Authors: Teresa Grant
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Historical, #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Mystery & Suspense
Vienna Waltz (34 page)
“So many people are saying that this evening,” Suzanne said. “But I have the sense you really believe it.”
A smile crossed his serious face. “I saw how he cared for Princess Tatiana.” He bit back the words and his gaze slid to the side with confusion. “That is—”
Suzanne touched his hand. “No. You’re right, Malcolm did care for her.”
Schubert turned his gaze back to her and gave an awkward smile. “I keep remembering things she said to me. She was quite fearless. That last day I saw her, I stopped by to deliver some music for some new songs. She was in her salon writing letters. I asked if she was writing to a friend, and she laughed and said she wasn’t sure.”
“Do you know whom she was writing to?”
He shook his head. “She drew a book over the letter when she got up to greet me. But then she glanced back at the writing desk and said the oddest thing. That sometimes enemies could be more useful than allies.”
“Madame Rannoch.” Adam Czartoryski stepped into the salon in the Burgtheater that Suzanne had appointed in her note.
“Thank you,” Suzanne said. “I needed to see you. This seemed the safest way.”
“If you hadn’t sent me a note, I’d have sent one to you.”
“You heard about Malcolm?”
He moved toward her and paused, one hand resting on a gilded chairback. “The talk is all over the city, I’m afraid. I’m so very sorry.”
Suzanne looked at the man who had seemed to be beginning to trust her husband. “It’s true Malcolm got to the Palm Palace before I did the night of the murder. But I’m sure he didn’t kill Princess Tatiana.”
“Of course.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I’ve learned to choose my allies carefully and believe in them once I’ve made the choice.” Czartoryski touched her arm. “Sit. You look exhausted.” He pressed her into a chair, poured a glass of wine from a decanter on a console table, and put it in her hand.
Suzanne cupped her hands round the glass and took a quick swallow. She was shaking, which was absurd. “Too many hours of not knowing whom I can trust.”
Czartoryski stood watching her, leaning against the table. “And you aren’t even sure about me.”
“Perhaps not entirely. But I confess I find you surprisingly trustworthy, Prince.”
He gave a brief laugh, pulled up a chair, and sat beside her. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She took another sip of wine. “I’m sorry to be such a fool.”
“There’s no shame in being overset because the person you love is in danger.”
She stared into the red-black of the Bordeaux. “I don’t want to fail him. I’m not used to him needing me.”
Czartoryski squeezed her shoulder. “Well, perhaps it’s not bad to realize that he does.”
She gave a quick smile, one of her habitual masks. “He’ll stop needing me once this is resolved.”
“Do you really think so?” An answering smile, far less defensive, played about Czartoryski’s mouth. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating your husband.”
“Underestimating him?”
“Or the depth of his feelings.”
She shook her head. “Malcolm and I don’t have illusions. It’s one of the advantages of our marriage.”
He was silent for a moment. “There are different types of illusions, Madame Rannoch.”
She cast a quick look at him. The regret in his eyes spoke volumes about the risks of loving.
“But I wouldn’t take back a moment of it,” he said, as though she had spoken. “Don’t make the mistake of not grasping hold of what you can, when you can. There may come a time when all you have are the memories.”
She touched his gloved hand where it lay on the arm of the chair. “I think the tsarina is a fortunate woman for all her difficulties.”
He shook his head. “We’d best talk about what’s to be done next. We’re no closer to knowing whom Otronsky is plotting against. If—”
They both went still at a creak and stir from the side door. “You have all my sympathies, Madame Rannoch,” Czartoryski continued in a comforting voice as the door swung open and Tsarina Elisabeth stepped into the room.
They both sprang to their feet.
“Lisa!” Czartoryski said, caution forgot.
“It’s all right, Adam.” The tsarina closed the door behind her. “I left my box with my lady-in-waiting. She’ll cover for me. Safer to meet under everyone’s noses. And I think it’s high time I spoke with Madame Rannoch.”
The tsarina walked forward, unbound ash blond hair stirring over her shoulders, the gold embroidery on her azure satin gown glinting in the candlelight. “I’m so very sorry,
chérie
.” She took Suzanne’s hand. “From what Adam has said of your husband and what I have seen, I am sure Baron Hager is under a misapprehension.”
chérie
.” She took Suzanne’s hand. “From what Adam has said of your husband and what I have seen, I am sure Baron Hager is under a misapprehension.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The tsarina sank into a chair and indicated that Suzanne and Czartoryski should do likewise. “And from what Adam has told me of you, I make no doubt you will continue the investigation in your husband’s absence.” She smoothed her hands over the shimmering fabric of her skirt. “You still don’t know how it all fits together. Princess Tatiana’s murder. This plot of Count Otronsky’s. The papers she took from me. And of course you’re hampered because you don’t know the contents of those papers.”
“Lisa.” Czartoryski gripped the arms of his chair.
“She already knows enough to destroy us both, Adam. You’re the one who told me we could trust Monsieur and Madame Rannoch.”
“That was—”
“Dear Adam.” A sad smile curved the tsarina’s mouth. “You’ve always been quicker to trust with your own safety than with mine.”
He stared at her for the length of several heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “I’d give my life for you, Lisa.”
She reached out and put her hand over his own. “I know it, beloved. That’s why if you trust Madame Rannoch, I trust her as well.”
“Lisa—”
“We owe it to Tatiana Kirsanova, much as I never thought to hear myself say so.” Elisabeth shivered. “Dear God, I was so angry at her that night. I’ll never forget—”
“There’s no need to go into details,” Adam cut in, a note of warning in his voice.
“No more half-truths, Adam.” The tsarina turned her gaze to Suzanne. “I went to Princess Tatiana’s rooms with Adam the night of the murder. We were going to demand the return of my letters. Instead we saw the woman for whom I was sure I could never feel a shred of sympathy, crumpled on the floor like a child’s doll. We knelt beside her to make sure she was dead. Her blood got all over my gown—”
She pressed her hand to her mouth. Czartoryski got to his feet and took a step toward her, but she forestalled him with an outstretched hand. “No, Adam. I’ve let myself become distracted. It isn’t the details of that night Madame Rannoch needs. It’s why we were there in the first place.”
“Lisa, I beg you—”
“This is my problem, Adam. I need to be part of solving it.”
“If anything goes wrong—”
“That’s been true from the first. I’ve spent too much time hiding and being frightened. Now pour me a glass of that wine with the lovely color, while I explain matters to Madame Rannoch.”
34
T
sarina Elisabeth turned her almond-shaped blue eyes to Suzanne. “If you’ve heard any gossip about me at all, Madame Rannoch, you know my marriage has not been a happy one. Politics brought my husband and me together. At the beginning, I had a young girl’s illusions that there could be more between us. But I soon learned my folly. My husband already had a mistress. I found comfort with Adam.”
sarina Elisabeth turned her almond-shaped blue eyes to Suzanne. “If you’ve heard any gossip about me at all, Madame Rannoch, you know my marriage has not been a happy one. Politics brought my husband and me together. At the beginning, I had a young girl’s illusions that there could be more between us. But I soon learned my folly. My husband already had a mistress. I found comfort with Adam.”
Czartoryski slammed the decanter down on the drinks table.
“The world knows that much, Adam,” Elisabeth said. “We were recklessly indiscreet in those days. No amount of pretending now will sweep it under the carpet.”
He put into her hand the glass of wine he had poured, a grim look about his mouth.
“My husband was remarkably understanding in those days. But in the end, my father-in-law had suspicions.” Her knuckles showed sharp beneath her glove as she held the wineglass. “Tsar Paul was not a comfortable man to cross. He sent Adam off to Sardinia as ambassador. After my father-in-law died, my husband recalled Adam.” She risked a glance at Czartoryski, who was staring fixedly at drops of red wine spattered on the tabletop. “But I fear I had finally learned the ways of the Russian court. Those very things that had once appalled me. When I was little more than a bride Catherine the Great’s young lover tried to seduce me. I couldn’t imagine I would ever play those games myself.” She took a quick sip of wine as though steeling herself.
Czartoryski splashed wine into a third glass, snatched it up, and tossed down the contents.
“There was another man,” Suzanne said.
“Alexis Okhotnikov. A staff officer.” Memories drifted through Elisabeth’s eyes. “He wasn’t Adam, but for a time—” She shook her head and shivered. “There’s no need to dwell on that.” She set the wine on the table beside her chair and fixed her gaze on its gilded rim. “Seven years ago, Alexis was knifed leaving the theatre. He died of his wounds.”
“I’m so sorry.” Suzanne reached out instinctively to touch the tsarina’s hand.
Elisabeth gave a sweet, sad smile. “Thank you. It was—” Her fingers curved inward. “I shall always blame myself. But for the purposes of this story, the important thing is that I don’t believe his death was an accident. I’m almost sure my husband’s brother, Grand Duke Constantine, was behind it.”
Czartoryski thunked down the decanter again as he refilled his glass.
“You think Constantine would be incapable of orchestrating murder?” Elisabeth asked.
“No.” Czartoryski’s voice was as hard as the thud of the crystal. “That’s just the point.”
“Why?” Suzanne asked.
Elisabeth drew a breath. Czartoryski had gone still. The candle-warmed air seemed to tremble with danger, as though the answer to this question held the real risk. Secrets more dangerous than the love affairs the tsarina had just revealed.
“You must know that my husband’s father, Tsar Paul, was an unstable man,” Elisabeth said. “And that he was killed in a coup by his own officers.” For a moment, beneath the sapphires, the gold-embroidered satin, and the polished sophistication of two decades of court life, the stark terror of the young Grand Duchess Elisabeth showed through. “We could hear the screams through the floorboards. My husband crouched with his hands over his ears, but I don’t think he’ll ever forget the sound. I know I won’t.”
The tsarina drew a sharp breath. Czartoryski watched her, as though her next word might be a dagger thrust to her own heart. “Even when it was over, when the terrible sounds stopped, Alexander wouldn’t move. I had to take his hands, had to remind him what he owed his people, before he’d go out on the balcony and show himself. If he hadn’t—”
Her gaze shot to Czartoryski’s face. For a moment the horror of what might have been hung between them. “Some say Alexander collapsed with guilt because in killing his father the officers had done what he would have done himself had he been brave enough,” Elisabeth continued. “But there always have been whispers that it was more. That my husband was part of the plot. Or at least knew about it and kept silent.” Elisabeth folded her arms and pressed her fingers against the gathered satin of her bodice. “I fear Constantine thought I had confided my own suspicions about Tsar Paul’s death to Alexis.”
“Dear God.” Suzanne could hear the wind hissing through gaps round the windowpanes, feel the cool draft of air and the warmth of the candle flame.
Elisabeth loosed her hands with deliberation and spread them over her lap. “The papers Princess Tatiana got hold of are letters I wrote to Alexis. Letters I retrieved after his death. Letters I should have burned.”
Czartoryski moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. His gaze now held a tenderness that was more intimate than an embrace.
“I understand your fears,” Suzanne said. “And your desperation.”
“Alexander can live with the rumors. Letters in his wife’s hand would be another matter entirely.” Elisabeth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as though she would blot out her imaginings. “You see why I would do almost anything to recover the letters.”
Suzanne frowned at the wineglass in her hand. “As would your husband, presumably.”
“If he knew of them. Which, thank God, he doesn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
The tsarina cast a quick glance at Czartoryski. “You think Princess Tatiana told Alexander?”
Suzanne took a sip of wine and let it linger on her tongue. Smooth but with a sharp bite beneath. “My husband wasn’t arrested just because of his broken alibi. Baron Hager had come into possession of a letter that implies Princess Tatiana was blackmailing Malcolm. Or was about to blackmail him.”
Czartoryski and Elisabeth exchanged an involuntary glance.
“Yes, I know,” Suzanne said. “I think the letter was taken from Princess Tatiana’s rooms before she could send it. I don’t know what it was about, and I haven’t had a chance to ask Malcolm yet. But I’m beginning to think—Perhaps the princess really did invite Malcolm and Prince Metternich and Tsar Alexander all to come to her rooms at the same time the night of the murder.”
Czartoryski’s hand tightened on the tsarina’s shoulder. “To what purpose?”
Suzanne looked between the couple. For whatever Elisabeth had said about their love affair ending, now the bond was unmistakable. It radiated between them. Suzanne wondered what it would be like to know another person so intimately. Whether or not they were sharing a bed, Adam Czartoryski and Tsarina Elisabeth were a couple.
Suzanne drew a breath. “I take it I may count on your discretion when it comes to the secrets of another lady?”
“Of course,” Czartoryski said, with a simplicity Suzanne believed, where more fervent assurances would have rung false.
“I would not wish to put anyone through what I fear myself,” Elisabeth added.
“Princess Tatiana had come into possession of papers which could damage Wilhelmine of Sagan. Papers Prince Metternich would go to great lengths to recover. She could have used those papers to blackmail Prince Metternich. She was apparently going to try to blackmail Malcolm. And she could have planned to use your letters to compel the tsar to do as she wished.”
Czartoryski’s eyes widened. Elisabeth gasped, a dozen scenarios racing through her gaze.
“You think Princess Tatiana was planning to blackmail Metternich, the tsar, and your husband?” Czartoryski said. “To what purpose?”
“I don’t know,” Suzanne said. “Yet.”
Malcolm stared at the cloudy light trickling through the barred window set high in the wall of his cell. Mildew clung to the rough stone walls and clogged the air. A single tallow candle burned on a three-legged table beside a narrow bed covered with a gray blanket.
He’d known worse. Mud huts in Spain. Field tents that leaked like a sieve. Patches of snow-covered ground with only his greatcoat for a blanket. On more than one occasion he’d known his odds of death were more than even. Several times he’d not been sure he cared very much. But he’d never been deprived of his liberty by his supposed allies. And he’d never had so much leisure to dwell on the sins of his past and their implications for his future.
A key rattled in the iron lock. Hinges groaned.
“Malcolm?”
He turned toward the familiar voice. His wife stood just inside the open door. She wore a dark hat and spencer, but the meager light clung to the white stuff of her gown. The jailer pulled the door to behind her and slammed the bolt home.
Malcolm stood frozen. Less than twenty-four hours and he was parched with longing for the sight of her. And for all the reasons that had been echoing through his head since he’d been brought to the prison, she had never seemed more out of his reach.
She hesitated a moment. He could feel her gaze moving over his face. Then she rushed forward. His arms closed about her with a need stronger than any qualms. He slid his fingers into her hair, pushing her hat and half her hairpins to the floor, and sought her mouth with the hunger of one who’d feared he might never touch her again.
When he lifted his head, she took his face between her hands. Her fingers trembled against his skin. “Darling. Are you—”
“I’m treated much better than the poor bastards in Newgate.”
“I was afraid—”
He covered one of her hands with his own. “Odd, the tricks one’s mind can play.”
“Frightful.” She gave a quick, defensive smile, and he knew she felt as awkward as he did at their unwonted display of emotion. “Radley must have lingered outside the Palm Palace after I glimpsed him,” she said. “He told Baron Hager he saw me going in alone. Which takes away your alibi.”
He bent to retrieve her fallen hat. “I should never have put you in this position.”
“I put myself in it.” She took the hat from him and smoothed its brim.
“What about the letter that supposedly proved Tania was blackmailing me?” Malcolm took her hand and drew her over to the bed.
She sat beside him and continued to speak in a matter-of-fact voice, though she retained hold of his hand. “I think Radley took it from Princess Tatiana’s room the night of the murder. So she never sent it, and you could never have seen it.”
“Unfortunately we have no way of proving that. And the contents?”
“Hager showed it to Castlereagh. I haven’t seen it, but I got a few details from Castlereagh.” She looked into his eyes, as though searching for the right words. “Apparently Tatiana threatens to reveal something if you don’t do as she wishes.” She brushed the mulberry velvet of her hat with her free hand. “Something you would not wish me to learn.”
“Dear Christ.” He jerked his hand from her hold and turned his head away.
“Malcolm.” She touched his back with cautious fingers. “I’d have no right to pry under ordinary circumstances, but I need to know. I assume Tatiana wasn’t just talking about the secret of her birth?”
“No.” He turned back to face her and brushed his fingers against her cheek. Those wonderful sea green eyes held a concern that cut him like broken glass. “In some ways, it might be better for you if I don’t get out of here.”
She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous, Malcolm.”
“You don’t know, sweetheart. And it was criminal of me not to tell you before you married me.” He pulled the table closer, so the light from the tallow candle fell between them. “As I said, Talleyrand sent Tatiana to work with us in the Peninsula. I was her chief contact.” Late nights sketching decoding tables. Laughing as they devised aliases. An exchange of glances across a room to agree on an escape plan. “Our minds seemed to work in a similar way.”
“Your mother’s legacy.”
“I suppose so. It made for good teamwork.” His fingers tensed on the coarse gray wool of the blanket. “In the late summer of 1812, Wellington had scored a victory at Salamanca and was meeting with other allied leaders in Madrid to try to coordinate our next moves. As usual, gold to pay the army was sorely needed. A shipment was being sent overland from Rothschild’s in Vienna. Tatiana and I were on our way to rendezvous with a contact near Palencia when we intercepted a letter. One of the most challenging pieces we ever decoded.” He could still hear his sister’s crow of delight when they unlocked the final piece. “It told us the French had got wind of the shipment of gold. It was critical that the gold get through. The only solution seemed to be to deceive the French as to the route of the shipment.”
He could still remember the exhausting discussions, the plans made and discarded, the hours poring over maps of Spain. “We wrote another message that supposedly revealed the path of the shipment. Tatiana, posing as the vengeful ex-mistress of a British officer, dropped a hint to a French agent. Later that evening I allowed my pocket to be picked.”
“Clever. It worked?”
Guilt squeezed his throat. “All too well. Our false message sent a French patrol to Acquera.”
Suzanne, usually five steps ahead of him, hadn’t seen it coming. He forced his gaze to remain steady on her face, watching as realization dawned in the eyes that had looked on him with such trust.
“The French captain must have been angry when he failed to discover the gold. He torched the village. He attacked the family that lived on a nearby estate.”
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