A Fatal Waltz

no hint of laughter or joy in his eyes. 

Jeremy escorted me to my suite, insisted that I see a doctor, and waited, standing near the fireplace in one of our parlors, to hear the diagnosis. Satisfied that I was not seriously hurt—a mild concussion, but nothing to cause alarm—he left when the physician did. 

The moment they were gone, Cécile rapped her fan on the marble-topped table that stood next to the chaise longue on which we were sitting. “This has become too dangerous. The man could have killed you.” 

“He wouldn’t kill me. If I were dead, I couldn’t do anything to stop Colin’s investigation.” 

“Monsieur Hargreaves would agree with me. No unnecessary danger, Kallista. We should leave Vienna.” 

“Not until we’ve either found out who sent Lord Fortescue the warning or uncovered Harrison’s plot,” I said. 

“Leave it to Monsieur Hargreaves.” 

“No, Cécile. He’s been sent here for a specific reason. And though I don’t know the details, I do know it’s not to find information that can exonerate Robert.” 

“He’s perfectly capable of doing that along with whatever his mission is.”

“But I’m perfectly capable, too. More than capable, in fact. And I like doing this, Cécile. I’ll be careful. There’s no need to worry.” 

“You are taking Jeremy with you to meet Schröder?” 

“Yes,” I said. “Although I’m not certain it’s a good idea.” 

“What can that mean?” Cécile’s talent for picking up on any sort of romantic signals was unparalleled. 

“Something happened after he found me this morning.” I described for her every detail of what transpired between us. 

“Mon dieu! Well, I won’t have to worry about you then. He’s enough in love with you that he can be counted on to keep you from being harmed. Still, I’m going to accompany you as well. I’m curious about this anarchist. Any man with passionate beliefs is worth knowing.” 

“I’d wager that he’s over forty, Cécile. He might even be fascinating. What would Klimt say?” 

“Very little,” she said, smiling wickedly. 

22 December 1891

Berkeley Square, London

Dear Emily,

I’ve been feeling vaguely useless, stranded here in London, unable to offer Ivy much in the way of comfort or relief, horribly jealous that you and Cécile are once again charged with the interesting tasks.

 For once, I have an interesting tidbit for you: I’ve learned that the gun used to kill Lord Fortescue has been misplaced. It somehow never made it from Yorkshire to London. Suspicious? Of course it is! Disappearing murder weapons are always significant.

 How was your intrepid friend able to persuade Scotland Yard to divulge this information? Mr. Michaels (who’s down from Oxford on the unlikely errand of Christmas shopping at this late date) is closely acquainted with a member of the police force who slipped and mentioned it when they were having a lunch that included several bottles of very expensive wine. Must be kept quiet, of course—it’s not something they’ve told the general public—but I thought you should know.

 The weather is dreadful here, and Robert must be suffering more than ever in Newgate. Ivy is unwell—I think you know why—and though I know she’ll be all right, I’m worried, Emily. She’s gaunt. I know you are doing all you can, but I must implore you to hurry. Nothing is good here.

I am yrs., etc.,

Margaret

Chapter 15

I may have reacted in the most casual sort of manner to Jeremy’s kiss, but in fact it had unsettled me. My mind was so cluttered with troubling emotions I could hardly form a coherent thought. The kiss itself did little more than give me pause; it had come in a heated, raw moment, and I felt no guilt about it. Jeremy was a consummate flirt. But had this kiss meant something to him?

I had several hours before we were due to meet Herr Schröder and was desperate to talk to Colin. I hesitated to walk alone after my encounter with Mr. Harrison, so took a fiacre. Cécile offered to go with me, but I wanted to be alone with Colin, and neither of us saw danger in the trip so long as I took a carriage. As I neared the house that contained my fiancé’s apartment, I saw the countess leaving the building. She chatted familiarly with the Hausmeister while he held the door for her. I supposed they were old friends. Not in the mood for confrontation, I ordered the driver to stop where we were, and I ducked out of the open carriage and across the street into a Durchhäuser, one of the many passageways that ran through the courtyards behind houses in the city. The air was still bitter cold, but I welcomed the burning as I drew it into my lungs. It felt like painful purification. I peeked out and did not see Kristiana. Perhaps she had hired the fiacre I’d abandoned and gone home. 

Wanting to be certain she had left, I counted to two hundred in Greek, then paused. Another hundred, and I was too cold to delay any longer. 

Colin’s rooms were on the fifth floor, but I bounded up the stairs, barely noticing the effort it took. He opened the door himself when I knocked, and I fell into his arms the moment I saw him. 

“What is it?” he asked, sitting me down in a singularly uncomfortable chair. I tried sitting forward, then sitting back, then teetering on the edge, but nothing made it better. “Awful, isn’t it? All the furniture’s that way. Apologies.” 

“It’s fine.” I stared at him before continuing, relishing every line on his face, wishing I could lose myself forever in the warmth of his eyes. This was not the first time I’d been inclined to throw myself on him and beg for assistance. Not that I wanted to stop my investigation or for him to take it over. But in difficult moments, the lure of a strong shoulder and an offer of protection are potent temptations. 

“Emily?” He was standing in front of me, arms crossed. “What is it?” 

“I love you because you challenge me, because you see my potential and want me to reach it.” My head had begun to throb. Or had it been throbbing all along, and I hadn’t noticed? 

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.” He tugged at one of my curls. “I can, occasionally, be of some use, you know.” 

“I know that.” I picked up his hand and kissed his palm. I would take his comfort, but I would never ask him to take care of me. 

“You haven’t told me what happened today.”

“I had a rather serious encounter with Mr. Harrison.” I described in detail everything that had transpired. The first thing Colin did was feel the back of my head, searching for and finding the large lump that had developed on it. 

“Have you seen a doctor? Let me call someone.” 

“I did already. It’s fine. No need to worry.” 

“Do you feel ill?” he asked, his hand now resting on my shoulder. 

“No, though I do have a rather spectacular headache.” 

“My dear girl.” He kissed my forehead. 

“I’m worried about Schröder’s threat against you,” I said, looking into his dark eyes. 

“It’s nothing. He can’t harm me, and he knows it. He’s only trying to scare you.” He sat in a chair across from