I was still looking at the sketch when Stoker left off playing with his spoonbill and came to look over my shoulder. He glanced, then peered closely with astonished eyes. “Veronica, why is there a nude sketch of you in Alice Baker-Greene’s notebook?”
“Because that is not me,” I told him. “It is Princess Gisela.”
CHAPTER
17
Stoker brewed us a strong pot of tea whilst we considered the implications of the sketch. I retrieved a stack of newspapers from the Germanic section of the Belvedere and pointed him to the relevant dates whilst I took over the chore of making the tea. His German was rough but much better than mine, and with the assistance of a German-English dictionary—not quite as good as an Alpenwalder-English dictionary but such a volume has yet to be written—he managed to decipher the broad strokes of the Hochstadt Court Circular for the dates in question.
By the time the last of the tea had been drunk and the better part of an entire tin of Cook’s candied ginger shortbread consumed, he was finished. “I have compared the dates of Gisela’s absences from the Alpenwald to Alice’s expeditions when she climbed with ‘D.’ You are correct. They tally in every particular.”
“That is why she was making her home in the Alpenwald,” I said, still not entirely believing how blind we had been to the possibility of Alice’s affections being fixed upon Gisela.
“How devastated she must have been!” I added.
“What do you mean?” Stoker’s brow furrowed.
“They clearly spent much time together, cared deeply for one another—Gisela must have been distraught when Alice died. And yet, as princess, she could never publicly reveal her grief. Imagine her, forced to conceal her emotions all this time.” I fell silent as a growing horror dawned swiftly upon me.
Stoker was quick to intuit my thoughts. “And then we told her that the woman she loved was murdered. Worst of all, she overheard it! It was not put to her gently or kindly. It was a passing piece of gossip and we discussed it as if it were an academic matter rather than a tragedy of the most intimate variety.”
And then a new horror introduced itself, a crawling, wriggling, nasty little doubt. “Unless . . .” I let my voice trail off uncertainly.
“Unless?” he prompted.
“Unless Gisela is the one who murdered her,” I finished grimly.
“You cannot be serious,” Stoker said in a tone which did not invite argument.
But I would not be deterred. “We are investigating this matter. As logical thinkers, we cannot ignore the possibility of Gisela’s guilt.”
He folded his arms over the breadth of his chest. “I am listening. Lay out the argument.”
“Very well. Most murders are committed within the confines of a domestic relationship. For all its unorthodoxy, this attachment falls within that frame. In fact, I would argue that it does so even more than a conventional relationship.”
“How so?”
“Those whose love is not sanctioned by society are forced to hide their affections. Such a situation can draw people closer together, heightening both passions and tensions. There may be no one in whom they can confide if there are troubles, no one who might advise or give them wise counsel on how to manage such a situation. It is easy then for matters to simply move beyond their control.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” he asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Some might say I am engaging in such an experience now,” I returned tartly. “Our liaison is not sanctioned by society. Neither the law nor the church will give us a veneer of respectability. If we were to find ourselves frustrated by one another, there are precious few to whom either of us might turn for succor.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Frustrated with me?”
“At the moment, yes. Wildly so. We are speaking of a murder investigation and you have turned the tables to make this conversation about us.”
He seemed about to offer a rejoinder, then shrugged instead. “All right. Carry on.”
I resumed the thread of my argument. “Without the possibility of loving openly, Gisela and Alice would be forced to conduct their affair in secret, stealing time together.” I gestured towards the list of dates and scribbled names of villages. “A handful of expeditions together, no doubt with Gisela incognita, and each time she leaves the Alpenwald, she must . . .” I foundered. “She must what? How did she leave? I know they said she slipped away from her royal duties, but she is the head of state. She has guards, ladies-in-waiting. Someone must have helped her. Someone must have known about Alice.”
“Not necessarily.” Stoker crossed one booted ankle over the other. “She might have made some sort of excuse—taking the waters at a spa town or needing a rest. She might have pleaded ill health or nerves, neither of which the Alpenwalder court would want to publicize. It is always bad for business when a head of state is in ill health, a holdover from the mediaeval belief that the body of the king was connected to the welfare of the country itself. Healthy king, healthy land.”
“And you think the Alpenwalders would have been content to let their princess fob them off with such stories?”
“It is one possibility. They are her subjects, Veronica. They would not pry too deeply even if they suspected she was off on an assignation—and if they did suspect it, they would never tell us,” he pointed out. “Every one of the Alpenwalders we have spoken to has been evasive on the subject of Gisela’s absences. Whatever story she spun them, they trust that she can manage her own affairs and will always return. Except that this time, she has not. She left, no doubt of her own accord, after learning that Alice was most likely murdered. Perhaps she simply needed time to come to terms with the possibility.”
“Or she realized she was about to be unmasked as a murderess,” I said.
He rolled his eyes heavenwards. “And what was her motive to kill the woman she loved?”
“Exposure,” I told him quickly. “If Alice decided to reveal the affair, it would be catastrophic for Gisela. People are intolerant enough of Sapphic practices amongst private citizens. What would the conservative Alpenwalders have to say about their princess loving another woman? It could spark a revolution.”
“And why would Alice do that?”
I spread my hands. “A quarrel, perhaps. People do strike out against the ones they love when they are disappointed and hurt. What if Alice threatened her in a moment of anger? Gisela would have been frightened out of her wits.”
“You almost sound sorry for her,” Stoker said coldly.