Charmed and Dangerous (15 page)

“Someone is asking in the city for a man named Michael,” said one of the others. “Duclos says so. He doesn't know how long it has been going on. They are very discreet.”

Michael's scowl was ominous. “Damn him.”

“You think it is—?”

Michael cut him off with a savage gesture. “Of course.”

“We could—”

“Say no more about this.” Michael threw a threatening glance around the table, and Laura concentrated on her plate. “We will talk later.”

The table was mostly silent after that. Frau Bach, a plump, nervous woman, ventured a remark to Laura, to which she replied in a barely audible murmur, but the men were silent. The student shoveled in all the food he could get and then excused himself. The other men were not far behind. Laura gave them a few minutes, then returned to her room and sat on the rickety bed.

There seemed nothing else she could do. It would be very unwise to draw the attention of Michael and his friends; she had no doubt about that. She also felt certain that this
was
the Michael that Sophie had mentioned. She even thought his voice was the one they had heard from the palace corridor, though she couldn't be sure of this. She should go home now, Laura thought, and tomorrow report what she had found to Gavin.

And have the whole matter taken out of her hands as if she hadn't tracked Michael down when no one else could find him, she added silently. And be ignored still further.

Resentfully, she rose and paced the bare floor. Boards creaked as she stepped on them. From downstairs she heard the landlady berating the maid for dropping a plate. The walls were cheap and thin, she thought. The noise must be unpleasant for those who actually lived here. She heard the maid begin to cry and was suddenly struck by an idea.

Laura moved to the door and opened it. There was no one in the upstairs hall. The voices of the landlady and her unlucky servant had receded toward the kitchen. Warily, Laura stepped out and closed her door. Then she began walking slowly down the hall, straining her ears for any sound.

At the first closed door, there was nothing. The second was the same. But when she approached the third room from her own, she heard voices. Checking behind her and seeing no one, she moved on until she was directly in front of the worn panels.

“We must stop him,” said a man inside.

“If only Jack had killed him with that knife,” said another.

“We cannot afford to kill him,” said a harsh, commanding voice. Laura thought it was Michael.

“That servant of his has been searching the backstreets like a wolf,” said another of the men. “He is uncanny. His eyes make you shiver.”

“Kill them both,” suggested another of them.

“The British would turn Vienna upside down to find the killer,” Michael answered. “We cannot have that sort of disturbance. Matters are too delicate. It is only a few weeks until the escape.”

A pause followed this warning.

“He should not be here!” Michael burst out then. “It makes no sense!”

No one replied to this. The floor creaked, and Laura tensed, ready to run back to her own room.

“I must speak to Sophie,” said Michael's voice, much closer now. “Come.”

The floorboards creaked again, and Laura fled, racing down the hall to her own room and throwing herself inside. She heard a door open and footsteps. Breathing hard, she waited. They passed by without pausing.

Weak with relief, she dropped on the bed again and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal. These men were deadly serious, she thought. She had to tell someone what she'd heard, and soon, before it was too late.

* * *

Laura hurried through the cold dark streets, muffled in her cloak. They were nearly empty on this winter night, and any passersby had no attention to spare for others. They were concentrated on reaching their destinations and getting out of the icy wind.

She didn't blame them. As the wind tore at her cloak and whined about her ears, Laura searched in vain for a hack to save her the walk. She, too, wanted to go home. But she had to find Gavin first.

She knew his lodgings. Catherine had pointed them out once when they were driving through the city. And all thoughts of the impropriety of visiting him had gone with the urgency of her errand. Something dreadful was being planned. He would know what to do.

Her hands were almost frozen when she at last came to the street. She ran the last few yards and slipped inside the outer doorway with intense relief. There was no sign of a concierge or attendant. She hurried up the stairs, checking all the doorways for cards announcing their inhabitants. She found Gavin's on the second floor and knocked at once.

There was a long pause. She knocked again. This time, the door opened. Behind it stood a small, dark wiry man whose English clothes could not disguise his more exotic origins.

“I must see Mr. Graham,” said Laura.

The man examined her—not critically, but carefully, like someone cataloging the features of a potentially dangerous animal. Remembering that she still wore her drab governess garments, she wished for her finest silk dress. “It's very important,” she added.

His dark eyes were preternaturally shrewd. It would be extremely foolish to try to push past him, Laura decided. He might be small, but he gave the strong impression of physical power.

Finally, he spoke. “Not here.”

Laura's spirits plummeted. For some reason, she had not expected this. “Mr. Graham has gone out?”

The man nodded. He made no move to invite Laura inside, but neither did he seem to urge her away.

“Do you expect him back soon?” she asked.

He made a noncommittal gesture, as if he wasn't about to give out such information to a stray woman on the doorstep.

“I must speak to him,” repeated Laura. “I have very important information.”

The man's dark gaze ranged over her face. After a moment, he stepped back and indicated that she should enter. Laura felt as if she had passed some rigorous test and been admitted to a select company. This man was much more than a servant, she thought. The sharp awareness in his expression made it clear he was privy to Gavin's secrets. She felt a pang of envy.

“You can write,” he said.

For an instant, she thought he was asking her if she had the ability; then she understood. “I can write him a note.”

He gestured. “Paper, pen.”

She went to the desk and sat down, pulling off her gloves. When she had opened the inkwell and dipped the pen into it, she found her mind blank of words. How could she possibly explain everything that had happened in a note? She would be writing here for an hour. And perhaps Gavin would return in that time, responded a hopeful inner voice. But her thoughts refused to be marshaled into a coherent narrative. She fumbled and frowned, and in the end she wrote simply, “Please come at once. It is vital that I speak to you.”

She folded and sealed the message, then laid it on the desk. “He must have this as soon as he returns. I will be waiting.”

The man nodded, and Laura handed him the note with a curious relief. She felt she had put her request in the best of hands.

With that thought came a great weariness. Pulling on her gloves again, she braced herself for the long walk home. She stood, pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

“I will get a hack,” said her companion.

“There are none to be had, I'm afraid,” answered Laura. “I looked everywhere.”

“I will get,” he responded, without a shred of doubt in his voice.

She was torn between the hope that he could and reluctance to send him out into this cold night for nothing. “I can…”

But he was already putting on his cloak and opening the door. She allowed him to usher her out and down the stairs.

“Wait,” he said at the bottom.

She stopped. He disappeared into the darkness outside. Laura scarcely had time to worry about him before he was back with a hack, its shivering driver so wrapped up that only his eyes were visible.

Astonished and grateful, Laura stepped out into the wind. “Thank you. How in the world did you…?”

He interrupted with a gesture that seemed to say that it was his job to perform small miracles. He smiled suddenly, briefly, and indicated the open carriage door.

Laura stepped into it. “What is your name?” she asked, feeling an odd connection with him even though they had hardly met.

He hesitated, watching her.

The driver complained in German about the delay. Laura got into the carriage, but she leaned out the window as it started off.

“Hasan,” he said at the last possible moment and raised a hand in farewell.

With the feeling that she had passed another test, Laura relaxed against the worn cushions of the seat.

* * *

Riding home, Laura felt as if a great responsibility had been lifted from her shoulders. Gavin would know just what to do. He had dealt with men like Michael before. He would make sure nothing dreadful happened.

It was very pleasant to have someone you could truly rely on, she thought as fatigue descended more heavily over her. She hadn't known such a person in a long time. Perhaps, suggested a small voice in her head, she had never known such a person. Her parents had certainly not been reliable. And her employers had not imagined that they owed her anything beyond her meager salary.

Huddling in her cloak, Laura rejected the notion. There had been people she could count on, she insisted silently. But when she considered the question further, she couldn't think of anyone but Gavin.

Why did she believe in him so completely? He had treated her quite shabbily in a variety of ways. But here Laura felt a calm certainty. In this matter, at least, Gavin was beyond question. He would not fail her.

* * *

But he did. Though she waited deep into the night, there was no response from him. The morning passed with no reply to her note. Could Hasan have failed to pass along the message? She didn't believe that.

At midmorning, Catherine came into the drawing room, looking tense and anxious.

“How is the general?” asked Laura.

The older woman shook her head. “I've summoned the doctor. I don't think we can wait until his regular visit tomorrow.”

“The powders aren't helping?”

“No.” The single word was bleak.

“I'm so sorry.” Laura went over and led her to a chair. “Can't I help? I would be happy to share your nursing.”

“I have to be there with him,” Catherine said forlornly. She looked around the room as if she didn't recognize it. “If only we were home.”

Laura nodded. The general had been pronounced too ill to travel, even if he had been free of duties.

“This must be dull for you,” Catherine added. “Perhaps the Merritts would escort you to—”

“Don't be silly,” interrupted Laura. “I don't want to go out. I want to be here, helping you.” Catherine gave her a smile that made Laura feel guilty at how little she had actually been able to help and how she had appreciated her freedom from engagements. “Please don't worry about me.”

“You are a sweet child,” said Catherine, increasing Laura's guilt tenfold.

There were sounds of an arrival in the hall below. Automatically, both of them rose.

“The doctor,” said Catherine, hurrying out of the room. Laura followed, hoping it was the doctor
and
Gavin Graham. But when she looked down over the stair railing, she saw only the old Viennese physician who had recently become a mainstay of the household.

* * *

Laura's patience came to an end in the early afternoon. Leaving Catherine still occupied in the sickroom, she set off for Gavin's. It was still cold, but the wind had died, so the walk wasn't unpleasant. This time, she found the front hall occupied by a very large Austrian lady. Laura asked for Gavin in German without embarrassment. “His colleague General Pryor is very ill,” she added, as if this were the reason for her unescorted visit.

The woman frowned, her broad face creasing into a hundred wrinkles. “Herr Graham is gone,” she said.

“Gone?”

“He didn't even give me notice. Just packed up and left in the middle of the night. I went this morning to see if he wanted tea, and
pfft
!” She made an eloquent gesture. “Nothing.”

Laura was having trouble taking this in.

“The rooms were paid until the end of the month, so he did not cheat me. But it is rude, is it not? If he had told me he was going…” She gestured again, not seeming to have an ending for this sentence.

“He didn't leave a note, or…?”

“Nothing. No address to send on his mail, no word of thanks. It is not what I expect from my gentlemen.”

“Could…could I see the rooms?” She wouldn't be able to believe it until she did, Laura thought.

The landlady eyed her suspiciously.

“I don't think the general knew he was going either. He may ask me.”

Evocation of the military title seemed to impress her. “You may look if you like,” she said, opening the door wider. “But there is nothing there.”

And there wasn't—only the disorder of a hurried packing. Laura examined a few scraps of paper on the floor, but they were of no consequence. “You're certain he didn't leave word for the general?” she asked.

“No note, nothing for the maid, not so much as a word of thanks or farewell.”

Laura looked around the hastily vacated room. This wasn't like Gavin, she thought, and then wondered. Did she really know what he was like? The general was always complaining about his flouting of authority and disregard for proper procedures. Perhaps this was exactly what he would do. But where had he gone?

Walking back downstairs and into the cold street, Laura tried to imagine. If he had discovered something about Michael, he might have gone off in pursuit. But would he have packed up all his things and taken them along? It didn't seem logical. And no matter what the general said of him, Laura didn't believe he would go without informing his superior.