A Fatal Waltz

manners, well…I need not go on. You know perfectly well what I mean.

And I need hardly tell you how great the toll has been on Ivy. I tried to visit Robert yesterday, but he wouldn’t see me, and he continues to refuse to see his wife. She’s disconsolate. You can see how dire are his straits. You can’t merely prove him not guilty, Emily, you’ve got to find out who committed the crime. Otherwise I fear that no one will ever believe his innocence, and there will always be a cloud of uncertainty hanging over him.

On a less serious note, my dear Mr. Michaels is overwrought that I’ve not returned to Oxford and wrote me a passionate note reprimanding me for abandoning my studies. In the course of my reply to him, I disagreed with him about certain analogies in Ovid’s Ars Amatoria. This so disgruntled him that he sent his own reply by express.

I confess to finding that unexpectedly exciting.

Finally, Davis is moping. It’s been three days since he’s had a letter from Cécile’s maid. Tell Odette to send one posthaste. Your butler is no fun when he’s morose. He’s hidden Philip’s cigars, and I can’t find them anywhere. I’m so irritated with him that I think I would return his Christmas gift if I hadn’t had it engraved. What a pity I know no one else with the same initials.

I am yr. most devoted, etc., friend,

Margaret 

Chapter 12

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