A Fatal Waltz (17 page)

I didn’t hear him open the door or step into the room, but gradually became aware of the smell of cinnamon and tobacco and a hint of shaving lotion. He was standing in front of the window, his figure a silhouette, light spilling around him.

“I hardly know what to say. Is there an appropriate response to finding you on my bed?”

“Colin—”

“You’re crying.” He sat and pulled me up beside him. “What is it?”

I could not help myself. I put my head in his lap and made no effort to slow my tears. He said nothing, but rubbed my back until it had stopped heaving, then pulled me up and kissed the top of my head, so gently I could hardly feel his lips. I opened my eyes and saw his, inches from me, full of concern.

“My dear girl, what happened? What are you doing here?”

I sat up straight, took his hands, and blurted out what Herr Schröder had told me. “I’m scared,” I said. He smoothed my forehead and put his hand on my cheek.

“There’s no need for concern. As I’ve already told you, I’m accustomed to people wanting to kill me. And now that I know who’s trying to do it, it will be that much easier to avoid.”

“I cannot treat this with casual disregard,” I said, my stomach burning. “Of course there’s need for concern.”

“You must trust that I know what I’m doing, Emily. That I’m capable of handling this. I understand how shocking it all seems to you.” He ran his hand through his wavy hair. “This is why I’ve always been loath to marry. It’s a terrible situation to expect a wife to bear. But I cannot hide it from you.”

“I would not want you to,” I said, my voice so low I could hardly hear it myself.

“For the moment we must deal with the situation at hand. But then, my dear, you are going to have to consider whether you still want me, knowing that this sort of thing will almost certainly happen again.”

“Does it have to?” As soon as the words escaped my lips I regretted them, and I shook my head, which had begun to throb again. “Yes, of course it does. I would not love you so well as I do if you were capable of compromising all that’s important to you.”

He did not look at me, and I realized that this was perhaps the first conversation we’d had where his eyes were not fixed on mine.
Even when we’d first met, his ability to maintain eye contact had been striking, almost unnerving. I took his face in my hands and turned it to me, but he removed my hands and rose to his feet. The bitter taste of fear stuck in my throat.

“The very nature of what I do compromises your happiness.”

“Don’t start pacing,” I said.

He didn’t listen and began taking slow, measured steps back and forth in front of the window. The snow was still falling. “There will be no easy joy for us.”

“I’d rather share bursts of joy with you between weeks of unease than years of meaningless comfort with anyone else.”

“We’ll see if you still believe that at the end of all this.” He took me by the hand. “Come. I’d better give you something more for your friend. I’d prefer not to die before New Year’s.”

M
on dieu!
” Cécile dropped the gingerbread cookie she was holding. I had met her coming out of the Imperial on my way back from Colin’s and agreed to go with her to the Christkindlmarkt, a Christmas market in the Am Hof square. So it was while we were surrounded with dolls, toys, candy, and all things festive that I told her of Schröder’s revelation. “You cannot allow Monsieur Hargreaves to continue this.”

“I will not ask him to stop.” We passed by an enormous Christmas pyramid and a row of beautifully decorated fir trees.

“Oh,
chérie
, you are right,
bien sûr. C’est très difficile
. What can I do to help you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you believe he will be safe so long as you’re giving Monsieur Schröder what he wants?”

“Can you trust a man who admits to killing?” She did not answer my question, so I continued. “I’m almost beginning to hope that whatever this dreadful plan of his is comes off without the slightest hitch.”

“You don’t wish that.”

“I might.” I frowned. “We must find out what it is.”

“Isn’t that what Monsieur Hargreaves is trying to do?”

“Yes, but perhaps we can beat him to it,” I said. “I want to determine whether the destruction they’re planning would be worse than losing him.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“I’m not prepared to answer that question at the moment.” I’d been tugging at the trim lining the cuffs of my coat, and it was beginning to unravel. Meg would not be happy with me. “I need you to find out if the empress can be of any service to us.”

“She has completely removed herself from Austrian politics.”

“But she may be able to find out if there’s concern for the safety of anyone in the royal family. This is not like dredging up her concerns about Mayerling.”

“You think your anarchists are planning an assassination?”

“Possibly.”

“I will speak to her after Christmas.”

“I can’t wait that long. Can you see her today?”

“Impossible. She’s with her family.”

“You could write her a note.”

C
ÉCILE HAD ORDERED
our maids and several members of the hotel staff to decorate our rooms for Christmas, and the end result was stunning. We had an enormous tree covered with candles and ornaments, a garland hung across the mantel, wreaths on every door. But despite this, our holiday celebrations lacked any heartfelt enthusiasm. Friedrich was sullen because he couldn’t see Anna. Rina had refused our invitation without explanation, and of course I had never invited Herr Schröder. Jeremy did all he could to avoid speaking to me, and Colin appeared to have taken up brooding as a hobby. The only person with anything to say was Klimt, who proved immensely amusing when discussing the merits of his cats.

“I’m so glad you managed to smuggle this in,” I said, taking
another bite of the Sacher torte Friedrich had brought for us. The specialty of the Hotel Sacher, its dark chocolate icing and apricot filling perfectly complemented our vintage port.

“I wouldn’t say I smuggled it. I don’t think the staff at the Imperial would dare stop anyone from bringing whatever they’d like to this suite,” Friedrich said. “Even if it does come from a rival hotel.”

“I prefer the Imperial to the Sacher,” Klimt said, his eyes meeting Cécile’s. “I’ve a better time here.”

“I would hope so,” she replied. “From what I’ve heard, the rooms here are much more comfortable.”

“Let me assure you, they are.”

I began to feel that I was watching a conversation that ought to have been private. Colin drained his glass and rose from the table. He looked as if he was going to begin pacing. Cécile must have noticed this, too. She rose from her chair, whispered something to Klimt, and then threaded her arm through Colin’s.

“Come,” she said. “We’re overdue for a game of chess.”

Once they were gone, Friedrich turned his attention to Klimt. “I very much admire the murals you did in the Court Theater.”

“Dreck! Schweinsdreck!
” the painter exclaimed. “I do not wish to discuss them.”

“Apologies,” Friedrich said, the slightest quaver in his voice.

“Cécile tells me you are an artist,” Klimt said. “Do you have a sketchbook with you? I’d like to see it.”

“It’s in the other room,” Friedrich said, leaping from his seat and racing towards the door. Klimt followed, leaving me alone with Jeremy, who was idly swirling the port in his glass.

“Do you need me tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Jeremy, I—”

“I’ve plans for the afternoon. If you want me to cancel them, could you please let me know before two o’clock?”

“You don’t have to do any of this,” I said.

“But you know I will. I must tell you—” He stopped as Colin came back into the room.

Colin handed me a small envelope. “This was delivered for you.”

I opened it at once. Inside were two articles clipped from newspapers. The first was Albert Sanburne’s obituary as it appeared in the
London Daily Post
. The second, the article I’d already seen from the
Neue Freie Presse
about the duel and suicide. Across the top of the obituary someone had scrawled, “Answers hide where lies are told.”

“This is Sir Julian’s paper,” I said, holding up the piece from the
Post
. “I wonder what he could tell us about Mr. Sanburne’s death. Would he know who fabricated the story of the influenza?”

“Anyone in the family might have done that.” Jeremy pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Standard operating procedure to protect his sister.”

“But there was no one left in the family,” I said. “His title reverted to the Crown.”

“There was no heir, but there were relatives through the female line,” Jeremy said. “Why does it matter?”

“I’m not sure.” I looked at the articles again. “I wonder who Robert’s second was in the duel. Perhaps Margaret can find out, if only he’d agree to see her.”

“He’s a fool if he refuses to talk,” Colin said. “But I’m not convinced any of this is relevant to his current situation.”

“Perhaps not. But I wonder…” I grasped at the elusive strains of a thought trying to take cohesive shape in my head. “It’s easy to believe that Fortescue’s death was political. Who stood to lose more than Robert at Fortescue’s hand?”

“It’s time you return to England,” Colin said. “Harrison’s plans may have been set in motion in Vienna, but the answer to who
killed Fortescue isn’t here. You’ve found what Robert wanted to learn, but there’s no testimony that Kristiana can offer that’s going to help him. It’s time to go home.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I said.

“You must.” His eyes met mine, but they were cold.

S
UNLIGHT POURED OVER
the streets on Boxing Day, but the cold air was too much for Cécile, and she insisted that we take a fiacre to the Hofburg, where Sissi had summoned us after reading my friend’s letter. She met us in a dark sitting room, the curtains drawn, hardly a lamp lit. She crossed directly to Cécile and they embraced, her thin, fragile body looking as if it might snap.

“I don’t know that I can be of any help to you,” she said, wafting to a papier-mâché chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl and sitting with the lightness of a dragonfly. “I’m not allowed to have useful information. They won’t even tell me how my son died.”

Cécile took her hand. “You know enough.”

“I don’t.” Her face, her shoulders, and her neck appeared perfectly placid, but her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails could have drawn blood from her palms. “My husband knows more.”

“And his knowledge will change nothing,
chérie
. You must not upset yourself.” Cécile bent close to her and whispered something in her ear. The tight fists relaxed.

“You want my help, dear Cécile. I’ve spoken to my husband—no, I did not tell him why—I let him think I was curious about our official schedule. He told me nothing of particular note. Once the Fasching balls start, it’s party after party.”

“Was there anything, Your Highness, that if disrupted could cause a considerable commotion?” I asked.

“Aren’t the Fasching balls commotion enough?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But what of political meetings? Will you be hosting any state visits?”

“Kaiser Wilhelm will be here in a few weeks, but not for a state visit. He and the emperor will meet privately, but I’ve no idea what they’ll discuss. You’d do better to ask Katharina Schratt if you want detailed information.”

It was an open secret that the actress had become the emperor’s closest confidante. They breakfasted together daily, and he’d gone so far as to have his villa connected to the one belonging to the woman with whom he shared what he called a “soul friendship.” Because she was not of high rank, her presence caused no political difficulties. She cooked for Franz Joseph, gossiped with him, kept him happy in a grounded, bourgeois way. “I’m sorry, I never meant—”

The empress waved a slender hand. “It is nothing. I’m pleased he has her.”

“Did he tell you anything else planned for the kaiser’s visit?” I asked.

“Nothing of significance. Wilhelm will only be here a few days. They’re going to attend mass, and then a reception for the boys in the court choir.”

“An unlikely spot for anarchists,” Cécile said, shrugging.

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself, and was instantly horrified by my motivation. A reception with innocent choirboys sounded like a perfect target for anarchists to me. But I wasn’t about to tell the empress that. If I did, she might do something to cancel the engagement and derail Herr Schröder’s plans. I could not risk that, could not risk losing Colin.

“How I long to return to Corfu and be away from all this,” the empress said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “Anarchists, violence, suicide. This city reeks of death.”

“I can’t think of a happier escape than Greece,” I said.

“Yes, you study Greek, do you not, Kallista?” the empress asked.

“I do. I’ve only just finished reading the
Odyssey
in Greek.”

“Do you know the modern language as well as the ancient?”

“Not so well as I would like. I’ve a villa on Santorini, and my cook’s son does his best to teach me, but I haven’t spent the time necessary to become fluent.”

“It’s a wonderfully passionate language. How long will you be in Vienna? Perhaps we could meet and practice our conversational skills while you’re here.”

“That would be lovely,” I said.

“My instructor in the ancient language, Monsieur Rhoussopholous, is incomparable.” She fluffed her skirts, a flighty gesture that was at odds with the rest of her. “And the best classicists in the world come to me. Although not so often as they used to.”

“You have been entirely negligent of your needs since the death of your son,” Cécile said.

“Isn’t it enough that I manage to stay alive? Even that requires more effort than I’m inclined to expend. My poor dear boy. I miss him terribly.”

“I can’t imagine a pain greater than that felt by a mother who has lost her child,” I said. “I’m so very sorry.”

We all sat very still, no one speaking, until the empress shook her head. “I will never believe that he killed himself.” She looked at Cécile. “You know he and his father had radically different political views. The French and the English both would have been happy to see Rudolf on the throne instead of my husband. He might have been persuaded to transfer Austria’s allegiance away from Germany.”

“Which means they would never have wanted Rudolf dead,” Cécile said. “This is a fruitless line of thought, Sissi. You must stop.”

“I’m sorry if we’ve distressed you,” I said.

“I no longer remember what it is not to be distressed.” She closed her eyes and said nothing further for a long moment. “I do have one other thing to tell you,” she said, opening her eyes and looking directly at me. “I’ve a friend who’s still…active…in political matters. He knows about you, and told me that you’re in danger.”

“Did he say how he knew?” I asked.

“No, only that you’ve drawn the attention of one of your countrymen, a very undesirable man.”

“Mr. Harrison,” I said.

“You must tell Monsieur Hargreaves at once,” Cécile said. “He will arrange to have you protected. He can—”

“No, Cécile. It’s fine. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry. Please let’s not discuss it any further right now. Tell us about Klimt. Are you going to see him tonight?”

“Y
OU THINK THEY WILL STRIKE
against these children?” Cécile asked after we’d left the palace.

“How did you know that’s what I suspect?”

“You entirely abandoned questioning her once she’d told you about the emperor’s plans. You would never have let go of the topic if you were not satisfied with the information before you.”

“I shall have to learn to be less obvious,” I said. “But yes, I do think that’s where they’ll attack. Mr. Harrison wants to start a war. If he could assassinate the rulers of Austria and Germany simultaneously, as well as a group of innocent boys—”

“People would be angry, but I do not see how that would lead to war.”

“What if it leaked out that the attack was supported by the British government?” I asked.

“Mais ce n’est pas possible
.”

“Mr. Harrison is part of the government.”

“You must inform Monsieur Hargreaves at once.”

“Yes.” I was paying attention only to the snow falling outside the window.

“Kallista? Are you listening? We must do something about this threat at once.”

“We don’t have credible information about a threat,” I said.
“All we’ve done is trust that the empress knew what to look for in her husband’s diary. She could have missed something.”

“You don’t believe that. Be careful, Kallista. You will never feel right if you sacrifice even one life in an attempt to save Colin’s.”

“You’re quite wrong about that. For him, there is nothing I would not sacrifice.”