Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

“Kristiana?” The familiar way her name tripped off his tongue and the flash of anger in his eyes were telling.

“I’ve been told you know her well, but it seems your acquaintance is…closer than I realized. I do hope you’ve been careful. She’d be all too willing to share your secrets with Mr. Hargreaves.”

“That is none of your concern.” He drained his second beer.

I shrugged. “Everything she does is my concern so long as he’s betraying me with her.” My nerves were beginning to lose the steel I’d tried so hard to inject into them. Acknowledging in a semi-public fashion that Colin had been unfaithful to me stung, even if it was not true, and I realized that this was partially due to my suspicion that Kristiana was doing everything in her not inconsequential power to tempt him.

My cheeks grew hot, and I feared that my companion would catch my lie. Instead, he misinterpreted what he saw.

“You’re angry, aren’t you? Can you prove to me that you have access to Hargreaves’s information?”

“Of course I can,” I said, filled with uncertainty, hoping upon hope that Colin would help me with this.

He pulled a piece of paper and a pencil out of his jacket pocket and scrawled something on it before handing it to me. “We must do this privately. I can be found at this address every afternoon between two and five. Bring me something as soon as you can that will prove you’re telling the truth.”

This time he spoke to me in German.

23 December 1891

Darnley House, Kent

My dear daughter,

I have heard the most outrageous thing from Lady Elliott. She claims that you visited Robert Brandon at Newgate. I tell you this not to send you scurrying to ease my mind on the subject, but to offer you a bit of amusement.

Your father and I are going to Balmoral after Christmas and I am beside myself that you will not be able to join us. Perhaps, though, Mme du Lac has arranged for you to spend time with the Hapsburgs. I am delighted to learn that you have been presented to the empress! She is an eccentric woman, but much to be admired. If she takes a liking to you, I wonder if she might be persuaded to come to your wedding. Imagine if you had her in addition to the queen! Your father once met the tsarevitch, Nicholas, of Russia. I wonder, if we set our minds to it, if we could have a guest list superior to that of Princess Louise when she married that abominable German prince last summer.

Oh, my dear Emily, you know how pleased I am at your engagement, but when I think of the tsarevitch, who is not yet married, I must say that you should have tried harder for a royal match. Such a thing is always difficult for a commoner, but a girl of your wealth and beauty could have tempted a prince. Not, mind you, that I mean any disrespect to your dear, departed husband.

Do write soon and tell me all about the parties in Vienna. Lady Paget says the atmosphere is hideous there, and that the balls are poorly organized. Hardly surprising. But I am glad you are enjoying the pleasure of such high company. It was wise of you to leave England with this scandal of the Brandons brewing. I fear for poor Ivy. No one will marry the widow of a murderer.

Prince Eddy’s marriage to May is set for the twenty-seventh of February. I have already told the queen you will be there.

I am your loving mother,

C. Bromley

Mr. Harrison’s presence everywhere I turned had become more and more unsettling. Cécile and I were in our sitting room at the Imperial—a lovely space, furnished in Louis XVI antiques—ostensibly chaperoning Friedrich and Anna, who were leaning extremely close together on a sofa. I’d planned to work on my Greek, but was too distracted to think. When I went to my bedroom to collect my books, I found a bullet resting on top of them. When I returned to the sitting room, I gave it to Cécile, who was suitably horrified.

“What are we going to do about this, chérie ?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Obviously the hotel’s increased security measures aren’t enough.”

“This is dreadful, Kallista,” she said, the bullet still in her hand.

“Beyond imagining. But we cannot be daunted. Terrified, yes, but daunted, no.”

“Robert Brandon is lucky to count you among his friends,” Cécile said.

“There’s no fear I would not face to save him.” Strong words that were not matched by a calm demeanor. I sat on my hands to keep them from shaking.

Cécile straightened her shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to ask Sissi to send someone from the palace. We need a better guard.”

“Merci ,” I said.

“And in the meantime, I will not allow this despicable man to torment us. I will distract you. You do realize that Christmas is in two days?”

“I’m not feeling particularly inclined to celebrate,” I said, wondering when Mr. Harrison would tire of leaving bullets and decide instead to shoot them.

“We will have a small party here.” Cécile was holding Caesar on her lap while Brutus stared up at her with longing eyes. I took pity on the dog and picked him up, regretting it at once as he began to gnaw on my lace cuffs.

“Must we?” I returned the dog to the floor and gave him a biscuit.

“I’ve invited Klimt. Monsieur Hargreaves, of course, and Jeremy. Friedrich has nowhere else to go, and it might be amusing if you could convince Monsieur Schröder to join us. I was thinking of telling Jeremy to ask Rina.”

“Rina?”

“Oui. I think he’s fond of her. Do you object?”

“Of course not. I’m just surprised. Are you sure?”

“They were quite friendly when you were meeting with Schröder at the restaurant. And yesterday I overhead him having an earnest discussion about houses in a neighborhood not far from here.”

“You think he’s going to take a house in Vienna? Why would he do that?” I asked.

“Not for himself. For her.”

“Surely not!”

“I confronted him about it. He’s concerned for her safety. You’ve seen the neighborhood in which she lives, Kallista.”

“Yes, it’s dreadful,” I said. “He’s right to try to take her out of it. I just don’t—”

“You’re shocked at the thought that he might make her his mistress.”

“No! I—” I paused. “Yes, I am. And I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Is it because of her class?”

“No, it’s just…such a blatant thing to do. And it ruins her while it saves her. There must be a better way.”

“It is preferable to leaving her in a slum, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” And it was, but it did not sit well with me for a host of reasons I did not entirely comprehend. “I suppose he won’t see her often. It’s not as if he often travels to the Continent—”

“Are you jealous?” Cécile asked.

“Not in the least!” I said. “I just…I’ve never before known someone who’s done such a thing.”

“You undoubtedly know many gentlemen who’ve set up households for women. But until now, you were blissfully unaware of it.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel better, Cécile.”

Cécile looked over at Friedrich and Anna. “What can we do to convince her parents that they should be married?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ve given the subject sadly little thought. It’s not that I don’t wish to help them—”

“You do not have the luxury of focusing on such pleasantly challenging endeavors at the moment. I spoke to Klimt about the university murals. It will be two years at least before anyone will be given the commission. And the fact is, it’s unlikely that it will be awarded to anyone but Klimt and his brother.”