Velvet Undercover (16 page)

Everyone around us looks at me with renewed interest
and I flush. “I'm honored to be invited, Duchess Cecilie.”

“I was sorry not to get to talk to you more this afternoon, but Lillian said you were tired. I hope you used your time off to get a bit of rest?”

Cold washes over me as I remember searching through Marissa's things. Did someone tell her they saw me in the family wing of the palace? I search her face, but her expression tells me nothing.

“I did, thank you.”

I'm relieved when she moves on and all eyes turn away.

The prince and the duchess stop at the head of the table to pay their respects to the kaiser and the empress. I watch, along with the rest of the guests, the frigid formality of their greeting.

“I thought you'd be long gone to your duties at the front,” the kaiser says stiffly.

“I had some important matters to attend to here,” the prince says, equally stiff.

“And yet you have time to throw a lavish party for an Australian songstress?” Even the kaiser's moustache looks disapproving.

The prince gives a grim smile. “You know as well as I do, Father, that I'm not really needed until the spring offensive.”

“And maybe not even then.” Kaiser Wilhelm gives his son a scathing look and waves him away.

The prince inclines his head and leads his wife to their seats.

I glance over at Marissa.

She catches my eye and shoots me a wry smile. “Well, isn't this fun?”

“Does that happen often?” I ask, nodding to where the kaiser and the empress sit.

“Much too often,” she says, her voice low. “But then I suppose conflict happens in the best of families.”

“I suppose it does,” I murmur, trying to think of a subtle way to get more information. But before I can, she changes the subject.

“I'm glad it's just an informal little dinner,” she says. “A person could starve at a formal one.”

I smile back. “Or freeze.”

She giggles. “That too, Fräulein von Schönburg.”

“Please call me Sophia Thérèse.”

“And you may call me Marissa.”

We smile at each other and I find myself responding to her friendliness. Her eyes are so open and frank that I have to look away. No matter how pleasant she is, we're not friends. After all, she doesn't know my real name and now I'm not even sure if I know hers.

“So how are you finding life at the palace? Very different from your real life, I imagine.”

I catch my breath, wondering what she's implying. A waiter in red livery sets our first course in front of us. It's a cream soup that smells strongly of beer. I pick up my soupspoon, then put it down when I find it trembling in my fingers.

“What do you mean by ‘real life'?” I ask.

“Oh, back in . . .” She pauses. “Where are you from again? Cecilie mentioned it, but I forget.”

Her deliberately casual tone catches my attention. Why is she so interested? Or is it just me being suspicious? “Cologne,” I say shortly. “I was raised in a little town outside Cologne.”

“Have you ever visited Berlin before?” she asks.

“Yes, as a child. You said this is your first time here, but your parents are from Germany?”

“My grandparents.”

We're speaking in English and I lower my voice. “And what are you going to do if America enters the war? Chances are, the Americans won't be on Germany's side.”

She shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye. “And what would you know about that, Sophia Thérèse?”

I raise the soupspoon to my lips. “I try to keep myself informed.”

“Most women do not. And if you do, you must be aware that there are people who are working to get America to come in on the side of the Germans. There are many rich, influential Germans in America. But as far as I can tell, most average Americans are isolationists.”

“And which side are you on, Fräulein Baum?” I ask, lowering my voice even further. As we speak, my eyes rove the room. I notice that Maxwell has entered and is standing behind the prince on the far side of the room. His eyes swivel toward me and I can see the smile in them even if the expression on his face doesn't change. I duck my head, warmth fluttering in my chest.

“I told you to call me Marissa. And I am on the side of whoever throws the best party.”

The words are lilting and gay, but I already know she's not as she appears to be. How could she be when she's hiding false travel papers in a hatbox?

“And whose side are
you
really on, Sophia Thérèse? You seem too serious a girl to bother with parties.”

Careful, Sam. Don't give away too much.

I sit back with my hands in my lap as the waiter takes away my bowl. “I'm on the side of right,” I tell her pleasantly. “Isn't that what everyone likes to think?”

She leans toward me and whispers, “I'm rather jaded. I think the side of right changes depending on circumstances and mood.”

My lips curve upward as I try for nonchalance. “Well, we're among Germany's finest tonight. Right is obvious.”

“One would think,” she says, and then begins a conversation with the person on her left.

I turn to the person next to me, a bald older man with a pair of wire spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “The soup is good, don't you think?”

“It is indeed, Fräulein. So you are the duchess's cousin?”

He seems nice, and we talk about nothing in particular for several minutes until I find out that he's a chemist. “I love science!” I exclaim. “I'm better at math, but am interested in science and chemistry as well.”

“Ah, then you must meet my wife. She is a chemist, too. Quite talented.”

“I would like to very much,” I tell him truthfully. “Is she with you this evening?”

For some reason, he looks uncomfortable. “No. She wasn't feeling well this evening, but we're so glad young women are taking an interest in the sciences. It was my pleasure to give Fräulein Baum and the duchess a tour of my laboratory just the other day, though I think the duchess was just being kind to her young friend. It's easy to see that Fräulein Baum was the one who really had the scientific interest.” He glances across me at Marissa as if waiting for confirmation, but she's having an animated discussion with her neighbor and doesn't notice.

So Marissa, the girl who feigns interest in only fun and frolic, is interested in science? I say no more and the conversation moves on without me. Something flits into my mind and I frown. Marissa isn't the only one in the palace who is interested in chemistry. Didn't Lillian say she was passionate about chemistry? Is this merely a coincidence?

The dinner seems to go on for hours, and Marissa doesn't address me again until it is time to go watch Mrs. Tremaine perform.

“You're in for a real treat. Elsa Tremaine is incredibly talented.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

The chemist with the spectacles bows slightly. “It was very nice to meet you, Fräulein . . .” He pauses at my name and I jump in.

“Fräulein von Schönburg.”

He takes my hand. “And my name is Fritz Haber.”

“It was nice to meet you as well, Herr Haber.”

“And good to see you again, Fräulein Marissa. Any time you would like another tour, just send a note to the institute.” The look he gives her is pointed, but she just smiles sweetly and murmurs her gratitude.

He wanders off, and Marissa and I follow the rest of the crowd to the palace's private theater. The seats are plush red velvet and enormous crystal chandeliers hang from a ceiling decorated with the Hohenzollern family crest. Like a public playhouse, the theater has boxes above the regular seats, and Marissa and I are escorted to a royal box where the duchess and the prince are. The duchess nods at me, her face a frozen mask, and I wonder what's wrong. Then I remember about the prince and Mrs. Tremaine and realize that the duchess is being forced to watch the performance of a woman rumored to be her husband's latest paramour. The poor duchess.

At the entrance sits a table covered with chocolate truffles and other sweets for the royal family to enjoy while watching the performance. With a quick glance around, I sweep a handful into my reticule.

Marissa raises an eyebrow.

“I have a debt of honor to pay,” I explain.

She gives a nod and doesn't question me further as we take our seats.

There look to be about one hundred people in attendance. Is this truly what the palace calls an intimate performance? I watch the people below us taking their seats. The rich
colors of the gowns the women are wearing rival those of the tapestries hanging from the walls. The men, in uniform or white tie, gather in smoky knots, puffing on cigars. Again I'm struck by how odd it is to be amid such obscene luxury while men are dying in trenches on the front.

I turn to Marissa. “I didn't know you were interested in science.”

She smiles, seemingly unfazed by my question. “There are many things you don't know about me, Sophia Thérèse.”

I smile in assent and continue to watch the people below us.

There are so many vivid and dazzling women that I hardly know which way to look. My lips quirk upward when I spot one woman who looks like a zebra crossed with a partridge in her black-and-white-striped gown and the ostrich feathers that bob above her head. I'm just about to point her out to Marissa when my eyes are drawn to the less imposing woman by her side. She's wearing demure gray silk with a small matching hat sitting atop her dark, upswept hair. There's something strangely familiar about her. Frowning, I lean forward, hoping she'll turn my way. Could it be someone I knew as a child? My parents had many friends in Berlin and were quite social. Of course, being so young, I didn't join them often, but I was invited on special occasions. When I took the assignment, I hadn't even considered running into someone I knew.

A bell rings out, giving people a five-minute warning. The woman and her companion move down toward the
stage and I wait, curious to see the woman's profile. When she turns and raises her eyes to the boxes, I suck in my breath, everything in my world turning topsy-turvy. My hands grip the sides of my seat and for a moment I feel as if I'm going to faint.

Miss Tickford.

Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before hers slide away without recognition. My knuckles whiten and it takes everything I have to remain upright.

I sit, stunned, as the giant electric chandeliers above us dim. A hush falls over the audience as the orchestra plays the opening notes. Then the velvet curtains part and Elsa Tremaine's powerful soprano joins the instruments. All around me, rapt faces stare at the lovely woman who lights up the stage with the glow of a thousand candles. Her exquisite voice washes around me almost unheard, drowned out by the tumultuous noise of my own thoughts.

What is Miss Tickford doing here? Did she think I couldn't complete the assignment? If so, why send me here at all?
I sit, trembling, as each new thought spins round and round in my head. Every aria seems to last an eternity and I'm nearly wild with impatience by the time the lights come on, indicating that it's time for intermission. My eyes zero down on the place where Miss Tickford was, but the seat next to the zebra-partridge is now empty.

“Excuse me,” I whisper to Marissa. I slip out of my seat and past the duchess and the prince. If anyone says anything about my sudden disappearance, I'll tell them that I didn't
feel well and returned to my room.

As soon as I reach the stairs leading down to the main part of the theater, I pick up my skirts and break into a run. By the time I'm at the bottom, people are out of their seats and socializing. I slow, hoping not to draw too much attention to myself, while slipping in and out of the crowd. Perhaps she's gone to the restroom. I dart out of the theater and into the hall, where there are fewer people. I turn this way and that but can't see the slim woman in the gray dress.

“Excuse me,” I say to a soldier standing guard outside the theater entrance. “Can you tell me where I might find a restroom?”

He points down the hallway. “Take a left at the end of the hall.”

I move away and then ask, “Did a woman in a gray dress just come through here?”

He looks at me as if I'm crazy and I wave a hand at him. “Never mind.”

Hurrying down the hallway, I stop dead when I see a line of women waiting for the restroom. No wonder the guard looked at me the way he did.

I turn away, disappointment tightening my neck and shoulders. If Miss Tickford doesn't want to be found, I'm not going to find her. The question is, Did she want me to see her or was that just a coincidence? Didn't she think I'd be successful enough at portraying Sophia Thérèse that I'd be invited to dinner and a private performance after so little time in the palace? Or was she sure that a governess's
assistant wouldn't be invited to dine and attend a private performance with the royals, no matter the familial connection?

But what is she doing here in Berlin?

“You don't enjoy opera, Sophia Thérèse?”

I whirl around to find Maxwell, handsome in his dress uniform, standing behind me.

He sounds so kind and solicitous that a lump comes to my throat. “I have a terrible headache and just want to go back to my room.”

I must sound as pathetic as I feel, because sympathy comes over his features.

“Let me escort you,” he says. “I won't be needed again until the performance is finished.”

“That would be wonderful,” I tell him. “I thought I was going to have to go outside and come back in through the servants' entrance.”

“That's a very clever idea, actually. You didn't seem to be having a very good time at dinner,” he says, taking my arm.

I smile, glad for his company. Seeing Miss Tickford was such a shock that walking arm in arm with a German guard seems strangely natural. “You barely glanced in my direction,” I tease.