She inclined her head. “Very well. Come, Fraulein. I will help you change into your own clothes.”
The chancellor turned to Stoker.
“Thank you for your efforts tonight, sir. You may change in the room you used earlier.”
Stoker allowed the chancellor to lead him to the room put aside for his use while the baroness took me to the princess’s bedchamber, careful to lock the door once we were inside. The business with the bomb seemed to have unnerved her even more than I had first realized.
“The chancellor may be quite right and you may wake up tomorrow to find her here, wondering like the Three Bears who has been sleeping in her bed,” I added with a nod towards the vast silken four-poster.
“Just so,” she replied, but the frown did not leave her brow, and she moved mechanically through the lengthy process of disrobing and dismantling the royal creation she had made of me. Jewels were replaced in their boxes, hairpieces were combed out, garments were folded away. After some delay, Yelena appeared carrying a tray with a small teapot and earning a scolding from the countess for her tardiness. She gave the noblewoman a sullen look as she carried the gown off for sponging, banging the door behind her.
“That girl,” the baroness fretted as she lifted the lid on the teapot, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. “She has been harboring thoughts above her station ever since she took up with Captain Durand.”
“I understand they mean to marry,” I ventured.
The baroness gave me a knowing look as she poured a thin stream of liquid from the pot into a fragile china cup marked with the Alpenwalder otters. “In our country we would say you have long ears, like a hare, Fraulein, the better to hear gossip. But yes, Yelena is little better than a peasant, you understand. For her to marry a man of the captain’s station is a very great thing for her. It gives her ideas.”
“What is wrong with ideas?” I asked gently.
“La! You Englishwomen are all the same,” she clucked as she handed me the cup. “So modern with your bicycling machines and pamphlets on voting. Some woman shouted at me on the pavement the other day because she wanted money to stop vivisection. I told her, I do not even know what this is, but whatever it may be, ladies should not be shouting on pavements to stop it.”
“Vivisection is the performing of operations on live animals for research,” I told her as I peered into the cup. The liquid was green in color and bits of dried petals floated on the surface.
She pulled a face. “That does not sound very nice. Perhaps I should give her a few coins if I see her again.” She nodded towards the cup. “This is a tea made of St. Otthild’s wort,” she explained. “We drink it in the mountains for all things—to ease us when we are wakeful, to soothe us when we are sad. It is even good for women’s troubles,” she confided. “I thought it might calm your nerves after that dreadful incident at the opera. And perhaps give you a little energy as well.”
I sipped it and felt myself beginning to relax at once. As a cream for the skin, it had smelt of roses, but the aroma of the tea was similar to our own elderflower, subtle and elusive. It was a gentle concoction, and I thanked her.
“There is no need to drink it if you do not like the flavor,” she told me. “It is an acquired taste to some.”
“I do like it,” I assured her.
“Do you require anything else? Biscuits? Honey?” she asked. But I could see the signs of worry and fatigue stamped upon her features.
“Nothing at all. I am quite revived, Baroness,” I said.
My eyes fell then to the chocolate box containing the threat against Gisela. I took a few more sips of the tea. “On second thought, a chocolate might be nice,” I ventured.
The baroness looked at me in surprise. “Of course, Fraulein.”
She pressed the box upon me. “You must take it.”
“I could not possibly,” I protested. “It is the princess’s.”
The baroness shook her head firmly. “I insist. You have done a tremendous service for us this night. It is the least of what my princess would want you to have. You must take it or you will offer a grave insult.”
Her expression was mulish, and I knew we had already caused them unease by refusing to accept their hospitality for the night. Besides, it was easier to take the whole box than to steal the threat.
“That is very kind of you.”
She helped me into my own things, which Yelena had sponged and pressed in spite of their being perfectly clean, then put out her hand.
I regarded it with some astonishment. “You do not shake hands in the Alpenwald,” I said.
“But you are an Englishwoman, and I must thank you the English way,” she said. I shook her hand gravely and she inclined her head, a gesture of profound respect from this proud aristocrat. I felt a quickening of some emotion—regret, perhaps?—that my time with her had been so short. She was interesting in spite of her hedgehog prickles, and I should have enjoyed getting to know her better, not least because she might have been able to shed some light on Alice Baker-Greene’s death or Gisela’s disappearance. It had been my experience that people often knew far more than they realized, and sometimes extensive conversation was required to winkle the information out of them.
She walked me to the door of the suite, where Stoker stood ready, divested of his moustaches, gold earrings glinting from his ears. More handshakes all around, and the chancellor favored me with a formal kiss to the hand. They were subdued, as a group, no doubt because of the attack on their princess and the fact that her whereabouts were still unknown.
Duke Maximilian was still dreadfully pale as he bowed and kissed my hand, all trace of the flirtatious seducer quite absent as he pressed my hand. “Gute Nacht, Fraulein. I hope our paths will cross again.” He gave me a tiny smile at the sight of the gold box in my hands. “I see you have a souvenir of your time with us.”
“I do. Would you care for a rose cream before I go? A violet cream perhaps?”
Stoker lifted the box out of my hands. “I am certain the duke’s tastes do not run to English sweets,” he said blandly.
The duke’s smile turned wintry. “As you say. I have the Continental inclinations. I will wish you both farewell.”
He stepped sharply back and we took our leave of the Alpenwalders. It had been an evening none of us would soon forget.
CHAPTER
15
The doorman of the Sudbury was still on duty despite the lateness of the hour and, at the sight of a copper from Stoker, summoned the hotel’s comfortable brougham for us. I settled in against the velvet squabs, and when the door was closed upon us with the curtains drawn, we were cocooned in a dark and comfortable little nest against the frigid, frosty midnight. I ought to have been exhausted, but I found myself instead exhilarated, in an exaltation of spirits I had seldom enjoyed whilst in England. Upon my travels, I was often in the grip of strong emotion, hot upon the trail of an elusive butterfly or brought up to my highest mettle by the demands of arduous travel. Those experiences sharpened the senses and tested the resolve, resulting in a sense of vitality and purpose difficult to explain to those who choose a more sedate existence.