Authors: Teresa Grant
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Historical, #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Mystery & Suspense
Vienna Waltz (41 page)
“Christopher. My stepbrother.”
Suzanne drew a sharp breath. “Radley.”
Fitz’s gaze flew to her face. “How did you know?”
Malcolm looked between them. “Christopher was Radley’s confederate in stealing the gold?”
“He must have been the emissary Radley sent to the bandits to make sure they carried out the mission according to his orders,” Suzanne said, her gaze on Fitz.
“I didn’t know at the time.” Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his face. “Christopher was always a bit feckless, always with pockets to let, but I never thought—I refused to believe it until Tatiana showed me papers in his hand.”
Suzanne exchanged a glance with Malcolm. Tatiana must have not put those papers in the box she hid at Catherine Bagration’s because she’d needed them to convince Fitz of Christopher’s perfidy.
“You burned the papers?” Malcolm asked.
Fitz nodded, meeting Malcolm’s gaze without flinching.
“It was to show you those papers that she summoned you the night of—” Malcolm bit the words back. He was very white about the mouth. “That night.”
“I think she—” Fitz’s face twisted. “I think that was the whole reason she began our involvement. To be close to another Englishman she could force to do her bidding. When she told me, I couldn’t—I knew even if I tried my damnedest, I’d never be able to persuade Castlereagh to do anything to give her a share of the Courland lands. If she carried through on her threats—Christopher’s only five-and-twenty. It’s always been my job to protect him. He’d have been ruined.”
“Tatiana’s dead.”
The reality hung in the air between the two men. Layers of the past—Oxford lectures, chess games in the British embassy library, missions in the Spanish mountains—overlaid by this stark fact that changed everything.
Fitz shuddered and looked away first. “I know.”
“To save your sorry brother you killed my sister.”
Malcolm’s voice shook. Some part of him, Suzanne realized, hadn’t really accepted this fact until now.
Fitz shook his head in confusion. “Tatiana was your sister?”
“My mother’s daughter.”
Silence gripped the room for a moment. A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. Then Malcolm lurched across the room, grabbed Fitz by the throat, and slammed him against the wainscoting. Two tapers tumbled from wall sconces.
“She left me no choice.” Fitz’s voice was a harsh rasp.
“There’s always a choice.” Malcolm tightened his grip. A porcelain clock fell from the wall to shatter on the floorboards.
“Malcolm.” Suzanne ran forward and grabbed her husband’s arm. Fitz’s face was losing color. “Not that way.”
His muscles were like iron beneath her hand. She wasn’t sure he heard her. Yet after a moment he relaxed his grip and flung Fitz against the wall.
Fitz put his hand to his throat and drew a rough breath. “I’ll meet you anywhere you please.”
“For God’s sake.” Malcolm slumped against the desk. His own breath was harsh. “Firing pistols at each other across a stretch of green is no answer.”
Fitz wiped his hand across his mouth. “There isn’t any answer to this, is there?”
“None that I can see.”
The broken shards of a friendship littered the room. Fitz straightened his shoulders. He had the eyes of a man staring into an abyss and knowing he has no choice but to jump. “I’ll go to Hager and make a full confession to Tatiana’s murder. But I’ll tell him it was a lovers’ quarrel. I’ll keep Christopher out of it.”
His tone made the last not quite a question. Malcolm inclined his head.
Fitz met his gaze for a moment. “Thank you.” He took a step forward. “If you’ll permit me, I’d like to speak to Eithne first.”
Malcolm nodded again. Then, as Fitz crossed to the door, he took a half step toward him. “Fitz—”
Fitz looked back at Malcolm over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Putting a bullet through my brain would be by far the simplest solution, but that would leave the question of who killed Tatiana unresolved, and the least I can do is make a full confession. My word on it. Though I realize you’ve no reason to take my word.”
Malcolm looked directly into the gaze of the man who had killed his sister. “I don’t discount it.”
Fitz held Malcolm’s gaze a moment longer, then turned to Suzanne. “Eithne will need friends.”
Suzanne swallowed. Her mouth felt scalded. “Eithne will always be my friend.”
“That means a great deal to me.”
The door closed behind Fitz with a click of finality. Suzanne went to Malcolm and touched his arm. He reached out and pulled her tight against him as though he would meld his body into her own. “I suppose that passes for justice,” he said, his voice rough against her hair.
She drew back and looked up at him. “You know the truth. And he won’t escape without consequences.”
“So why does it have such a hollow ring?”
42
M
etternich slapped his Córdoba leather gloves down on Castlereagh’s desk. “Lord Fitzwilliam Vaughn just presented himself at Baron Hager’s office and tried to make a confession to Princess Tatiana’s murder.”
etternich slapped his Córdoba leather gloves down on Castlereagh’s desk. “Lord Fitzwilliam Vaughn just presented himself at Baron Hager’s office and tried to make a confession to Princess Tatiana’s murder.”
Castlereagh glanced across the desk at Malcolm, then looked back at Metternich. “Tried?”
Metternich’s gaze shot between them. “Surely we can agree that a trial is the last thing we need at the moment. Men summoned to give testimony when they’re wanted in council chambers, private lives turned public, questions asked—”
“You said you wanted her killer brought to justice,” Malcolm reminded him.
“There’s more than one type of justice.” Metternich picked up his gloves and ran them through his fingers. “He’s yours. Deal with him.”
Castlereagh watched the door close behind the Austrian foreign minister. “I thought this might happen.”
“Feared or hoped?” Malcolm asked.
“A bit of both. Metternich’s right, a trial would have been difficult.” Castlereagh studied Malcolm’s face as though looking for clues to his future behavior. “You claim not to believe in capital punishment, Malcolm. I’m asking you to put your unorthodox opinions to the test and not exact retribution on Vaughn yourself.”
Anger, frustration, and a small measure of relief tightened Malcolm’s chest. “What will happen to him?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Castlereagh took a sip of tea from the cup beside the inkpot. “You’ve done well, Malcolm. I’m aware this hasn’t been easy on you. And that I haven’t perhaps seemed as understanding as I might.” He returned the cup to its saucer and stared into the milk-laced tea. “For what it’s worth, you have my sincere thanks. The question of the princess’s murder would have hung over the Congress if we hadn’t received an answer, however painful that answer may be.”
Malcolm nodded, his throat clogged with feelings he doubted he’d ever be able to put into words. “Tell me one thing, sir. Did you really think I’d killed her?”
Instead of giving the quick, facile denial Malcolm more than half expected, Castlereagh was silent for a long moment. “No. I found it hard to imagine you turning on a woman like that. Particularly Princess Tatiana. But I—”
“Couldn’t rule it out.”
“Precisely.”
Malcolm nodded. “I don’t suppose I could, were I in your position. After all, I’ve been trained to kill. And we’ve both known good men to commit unspeakable acts.”
Castlereagh regarded him across the desk piled high with papers relating to the fate of numerous countries and peoples. “It’s going to take you time to get over this. Both Princess Tatiana and Vaughn. Unfortunately, time is just what we don’t have. This regrettable business with Otronsky may give us a much-needed opening with the tsar. The next days and weeks are going to be critical to the Congress. Which means critical to the future of the Continent. I need you, clearheaded and focused.”
“I’m flattered. But Belmont or another of the attachés could just as easily take notes.”
“I need you for a lot more than note taking, as well you know.”
Their gazes met, a moment of shared acknowledgment between two men who disagreed about many things but recognized each other’s worth.
“I’ll manage,” Malcolm said.
“Yes, I expect you will. I’d be a deal more worried if it weren’t for Suzanne. She won’t let you lose perspective. If nothing else, I hope these past days have made you realize what a fortunate man you are, Malcolm.”
Malcolm felt an unexpected smile break across his face. “That, sir, I know full well.”
Two days later, the tsar and tsarina called in the Minoritenplatz. It was not the first time Tsar Alexander had come to the British delegation’s lodgings, in blatant defiance of the rules of etiquette that forbade a sovereign from calling upon the foreign minister of another country.
Six weeks ago, the tsar had got round the problem by ostensibly calling on Lady Castlereagh. He had drunk tea with Lady Castlereagh, Suzanne, and Eithne, paid them some very pretty if overblown compliments, chatted about the latest offering at the opera and Marie-Louise’s arrival at the Schönbrunn, and even made a few comments about Prince Metternich being the sort of cold fish of a man who could not love. Then Castlereagh had come in with Malcolm. A suitable interval later, the ladies had withdrawn, and the tsar had had his private conference with Castlereagh.
On this occasion, the tsar and tsarina made it plain that they had called to see Monsieur and Madame Rannoch. Castlereagh and Lady Castlereagh were present as well.
Tsar Alexander accepted the gilt-rimmed cup of tea Lady Castlereagh held out to him and settled back in his shield-back chair with the casual ease of a commander in a field tent. His tall form overflowed the delicate chair.
“The tsarina and I wished to personally offer our thanks to Monsieur and Madame Rannoch. I still have not unraveled all the details of this plot of Otronsky’s, but it’s plain your quick thinking averted a great catastrophe.”
Elisabeth returned her own cup to its saucer. “What my husband means is that I undoubtedly owe my life to the quick thinking of you both. There are no words to express my gratitude.”
“I’m only glad you are unhurt, Your Majesty,” Malcolm said. “And profoundly sorry you came as close to harm as you did.”
“You are not to blame for that,” Elisabeth said.
“Otronsky and his confederates have been sent back to Russia under military escort,” the tsar said. “I understand Lord Fitzwilliam Vaughn has also left Vienna abruptly.”
Castlereagh took a sip of tea. “He’s been assigned to India. The nature of the mission required him to leave at once.”
“And Lady Fitzwilliam?” Elisabeth said. “Such a kind woman and so devoted to her husband.”
“She is returning to her children in England,” Suzanne said.
Lady Castlereagh coughed and made a great fuss of refilling the teacups. Droplets of tea spattered over the silver tray.
The tsar tossed down his second cup as though he wished it contained something stronger. “Castlereagh, might I have a word with you before we go.”
Castlereagh got to his feet. “I am at your disposal, Your Majesty. Malcolm, you will accompany us.”
Even the attempt on the tsarina’s life became an excuse for negotiation.
The tsarina leaned toward Suzanne. “Perhaps you would permit me to see your little boy, Madame Rannoch? Such a charming child. I do so love children.”
Elisabeth did not attempt conversation as they climbed the stairs. Colin had just finished his midafternoon refreshment and was covered in toast crumbs but in a very agreeable mood. Suzanne lifted him in her arms. He consented happily to being handed to the tsarina and closed his fist round the velvet ribbons at the neck of her pelisse.
“No, it’s all right, let him play.” Elisabeth waved aside Suzanne’s efforts to intercede. She touched her fingers to Colin’s dark hair. “You’re a fortunate woman, Madame Rannoch.”
“I know it. I’ve always known it—at least ever since I met Malcolm. But perhaps never more so than now. Danger has a way of focusing one’s priorities.”
“So I find.” Elisabeth smiled down at Colin as he twisted his hands in the plum-colored ribbons. “I’ll always be grateful for the time I’ve had with Adam. To my shame, I’m even grateful for the events of the past few weeks because they brought us back together.”
“Your Majesty—” Suzanne hesitated. “You needn’t ever fear—”
“No.” Elisabeth looked up and gave her a full, sweet smile. “I know it. As Adam said, one has to trust sometimes.”
“Trust is a great gift.”
Elisabeth reached out and squeezed Suzanne’s hand. “So is knowing one may safely bestow one’s trust.”
43
“Y
ou’re setting a new fashion, Doro. They’re calling it Christmas Berlin style.” Wilhelmine of Sagan looked over the balustrade at the fir tree that stood beside the limestone staircase in the Kaunitz Palace, gleaming with candlelight and hung with garlands of gold and silver. The fragrance of fresh pine drifted up the stairwell.
ou’re setting a new fashion, Doro. They’re calling it Christmas Berlin style.” Wilhelmine of Sagan looked over the balustrade at the fir tree that stood beside the limestone staircase in the Kaunitz Palace, gleaming with candlelight and hung with garlands of gold and silver. The fragrance of fresh pine drifted up the stairwell.
“Always one of my favorite parts of the season.” Maroon velvet skirts swirling round her, Dorothée took her sister, in dark green velvet, and Suzanne, in peacock crêpe, by the arm and drew them into the salon, where her Christmas Eve party was underway. Above the babble of conversation, the strains of “Stille Nacht” came from the piano where Schubert was playing, Aline turning the pages of his music.
Wilhelmine accepted a cup of spiced wine from a passing footman. “A month ago I’d have sworn any sort of Christmas cheer would be quite impossible.”
“Only a month.” Dorothée ran her gaze over the company assembled in her salon, sipping spiced wine and champagne, sampling marzipan and butter cookies, exchanging quips and laughter.
“And all the questions answered, more or less.” Wilhelmine blew on the steaming wine. “But sometimes the answers are less satisfactory than the lingering questions.”
Dorothée frowned into her own cup. “Poor Lady Fitzwilliam. How is she, Suzanne?”
Suzanne hesitated, but she knew the Courland sisters too well now for easy reassurances. “Her life has been completely shattered. I think it’s only the thought of her children that keeps her going.” She saw Eithne’s pale face, thin and drawn beneath her deep-brimmed bonnet, when Malcolm had handed her into a carriage in the Minoritenplatz a fortnight since. Castlereagh had sent Tommy Belmont to escort her home. “I hope it will be easier for her in England.”
“I can’t imagine—” Dorothée shivered and pulled her paisley shawl closer over her velvet gown. “I keep seeing Lord Fitzwilliam with Lady Fitzwilliam at the Carrousel. I still can’t imagine him doing such a thing.”
“Who’s to say what any of us is capable of, if pushed to it?” Wilhelmine said.
“And I think of Princess Tatiana. To trust a man, to share such intimacy with him, and then—”
“Not all men are untrustworthy, Doro.” Suzanne touched her friend’s hand.
“I know that. I can’t imagine Adam Czartoryski turning on the tsarina. Or Malcolm not being everything he could be to you.”
Wilhelmine turned an appraising gaze on Suzanne. “I was wrong about your husband. I can understand why you took the risk of falling in love with him. Of course, loving’s always a risk, one way and another. I don’t imagine Malcolm Rannoch is an easy man to know. But I don’t think he’ll ever turn away from you.”
Suzanne breathed in the cloves and cinnamon of the wine, thinking of her husband and of the risks that still lay in their relationship. “We’ve learned a lot about each other these past weeks.”
“Then that, at least, is something.”
Dorothée stopped a footman and asked him to open more champagne, then turned back to her sister. “I can’t imagine Alfred turning away from you, Willie.”
Wilhelmine’s mouth curved in a reluctant smile. She glanced toward the smoking salon to which Alfred von Windischgrätz had retired to enjoy a cigar. “Alfred’s a good man. Better than I deserve.”
“You still don’t believe love can last, do you, Willie?”
“Well, perhaps sometimes. For the right people. In the right circumstances.” Wilhelmine’s gaze drifted across the salon to Count Clam-Martinitz. “You’re a fortunate woman yourself, Doro. I don’t say this about many men, but I don’t think you need doubt your count.”
Dorothée smiled and lifted a white-gloved hand to wave to Clam-Martinitz. Her diamond bracelet sparkled in the candlelight.
“I know.”
Her sister shot her a look. “You don’t sound as though you believe it. I didn’t mean to turn you into a cynic.”
“It’s not that.” Dorothée fingered the clasp on her bracelet. “I do trust Karl, as much as I trust anyone. I just—”
Wilhelmine stared at her sister. “Dear God. I knew he was in love with you, but I didn’t realize you were more than half in love with him.”
“Of course I’m in love with Karl, or I wouldn’t—”
“Not Karl.”
Dorothée glanced away. “Then I don’t know whom you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Wilhelmine’s ironic gaze had gone dark with concern. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He never even looked at our mother that way. But speaking of men one can’t trust—”
“That’s just it, Willie.” Dorothée looked her sister full in the face. “I do trust him. Sometimes I think I’ve never trusted anyone more.”
“So now we can get back to the business of the Congress.” Adam Czartoryski took a sip of spiced wine.
Malcolm let his gaze drift over the crowd. The buzz of conversation in the embassy salon created as effective a cover as if they were in an enclosed room. More so. One didn’t need to worry about who was listening behind the door or hidden in the draperies. “One can only hope it will seem tame after recent events.”
Czartoryski’s gaze went to Tsar Alexander, holding court by the stove, flanked by Catherine Bagration and Julie Zichy. “You’re afraid Alexander will storm out over Poland and Saxony? He might have done, with Otronsky still in the picture. The odds are considerably improved now. Interesting how that worked out.”
“Quite.” Malcolm’s gaze drifted toward Talleyrand, engaged in a tête-à-tête with Castlereagh by the windows. “And Poland?”
Czartoryski gave a twisted smile. “No one really wants a free Poland. No one in power, that is. Alexander half thinks he does, but that’s nine-tenths lust for power and one-tenth self-satisfaction at his own benevolence. And perhaps a small fraction of remembrance of ideals past.”
The pain of lost friendship in Czartoryski’s voice brought a memory of Fitz so keen it was like acid in his throat. Malcolm forced it down, as he had done so often these past weeks. “So you will—?”
“Try to get the best result for Poland that I can. Stability is the order of the day with the men making the decisions in Vienna. I have no quarrel with stability—we could use more of it—but it doesn’t equal equality.”
“We have a number of master chess players in Vienna. But the problem with treating countries like chess pieces is that one tends to forget each piece contains scores of people with their own thoughts and dreams and ideas about shaping the future.”
Czartoryski twisted his wine cup between his hands. “Not exactly Lord Castlereagh’s view.”
“No.” Malcolm cast a glance at Castlereagh and Talleyrand. “My chief and I are in disagreement about a number of matters. I don’t think quashing dissent is the way to avert revolution. Quite the reverse, in fact. But I fear I’m in a distinct minority.” Even more so with Fitz gone to India, and their friendship in ashes.
“One must muddle through and take what gains one can, Rannoch. When you’re my age, you’ll have learned to take pride in small successes.”
“Assuming I’ve managed not to lose my temper and destroy my career. In some ways, I’m a very undiplomatic diplomat.”
Czartoryski grinned and clapped him on the back. “At least we have Smith’s feast next week. Quite something to see so many of the sovereigns in Vienna agreeing on anything, let alone the freeing of slaves.”
“Almost enough to restore one’s faith in humanity.” British admiral William Sidney Smith, at the Congress to represent the dethroned King of Sweden, was holding a banquet in the Augarten on 29 December. The cost of tickets to the banquet and the ball at the palace afterward would all go to ransoming slaves. “Of course we still can’t get all the good monarchs who’ll dine to ransom slaves to agree to abolish the slave trade.”
“Small steps, Rannoch. If—” Czartoryski went still. Malcolm saw that the tsarina had come in from the adjoining salon and was speaking with the King of Denmark. The candlelight shimmered off her smooth, pale hair and the ivory satin of her gown.
“In my foolish youth, I used to think I couldn’t go on without her,” Czartoryski said in a low voice. “Now I know that’s nonsense. One doesn’t die of a broken heart. One sinks into everyday trivialities and muddles through. It’s just that there’s a void that’s never quite filled.”
What could one say to a man separated from his beloved? Especially when one professed not to believe in love oneself.
“But we’ve regained something I thought we’d lost,” Czartoryski said. “And now I know there’s something worse than being separated from her. I’m forever in your debt, Rannoch. Should you ever stand in need of my services—”
“That goes both ways.”
Czartoryski gripped Malcolm’s shoulder. “Despite the pain, it’s worth it, you know. Every moment, however imperfect.”
The lively, incongruously British tones of “Deck the Halls” came from the pianoforte. Aline and Schubert were laughing as she showed him the English carol. Geoffrey had joined them at the pianoforte, smiling at Aline with a look Malcolm had never thought to see on his face.
“I do know,” Malcolm said. “Or rather I didn’t, but I’m beginning to grasp it. Hopefully not too late.”
Later in the evening, Malcolm found himself standing beside Talleyrand. Not, he thought, an accident. Talleyrand’s chessplaying talents worked in the salon as well as the council chamber.
“Tsar Alexander is in a more temperate mood,” Malcolm observed.
“With Catherine Bagration and Julie Zichy beside him, who wouldn’t be?”
“I didn’t just mean tonight.”
Talleyrand shifted his weight, his fingers flexing on the diamond handle of his walking stick. “Despite the regrettable events of the past days, there have been some happy outcomes. Part of the trick of staying in power is taking advantage of fortuitous situations, you know.”
“I thought it was making your own luck.”
Talleyrand smiled. The candlelight glinted in his eyes. “That, too.”
Malcolm studied the man who in some ways knew more about his family than he did himself. “Was it worth the risk?”
“One never knows that when one takes a risk. One simply weighs the odds and acts accordingly.” Talleyrand regarded him for a moment from beneath half-closed eyelids. “Your mother would be proud of you, Malcolm.”
Bitter gall rose up in Malcolm’s throat. “Doing it much too brown, sir. My mother was a clear-sighted woman. At the moment all she’d be able to see is my failure.”
“You were a good brother to Tatiana. Probably the one person she permitted herself to genuinely care for.”
A knifepoint twisted between his ribs as surely as if he held the knife himself. “I couldn’t—”
“Save her? But you brought her killer to justice.”
Malcolm gave a harsh laugh. “I’m not sure I understand the meaning of justice.”
“The search for the truth can take one to uncomfortable places, my dear boy. But then you’ve never been one to shy from discomfort. Your mother would appreciate that. She wasn’t one to hide from difficult truths herself. And then some truths are inescapable, however hard one tries to hide from them.”
Talleyrand’s voice had shifted into a different key. His gaze had gone across the room to Suzanne, who was standing between Dorothée and Wilhelmine. “Your wife was invaluable throughout the whole.”
“My wife is invaluable in many ways.”
Talleyrand’s gaze remained on the three women, framed beneath a red-ribboned pine garland, their ringleted heads close together, their gowns spots of vibrant color. “It’s an odd thing to realize one wants something one never even thought one believed in. And to realize it’s entirely out of reach.”
Once again Talleyrand surprised him. The naked longing in his face and voice was very like that shown by Adam Czartoryski when he’d looked at the tsarina. Malcolm hesitated, then touched Talleyrand’s arm.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Talleyrand said. “I’ll muddle along.”
As though aware of his regard, Dorothée turned and met his gaze. A smile crossed her face and was reflected in Talleyrand’s eyes.
Suzanne and Malcolm stayed after most of the guests had filtered out, drinking a final cup of wine with Dorothée, Count Clam-Martinitz, Wilhelmine, Alfred von Windischgrätz, and Talleyrand. Perhaps it was the spiced wine, but Suzanne could almost feel the peace of the holiday begin to steal over her.
When they finally took their leave, Wilhelmine pressed a kiss to Malcolm’s cheek. “Happy Christmas.” She squeezed his shoulders and stepped back. “By the way, Annina Barbera is a wonderful addition to my staff. She has a splendid fashion sense. Thank you for recommending her.”
Suzanne knew how pleased Malcolm had been to find a place for Annina, just as he was pleased young Heinrich and Margot had settled in well in the Minoritenplatz.
Malcolm smiled at Wilhelmine, the warm, unguarded smile Suzanne knew he reserved for those he trusted. “Thank you for taking her on. I’m glad it’s working out.”
Wilhelmine met his gaze in her frank way. “I’m sorrier than I can say that I never had the chance to acknowledge my sister. But I’ll always be grateful that I got to know her brother.”
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