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

Before that afternoon, I had never seen neighborhoods like those found on the count’s list. As a girl, I had accompanied my mother when she visited tenants on my father’s estate, but their happy, well-tended cottages did nothing to prepare me for the dire conditions in which Vienna’s poor lived. The houses aspired to the finery of those in the city’s best neighborhoods, with corniced windows and elaborate decorative detail. But this did nothing to hide laundry hanging from windows, garbage strewn across sidewalks, the stench of decay defying the freezing temperatures, and gardens covered with soot from the factories that surrounded the area. Children dressed in little more than filthy rags ran through the streets when they should have been in cozy rooms eating something hot.

It took several hours for Jeremy and me to find all six addresses, our task made more difficult by the heavy snow. And when we did find them, Herr Schröder’s compatriots, tucked in their dingy, cold houses, proved unwilling conversationalists.

“It was naïve of me to think they would talk,” I said, stepping over a pile of hideous-smelling trash in an alley. “How could these people ever trust us when we allow them to live in these conditions?”

“It’s hardly our fault.”

“It will be should we do nothing to improve their plight.” I looked across the street at a girl who was leaning against a building. Her dingy coat barely covered a threadbare dress, and she wore no gloves.

“Looking for someone, sir?” she asked, in English untouched by the slightest hint of an Austrian accent.

Jeremy tightened his grip on my arm and walked towards her. “Do you know Franz Kaufman?”

“Maybe.” She winked at him. “But you’d have more fun with me.”

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to look nonchalant.

“Shock your friend, did I? Or is it your wife?” She crinkled her nose. “Imagine a gentleman wouldn’t bring his wife to this sort of neighborhood.”

“Are you English?” I asked.

“My mother was.”

Without thinking, I handed her my muff. “You must be freezing.” She batted it away.

“I don’t need no charity from you.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Jeremy pushed it back at her. She smiled at him, revealing a surprisingly bright set of teeth.

“Why’re you lookin’ for Kaufman? He in trouble again?”

“What sort of trouble is he prone to?” I asked.

“Don’t know that I could say,” she said, burying her hands deep in the muff’s fur. She stared at me for a moment, but the hardness in her eyes did not thaw. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Rina.”

“I’m Emily.”

“Lady Emily Ashton?” she asked. I nodded. “There’s a gent been around here inquiring about you. Harrison was his name.”

“What does he want?” I asked.

“Best I know, he wants to find out who you’re looking for. Word’s gotten around that anyone who talks to you will face a heap of trouble.”

“Are people scared of him?”

She shrugged. “Not really. They’re more scared of Schröder. But I guess you know that. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Did he send you to watch me?” I asked.

She laughed. “I hate him more than anyone.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Don’t see why I should tell you.”

“I’m looking for information that could save the life of an innocent man in England. Will you help me?” I asked.

She pursed her lips and blew out a long breath, then motioned towards Jeremy. “Is he going to protect me if I do?”

“Of course I will. You’ve my word as a gentleman.” Jeremy gave her a quick but smart bow.

She laughed. “Don’t know what good that is, but I’ll take it just the same.”

“Do you know Stefan Gross?” I asked. “I’m trying to find him. Or perhaps Jacob Reisner?”

“You’re wasting your time with that crew. Schröder’s the only one who knows anything. Do you know a beisl called Ofenloch? It’s a restaurant two streets from here.”

“Yes, I noticed it as we passed.” Jeremy tugged at his gloves.

“He goes there most every night.”

“Can you find out if he’ll be there tomorrow?”

“I don’t talk to him,” she said. “He killed my father.”

Jeremy was silent as we made our way back to the Imperial. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“There was something about that girl…. I don’t know what it is…she looks so familiar, but I can’t place her.”

“Bainbridge!” Colin stepped across the Kärntner Ring in front of the hotel and shook Jeremy’s hand before kissing mine. “Where the bloody hell have you had my fiancée all afternoon?” He kissed my hand again, his eyes full of teasing warmth.

“Oh, you know Em, she’s been running me around all day in search of justice. Tedious girl. Don’t know how you tolerate her.” He looked at my face as he spoke, but did not meet my eyes.

“You’re a beast, Jeremy. But thank you for accompanying me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He stared down at his feet, then looked into my eyes. “Right, then. I’ll be off if you’re quite done with me.” The moment he’d disappeared into the hotel, Colin pulled me close and kissed me.

“You’re lovely with the snow falling all around you,” he said. “But I’d best get you inside before you freeze.” As we turned to the entrance, I saw Jeremy standing in the doorway, watching us. He saw me looking at him and came back out, his face red as he rushed past us and made his way down the street. I called out to him, but he did not stop. Colin grabbed my arm when I started to follow.

“Let him go.”

“But I—”

“This is difficult enough for him, Emily.”

“You don’t think that he—” I stopped, looked after him. “No, Colin. You’re wrong.”

“Believe what you want, my dear, but this is one case where I know better than you.”

“Maudlin,” Cécile said, tossing aside a collection of Goethe’s poetry. We were in the sitting room of our suite, taking tea. “I much prefer something French.” Odette, singing a mournful-sounding aria, came in with our mail, which she handed to Cécile. “Nothing from England for you today?” she asked her maid.

Odette did not reply, only increased the volume of her song as she disappeared into her mistress’s bedroom.

“You see what I suffer?” Cécile said. “Your butler is ruining my peace of mind.”

“I can accept that so long as Klimt is keeping you happy,” I said.

“I like him because he has no expectations. We’re perfectly suited to each other, at least for the moment.”

“What about after the moment?”

“Why would I bother to even begin thinking about that? I’m not looking for a grand passion, Kallista. I had that once and don’t want to suffer through it again.”

“You’ve never told me this,” I said. “Who was it? I know not your husband.”

“Non , not him. It was a long time ago, but not long enough that I’m ready to think about him again.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Non .”

“Not at all?”

“Perhaps a very little bit. That’s the trouble with grand passions, bien sûr . You can never entirely cleanse yourself of them. It’s best to avoid them altogether.”

“So who was this grand passion?” I asked.

“Someday I will tell you the story, but no time soon. It’s too frustrating.”

“I don’t like to see you frustrated,” Colin said, coming into the room.

“You, Monsieur Hargreaves, are divine.” She offered him her hand, which he kissed before sitting next to me. “Not only to say that, but to come in at the exact moment I want the subject of our conversation changed.”