Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

That said, if the countess had dropped suddenly off the face of the earth, I would have felt very little regret. A person’s maturity can only be expected to go so far.

That evening we took a fiacre to the Ofenloch, leaving the classic elegance of the Ringstrasse behind us and descending into the grimy neighborhoods where Herr Schröder’s associates lived. If they were dingy during the day, they were darkly terrifying at night, when the figures that stepped out of shadows would be unidentifiable until they were too close to escape from, even by running. Jeremy sat across from Cécile and me, keeping quiet and looking sullen the whole way.

“I have never seen you so dull,” Cécile said, leaning forward and poking him with her walking stick. “Have you grown tired of protecting hapless females when you could be courting a mistress?”

How I wished she’d said anything but that.

“I find doing anything on behalf of hapless females tedious—not that it stops me, mind you. But though Emily could be described as many things, hapless is not one of them.”

I smiled at him, but he did not look at me. Instead, he was staring intently at his gloves.

“I cannot have you glum,” Cécile said. “It is intolerable. I spent the entire afternoon with Friedrich and Anna and cannot stand even one instant more of romantic angst.”

“Angst?” I asked. “I thought they were blissfully happy?”

“Oh they are, chérie . Until they remember that their time together is limited. Then it’s all weeping and sighing and—” She stopped and shrugged.

“I can assure you, Madame du Lac, that there is no angst of any form in this carriage tonight,” Jeremy said.

Cécile reached over and took his hand. “I’m so glad, mon ami . I was afraid you had decided to never flirt with me again.” She winked at him, and he laughed.

“Far from it,” he said, kissing her hand. “You’re irresistible.”

“And old enough to be your mother,” she said. “I begin to care less and less that you are not so handsome as Monsieur Hargreaves.”

“Coming from you, madame, that is a compliment of the highest order.” The carriage slowed as we reached our destination. Jeremy paid the driver and helped us down from our seats. The street was filthy, and a man stumbling in an intoxicated blur nearly knocked into me as we made our way to the door of the Ofenloch. Jeremy steered me to safety with a firm arm, a thin smile on his face. I wanted to make a teasing remark about him rescuing me, but no longer felt I could do such a thing. My head hurt all the more at the realization of this.

The inside of the tavern was not at all what I had expected, particularly given its surroundings. An enormous fireplace filled the room with a cozy warmth, and boisterous laughter came from the patrons who occupied nearly every table. There was a bright energy about the place, a sort of sincerity in the atmosphere that I hadn’t often felt.

“There’s Rina,” Jeremy said, walking towards her without pausing to make sure we were following. When he reached her, he bowed as carefully as he would have at a party at Buckingham Palace. He kissed her hand, and she blushed, her expression turning hard the moment Cécile and I reached them.

“I brought your muff,” she said, grabbing it from a chair and thrusting it at me. She was wearing what must have been her best dress, a carefully constructed copy of last year’s latest fashion. The material, a soft wool, claret-colored, was worn but well cared for.

“I meant for you to keep it,” I said, hoping this would not embarrass her. She looked at me through narrow eyes.

“I s’pose you’ve got so many you won’t miss one?”

“Not at all.” I had no desire to flaunt my wealth. “But it looks lovely with your hair and ought to be yours.”

“Then I guess I might as well keep it.” She tried to glare at me, but I could see in the dim light that her eyes were shining, just a bit. “Who’s your friend?”

“I am Cécile du Lac.” She shook the girl’s hand and sat down at the table. “What shall we eat? I’m famished.”

This seemed to take Rina by surprise, as she jumped and looked at Jeremy, who sat across from Cécile, next to the chair where the muff had been. “Schnitzel, I imagine.”

“It’s the best in Austria,” Rina said, taking the chair next to Jeremy. “I didn’t think you would want to eat.”

“It is rather late,” Jeremy said, meeting her eyes. “But I assumed that you were sending us somewhere worth the wait.”

Cécile looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Is Herr Schröder here yet?” I asked.

“Ja .” The voice came from behind me, and I suddenly wished I were seated with my back to the wall. He stepped forward. “Come sit over here with me, Kallista.”

Jeremy gave me a questioning look and Rina glared at Herr Schröder, who took not the slightest notice of her. I flashed an uneasy smile to Jeremy before sitting at a table near enough that he could keep an eye on me.

“I feel lucky to have tracked you down,” I said in German.

“I’m not pleased Rina told you where to find me. I didn’t think we had anything else to discuss,” he answered in English.

“You’re wrong.” I did not switch to my native tongue. A waitress deposited tall glasses of beer in front of us. “I know about your plans, and so does the British government.”

He laughed and replied in German. “I do like you, Kallista. You’re full of spirit. Misguided, but entertaining nonetheless.”

“So you’re not hoping to assassinate the kaiser in spectacular fashion and blame England for it?” He did not reply. I’d spent no short time planning what to say to him, how to trick him into confessing something, and bluffing seemed my best—if not only—option. I’d decided it was reasonable to surmise that if anarchists were planning something during the kaiser’s visit, a dramatic murder would be at the top of their agenda. “I need you to help me find out who warned Fortescue. In exchange, I will provide you with England’s plans to thwart your attack.”

“You have no way of learning such a thing.”

“Do not underestimate women, Herr Schröder. You’d be shocked how loose a man’s grip on his secrets becomes when he’s with his mistress.”

He laughed louder and slapped the table with his palm. “I’m to believe that you’re stealing state secrets from a lover?”

“Yes.” I looked at him with a level stare.

“A lover or your fiancé?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.” He drained his glass with astonishing speed and motioned for the waitress to bring another.

“I’m aware of much more than you give me credit for. You undoubtedly know about Mr. Harrison’s escapades at Beaumont Towers? That he stole papers from Lord Fortescue’s room? I believe they had to do with your plans?”

He flinched, and I knew my deduction was correct. How I wished I’d been able to see the papers! I was beginning to enjoy this.

“Did you know that Fortescue accused me of taking them?” I asked, swigging my own beer and trying to ignore its bitter taste. “You would do better to ally yourself with me than Harrison. Harrison sought my assistance in England, then double-crossed me. What makes you think he won’t do the same to you?”

“I’m beginning to think this isn’t all fantasy on your part. Harrison—”

“Harrison attacked me this morning. He wouldn’t do that if I didn’t threaten him.”

“He’s not concerned about you, it’s Hargreaves who worries him.”

“I have access to everything my fiancé knows.”

“And I’m to believe you’d double-cross him?”

“The Countess von Lange is his mistress. He’d sworn to me that he’d broken it off with her.” I paused, bit my lip, and lowered my eyes, hoping that I looked wounded. “I learned this morning that he has not.”