Vienna Waltz (13 page)
Authors: Teresa Grant
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Historical, #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Mystery & Suspense
Fitz turned with a start of surprise. He had crossed to a cabinet that held a set of decanters. “There must be above a thousand people here. Difficult to manage anything approaching rational conversation. And I find I’m not in the mood for frivolity. Brandy?”
“Thanks. I imagine we could both do with a drink.”
“It’s been a difficult day.” Fitz poured brandy into a glass, splashing a bit onto the Chinese lacquer of the cabinet. “I couldn’t believe it when Castlereagh called us in this morning—”
“That was the first you heard of Princess Tatiana’s death?” Malcolm felt the faint, telltale catch in his throat when he framed the words.
“Yes.” Fitz reached for a second glass.
“It must have been especially hard for you.”
Fitz lifted his head.
Malcolm met his friend’s gaze. From their undergraduate days at Oxford, Fitzwilliam Vaughn had been one of the few people he trusted without question. “I know, Fitz. About you and Tatiana.”
The crystal stopper fell from Fitz’s fingers to clatter against the decanter. For a seeming eternity he and Malcolm stared at each other across the paneled length of the library.
“Dorothée Périgord saw you at the Zichys’ reception,” Malcolm said. “She told Suzanne.”
“Dear God.” Fitz pressed his hands to his face. “Does—”
“Eithne doesn’t know. At least not from us.”
Fitz dropped his hands and gave a quick nod.
A friend would go to Fitz’s side and clap him on the shoulder. But Malcolm wasn’t a friend in this. Not first and foremost. “Your private life is your own business,” he said. “Or would be if your mistress hadn’t been murdered.”
“But you think I’m a rutting bastard and wonder how the devil I could do this to the woman I love.”
A bitter acknowledgment of his own shortcomings echoed through Malcolm’s head. “I wouldn’t presume to know what’s inside anyone’s marriage. Though I confess I always thought you were singularly blessed.”
Fitz took a quick turn about the room, like a caged lion at the Royal Exchange. “I thought I was the luckiest man in the world when Eithne accepted me. I still remember the first time I saw her—at Almack’s, of all places. I was home on leave from the Peninsula, doing my duty squiring my sister Sophia and regretting an evening of tepid punch and matchmaking mamas. I came off the dance floor and saw Eithne talking with two other girls. She was wearing a white gown with a yellow sash, and she had pearls in her hair. She took my breath away. I was sure I’d never look at another woman again. I never thought I’d be the sort of husband who—You know. We see it all round, here and at home. The Devonshire House set. Lord and Lady Cowper. Prince Metternich. Tsar Alexander.”
“My own parents,” Malcolm said, images etched sharp in his memory. “It’s one reason I never thought to marry.”
“My father and stepmother, truth to tell. My older brothers. And my married sisters, I suspect.” Fitz grimaced, stalked back to the drinks cabinet, picked up one of the brandies and took a long swallow. “I was so smugly certain I could never be like my father and brothers. I never bargained on—”
“Growing bored?”
“No. That is—” Fitz stared into his brandy glass. “I suppose inevitably it becomes less intense. Surely you find that yourself.”
Malcolm considered his own marriage. Except for a few unguarded moments, he kept his feelings carefully in check. But he could hardly say the intensity had dissipated. Quite the reverse, in fact. For a moment his consciousness of his wife was so vivid he could almost feel the brush of her hair between his fingers and smell the scent of her skin. “I don’t think I’ve been married long enough to judge.”
“Perhaps not.” Fitz rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I could blame it on the familiarity of five years of marriage. On this city, where one can’t seem to turn round without stumbling over a romantic intrigue. On the mad hours we’re keeping. But the truth is, I looked at Tatiana and I felt—does it sound mad to say bewitched?”
“Not mad.” Malcolm moved to the drinks cabinet and picked up the second brandy. “Though if you’re implying the blame is hers—”
“Of course not. I take full responsibility.” Fitz turned his glass in his hand, studying the play of the candlelight on the crystal. “My love for Eithne was as sweet and safe as sugared rose petals. With Tatiana it was quite the opposite. Crazy, insane, a fever that fed on itself. I was dazzled the moment I first saw her, but I never thought she’d look twice at me.”
“You underrate yourself.”
Fitz shook his head, started to speak, took a swallow of brandy. “It was on one of those expeditions we all took to the countryside in October when the weather was so glorious. To the Klosterneuburg abbey.”
“I remember,” Malcolm said. “Suzanne and I stayed in Vienna and took Colin to the Augarten.”
“Eithne stayed for a dress fitting. Castlereagh particularly asked me to go on the expedition as Otronsky and Humboldt and the King of Denmark were in the party, and he wanted a British presence. My horse cast a shoe on the way home. Tatiana offered me a seat in her carriage. We stopped at an inn for a glass of wine, and—You can guess the rest.” He began to pace again. “The horrible thing is, I wasn’t sorry. She was fascinating. She could talk about anything, and she had the most remarkable knack for listening.”
“She could make any man think he was the center of her world.”
“You felt it, too.” Fitz shot him a quick glance. “Did—”
“No,” Malcolm said, a little more firmly than necessary. “Though I don’t expect you to believe me any more than Suzanne did.”
Fitz opened his mouth as though to voice a denial, then shook his head. “I knew I wasn’t her only lover. But I suppose I flattered myself that I was the only one who wasn’t political. I even had mad thoughts about giving up everything and running off with her. Though as soon as I was with Eithne I knew I could never do that. God help me, Lord Beverston will kill me if he finds out what I did to his daughter. Rightly so.”
“Which wouldn’t do your political prospects any good.”
Fitz flushed but didn’t look away from Malcolm’s gaze. “Without his support, I’d have little chance of achieving anything. For Eithne’s sake he wouldn’t let me be ruined, but he’d never make me his protégé knowing how badly I’d hurt his daughter. And my own father would only back me if I turned Tory, which would rather defeat the purpose. Not that any of that signifies beside Eithne. I know her. She’d stand by me. She wouldn’t reproach me. But it would never be the same.”
Malcolm took a swallow of brandy. “Fitz. Where were you last night?”
It was a moment before Fitz made sense of the words. “Good God. You can’t think—”
“I’m endeavoring to be objective.”
Their gazes met, like the clash of fencing foils. Memories hung between them, echoing back to their first meeting on the sun-splashed flagstones of an Oxford terrace, when Malcolm had been in his first year and Fitz in his last. Poring over lecture notes, correcting essays, debating in coffee houses. Drafting diplomatic communiqués over guttering candles, sharing wine in Spanish farmhouses, going cross-eyed as they drew up tables to decode documents.
“I was at the opera,” Fitz said. “I escorted Eithne and Suzanne and Aline.”
“And then?”
“We went on to Baroness Arnstein’s. But Eithne had a headache and Aline was tired, so I took them home soon after we arrived. You must have found Suzanne at the Arnsteins’?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said. “And you?”
“Eithne went to bed when we returned to the Minoritenplatz. I sat up drafting a paper for Castlereagh on possible responses to Russia’s actions in Saxony.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see Tatiana?”
“The night before last.” Fitz flushed again. “I looked in at the Duchess of Sagan’s reception and then ducked round to Tatiana’s through the side entrance.”
“Did she appear concerned about anything?”
Fitz frowned. “She seemed—distracted. I asked her if something was wrong. She laughed and said ‘on the contrary.’”
“Anything else?”
Fitz hesitated. “There was something odd in the way she kissed me when I left. For a moment I was afraid it was a . . . a farewell.”
Malcolm studied his friend, knowing the bleak loss in Fitz’s gaze was the twin of his own. “Who do you think killed her?”
Fitz shook his head. “The tsar would have been furious if he’d known of our affair. If we were seen at the Zichys’—”
“I doubt Dorothée Périgord would have told the tsar. But yes, it’s difficult to keep a secret in Vienna. On the other hand, the tsar also believed I was her lover.”
“Women were jealous of her. Men wanted her. But I can’t imagine anyone—”
“Nor can I. But someone did.”
Fitz met Malcolm’s gaze. “I know Castlereagh’s asked you to investigate—”
“I won’t reveal your involvement with her unless it becomes necessary. But it may become necessary.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” In the candlelight, Fitz’s gaze was dark and direct. “I want to know who did this to her, Malcolm. I want the bastard to pay.”
“Yes,” said Malcolm. “So do I.”
12
T
he vast quiet of the book-filled library, normally Malcolm’s favorite sort of sanctuary, suddenly felt as suffocating as an overcrowded ballroom. Judging by Fitz’s expression he felt the same. Without speaking, they left the library and made their way down the corridor to the ballroom. Walking side by side as they had a score of times in the past.
he vast quiet of the book-filled library, normally Malcolm’s favorite sort of sanctuary, suddenly felt as suffocating as an overcrowded ballroom. Judging by Fitz’s expression he felt the same. Without speaking, they left the library and made their way down the corridor to the ballroom. Walking side by side as they had a score of times in the past.
“Monsieur Rannoch. Lord Fitzwilliam.” Dorothée Périgord fell upon them as they entered the ballroom. “I have just hit upon the most perfect solution to my dire plight. You two must be chivalrous and save me. Chivalrous being the operative word.”
“We are of course at your service, Madame la Comtesse,” Malcolm said. “But—”
“Splendid.” Dorothée gripped his hand and squeezed Fitz’s hand as well. “Everyone says you’re the best riders in the British delegation. I’m in desperate need of two knights for the Carrousel. You won’t fail me, will you? It’s perfect because you’re such good friends.”
The Meissen clock over the mantel in the side salon where Suzanne was talking with Aline, Geoffrey, and the Princess von Thurn und Taxis showed ten minutes to two. She excused herself and started for the French windows to the garden. A few paces from the door, a hand touched her arm. She froze, sure it was Radley.
“Suzanne? What is it?” Malcolm’s voice spoke in her ear.
“Nothing.”
Sacrebleu,
her wits were deserting her along with her finely honed abilities at deception.
Sacrebleu,
her wits were deserting her along with her finely honed abilities at deception.
“I talked to Fitz,” he said, as he opened one of the French windows onto the garden. “I’ll brief you later. Dorothée just waylaid us on our way back into the ballroom. She wants Fitz and me to replace the two knights she lost in the Carrousel. Was that your idea?”
“No. I thought she was looking for Austro-Hungarians.”
“I think at the moment she’ll settle for good riders. Someone told her Fitz and I are halfway decent.”
“Someone no doubt told her you’re brilliant horsemen. You agreed?”
“It would have been difficult to say no,” Malcolm said as they descended the terrace steps. “She’s going to change round the favors so I can be your cavalier.”
Suzanne cast a surprised glance at him. “Doesn’t it violate some rule of social etiquette for a husband and wife to be so in each other’s pockets?”
“Dorothée must realize how unconventional we are.”
Moonlight and a soft glow from strings of Venetian glass lanterns washed over the garden. On the night of Metternich’s Peace Ball a month since, the garden had been crowded with dancers, musicians, and performers. Tonight, in the cooler weather, it was empty save for a few intrepid couples, walking arm in arm or standing with their heads close together. Malcolm took Suzanne’s hand so they’d blend in, and they made their way down a gravel walk to the Temple of Mars, its gray stone splashed blood red by the light of a crimson glass lamp.
Before they reached the temple, Suzanne gave Malcolm a flirtatious kiss, as though she were leaving him to serious business, and turned back toward the villa. When she reached some nice, concealing shadows she slipped down a side path, senses tuned to watchers, and circled back to the temple. She came up behind a topiary hedge that had served to conceal an orchestra at the Peace Ball. She drew the folds of her mantilla over her shoulders against the night air and settled where she had a good view through the interlaced leaves. Just in case, she eased open the clasp on her reticule and gripped her pistol.
Malcolm leaned against the temple. After a few minutes a figure emerged, swathed in one of the red and white dominoes Metternich had instructed those not in costume to wear. He came not from the direction of the villa but down one of the side gravel walks.
“You’re punctual. That’s good.” The man spoke French, but in a flat voice that didn’t sound native yet was impossible to place. He was not overly tall, and beneath the folds of the domino he appeared to be slightly built. A red mask covered his face. “Just in case you have any rash thoughts in mind, Monsieur Rannoch, I am holding a loaded pistol. Did you bring what I asked for?”
Malcolm turned toward the man with leisurely care. “Surely you don’t imagine I’d be fool enough to bring such valuable goods to a preliminary negotiation?”
“Who said anything about preliminary?”
“You have yet to even make an offer.” Malcolm continued to lean against the statue with an ease that suggested he found the discussion less than urgent. “I’m waiting.”
“Ten thousand,” Red Mask said in a crisp voice. “In English pounds or whatever currency you name.”
Dear God, it was a small fortune. What on earth did these people think Malcolm had?
“A handsome offer.” Malcolm set his shoulders against the temple and crossed his legs at the ankle. “But who’s to say I’m in the mood to sell?”
“You’ll be safer without it. Your wife will be safer.”
“So you were behind the attack on my wife and me last night?” An edge of steel crept into Malcolm’s voice.
“I didn’t say that. A number of people want what you possess. You and your family will be far safer once you’ve relinquished it.”
“Or perhaps we’ll become expendable because I’ve lost my bargaining chip.”
“I think not. I advise you—”
A branch creaked, though the air was still. Not a branch in Suzanne’s hedge. From across the garden. Red Mask spun round, then whirled back to Malcolm, his pistol leveled. “Damn it, Rannoch, what have you done?”
“Nothing but what instructed.”
“You’re a fool or a liar.” Red Mask backed away, still holding the pistol leveled, then turned and ran toward the ballroom.
Malcolm lurched into the shrubbery. A scuffle followed, a few thuds, a sharp cry.
Suzanne stayed where she was, though she pulled her pistol from her reticule. A few moments later, her husband emerged from the shrubbery, dragging a man who wore another red and white domino and a black mask. Malcolm had his own pistol pressed to the man’s side.
“It’s all right, Rannoch.” The man spoke quietly, in French. His voice was familiar, though Suzanne could not immediately place it. “Now that I know you’re in possession of the papers, I’m prepared to negotiate.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Malcolm said. “But—”
The man tugged at the strings on his mask and pulled it from his face. The light of the Venetian lanterns revealed the well-cut features of Prince Adam Czartoryski. “I’ll pay you twice what your friend offered,” he said.
“Czartoryski.” Malcolm studied the prince. “How can you even be sure that I possess what you want?”
“I wasn’t. But I’d begun to suspect you were the one person she might have given them to.”
“Princess Tatiana?”
“Of course. When I saw you leave the ballroom just now, I followed. What I overheard confirmed my suspicions. You have them and you’re willing to sell them.” A faint undertone of distaste crept into Czartoryski’s voice. “I will top any other offer you may receive.”
“Look, Czartoryski.” Malcolm hesitated. Echoes from the negotiating table reverberated through the small patch of garden. Adam Czartoryski was an adviser to Tsar Alexander. Tensions between the British and Russian delegations ran high just now, quite apart from the fact that the tsar had as good as accused Malcolm of murder. Yet Suzanne knew her husband admired Czartoryski as a man of integrity. She could see Malcolm weighing his options, debating how much to reveal. Sometimes one had to give out information to gain the information one was seeking.
Malcolm untied his own mask and pulled it from his face. “I’m afraid you’re under a quite understandable misapprehension. I don’t have what you are looking for.”
“But—”
“Just now you saw me endeavoring to bluff in an effort to acquire information. My wife was listening. Suzanne?”
Suzanne stepped from behind her hedge shield. “Good evening, Prince.”
Czartoryski looked from Malcolm to Suzanne. “I don’t—”
“I suspect,” Malcolm said, “that we may be able to help each other by pooling information. We’ll tell you our side of the story first, and then I hope you’ll be persuaded to confide in us.”
Czartoryski gave a slow nod.
“As you must have heard, Suzanne and I discovered Princess Tatiana’s body last night,” Malcolm continued. “On our way home from the Palm Palace, we were attacked by two armed men. When I captured one and tried to get him to talk, he was shot by a third. This afternoon, the man in the red mask stuck a knife in my ribs and said he was prepared to buy what I had to sell. I think he meant papers that had been in Princess Tatiana’s possession. I’ll hazard a guess that you are also looking for papers that Princess Tatiana possessed?”
Czartoryski was silent for a long moment. The moonlight and the glow of the lamps slanted over his still, tense features. At last, he nodded.
“And I’ll hazard a further guess that these papers have something to do with Tsarina Elisabeth?”
Czartoryski’s dark gaze widened. “How—?” He bit back the words. His face went as closed as if he were still masked.
“I saw you talking to her in the Prater this morning,” Malcolm said. “I saw the look on your face. I’ve seen enough of you to suspect that were your concern about these papers because of information they contained about yourself, you wouldn’t be so desperate. In fact, I can think of few things that would make a man like you as desperate as a threat to the woman he loves.”
Czartoryski shook his head. “You’re an uncanny judge of your fellows, Rannoch.”
“Hardly. But sometimes I have good instincts.”
Czartoryski’s gaze flickered from Malcolm to Suzanne. Making the same calculations Malcolm had done about the risks and rewards of trusting and taking on allies.
“Prince Czartoryski?” Suzanne said, going on instinct. “Were you at Princess Tatiana’s last night?”
His gaze whipped to her face.
“Because of these papers?” Suzanne pressed her advantage.
Czartoryski spun away and gripped the stone side of the temple for a moment, then turned back to face her. “I went to ask the princess to return papers that rightfully belong to no one but the tsarina. When I got there Princess Tatiana was already dead. I don’t expect you to believe that—”
“What time?” Malcolm asked.
“About two-thirty.”
“Was her skin blue-tinged?”
Adam met Malcolm’s gaze. “Yes. From what I know of dead bodies, she had been killed at least half an hour before. Once I had determined there was nothing I could do for her, I searched for the tsarina’s papers.”
“You were efficient.”
He gave a bitter smile. “I’ve played this game for some time.” He straightened his shoulders with military precision. “I know I should in honor have reported the crime. But that would not have helped the princess and might have done irreparable harm to Lis—to the tsarina.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.” His mouth curled with self-reproach. “I feared the tsarina’s papers had fallen into the hands of Princess Tatiana’s killer. But then I realized the killer might well not even have known of the papers’ existence. I tried to think where they might be if they hadn’t been in her rooms. I heard you had been the one to discover the princess’s body. I glimpsed you in the Prater this morning. It occurred to me that if Princess Tatiana had given the papers to someone she trusted, you were the obvious candidate.”
“So you watched me this evening, and when you saw me go into the garden, you followed.”
“I had recognized you and Madame Rannoch when you arrived.” Czartoryski inclined his head to Suzanne. “You’re a striking pair.”
“Princess Tatiana kept her most secret papers in a box in a hiding place in her rooms,” Malcolm said. “According to her maid, that box has disappeared.”
“You trust her maid?”
“I consider her a friend.”
Czartoryski raised his brows but did not comment, as many would have done, on considering a servant a friend. “Do you think Princess Tatiana’s killer is in possession of this box?”
“Not necessarily. It’s entirely possible Tatiana herself hid it in recent days. But she didn’t hide it with me.”
“And yet a number of people think you have it.”
“Quite. Possibly even the killer.”
“So if we find the papers, we may find the killer.”
“Perhaps.”
Czartoryski looked from Malcolm to Suzanne. “What can I do to help you? I will give you any assistance that is in my power.”
Malcolm and Suzanne returned to the villa through the French windows that opened onto one of the side salons. They found a small crowd gathered on the chairs and settees. All eyes were focused on the corner of the room where Princess Catherine Bagration stood, one hand resting on a pillar that held a statue of Cupid and Psyche. She had removed her mask, but even had she still worn it she was easily recognized. The light of the chandelier gilded her blond ringlets and shot through the gauzy fabric of her Ukrainian peasant dress, outlining the shapely legs beneath the muslin.
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