A Fatal Waltz (10 page)

A
fter days and days the snow had stopped falling, but the sky was gray, matching the slush as it grew dirty beneath the wheels of fiacres. The paltry light that seeped through lingering clouds was absorbed by the city’s buildings; nothing glimmered. Even the electric lights that filled the new Court Theater looked dull to me. Another week gone, and no evidence to exonerate Robert.

Cécile, Jeremy, and I spent the morning at the third-floor studio on Sandwirtgasse that Klimt shared with his brother, Ernst, and Franz Matsch. The three men made up the Känstlercompanie, and together worked on murals for public buildings, many on the Ringstrasse. Cécile sat for her portrait while Jeremy and I watched in awe the artist at work. He wore a long smock, and his thick beard stood stiff as he mixed paints and scrutinized his subject, occasionally reaching up to scratch the brindled cat that sat on his shoulder. I was somewhat distracted, watching the time, because although Friedrich may have said that anarchists do not frolic, Herr Schröder had sent a note inviting me to ice-skate with him. We planned to go to the turreted Eislaufverein, Vienna’s new skating palace, straight from the studio, but my friends would leave half an
hour before I did, so they could watch the meeting without drawing any suspicion. None of us felt comfortable with me meeting this stranger alone, even in such a public place.

“You are an exquisite woman, Kallista,” the artist said once Cécile and Jeremy had left. He, like most of Cécile’s friends, had adopted her use of my late husband’s nickname for me. “I wish you’d let me paint you.”

“I’ve no time for it,” I said. “Someday, perhaps.”

“I have a strong feeling you will never sit for me. I will have to memorize your grace, your eyes.”

“Your work is so very different from anything else I’ve seen. Your brushstrokes are so intricate, yet they reveal the passionate depths of your subjects with such elegance. I wonder if they recognize themselves. Their faces, their bodies, yes. But do they see in themselves what you do?”

“I couldn’t begin to answer your question. I have no talent for speaking, especially about my work. You will find, if you get to know me, that I am remarkably uninteresting.”

“If that were true, Cécile would have no time for you. I think you’re pretending to be modest,” I said, circling the room, feeling myself come alive in the face of the paintings and drawings that covered the walls, tables, every available surface. It was such a comfortable feeling to be surrounded by art. I breathed in the smell of the oil paints, headier than perfume. “It’s quite a talent to be able to see so deeply into others. Have you ever done a portrait of the Countess von Lange?”

“Kristiana? Yes. It’s at her house. You have not seen it?”

“We’re not particular friends.”

“That is a surprise. You’re so similar.” He pulled a stack of drawings out of a portfolio and began paging through them.

“Similar? I don’t agree at all,” I said.

“She’s more cynical and more worldly, yes, but she’s older than you. Give yourself a few years. You both have the same sort of spirit,
the same stubbornness.” He handed me a large piece of paper. “This is a study for her portrait.” She was beautiful; that I knew already. But Klimt had captured, even just in pencil, her strength, her elegance, and her heartbreak. There was a profound sadness in her eyes. “And you both love the same man.”

“I—”

“It is time for you to meet your friends,” he said, taking the sketch back from me.

I left at once, glad to be away from the drawing, not liking in the least the thought that I might be like this woman—my rival—at all. And once again, I was wondering how deep Colin’s feelings for her had been. All this left me utterly morose as I made my way to the park. When I arrived, Jeremy and Cécile were on the ice, making their way effortlessly around the rink, arm in arm.

I strapped on my skates. A brass band began to play a delightful march, and for a moment I allowed myself to be caught up in excitement and anticipation. I stepped out, ready to join the parade of gliding skaters, realizing immediately that I did not have even an ounce of their grace. My ankles bent hideously, and I would have fallen flat on my back were it not for the quick reflexes of a nearby gentleman.

“Your friend is an excellent skater,” he said, and as soon as I saw his face, I recognized Herr Schröder from Friedrich’s sketch. But his eyes took me by surprise. They were dark, with flecks of gold that rendered them entirely mesmerizing. “Is she here to protect you from me? Or is that the role of her amiable and useless companion?”

Undaunted, I took his arm, and we began to slowly circle the rink. “I’m not foolish enough to have come here alone.”

“Your German is appalling. Speak English.”

“My German is nothing of the sort,” I answered, refusing to switch to English. “And it’s leagues better than your English.”

“Why have you sought my company?” he asked.

“I’m here on a…diplomatic…mission. A man was murdered in England shortly after receiving a warning that came from Vienna. I want to know who sent it.”

“What makes you think I would know anything about it? Because I am an anarchist, I’m likely to be a murderer?”

“I did not accuse you of murder. But you think freedom can be obtained through violence, so, yes, I think you’re likely to be connected in some way.”

The muscles in his arm tensed. “You know nothing about anarchism.”

“There’s no need to get upset. I sought you out not simply because you are an anarchist, but because your name was mentioned to me by a friend. As it is, I’m not particularly concerned with what you do, so long as you help me identify the person who sent this information to England.” He said nothing. “If he is a member of your, well, I suppose ‘organization’ wouldn’t be a proper word to describe a group of people opposed to order. What would be?”

Now he laughed. “Organization will do. We’ll agree that the irony is deliberate.”

My laughter joined his. “Will you help me?”

“I don’t like being charmed by someone who embodies everything I despise,” he said.

“I’m hardly to blame for anything you despise, particularly where politics are concerned. I’m not allowed to vote, after all.”

“Voting is a useless exercise. No matter who is elected, no one wins but the government.”

“So as a person who does not vote, I should earn your anarchist approval.”

“Faulty logic, Kallista.”

“I did not give you permission to call me that.” As I struggled to keep my balance, Herr Schröder tightened his hold on my arm, steadying me.

“Friedrich told me it’s your name, and I don’t see why I need permission to use it.”

“I won’t argue the point. We both stand to benefit by finding this informer.”

“I don’t see how I benefit.”

“It was not merely a vague warning that was sent to England. It included detailed information about a plot with which you are intimately acquainted.” I was bluffing a bit, but saw no other option. “I’d think you’d want to know if someone in your ‘organization’ is sharing that sort of thing. Particularly if you have any desire to see your plan executed.”

“Why would you have even the slightest knowledge of such things?”

“Because I have worked with Mr. Harrison.” I watched his face, but it revealed nothing.

“There are few people I trust less than Harrison.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I don’t trust you either,” he said.

“Let me assure you, Herr Schröder, the feeling is entirely mutual. But it’s also irrelevant. As I said, we both stand to benefit.”

“I can uncover this person on my own,” he said. “Why bother to share the information with you?”

“Because you’re an anarchist. You believe in equality. My right to this information is equal to yours.”

“More flawed logic, but I appreciate the sentiment. And because I find you inexplicably beguiling, I will see what I can discover. Meet me at the Griensteidl in three days. I’ll come in the morning, but I don’t know what time.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful of Harrison. He’ll know that we’ve met.”

“Why should that matter?” I asked.

“Everything matters to him. He is a dangerous man because he
has his government’s unqualified support despite the fact that he is more ruthless than they know, and pursues agendas of which they would not approve. You should be careful.” He dropped my arm, skated away from me, and left the rink.

I realized at once that I was in danger of falling. I began to slowly move my feet, but this was a mistake. There are circumstances when speed is in fact steadier than caution; this was one of them. With no momentum, I lost my balance almost at once, my feet flying out from under me, and fell flat on my back. I tried to get up, but fell again. This time, my hat flew off my head and slid across the ice.

Jeremy appeared from nowhere and bent over me. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing more serious than wounded dignity. Though I will confess to wishing bustles hadn’t fallen out of fashion. At the moment I’d welcome the extra padding.” I brushed snow off my slim-fitting chocolate brown coat, trimmed with mink and tortoiseshell buttons.

With a strong hand, he pulled me to my feet, then retrieved my hat and placed it on my head. “It’s rather fun rescuing you.”

“This does not constitute a rescue, Jeremy,” I said, smiling and securing the hat as firmly as possible with its untrustworthy pin. “Had Herr Schröder thrown me over his shoulder and attempted to abduct me, then you might have managed a rescue.”

“Might have?
You doubt my abilities?”

“Not in the least. It’s the circumstances that I find unlikely.” I looped my arm through Jeremy’s, buried my hands in my fur muff, and soon we were circling the rink at a leisurely pace.

“Isn’t that your dear friend, the Countess von Lange?” Jeremy asked, directing my attention to an elegant figure executing a series of perfect spins at the center of the ice. When she finished, she saw us staring at her and waved, looking more sophisticated than ever in a gorgeous green velvet skating costume.

“What a treat to find the two of you together,” she said, her narrowed eyes belying the smile on her face. “Have you heard from your devoted fiancé?”

“Of course,” I said, wishing it was not a lie. “We correspond regularly whenever he’s away.” In fact, I’d had no word from him since he left Beaumont Towers. The letters I’d sent him in Berlin to inform of my trip had gone unanswered.

“Really? How very curious. I shouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“Are we gentlemen such cads?” Jeremy asked. “I am, certainly, but Hargreaves is disgustingly good.”

“I didn’t think he’d know where to find you,” the countess said, her voice full of laughter. “And there’s been no point sending a letter to him since his departure from Berlin.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, not wanting her to know that, so far as I knew, he was still in Berlin. “It’s been my experience that he always manages to get my letters, no matter where he is. But then, he’s particular about having them forwarded to wherever he goes.”

“So he knows you’re in Vienna?”

“Of course,” I said, clutching Jeremy’s arm awkwardly, hoping that I would not fall.

“You know, Lady Ashton, you are a very bad liar.” She twirled in a circle again, then skated off, the sound of her laughter bouncing after her.

N
o, I don’t think I can tolerate any more chocolate,” I said, waving Viktor away. I’d been sitting for nearly two hours at what had become my regular table at the Griensteidl waiting for Herr Schröder and was beginning to regret the extra whipped cream I’d had on my three cups of cocoa. He whisked away an empty cup and refilled my glass of water, then handed me a piece of paper.

“One of von Hofmannsthal’s poems,” he said, nodding towards the table the
Junges Wien
seemed to occupy permanently.

“Thank you,” I said, scanning the lines. “‘The longing branches / Rustled by the night wind / In your little garden…/ How sweet it is to only / Think of such little things.’ It’s quite good. Do you want more coffee, Friedrich?”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

This meant that he had neither money nor credit left and planned to drink water for the remainder of the day. “Please bring more coffee, Viktor,” I said.

“No—,” Friedrich began.

“I admire the fact that you do not wish me to hand you money
or commissions to support your career. You want to forge your own success. But to deny yourself a twenty-kreuzer coffee on principle is ridiculous.”

He did not argue.

I was finding, as I spent more time in Vienna, that the cafés were centers for culture unlike any others to which I’d been exposed. The city’s artists treated them like second homes. First homes, really. I’d visited the cafés Central, Schrangl, Bauer, and Heinrichshof (where I saw Johannes Brahms), but none appealed to me so well as the Griensteidl. Here I could watch playwrights argue the dynamics of a bit of dialogue, poets curse their search for an elusive word, and painters deep in games of billiards, their eyes hardly focused, thinking more about how to mix their colors to the perfect hue than whether the right ball would drop in the right pocket.

The city’s wealthy frequented the cafés as well, and though there was not perhaps as much mingling as Herr Schröder would strive to obtain, it was leagues from anything that I’d seen in London. Here, within a quarter of an hour, one could find a like-minded soul to discuss nearly any academic subject.

“Have you seen Fraulein Eckoldt again?” I asked Friedrich after Viktor had brought him another coffee.

“Her mother has forbidden all contact between us. And now that she knows I frequent the Griensteidl, Anna isn’t allowed to come here again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I never expected a different outcome. We are neither of the same class nor the same religion. It was always a hopeless love.”

“So you give up?”

“Nein
. I will find a way to win her. I am applying to paint murals at the university. It’s a commission that would bring me both prestige and enough money to support a wife.”

“Enough for her mother?”

“Not even close,” he said, grinning. “But enough for Anna, and that is all that matters.”

“Friedrich, I like you more with every passing moment.” I thought of the innumerable instances I knew of in which a gentleman had stepped aside to give the lady he loved a chance to find someone of more desirable financial status—regardless of her thoughts on the matter. “It’s unlikely that I’d be able to convince Frau Eckoldt you’re a suitable match for her daughter, but I’m quite capable of arranging meetings for you and Anna.”

“You would do that?”

“It would be my pleasure.” I smiled.

“How—” He stopped the moment he saw Herr Schröder approach our table. “I’ll leave you to him,” he said, gathering up his drawing materials and disappearing to the other side of the café.

“Kallista,” Herr Schröder said, shaking the hand I’d given him.

“No
handküss
?” I asked.

“Don’t be ludicrous,” he said, his lips pulled taut, eyes squinting as he looked down at me.

“Forgive me. I’ve become accustomed to Austrian gallantry and wasn’t aware that anarchism requires the death of manners.” He grunted in reply, then flagged down Viktor and ordered a decadent hazelnut torte. “Have you any information for me?” I asked.

“You have a powerful enemy in Kristiana von Lange,” he said.

“I know all I care to about the countess. Have you identified the person who sent information to England?”

“There is no one in my”—he paused and smiled—“…‘organization’ who is dealing with the British.”

“You’re certain?”

“Beyond all doubt.”

“Perhaps someone has told a spouse or a lover, and that person—”

“Impossible.”

“Of course it’s possible.” I bit my lip and forced myself to keep from rolling my eyes. Men and their confidence.

“I do not think you grasp the seriousness of what I do. I have no choice but to surround myself with people whom I trust.”

“No one is immune from betrayal,” I said. “And while you’ve told me you don’t trust Mr. Harrison, you obviously have a connection with him.”

“I would not be alive, Kallista, if I were not immune to betrayal. I take stringent measures to ensure it.”

“But you did not deny the possibility of an informer existing within your group when I first spoke with you about it.”

“I can be certain of my safety because I never overlook a threat. And my cohorts are in no doubt of their fate should they betray me in even the smallest way. Vienna is plagued with suicides. An extra one on any given day wouldn’t draw attention.”

It felt as if the air around me had turned to water, and my lungs were filling at a rapid and irreversible pace.

“You’ve never had coffee with a murderer before?” he asked, raising the cup Viktor had brought him.

“Tea, yes, but never coffee.” My face was hot. I could not control the color rushing to it, but forced composure into every other part of me.

“There is much more to Vienna than the Ringstrasse and Fasching balls. But it would be best, perhaps, if you chose to ignore the darker side of the city.”

“A luxury, Herr Schröder, that I do not have. I want to interview every person who knows the details of your plan. One of them must have some connection with Lord Fortescue.”

“Fortescue?” He laughed. “There’s no chance any of my associates was involved with him.”

“You may have missed something. I don’t know these people, so when speaking to them I’d bring no preconceived notions.”

“You will not talk to them.”

“But—”

“You will never know who they are. This is not some amusing game, a diversion to let you feel useful. You do not belong here. I’m sorry I was not able to help you. If your friend does not escape his fate, well, take comfort in the knowledge that his death may go far in bringing a better life to the masses.”

“I will not let Robert be hanged for a crime he did not commit.”

Herr Schröder shrugged and rose from the table. “Not all goals are attainable.” He walked out of the café. I pulled on my coat and slipped my hands into my pockets, where I felt something cold and hard: one of Mr. Harrison’s bullets. I could not help but shudder. So far as I knew, I hadn’t been in his presence since that day at the café, and I was certain that I hadn’t left the bullet he’d given me that day in my coat. How had he managed to slip this into my pocket?

Consumed with unease, I looked out the window and saw Herr Schröder starting across the street. I waited two beats, then followed.

C
OLIN HAD TAUGHT ME
the art of trailing someone. Granted, he’d done it not so that I might follow a murderous anarchist, but so that I would be aware if someone were following me. Nonetheless, I was thrilled to make use of my training. I did well at first, crossing the street and staying far behind my quarry, keeping him in my sight as he made his way around the Hofburg and through the Volksgarten to the Grillparzer Monument, erected to honor Austria’s finest dramatist and poet. I hung back, knowing that it would be difficult to stay out of view on the park’s wide paths, but I was not cautious enough. Herr Schröder brushed the snow off one
of the benches that flanked a large sculpture of the writer, sat down, and waved at me.

Mortified, I steeled myself and approached him.

“I wasn’t finished with you,” I said.

“So I gathered several blocks ago.”

“You should have let me know you’d seen me.”

“And ruin your fun? Hardly sporting.” He kicked at the snow in front of him. “What do you want?”

I was not about to tell him that I hoped to follow him to his home, to skulk about after him until I’d discovered where he met with his compatriots. “Give me an honest answer. If you had discovered the identity of the informer, would you have told me?”

“No.”

“Neither his name nor the fact that you’d found him?”

“Neither.” He paused, still kicking the snow. “But I am rather taken with your persistence, so I will say again: I did not find him. I did not need to lie to you in the Griensteidl.”

“How can I possibly believe you?”

“You can’t.” He smiled. “Don’t follow me anymore, Kallista. There is no reason for us to speak again.”

I took his place on the stone bench and watched him walk away. I would follow him again, but not while he was expecting it.

A familiar voice drifted through the freezing air. “That’s a miserable place to sit on such a cold day.”

“Colin?” I leapt to my feet as he grabbed my hands and pulled me towards him. “How—I—you—Berlin—”

“Don’t speak. Not just yet.” His kisses warmed me better than the summer sun could have, and I basked in his embrace. “Come. Let’s get inside.” He led me through the park, his arm tight around my waist. “We’ll go to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Have you been yet?”

“No. I’m not here on a pleasure trip.”

“So I’ve gathered. But I do love finding you unchaperoned.” He stopped walking and kissed me again. “I’d never before contemplated the advantages of coming to parks in the depths of winter. Wonderfully private places, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the current situation,” I said.

“Don’t underestimate me. I know exactly what I’m doing.” We reached the front of the museum. “What will it be? Greek sculpture?”

“Please,” I said, a smile escaping against my will. He took me by the arm in the most proper sort of fashion, and we entered the building. We said nothing further until we’d reached a gallery that contained a statue of Artemis from the second century
B.C.
, done in the style of Praxiteles.

“Harrison was following you. I think we’ve convinced him there’s nothing to see but a romantic encounter between a man and his fiancée.”

“He was following me, too?” I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, clenching my hands into hard fists. “I’m hopeless at this. I can’t believe—”

“No, darling, you’re not hopeless. You just need more practice. And now, just in case he’s still watching, let’s look at the art. What do you think of this Artemis?” he asked, squeezing my gloved hand.

“Magnificent.” The goddess leaned gracefully on another statue, a smaller image of herself.

“Why are you meeting with Gustav Schröder?”

“First tell me when you arrived in Vienna,” I said.

“I’ve been here for some time. I’d no idea you were here.”

“I wrote to you,” I said.

“Your letter’s undoubtedly waiting for me in Berlin. I was there only for a few days, and I’ve had no time to write you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “You know I understand.”

“You’re a dear girl,” he said. “Now tell me about Schröder.”

“I think we’d better sit.” We found an empty bench, and I told him all about Robert and Lord Fortescue’s mysterious informer.

“You’ve done well, Emily. And with very little to go on.”

“You don’t object to my doing this?”

“My usual caveat applies: Do not put yourself in any unnecessary danger. If I find out that you have, I’ll carry you back to England myself.” There was something in his eyes. A calm pride, perhaps, coupled with the sparkle that I saw nearly every time we were alone. But there was something different, too. Their darkness was deeper, warmer.

“Sounds like a pleasant way to travel. If I’m good now, will you carry me?”

“If you’re good, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Including marry me before the date set by the queen?”

“That’s being bad, Emily, very bad.” How I longed to kiss him! I was blind to the art that surrounded us, intoxicated by his presence. He stood up and looked at me with such intensity, I felt my skin begin to ache.

“I shan’t force the issue in such a public place,” I said.

“Thank you.”

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Sheer luck. I was coming from an appointment and saw you on the other side of the street. I could tell at once that you were following someone.”

I frowned. “And I thought I was being so discreet. It’s bad enough that both you and Herr Schröder were on to me, but even worse that I didn’t notice Harrison tailing me, too.”

“That’s because you weren’t suspecting it.”

I recounted for him what had passed between Mr. Harrison and me and showed him the bullet I’d found in my pocket. Concern filled his eyes, and he took my hand.

“From now on you must be better aware of your surroundings. I don’t like you being pursued by someone whose motives are so distinctly not innocent.”

“I wouldn’t object should your motives become less innocent,” I said.

“You, my dear, are certain to send me to an early grave.”

“Not if we’re married.”

“No, not if we’re married.”

“I’m free tomorrow,” I said. “You?”

“If only,” he replied.

“Where are you staying? Are you at the Imperial?”

“No, I come here so often I’ve rooms close to the Stephansdom.”

“Near the von Langes’ house,” I said.

“Yes. How do you know where they live? Have you been there?”

“I called on the countess as soon as I’d arrived. She was singularly unhelpful.”

“Kristiana knows you’re in Vienna?” he asked.

“I’ve seen her twice.”

“She didn’t tell me,” he said. “I wish—”

“You’ve seen her as well?” I asked.

“I’m working with her.”

“I see.” I did my best to exhibit not the smallest sign of jealousy, but in truth, I decided at that moment to abandon the guarded disdain I’d felt for the woman and let myself openly despise her.