Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

“I’m glad to be of service, and you, madame, are enchanting as always.” He accepted the tea she poured for him. “I’ve figured out Harrison’s game, and the stakes are higher than I thought.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“He’s trying to draw England into a war with Germany. A few years ago he was involved in a failed plot to persuade the crown prince to overthrow his father.”

“Rudolf?” I asked. Colin nodded.

“Obviously nothing came of it. The goal had been to see the prince, who was much less sympathetic to the kaiser than his father, on the throne. Rudolf would then abandon Germany and ally Austria with England and France. Fortescue was always opposed to the scheme, so far as I can tell. Didn’t think it particularly mattered who Austria is allied with.”

“Did you know that Rudolf wrote pieces for Wiener Tagblatt ?” Cécile asked.

“The newspaper?” I asked.

“Oui. A very liberal newspaper.”

“What did the emperor think of that?” I asked.

“I don’t believe he knew,” Colin said. “Did he?”

“He did not,” Cécile said. “Rudolf published under the name Szeps. His father would not have agreed with much, if any, of what he wrote.”

“So Harrison and his crew tried to convince him to stage a coup?” I asked.

“Yes,” Colin said. “But they failed.”

“How would this lead to war now?” Cécile asked.

“Germany is becoming increasingly aggressive in her nationalism, and there are many who believe war is inevitable,” Colin said. “Harrison seems to have abandoned his plan to gain Austria’s support and is instead trying to instigate some sort of incident that will precipitate a major conflict between nations.”

“But that makes no sense,” I said. “First he thought we needed Austria’s support, now he doesn’t?”

“He knows he won’t get it. So he believes we should fight now, before Germany and her allies grow more powerful.”

“Are you quite certain nothing came of his earlier plot?” I told them about the letter I’d seen on the empress’s desk. “From what I read, it sounded as if the French and English were involved with Mayerling.”

“It’s possible that Harrison has a French ally,” Colin said.

“Could you ask the empress about it, Cécile?”

She sighed. “I don’t think it is a good idea. She’s fragile, and dredging this up will only cause her more pain.”

“But if she’s looking into the matter herself—,” I began.

“So far as I know, she’s learned nothing new in more than a year. And before that, she learned almost nothing. She’s a mother grieving the loss of a child and is desperate for there to be an explanation more significant than a lovers’ suicide pact.”

“But what if she’s right, and what if we could find the truth?” I asked.

“Right now we need to focus on Harrison and Brandon,” Colin said. “If what happened at Mayerling is related, we’ll figure it out. But I don’t think it’s necessary to disturb the empress at this point.”

“Lord Fortescue controlled those around him with blackmail. If he had evidence that Mr. Harrison had anything to do with the crown prince’s death—”

“—Fortescue would have absolute control over him,” Colin finished for me.

“And now that Fortescue is dead, Mr. Harrison is free to pursue his agenda,” I said. “How convenient for him.”

“Harrison didn’t kill Fortescue. He was standing next to me when we were shooting.”

“He might have hired someone else to do it,” I said.

“Possibly.” Colin nodded, but his face revealed not the slightest hint of agreement. “But I find it hard to believe that an assassin would use a dueling pistol from his victim’s house.”

“Why not? It makes it look like an ordinary murder,” I said.

“An ordinary murder? You’re becoming entirely too corrupt, my dear.”

“Isn’t that why you love her?” Cécile asked.

“Among other things.” He smiled.

“I’ve read enough sensational novels to know that it’s perfectly reasonable to begin a murder investigation by ascertaining what individuals benefit from the victim’s death,” I said. “Clearly Mr. Harrison has benefited. Robert has not.”

“They believe his motive was anger, not that he stood to gain something,” Colin said.

“You don’t believe that he’s guilty, do you, Monsieur Hargreaves?” Cécile asked.

“Of course not. But Emily wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t have someone playing devil’s advocate.”

“No one else at Beaumont Towers stood to gain from Lord Fortescue’s murder. Poor Mary’s going to once again be dismissed from her home,” I said. There was a small dowager’s house on the estate, and it was to there that she would be banished once her husband’s eldest son descended to collect his inheritance.

“Harrison is a likely suspect, but if we’re to consider the murder as assassination, we need to look at all of Fortescue’s political enemies.”

“All of Britain and most of the Continent,” I said.

“Unfortunately close to the truth.” He had stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” He kissed me quickly and nodded at Cécile. “I must go. I’ve an appointment I cannot miss. Will I see you tomorrow?”

A S HAD BECOME MY HABIT,I went to the Griensteidl early the next morning, and spent more than an hour happily studying Greek and drinking hot chocolate. I’d neglected my studies since Robert’s arrest, and even now felt pangs of guilt at being so pleasantly employed when my friend was suffering in Newgate. Friedrich was sitting with me, reading classified ads from the newspaper out loud.

“‘To the exquisite lady sitting in the Café Griensteidl with a male escort yesterday: she had the kindness to hand a copy of the magazine Kikeriki in a most sympathetic manner to a gentleman at a neighboring table, and would do said gentleman an even more incalculable kindness by indicating to Box 672, this newspaper, when and at what café he would be allowed to hand a Kikeriki to her.’” He gulped his coffee. “Was it you?”

“Me? Hardly.”

“I sat with you for a while yesterday. I was hoping that I’d made it into the paper—even if only as your escort.”

“Did you see me hand a magazine to anyone?”

“No.” He looked back at the paper, smiling to himself. I returned to my Greek until my companion jumped up from his chair. “I’ll leave you to her,” he said.

“What?” I asked, starting to call after him, but stopping as the Countess von Lange, dressed to stunning effect in a crimson gown, slipped into the chair he’d just left. She was holding a coffee cup full to the brim, but she moved with such grace that she did not spill a drop.

“I understand you’ve been meeting with my friend Gustav Schröder. I told him to speak freely to you.”

“Does he need your permission?”

“No, but I’ve convinced him to trust you.”

“That’s very good of you. I owe you more than thanks.”

“Your debt is already paid. You care more for your friend than I guessed.”

“And you are less selfish than I expected.”

She laughed. “Not at all. Colin came to me last night.” I wished I could will away the color flooding my cheeks. “You are uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” She couldn’t be telling the truth. I didn’t believe for an instant that he’d gone to her after he’d left me. Yet even as I began running through the reasons that I would never doubt him, a nagging, searing feeling shot through my stomach. The countess was nothing short of an exquisite beauty, a person to whom Colin had, at some point, felt a strong attraction. I trusted him, but not her. Just how persuasive could she be?