A Fatal Waltz (11 page)

“Emily—”

I waved my hand in the air in what I hoped was a sophisticated dismissal. “She’s of no consequence to me.”

“Is that so?”

I did not like the way he was smiling.

“None whatsoever.” I stood, composure itself.

“And you’ve nothing further to say on the subject?”

“Heavens, no. Tedious, tedious, tedious.”

“Good girl. Though I will say I’m aggravated that she didn’t tell me you were here all this time. It’s not like her to be deceptive.”

“No, I would imagine most sources of covert intelligence aren’t deceptive in the least.”

“Emily—”

“Don’t scold me. I won’t stand for it. Perhaps you don’t know your friend quite so well as you thought. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. You’ve found me.”

“And now that we’re both in Vienna, we’ll have to waltz,” he said, an obviously forced smile on his face. There was no question that he wanted to move our conversation in any direction so long as it was away from his erstwhile lover.

“After Robert is exonerated.”

“You can’t work all the time, my dear. Every covert investigator needs periodic breaks. Besides, you never know where you might learn something that will prove to be useful. There’s a ball tonight at the Sofiensaäle. Strauss’s orchestra is playing. I’ll expect to see you there.”

T
HERE WERE AN IMPOSSIBLE NUMBER
of balls in Vienna during the winter: masked balls, state balls, debutante balls, and court balls, where five hundred bottles of Moët et Chandon, the emperor’s favorite champagne, would be consumed in an evening. The most dedicated person could not manage to attend even a quarter of them. But the crush of people inside the Sofiensaäle, one of the city’s famous public ballrooms, made me wonder if the entire population of the city had decided to dance that night. Cécile and I had arrived late, bringing Jeremy with us.

The atmosphere was incomparable: spectacular dancing, effervescent music, beauty in every direction. We’d stepped out of
winter into a summer garden, flowers spilling everywhere, swans swimming in a pool whose water reflected sparkling electric lights. The dance floor was so crowded it was difficult to waltz, but with effort, and a single-minded partner, it was possible to carve out enough space to turn.

“You’re certain to find someone who can amuse you here,” Cécile said, leaning close to Jeremy as soon as we’d ducked inside. “I don’t know a single person in Vienna who is not having an affair. If you don’t have a paramour by the end of the evening, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

“I’ve decided to become a paragon of virtue in what will undoubtedly be a futile attempt to impress Emily,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Futile indeed. You may as well dance with me,” Cécile replied, and they disappeared onto the floor. I made my way to a refreshment table and took a glass of champagne, then looked around for somewhere to sit.

“Lady Ashton! Can it be you?”

“Lady Paget,” I said. “How good to see you.” Walburga, Lady Paget, was the wife of the British ambassador to Austria. I’d met her on several occasions—she and my mother were friends—and she was one of England’s most respected ladies.

“Have you been in Vienna long? Are you managing the weather?”

“Only a fortnight, and I must confess to being utterly charmed by the snow.”

“No! It’s hideous. When I first came here, I wondered daily to what purpose such a climate exists. The wind is extraordinary. One can hardly breathe. But I suppose you are young enough to tolerate it. Did Worth design your dress? It’s exquisite—the perfect shade of blue. No one here has worn anything but pink for the past year. I wonder if it even occurs to them there is another color.”

Lady Paget was perhaps a bit hard on the ladies of Vienna. Yes,
many wore pink, but the room was filled with every other color a person could want. My own gown, pale ice blue with shots of silver embroidery through the silk, had a skirt with enough fullness that it begged to be spun while dancing. The bodice was décolleté, the sleeves the barest caps. Meg had placed diamond pins through my hair and clasped over long, white gloves a wide platinum and diamond bracelet that matched the choker around my neck.

“The music is magnificent. I don’t know how I’ll bear anything short of Strauss himself at a ball again. I can’t wait to dance,” I said.

“Ladies, greetings.” Mr. Harrison stood in front of us, bowing.

“Oh! It’s so good to see you.” Lady Paget gave him her hand. “You, of course, know Lady Ashton?”

“All too well,” he said.

“A perfect choice of words.” I did not hold out my hand.

“Mr. Harrison is absolutely indispensable to the ambassador,” Lady Paget said. “I don’t know what we would do without him.”

“You’re too kind,” he said.

I should very much have liked to reply, but forced a thin smile instead.

“Lady Ashton was just telling me how she’s longing to dance. You really ought to—”

“That’s not necessary,” I said. “I—I—”

“I’m afraid I’ve no time for you this evening, Lady Ashton, and, regardless, I’ve already promised the next dance.” He kissed Lady Paget’s hand again, and disappeared. Lady Paget raised an eyebrow and turned to me, about to speak. Thankfully, just at that moment Colin approached us. He bowed neatly to me and bestowed on Lady Paget a perfect
handküss
.

“How Austrian of you, Mr. Hargreaves,” she said. “Please assure me that you haven’t completely abandoned your Englishness.”

“Not at all, Lady Paget. I’m merely embracing the local culture.”

“If I see you adopting the dreadful manners that I see in the Hapsburg court, I shall insist that you be returned to London at once.”

“Then I shall limit my emulation of the Viennese to the ballroom. It is there where one finds the souls of our Austrian hosts.”

“You are quite mistaken, sir. It is the copious libation of beer and the inordinate consumption of schnitzel and
Kaiserschmarren
that chains the Austrian souls to this earth.” Lady Paget closed her eyes and shook her head with an air of elegant hopelessness as she spoke.

“You have spent more time here than any of us, Lady Paget, so I shall defer to your superior knowledge. But I will say that I am rather fond of
Kaiserschmarren
.”

“Dear Mr. Hargreaves, I worry for you. If you insist on being Austrian this evening, dance with your fiancée.”

“You have anticipated me, Lady Paget.” He took my hand.

“Do call on me soon, Lady Ashton,” she said. “I’ll make sure you’ve invitations to all the best parties while you’re here.” I thanked her without noticing the words I used. The moment Colin’s hand touched mine, my heart began to race, and the skin beneath my glove tingled at his touch.

“
Kaiserschmarren
?” I asked as we began to dance.

“I’ve no interest in discussing pancakes with you.” He held me close and led me around the floor with a marvelous grace; I could hardly breathe. Our eyes held each other’s gaze as the room flew by us in a blur. Guiding me firmly, he spun us around and around more quickly than I would have thought possible. The Viennese waltz moved at a much quicker pace than anything I’d danced before. I do not think my feet touched the ground; it was intoxicating. An ordinary waltz would be a disappointment after this.

As we swirled again and again, a pair of figures caught my attention, snapping out of the haze and into focus: Mr. Harrison and the Countess von Lange, standing far too close together in the corner of the room.

I
awoke the next morning full of satisfaction, pulled on my dressing gown, and flung open the curtains in my suite. Snow was falling again, huge flakes that made it impossible to see across the street. It was a lovely sight. Lovely, that is, until I looked down at the windowsill and saw a bullet sitting on it. Mr. Harrison had been in my room.

I picked it up, but my trembling hands could not hold on to its cold smoothness, and it flew to the ground, striking the parquet floor with a ping that sounded far too innocent. Had he come in while I was sleeping? Or when I wasn’t here? The distressing feeling of violation that was pressing, unwelcome, on my chest was familiar. I’d been the target of a cat burglar in London only a few months ago. In the end, however, that had turned out harmless. This time, my intruder was unquestionably an enemy. I retrieved the bullet, my head spinning as I bent over.

Meg opened the door a sliver. “Madame du Lac and the duke are already breakfasting, milady. That painter was here, too, but he’s already left.” She wrinkled her nose, disapproving of Klimt’s presence so early in the morning. I, on the other hand, welcomed the distraction and considered shoving the bullet into my night-
stand drawer. I willed away my feeling of unease and wondered when Klimt had appeared at the Imperial—he hadn’t been at the ball or the café afterwards, and I thought it unlikely that he’d come for breakfast. Unfortunately, I’d have to wait until I had Cécile alone to find out any details.

“Are you ready to get dressed, ma’am?” Meg asked.

I was in no mood to rush, and took my time selecting a gown of the softest midnight blue wool. Its bodice crossed in a deep
v
in front, blue paisleys embroidered along the edges. Underneath was a matching high collar, trimmed with dainty Venetian lace identical to that peeking out from the bottoms of the sleeves. The color brought out the blue of my eyes, and my cheeks were flushed with the memory of dancing with Colin the night before. I was succeeding, at least for the moment, in distracting my mind from Mr. Harrison’s bullet.

I went out to the sitting room, where Cécile was pouring coffee for Jeremy.

“Em, it’s not right for you to be so alluring this early in the morning,” Jeremy said, adding no fewer than four lumps of sugar to his coffee.

“Apologies,” I said, taking a cup of tea. I put the bullet on the table and told my friends where I’d found it.

“Mon dieu
,” Cécile said. “This is unacceptable.”

“We shall have to ask the hotel to provide us better security,” I said. “I cannot have this man in our rooms.”

“Let me speak to the manager for you,” Jeremy said.

“I’d appreciate that. If he could perhaps station someone at the top of the steps, watching the hallway, I’d feel much better.”

“I can’t imagine there will be any difficulties in arranging that.”

I picked up an apricot pastry. “You look exhausted.”

“Dancing until four and rising at eight is taking its toll on me,” Jeremy said.

“Perhaps you’re getting too old to stay out so late,” I said. I
felt something tugging on my skirt. “Brutus! Stop!” I picked up the dog and handed him to Cécile, who glared at him and fed Caesar a biscuit.

“That’s unfair, Emily. I’m in the prime of life and intend on staying there.” He took a long drink of coffee, frowned, and started adding more sugar. “I’ve already decided to never admit to being older than thirty-two. That is, once I reach thirty-two.”

“Darling, you forget that I know exactly how old you are,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I must to keep you honest.”

“You do know, I hope, that no man under the age of forty can even approach fascinating,” Cécile said.

“I’ve no interest in being fascinating, Madame, merely young,” Jeremy said.

“Such a mistake.” Cécile shook her head. “You’ll learn eventually.”

“I wouldn’t want to set you up for disappointment. I rarely learn anything.” Satisfied that his coffee was at last sweet enough, he drained the cup and filled it again at once.

“So am I to believe that Klimt is not yet fascinating?” I asked.

“He will be in time. For now, he’s merely amusing.”

“And brilliant,” I said.

“Yes, brilliant, too,” Cécile said.

“So a chap can be brilliant without being fascinating?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes,” Cécile and I answered in chorus, then started to laugh.

“You ladies are brutal,” Jeremy said, spooning up more sugar, then dropping it back into the bowl. He scowled and pushed his coffee away from him. “Where are we off to this morning, Em?”

“The count asked to meet me here,” I said. “But I didn’t want him to come to our rooms. So we’re to see him at the Griensteidl.”

“I take it he won’t be expecting me?” Jeremy asked.

“No,” I said.

“Capital.”

“How is the empress, Cécile?” I asked.

“Melancholy, depressed. I worry for her. She’s beginning to remind me of Hamlet, which is
toujours
disappointing in a friend.”

“Will you have time to see her this morning?” I asked.

“Not before my guests arrive.” At the ball the previous evening, we’d had Lady Paget introduce us to Frau Eckoldt and her daughter. Cécile, who had heard all about Friedrich’s plight, had convinced Anna’s mother that she was in dire need of someone to help her with conversational German. This was nonsense, of course. Cécile’s command of the language was flawless; she’d even mastered Wienerisch, the Viennese dialect. Furthermore, everyone at the Hapsburg court spoke French. But Frau Eckoldt was easily deceived, and I had no doubt that Cécile would face little if any difficulty in persuading her that Anna was the perfect person to coach her on idioms.

I glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We’d better hurry, or we’ll be late.”

“I’ll go find us a carriage,” Jeremy said, abandoning his coffee.

“We’re walking,” I said. Meg helped me with my coat and I slipped my hands into a fur muff as Jeremy moaned.

“Walking? In the snow?”

“It’ll be fun.” I had purchased new boots several days earlier and was confident that my feet, protected by thick leather, fur lining, and sturdy soles, would remain warm and dry for the duration of our stroll. We bade farewell to Cécile and headed outside. Jeremy frowned at me as he lifted the hat from his head and knocked off the snow that was quickly piling on it, but he gave me his arm and we set off along the Kärntner Ring towards the opera, where we turned onto Operngasse and then Augustiner Straße. The fresh snow was soft, piling on top of the frozen sidewalks and cushioning our steps. Jeremy started to slide through it rather than walk as we made our way along the Hofburg.

“Easier than ice skating,” he said. “And it gives me an excuse to hang on your arm in an entirely inappropriate manner.”

“If you grab me much harder, I’m going to fling you into the street.”

“I might enjoy that.” His smile brightened his entire face. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to encourage your young friend Anna in her forbidden romance?” he asked.

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“The Viennese are worse even than we English when it comes to class. At least we stick together, more or less, as a group. They’re divided into little cliques.”

“I’d no idea you were a scholar of the culture.”

“I met a charming woman who told me all about it a few nights ago. She married a man of higher rank and is ignored by his peers. Apparently marrying up is only acceptable if the spouse of lower position is a foreigner.”

“I do hope you were able to offer her a modicum of comfort.”

“Unfortunately I was not. My affections are otherwise engaged.” Snow was stuck all along his eyelashes.

“Who’s the lucky girl? And who’s her unfortunate husband?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“You are a dear boy,” I said, squeezing his arm and dropping my head against his shoulder. “I do hope she appreciates you.” We did not speak again until we had shrugged off our coats inside the Griensteidl.

“Come,” I said. “My table is in the back.”

“Your own table?”

“At least I’m not receiving my mail here. Friedrich does, as do most of his friends.”

“Very like a nonexclusive London gentlemen’s club,” Jeremy said, pulling out a chair for me.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “But I’d wager that Vienna’s cafés
are far superior, if for no reason other than that they are open to ladies.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Viktor took our orders and returned almost at once with our drinks.

“I mentioned to von Hofmannsthal that you liked his poem. He was quite pleased,” Viktor said.

“I’m glad,” I replied, looking around but not seeing the poet. “One of these days I shall have to meet him.”

“I’ve no doubt that would please him. Do either of you require anything further?”

“No, thank you, Viktor,” I said. He bowed and left us.

“Are you searching for a poet, Em? What would Colin say?”

“He wouldn’t say a thing. I admire Herr von Hofmannsthal’s work and nothing else. And at any rate, I’ve no time for the pursuit of poetry at the moment.”

“Good, because I’ve no interest in discussing it.” Jeremy wrapped his hands around his cup. “I don’t know when I’ve been so happy to have hot coffee. How can you bear walking around in this city when it’s so cold?”

“I rather like it. The air snaps me to attention. It’s invigorating.”

The count arrived as I was saying this. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Jeremy, but forced a smile on his face and greeted me with his usual
handküss
. “
Küss die Hand, gnädige Frau.
You have brought a protector with you?”

“She’s in trouble if she’s looking to me for protection,” Jeremy said, crossing his legs and tipping back in his chair.

“I know I’d never need protection from you,” I said, smiling sweetly at the count. “Particularly after you so generously offered to help me.”

“You are an exquisite dancer, Lady Ashton. I was quite overwhelmed last night.”

Jeremy choked on his coffee, then descended into a coughing fit. “Pardon me. It’s extremely…hot.”

I glared at him. “The Viennese waltz is the pinnacle of dance.”

“You must stay for the Fasching,” the count said.

“I’d love to, more than anything. But if I’ve not cleared my friend’s name…”

“She can’t abandon him,” Jeremy said.

“Of course not. That is why I’ve extended to you my assistance. I apologize that my wife declined hers.”

“I understand.”

He leaned close to me and whispered so that Jeremy, who was pretending to read a newspaper, would not hear. “She does not want to let Hargreaves go.” He tugged at his mustache. “Everyone here has a lover, Lady Ashton. It may offend your English sensibilities, but there is no use in pretending otherwise.”

I needed to tread carefully now, and found doing so something of a challenge. I was not accustomed to this level of candor, particularly when it came to another woman’s affection for my fiancée. “I’m not used to it, that’s all.”

“They’ve worked closely together for many years. It is hardly surprising that they were more than friends.”

I wanted to ask him if he knew whether Colin had really proposed to her, and if so, when. Did he know how long the affair had lasted? I bit my lip. What I really longed to know, only Colin himself could tell me: Had he loved her? Why had he stopped? What did he feel for her now? My brief marriage had taught me very little about love. I hadn’t felt even the slightest affection for my husband until after his death, yet I still sometimes felt an uncomfortable tug when I thought about Philip, knowing that I was now engaged to his best friend. In the end, when it was too late, I had grown to love him dearly.

But how much stranger would it be to have loved someone and stopped, not because of death, but because of something else? How would it feel to pass him on the street? To see him with another woman? When I thought about my love for Colin, it was inconceivable to me that one could have such strong emotions for a person only to have them fade away completely. Surely some tenderness lingered. And if it did…I hated to even think about it.

I pushed the thought from my mind. “Were you able to find anything?”

He pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and placed it in my hands. “Schröder’s associates. You did not get this from me. I included a small note, should anyone press you to tell what I handed you.”

“Danke vielmals
,” I said. “No doubt we shall see each other again soon.”

He kissed my hand. “I look forward with great intensity to our next meeting.” And with that, he left the café.

“Shall I press you to tell?” Jeremy asked, dropping the newspaper onto the table. “I’d hate for his small note to go to waste. Pitiful excuse, Em. I’m not sure I approve of any of this, and I certainly don’t trust him. He’s the sort who gives us rakes a bad name.”

“I won’t let him cross any inappropriate boundaries.” I ripped opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. The first, as promised, had a list of names and addresses. The second, a quote from Goethe’s famous work
The Sorrows of Young Werther:

Jeremy took the pages from me and read, then rolled his eyes. “Appalling, Em, appalling. The man is a disgrace. But at least he
gave you addresses. Just make sure he doesn’t try to extract any additional thanks from you.”

“There’s no need to worry. I danced with him five times last night. That’s thanks enough.”

“There’s always cause to worry when you involve yourself with a man who is so quick to betray his wife.”

“A rich criticism coming from you,” I said. “I think he considers himself the wronged party,” I said. “And as I’m Colin’s fiancée, flirting with me is easy revenge.”

“I suppose I’m only jealous, but still, I don’t approve.”

“When did you develop morals, Jeremy? I’m not sure I like it.”

“Then I shall abandon them at once.” His eyes sparkled. “With your permission, of course.”