I realized at once that I was in danger of falling. I began to slowly move my feet, but this was a mistake. There are circumstances when speed is in fact steadier than caution; this was one of them. With no momentum, I lost my balance almost at once, my feet flying out from under me, and fell flat on my back. I tried to get up, but fell again. This time, my hat flew off my head and slid across the ice.
Jeremy appeared from nowhere and bent over me. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing more serious than wounded dignity. Though I will confess to wishing bustles hadn’t fallen out of fashion. At the moment I’d welcome the extra padding.” I brushed snow off my slim-fitting chocolate brown coat, trimmed with mink and tortoiseshell buttons.
With a strong hand, he pulled me to my feet, then retrieved my hat and placed it on my head. “It’s rather fun rescuing you.”
“This does not constitute a rescue, Jeremy,” I said, smiling and securing the hat as firmly as possible with its untrustworthy pin. “Had Herr Schröder thrown me over his shoulder and attempted to abduct me, then you might have managed a rescue.”
“Might have? You doubt my abilities?”
“Not in the least. It’s the circumstances that I find unlikely.” I looped my arm through Jeremy’s, buried my hands in my fur muff, and soon we were circling the rink at a leisurely pace.
“Isn’t that your dear friend, the Countess von Lange?” Jeremy asked, directing my attention to an elegant figure executing a series of perfect spins at the center of the ice. When she finished, she saw us staring at her and waved, looking more sophisticated than ever in a gorgeous green velvet skating costume.
“What a treat to find the two of you together,” she said, her narrowed eyes belying the smile on her face. “Have you heard from your devoted fiancé?”
“Of course,” I said, wishing it was not a lie. “We correspond regularly whenever he’s away.” In fact, I’d had no word from him since he left Beaumont Towers. The letters I’d sent him in Berlin to inform of my trip had gone unanswered.
“Really? How very curious. I shouldn’t have thought it possible.”
“Are we gentlemen such cads?” Jeremy asked. “I am, certainly, but Hargreaves is disgustingly good.”
“I didn’t think he’d know where to find you,” the countess said, her voice full of laughter. “And there’s been no point sending a letter to him since his departure from Berlin.”
“Is that what you think?” I asked, not wanting her to know that, so far as I knew, he was still in Berlin. “It’s been my experience that he always manages to get my letters, no matter where he is. But then, he’s particular about having them forwarded to wherever he goes.”
“So he knows you’re in Vienna?”
“Of course,” I said, clutching Jeremy’s arm awkwardly, hoping that I would not fall.
“You know, Lady Ashton, you are a very bad liar.” She twirled in a circle again, then skated off, the sound of her laughter bouncing after her.
Chapter 11
“No, I don’t think I can tolerate any more chocolate,” I said, waving Viktor away. I’d been sitting for nearly two hours at what had become my regular table at the Griensteidl waiting for Herr Schröder and was beginning to regret the extra whipped cream I’d had on my three cups of cocoa. He whisked away an empty cup and refilled my glass of water, then handed me a piece of paper.
“One of von Hofmannsthal’s poems,” he said, nodding towards the table the Junges Wien seemed to occupy permanently.
“Thank you,” I said, scanning the lines. “‘The longing branches / Rustled by the night wind / In your little garden…/ How sweet it is to only / Think of such little things.’ It’s quite good. Do you want more coffee, Friedrich?”
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
This meant that he had neither money nor credit left and planned to drink water for the remainder of the day. “Please bring more coffee, Viktor,” I said.
“No—,” Friedrich began.
“I admire the fact that you do not wish me to hand you money or commissions to support your career. You want to forge your own success. But to deny yourself a twenty-kreuzer coffee on principle is ridiculous.”
He did not argue.
I was finding, as I spent more time in Vienna, that the cafés were centers for culture unlike any others to which I’d been exposed. The city’s artists treated them like second homes. First homes, really. I’d visited the cafés Central, Schrangl, Bauer, and Heinrichshof (where I saw Johannes Brahms), but none appealed to me so well as the Griensteidl. Here I could watch playwrights argue the dynamics of a bit of dialogue, poets curse their search for an elusive word, and painters deep in games of billiards, their eyes hardly focused, thinking more about how to mix their colors to the perfect hue than whether the right ball would drop in the right pocket.
The city’s wealthy frequented the cafés as well, and though there was not perhaps as much mingling as Herr Schröder would strive to obtain, it was leagues from anything that I’d seen in London. Here, within a quarter of an hour, one could find a like-minded soul to discuss nearly any academic subject.
“Have you seen Fraulein Eckoldt again?” I asked Friedrich after Viktor had brought him another coffee.
“Her mother has forbidden all contact between us. And now that she knows I frequent the Griensteidl, Anna isn’t allowed to come here again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I never expected a different outcome. We are neither of the same class nor the same religion. It was always a hopeless love.”
“So you give up?”
“Nein. I will find a way to win her. I am applying to paint murals at the university. It’s a commission that would bring me both prestige and enough money to support a wife.”
“Enough for her mother?”
“Not even close,” he said, grinning. “But enough for Anna, and that is all that matters.”
“Friedrich, I like you more with every passing moment.” I thought of the innumerable instances I knew of in which a gentleman had stepped aside to give the lady he loved a chance to find someone of more desirable financial status—regardless of her thoughts on the matter. “It’s unlikely that I’d be able to convince Frau Eckoldt you’re a suitable match for her daughter, but I’m quite capable of arranging meetings for you and Anna.”
“You would do that?”
“It would be my pleasure.” I smiled.
“How—” He stopped the moment he saw Herr Schröder approach our table. “I’ll leave you to him,” he said, gathering up his drawing materials and disappearing to the other side of the café.
“Kallista,” Herr Schröder said, shaking the hand I’d given him.
“No handküss?” I asked.
“Don’t be ludicrous,” he said, his lips pulled taut, eyes squinting as he looked down at me.
“Forgive me. I’ve become accustomed to Austrian gallantry and wasn’t aware that anarchism requires the death of manners.” He grunted in reply, then flagged down Viktor and ordered a decadent hazelnut torte. “Have you any information for me?” I asked.
“You have a powerful enemy in Kristiana von Lange,” he said.
“I know all I care to about the countess. Have you identified the person who sent information to England?”
“There is no one in my”—he paused and smiled—“…‘organization’ who is dealing with the British.”
“You’re certain?”
“Beyond all doubt.”
“Perhaps someone has told a spouse or a lover, and that person—”
“Impossible.”
“Of course it’s possible.” I bit my lip and forced myself to keep from rolling my eyes. Men and their confidence.
“I do not think you grasp the seriousness of what I do. I have no choice but to surround myself with people whom I trust.”
“No one is immune from betrayal,” I said. “And while you’ve told me you don’t trust Mr. Harrison, you obviously have a connection with him.”