A Fatal Waltz

Chapter 4

I was terribly disappointed to read Cécile’s letter. I understood, of course, why she could not come to me at Christmas, but I would miss her keenly. The idea of meeting her later in Vienna was appealing and something that merited serious consideration, but it would be difficult to get away until late January—my parents planned to stay at Ashton Hall most of the month. After that, however, I would be more than ready for a flurry of waltzes.

Lord Fortescue would not have liked it in the least, but at the risk of courting more of his displeasure, I planned to spend the remainder of the day cataloging the art that filled Beaumont Towers. If I was careful to limit this activity to times when the gentlemen were out shooting, it was unlikely in the extreme that he would notice what I was doing. Unfortunately, I found very little of interest. A wooden box caught my notice—smooth mahogany inlaid with a circle of mother-of-pearl in the center—and I opened it, hoping to find treasure inside. Instead, I saw one slender dueling pistol with silver mountings that bore the symbol of the Baron of Beaumont: a griffin in profile.

The inside of the case was fitted to hold two guns, cradled in crushed velvet, but the second space held no weapon. Fabric tabs protruded from both edges of the lining, and when I pulled on them, the interior fitting lifted out of the box. Underneath, against bare wood, were the charred remains of a burnt piece of paper that crumbled when I tried to examine them. Frustrated, I closed the box and moved upstairs to unoccupied bedrooms. As I walked into a small anteroom on the second floor, I saw a woman sitting, one hand over her eyes, her shoulders shaking.

“Lady Fortescue?” I crossed to the windows and pulled open the heavy drapes to let some light into the room, which was a charming space: cozy, warm, comfortable. Quite unlike the rest of the house. “Are you all right?”

“I—I—oh, Lady Ashton, forgive me.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m rather overwhelmed at the thought of tonight’s dinner. I prefer a quiet life to political entertaining.” The prime minister as well as several cabinet ministers were due to arrive after lunch, when the day’s meetings would begin.

“There’s no cause for worry. Lord Salisbury is perfectly amiable. But surely you’ve met him before?”

“No, Lord Fortescue knows I am happier when I can stay at home and only rarely asks me to socialize with him. We’ve a very comfortable arrangement. But one can’t very well bow out of a party one is hosting.”

“You’re fortunate to have such an understanding spouse,” I said, resolved not to make a cynical comment about marriages and arrangements.

“I’m loath to refuse him anything. He’s returned me to my family’s estate after many miserable years.”

“I can’t imagine the difficulties you’ve been through,” I said. She looked away, then wiped her eyes again. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t bring up unpleasant subjects.”

“Some things, Lady Ashton, are simply too painful to revisit, no matter how much time has passed. It is most distressing when one is forced to. Will you excuse me? I’ll need to change my dress before we walk out to join the gentlemen for lunch.” She gave me what might be construed as a semismile, then left the room.

When I saw her that afternoon she was perfectly composed, standing quietly by herself, hands neatly folded in front of her. She had not walked with the other ladies and was waiting near a large pavilion that would shield us from the slightest hint of inclement weather. Ivy and I arrived with the count and his wife, who somehow managed to look elegant in the ankle-length tweed skirt and sturdy shoes that were de rigueur for trekking from the house to the field. The morning’s bag had been lined up for us to admire before we ate, and we all did our best to muster appropriate enthusiasm over the bounty.

“How many of them are yours?” I asked Colin.

“I didn’t count,” he said, giving me his arm and steering me away from the group.

“It’s rather obscene, don’t you think? There must be fifteen hundred birds here.”

“At least. But I spent a weekend in Buckinghamshire, where we shot nearly four thousand. Even Bertie speculated that perhaps we’d overdone it.”

“Obscene, particularly as the Prince of Wales is not known for his moderation. If he thought—” I stopped at the sound of raised voices coming from the edge of the field.

“That’s quite enough, Brandon.” Lord Fortescue’s face was a brighter-than-usual shade of red as he walked towards the rest of the group.

“Sir, I’m—” Robert’s reply was interrupted at once.

“What you are is not trustworthy.” His voice strained as it grew louder. “You had no business speaking to Gladstone.”

“I only thought—”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to think. Get out of my sight.” He threw down the rifle he was holding and stalked towards the pavilion, turning back once to look at Robert. “Go!” Robert hesitated for a moment, nodded at his wife, and set off in the direction of the house. Ivy started to follow him, but a quick shake of his head told her to stop, which she did, wavering as she stood. Colin moved to her side at once and steadied her.

“What happened?” I asked, joining them as the rest of the party looked on in shocked silence.

“They’ve been arguing all morning. Your husband and Lord Fortescue don’t share the same views on the Irish situation. Evidently Mr. Gladstone learned that and approached Brandon looking for support for a Home Rule bill. Fortescue, as you might imagine, does not approve of his allies speaking to the opposition.”

“What a dreadful scene,” Ivy said, her face blanched, hands trembling. “Everyone’s staring.”

“Fortescue shouldn’t have reprimanded him in public,” Colin said.

“He shouldn’t have reprimanded him at all. I don’t see that Robert’s done anything wrong,” I said. The count approached us, smiling.

“My dear Mrs. Brandon, Lord Fortescue’s temper is notorious. Think nothing of this little incident. Come, join me for lunch. This will all blow over in no time.”

Ivy took his arm and gave a brave smile. “You’re right, of course,” she said. They walked ahead of Colin and me.

“Is he right? Will this blow over?” I asked.

“Fortescue’s not the sort to forgive what he views as a lapse in loyalty. Robert’s career will face a serious obstacle if he loses his mentor’s support.”

A luncheon following such an event could not be pleasant, despite the fact that the spread before us was lovely. The pavilion itself was rustic, formed from unhewn logs, but the tables inside were decorated with every bit of finery: bright flowers cascaded from tall silver vases, and the flatware that surrounded each set of porcelain plates was polished to a nearly blinding shine. But all the beauty in the world could not cut through the tension engulfing us. Which was fitting, considering that I planned to take the opportunity to confront Mr. Harrison.

“Why did you do it?” I asked, sitting in a chair next to his.

“Do what?” His smile took away none of the coldness from his eyes.

“I suppose you’re just another of Lord Fortescue’s lackeys,” I said. “I should have known better than to believe that you would be here if you weren’t in his good graces. You were invited to help him in his quest to destroy me.”

He laughed. “Destroy you? How pre-Copernican! The universe does not, in fact, revolve around you, Lady Ashton. It revolves around the sun. You give yourself too much importance. Fortescue’s merely trying to free Hargreaves for his daughter—a crime no worse than those plotted daily by mothers in drawing rooms across England.”

“Why did you steal my bracelet and leave it in Lord Fortescue’s room?”

“I couldn’t risk letting him know that I’m the one who wanted the papers.”

“But you don’t have the papers. You gave them back to him.”

“I copied all the essential information from them. Our plan worked flawlessly.”

“For you, perhaps,” I said. “I’m somewhat less pleased. Don’t try to involve me in another of your schemes.”

“My dear Lady Ashton, if I need your assistance, I’ll have no trouble persuading you to help me.”

“You could not be more wrong, Mr. Harrison.”

The remainder of the luncheon break did not improve. Our host snapped at everyone, guests and servants alike, and eventually we were all left sitting in uncomfortable silence. The food itself was spectacular—no beer and sandwiches here. A man of Lord Fortescue’s girth required regular and substantial meals, and we were treated to service that rivaled that inside the house. I did not, however, feel entirely right eating pheasant stuffed with truffles after seeing how many of the birds’ brethren had rained out of the sky that morning. And there was more shooting to come. Once we had finished eating, the ladies dutifully watched the gentlemen return to their sport, Ivy standing with me at Colin’s side.

“Shall I prove my devotion to you by staying for a second drive?” I asked as he reloaded his gun.

“I’d much prefer it if you’d allow me to prove my devotion by insisting that you return to the house.”

“You’re very kind,” Ivy said.

“Nonsense. I can see that Emily’s already duly impressed with my shooting skills,” he said. “So there’s no point keeping the two of you here any longer. It looks like it’s going to rain, and at any rate, we’ll only be out for another hour or so. The prime minister will be arriving soon.”

“I should have liked to see Robert shoot,” Ivy said.

“Tomorrow.” Colin gave her a reassuring smile. “Now get back inside before you both catch cold.”

Ivy excused herself as soon as we entered the house and went off in search of her husband while I skulked about continuing to catalog art. Beaumont Towers was full of spectacular paintings—many from the late Renaissance, but also a handful of glorious Turners—yet almost nothing in the way of antiquities. As a result, I gasped with delight when I found a small statue, not even half a foot in height, tucked away in a cabinet in the drawing room. It was fashioned in bronze, a charming depiction of a young man reclining at a banquet. The smoothness of the finish astonished me, as did the piece’s elegant lines. I began to sketch it, slowing my hand, careful not to sacrifice accuracy for speed. I had nearly finished when I startled at the sound of the door opening.

“There you are.” The countess glided over and stood in front of me. “I’ve been so looking forward to a private chat with you.”

“I’m all astonishment,” I said, not looking up from my paper.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Colin would be married. Of course, that day hasn’t yet come, but—” She smiled, looking down at me. “I suppose we’re to believe it will. You’re very lucky. He is wonderful beyond measure.” She spoke with too much relish, her diction exaggerated, and I gathered her meaning at once.

“I would expect nothing else,” I said. “Should I offer you my pity, as the loss is entirely yours?”

“I never lose, Lady Ashton. Never. Don’t presume that I am going to step aside for you.”

“From what I understand, there’s no need for you to do any such thing. Colin already has.”

“Is that what he told you?” She laughed. I was trying to conjure up the right sort of mildly biting but not wholly inappropriate reply when the door opened again.

“Why are you ladies hiding in here?” Colin came towards us, a cautious amusement in his eyes.

“Your fiancée is all charm,” the countess said, her gaze lingering on him the way mine was wont to in unguarded moments. Did he compare the way we looked at him?

“Has Lord Salisbury arrived?” I asked, searching for any distraction from my sophisticated nemesis.

“He’s had to cancel his visit because of a threat of violence. A telegram arrived half an hour ago.”

“You don’t mean—” Kristiana stopped, then muttered something in German. She spoke too quietly for me to make out the words, but whatever she said caused Colin to look at her askance.

“Don’t even think it,” he said.

“It’s possible,” she said.

“Not here.”

“Colin?” I asked. “What is it?”

He hardly looked at me. “I’m sorry, my dear. This is extremely urgent. I had no idea things could take such a rapid turn for the worse. I must speak to Fortescue at once.”

I retired early that evening. Robert and Ivy had remained sequestered in their room, not coming down even for dinner, and I’d seen nothing of Colin since he disappeared in search of Lord Fortescue. I was reading in bed—The Picture of Dorian Gray—considering whether the countess might have a similar portrait hidden away in her house when I heard a knock. Colin! I leapt from the bed, not bothering to cover my filmy nightgown with a robe, and opened the door, my heart racing.

“Expecting someone else, Lady Ashton?” Lord Fortescue pushed past me into the room, closing the door behind him. “Very inappropriate. Have you no sense of decency?” He picked up the dressing gown I’d draped over a chair and threw it at me.

“I ought to pose the same question to you,” I said, holding the robe, all lace and frills, to my chest as a deep blush stained my cheeks. “How dare you burst into my room like this?”

“I shouldn’t bother to wait for your fiancé tonight. He won’t be coming. And I wouldn’t recommend going to him. He wouldn’t welcome the interruption.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s not alone in his room.” He leered at me, made a sound that could only be described as a growl, and left, closing the door behind him.

I was trembling, angry that he would come to me like this. Colin would never betray me; to do so would go against the very grain of his character. Even if the countess came to his room, he would never have opened the door to her. And surely not even she would force her way in. Would she? If she tried, he would stop her. Yes. He would stop her. I did not doubt him even for an instant. At least not for more than an instant. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I breathed very slowly, summoning a feeling of calm. And for a moment, it seemed to work.

I was about to congratulate myself for being so mature when I realized that I was nothing of the sort. For the first time since I’d arrived at Beaumont Towers, I felt uncomfortably warm. I pulled on my dressing gown and went up the stairs to Colin’s room. As I was about to knock, an unmistakable sound came from the other side of the door: the countess’s laughter.