Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) (13 page)

“I’m afraid my father rather took us by surprise,” Lizzie said wryly.

Mrs. Fawcett gave another of her barks of laughter. “He did that a lot one way or another. You should know I was madly in love with the man for almost a whole year.”

“Good grief.”

“I know, but he was a handsome devil in those days.” She picked up the knife and began cutting the bread with unexpected skill. “Not sure he’d approve of you eloping with a Cossack officer.”

Not even an officer, Lizzie thought ruefully. But then, they’d never really been eloping. It was merely a less heinous crime than theft. And murder. Aloud she said, “Well, at least he’d approve of my deciding against it. Are you travelling to Vienna, ma’am?”

“That was my intention, since it seems to be where the most interesting people are. England’s deadly dull these days and since Bonaparte is now in chains—at least metaphorical chains—one can actually travel abroad again. I am taking advantage. What do you think of Vienna? Will I be amused?”

“Well, there are lots of parties,” Lizzie said. “Balls and masquerades and soirees are planned for every night. Troop reviews and other entertainments during the day and, if you care for such things, there are emperors, queens, and princes coming out of the woodwork. Even though the Congress itself is not yet open. You missed the emperor’s opening ball last night.”

“I shall console myself with having met you. Are you with Lucy Daniels?”

“Yes…um.” Lizzie, who was buttering a slice of bread, laid down her knife. “Aunt Lucy doesn’t know I’m here. I hope,” she added fervently.

Mrs. Fawcett blinked. “You mean you didn’t leave a farewell note?”

“No,” Lizzie said, shifting in her seat.

Mrs. Fawcett lifted her slice of bread. “Excellent. The trouble with notes is, one’s folly is in writing and therefore undeniable. As it is, you may travel back with me and we’ll make up some story to satisfy Lucy and the world.”

“I’m hoping we won’t need to,” Lizzie said gratefully. “The children were going to cover for me until noon at least. Because of last night’s ball, no one should be up before then.”

“Children!” Mrs. Fawcett exclaimed. “What children?”

“My brother and sisters. They’re also with my aunt.”

For the first time, Lizzie saw Mrs. Fawcett’s face grow wintry with disapproval. “You were going to leave them alone to run away with a Cossack?”

“Well, not exactly,” Lizzie said desperately. “It was very wrong of me, I know, but it was all part of a plan to help
all
of us. Only…it wasn’t a very good plan, so I won’t explain it to you.”

“You’re quite resourceful, aren’t you?” Mrs. Fawcett said thoughtfully. “Is your Cossack a decent sort of a man?”

No, he’s a thief.
The impossibility of saying any such thing closed up her throat. “He’s always behaved to me with kindness,” she said truthfully.

“And decency?” Mrs. Fawcett insisted, so significantly that even Lizzie finally understood her point.

She blushed. “Perfect decency.”

“Well, that’s something. To be honest, I was quite confused as to which one you shot. The eloper or the brother.”

“Oh dear.” She had no reason to trust Mrs. Fawcett with the truth.

Despite the fact that she seemed to have been acquainted with Papa and Aunt Lucy, and appeared disposed to kindness, Lizzie knew she could not rely on a stranger’s silence. And yet if Lizzie said nothing, God knew what stories the woman might spread in Vienna. “I didn’t shoot my brother. He was a perfect stranger. I thought he was a thief, only he might have been an Austrian policeman who, for some reason, imagined I was carrying papers dangerous to his government.”

Mrs. Fawcett’s eyes widened. “Were you?” she asked so breathlessly that Lizzie realized she’d found an unlikely fellow spirit.

“Sadly no, but he tried to take my bag and Johnnie objected and hit him and then there was a fight and I tried to make them stop, only my pistol went off and the thief or the policeman or whoever he is, was shot.”

Mrs. Fawcett ate her bread and butter in silence. At last she said, “Of course you would have to take a pistol on an elopement… Where is he now? The man you shot.”

“In one of the rooms upstairs. We watched him all night to make sure he didn’t die, though to be honest, I haven’t much—any!—experience with gunshot wounds and I’m not quite sure how I would have kept him from dying if he’d shown any signs of it.”

“No, but it’s in your favor that you tried,” Mrs. Fawcett assured her. “So, what are your plans now? Once you’ve assured his continued existence, how will you prevent him charging you with attempted murder? Or espionage?”

Lizzie lifted her chin. “I’ll tell him the truth,” she said, although because she couldn’t help it, she added, “Sort of… After all, if I’d truly meant him ill, why would I be helping him now?”

“That is a very god question. Why
are
you helping him now?”

Lizzie blinked. “I couldn’t let him die.”

“And your Cossack was of the same mind?”

“Of course. It was Johnnie who dug the ball out of him.” She shuddered. “He must be in a lot of pain whenever he is awake. I don’t suppose you could lend me some laudanum for him? The landlady only had a few drops and those will be gone as soon as he wakes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mrs. Fawcett said almost mechanically. Her gaze was fixed on Lizzie’s face with clear fascination. Uncomfortable under such scrutiny, Lizzie jumped to her feet.

“Talking of which,” she said brightly. “I had better get back and see how he does. Thank you for the coffee, ma’am, and your company.”

“You are most welcome to both,” Mrs. Fawcett assured her. “Come and see me when you mean to leave. We can travel to Vienna together.”

“That would be more comfortable,” Lizzie said gratefully. “If you’re sure?”

“I insist.”

With a quick smile, Lizzie left her inquisitive new friend and hurried back upstairs to the patient’s room. As she climbed the stairs, she caught sight of three inn servants carrying trays of food into the private parlor and couldn’t help smiling.

The patient appeared to be still asleep, although more restless than during the night, as if he were trying seriously to wake up. Lizzie patted his good arm with a few soothing murmurs, then, taking the carpet bag with her, she went on to her own room to wash her face and comb her hair. It would, she thought, be some time before Mrs. Fawcett was ready to leave, if she intended to eat even half of the food put before her.

So, carrying the bag once more, she returned to the patient’s room, and for the first time, counted out the money Johnnie had got for the necklace. A quick calculation in her head proved he was correct, too, about the value. For a moment, she wondered if her new wealth was enough to employ him and reluctantly abandoned the idea. Besides, he didn’t seem cut out for domestic service and she rather thought he could do more with his life, if he just left off thieving.

Thoughtfully, she shoveled the money back into the bag. As she covered it with her mask and domino cloak, something made her glance toward the bed. Her victim’s eyes were open, glittering at her from the pillow.

“You’re awake,” she said, relieved. Part of her had been afraid he would never wake up at all. Dropping the bag on the floor, she went to the bedside table and filled the cup there with fresh water from the covered jug.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely as she reached for the almost empty laudanum bottle. “Just water.”

“Well, this time,” Lizzie agreed doubtfully. “But you must be in an awful lot of pain.”

Although she placed her arm under his shoulder to help him into position, she was pleased he did most of the work himself—surely a good sign of recovery. He drank the water greedily, then lay back on the pillows watching her.

The confusion of last night was not so apparent in his eyes now. On the other hand, they seemed to glitter in a way that tugged at her memory. On impulse, she brushed her hand across his forehead. His skin felt hot and tight.

“Oh dear, I think you’ve developed a fever,” she said worriedly. Hastily, she went to the washing bowl and soaked the cloth before returning to bathe his head, hands, and wrists. For good measure, she pulled back a couple of the blankets covering him. “Sir, tell me where to reach your family,” she pleaded. “They must be worried sick about you.”

He shook his head stubbornly.

“Won’t you even tell me your name?”

“You shot me,” he said deliberately.

“Yes, I did,” Lizzie confessed, “and I’m so very sorry! I didn’t mean to. I was only threatening you with it because I thought you were a thief, but then when you were fighting with Johnnie, I got angry and clenched my fists…stupid thing to do when you’re holding a pistol. But we can talk about that when you’re well again. You must lie still now. I’ll order some gruel for you to keep your strength up.”

*

Her patient only
ate a few spoonfuls of the gruel before shoving it away. Lizzie gave him some more water and this time he didn’t seem to notice when she put the last of the laudanum in it. In fact, he was muttering to himself in German and his skin felt even hotter than before. Taking her courage in both hands, Lizzie changed the dressing on his wound, which no longer looked so neat. Instead, it was red and puffy and weeping slightly. She washed it and applied a clean dressing, then drew the sheet back over him.

For a few moments she stood anxiously over him, plucking at her lower lip with indecision. But she couldn’t leave him in this state. She’d done this to him.

Hastily, she marched to the door. Encountering the flustered maid in the corridor, she asked for directions to Mrs. Fawcett’s chamber.

She found the English woman with her maid, supervising two large footmen as they hefted a trunk onto their shoulders.

“Ah, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Fawcett said, as if Lizzie were a pleasant familiarity in her life. She addressed the servants. “Miss Gaunt will be travelling with us—
as usual
,” she added significantly.

The maid and the footmen didn’t even blink, merely nodded as if their mistress hadn’t just commanded them to lie if required.

“But that’s what I came to tell you, ma’am,” Lizzie said hastily. “I’m afraid I can’t travel today, and I wanted to ask you instead if you would be so good as to carry letters to my sister…and to my aunt, I suppose.”

“You must tell me all about it,” Mrs. Fawcett said comfortably. “Cartwright, make sure they stow the trunk safely. Take the dressing case and I’ll be down directly.”

“I can’t keep this from my aunt any longer,” Lizzie said ruefully when the servants had closed the door behind them. “I hate to cause her this trouble, too, but I truly can’t leave here at least until the doctor has been. My patient has developed a fever and the wound looks so ugly I—”

“When do you expect the doctor?” Mrs Fawcett interrupted.

“Hopefully around noon, Johnnie said.”

Mrs. Fawcett drew in a breath. “You had better let me see this patient.”

“Truly, ma’am—”

“I’ve nursed two brothers, a husband, and four sons, three of them from battle wounds,” Mrs. Fawcett said sternly. “All of them lived. Show me your patient.”

Lizzie closed her mouth and meekly led the redoubtable Mrs. Fawcett along the corridor to her patient, who was now lying on the floor beside the bed.

“Oh no!” Lizzie ran to him. “He must have tried to follow me…and now he’s gone back to sleep.” She straightened. “I’ll call the landlord to help get him back in bed.”

“No need,” Mrs. Fawcett said from the window. “I’ll just call back my men.”

Within five minutes, the burly footmen had lifted the injured man back between the sheets. Mrs. Fawcett peeped at the wound and sent the servants away to bring all her luggage back inside.

“I have a few medicines and remedies that might help,” she said comfortably. “Take heart, Elizabeth, all is not yet lost. Now, let me think what is best… Yes, you must go to Vienna in my coach, while I stay here and watch our patient and speak to the doctor.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Well, I like to be useful and I think we should preserve your reputation if we can. Besides, your sisters—” She broke off. “You mentioned a brother as well. Why do you have a brother with you?”

“He’s always been with us. His mother died, you see.”

“And yours took him in.” A smile flickered across her face. “She could always deal with your father. I’m glad to see you are so like her.”

“Oh, but I’m not,” Lizzie said earnestly. “It’s my dearest wish to learn to be, but I keep having accidents and, well, it’s difficult to be good and still look after people sometimes.”

“Which is why we need to help each other now.”

Lizzie smiled. “It’s you who’s giving all the help.”

“Nonsense. You are supplying my entertainment. I shall write to your aunt, explain that I have been indisposed here and that, for your mother’s sake, I would very much like your company tomorrow. I’ll send the coach for you.”

Lizzie regarded the older woman with considerable respect. Although she didn’t like to leave Mrs. Fawcett with her mess, she did owe it to her siblings—and to her aunt and uncle—to return to Vienna and make sure all was well. Besides, Mrs. Fawcett clearly had more experience than she with wounds of this nature.