soon!”
The old lady blinked at the sewing needle in her shaky hand as though someone else must have put it there. Then she plucked at the pattern and set to work again, taking a full minute to complete one stitch.
Amused, Krauss watched her efforts for a moment and then turned back to his hostess. “These roses are enchanting,” he said, gesturing to the display.
A large crystal vase sat atop a marble table in the centre of the window alcove, holding an extravagant spray of white roses.
Elizabeth beamed. “Why, thank you. They’re called ‘Purity’. I find them so much more appealing than those garish ‘American Beauties’ that are all the rage in London at the moment.”
“Far more elegant,” Frederique agreed. “But ever so thorny!”
“Do you have roses in Germany?” Cornelia asked.
Frederique shot her a withering look, as though Cornelia were a crass rival who had nonetheless managed to upstage her.
“Oh yes, we have magnificent flowers. Some brash and colourful, some rather more. delicate. Subdued.” He turned in his chair just enough to meet the eyes of the maid. “Some requiring, shall we say, very special care.”
Elizabeth frowned and glanced at her husband, whose bushy eyebrows had climbed to his hairline. For all their perceived decadence, they were really rather squeamish.
“But appearances can be deceiving,” Krauss continued, his voice compelling and seductive. “You would be surprised. Some things are much hardier than they look.” The maid blushed and looked down at the floor.
“I’ve never been to Germany,” Elizabeth said, hurriedly changing the subject. “Where is it you are from. Mr Krauss?”
If he noticed her slight hesitation over how to address him, he didn’t let on. “Hamburg,” he said with pride. “It’s a lovely and prosperous city in the north, on the River Elbe.”
Frederique made at once for the ornate globe that stood adjacent to the fireplace. “Will you show me where it is?” she said. “I am so hopeless at geography.”
The other guests exchanged a knowing look. It was extremely unlikely that Frederique didn’t know where such a famous city was.
“Certainly, my dear,” Krauss said. He took her pale hand in his and drew her finger down the length of the painted surface until it rested on Hamburg. “It’s just. here.”
She shuddered girlishly at his touch. “Ah yes, I see it.”
“Has it recovered from the epidemic?” George asked suddenly.
Frederique gave a little squeak of surprise and yanked her hand away as though the globe itself could contaminate her.
“Epidemic?” Cornelia spluttered.
The word was enough even to distract Myler and Dalrymple from their chess game. Elizabeth looked nervously from her husband to her guest.
But Krauss’ polite expression did not waver. “Cholera,” he said simply. “Two years ago there was an outbreak of the disease.”
Captain Myler grunted. “Hmm. Saw plenty of that in India. Nasty bug.” With that he picked up his remaining knight and advanced it two paces. “Check.”
“Blast!” said Dalrymple.
“Were there very many deaths?” Cornelia asked, her eyes shining with unhealthy interest.
“Oh yes. More than eight thousand people died. They said the Devil had signed his name in Hamburg. Of course, it was mostly the lower classes who succumbed. ‘Untouchables’, I believe you say in English?”
Frederique nodded awkwardly as she edged away from him and resumed her seat.
“We say common,” Cornelia informed him, wrinkling her nose to emphasise her disgust at such creatures. “Peasants.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Yes, well, I’m not quite sure they deserved to die.”
“Bah!” said George. “Bloody vagrants, the lot of ’em!” He lifted his glass as though to toast their demise.
“Disposable in any case,” Krauss said offhandedly. “Anna, I seem to have mislaid my glass.”
If the little maid was disturbed by the conversation she gave no sign. She scurried to retrieve the glass from the butler who, despite his obvious contempt for Krauss, clearly didn’t appreciate being made obsolete. Anna refilled the glass with sherry and returned it to her master.
“Good idea,” George said, nodding approval. “Perkins, make the rounds. Er, everyone except Krauss obviously. Incidentally, is it ‘Mr’ or ‘Dr’?”
Elizabeth looked startled. “George!” It was shockingly poor etiquette not to know the correct form of address for one’s guests and she quickly covered her embarrassment with a nervous laugh. “You must excuse my husband’s directness,” she said, “I’m afraid we. ”
But Krauss raised a hand and offered her a forgiving smile. “It’s quite all right. I would be very pleased if you would simply call me Wilhelm.”
He had deftly avoided answering the question in everyone’s mind (Just how “disgraced” was he?) and the offer of his Christian name imposed the same vulgar familiarity on everyone present. Frederique in particular looked horrified by the suggestion.
“I suppose they do things differently in Germany,” she said, resuming her seat on the sofa.
As if summoned by the echo of her earlier comment, Harriet Dalrymple appeared in the doorway, looking breathless and stricken. “I’m most dreadfully sorry, Elizabeth, but we must make our apologies. Our Jane has suddenly been taken ill.”
“Oh dear! I hope it’s nothing serious,” Elizabeth said. She glanced nervously at Krauss, as though at the same time hopeful and afraid that he might volunteer his services. It was clear he did not have what one would term a “calling”.
But Krauss made no offer of assistance. He merely expressed his disappointment at not being able to meet the young lady and wished her the best.
“That’s very kind of you,” said Harriet. “I’m sure the poor child will be fine, but I fear we must get her home.”
James Dalrymple grumbled as he got reluctantly to his feet, glowering at the chess game he was losing. “Sorry, Myler. We’ll have to finish this another time.”
George and Elizabeth escorted their friends out while an embarrassed lull fell over the remaining guests. Only Krauss seemed unfazed by the events.
“Snick snick snick, all day!”
“No one’s using the sewing machine, Aunt Florence,” Elizabeth said with patronising exasperation as she returned. Her cheeks were flushed and several strands of hair had come loose from her elaborate bun. She downed her sherry and nodded eagerly at Perkins for a refill.
The old lady was shaking with rage. “Those wicked, wicked fingers!”
“Aunt Florence—”
“It’s positively unbearable!” With that she flung her arm out to the side, pointing presumably towards the source of the noise only she could hear. Her hand collided with the crystal vase, knocking it to the floor with a great crash. She screamed and covered her face with her hands, one of which was bleeding.
“Oh, good heavens,” Elizabeth cried. “Whatever next?” She leapt to her feet and dragged the old lady up from her chair. “Perhaps it’s best if you had a little nap, Aunt Florence. You know the sound doesn’t carry as far as your room.”
“I’ll get a cloth, madam,” said Perkins, looking a little flustered himself.
“There was no need to throw it at me,” the old lady complained, staring round the room in bewilderment, her wrinkled face smeared with blood.
“Come on, Aunt Florence. I’ll have cook send you up some dinner.”
Cornelia and Frederique squirmed like schoolgirls stifling giggles while George and Captain Myler merely looked bored. From the hall they could hear Elizabeth shouting for the cook.
When Frederique got control of herself she turned to Krauss. “Shall I read the cards for you,
