“Anyone in the family might have done that.” Jeremy pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Standard operating procedure to protect his sister.” 

“But there was no one left in the family,” I said. “His title reverted to the Crown.” 

“There was no heir, but there were relatives through the female line,” Jeremy said. “Why does it matter?” 

“I’m not sure.” I looked at the articles again. “I wonder who Robert’s second was in the duel. Perhaps Margaret can find out, if only he’d agree to see her.” 

“He’s a fool if he refuses to talk,” Colin said. “But I’m not convinced any of this is relevant to his current situation.” 

“Perhaps not. But I wonder…” I grasped at the elusive strains of a thought trying to take cohesive shape in my head. “It’s easy to believe that Fortescue’s death was political. Who stood to lose more than Robert at Fortescue’s hand?”

“It’s time you return to England,” Colin said. “Harrison’s plans may have been set in motion in Vienna, but the answer to who killed Fortescue isn’t here. You’ve found what Robert wanted to learn, but there’s no testimony that Kristiana can offer that’s going to help him. It’s time to go home.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” I said. 

“You must.” His eyes met mine, but they were cold. 


Sunlight poured over the streets on Boxing Day, but the cold air was too much for Cécile, and she insisted that we take a fiacre to the Hofburg, where Sissi had summoned us after reading my friend’s letter. She met us in a dark sitting room, the curtains drawn, hardly a lamp lit. She crossed directly to Cécile and they embraced, her thin, fragile body looking as if it might snap. 

“I don’t know that I can be of any help to you,” she said, wafting to a papier-mâché chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl and sitting with the lightness of a dragonfly. “I’m not allowed to have useful information. They won’t even tell me how my son died.”

Cécile took her hand. “You know enough.”

“I don’t.” Her face, her shoulders, and her neck appeared perfectly placid, but her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails could have drawn blood from her palms. “My husband knows more.” 

“And his knowledge will change nothing, chérie. You must not upset yourself.” Cécile bent close to her and whispered something in her ear. The tight fists relaxed. 

“You want my help, dear Cécile. I’ve spoken to my husband—no, I did not tell him why—I let him think I was curious about our official schedule. He told me nothing of particular note. Once the Fasching balls start, it’s party after party.” 

“Was there anything, Your Highness, that if disrupted could cause a considerable commotion?” I asked. 

“Aren’t the Fasching balls commotion enough?” she asked. 

“Perhaps,” I said. “But what of political meetings? Will you be hosting any state visits?” 

“Kaiser Wilhelm will be here in a few weeks, but not for a state visit. He and the emperor will meet privately, but I’ve no idea what they’ll discuss. You’d do better to ask Katharina Schratt if you want detailed information.” 

It was an open secret that the actress had become the emperor’s closest confidante. They breakfasted together daily, and he’d gone so far as to have his villa connected to the one belonging to the woman with whom he shared what he called a “soul friendship.” Because she was not of high rank, her presence caused no political difficulties. She cooked for Franz Joseph, gossiped with him, kept him happy in a grounded, bourgeois way. “I’m sorry, I never meant—” 

The empress waved a slender hand. “It is nothing. I’m pleased he has her.” 

“Did he tell you anything else planned for the kaiser’s visit?” I asked. 

“Nothing of significance. Wilhelm will only be here a few days. They’re going to attend mass, and then a reception for the boys in the court choir.” 

“An unlikely spot for anarchists,” Cécile said, shrugging. 

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself, and was instantly horrified by my motivation. A reception with innocent choirboys sounded like a perfect target for anarchists to me. But I wasn’t about to tell the empress that. If I did, she might do something to cancel the engagement and derail Herr Schröder’s plans. I could not risk that, could not risk losing Colin. 

“How I long to return to Corfu and be away from all this,” the empress said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “Anarchists, violence, suicide. This city reeks of death.” 

“I can’t think of a happier escape than Greece,” I said. 

“Yes, you study Greek, do you not, Kallista?” the empress asked. 

“I do. I’ve only just finished reading the Odyssey in Greek.” 

“Do you know the modern language as well as the ancient?” 

“Not so well as I would like. I’ve a villa on Santorini, and my cook’s son does his best to teach me, but I haven’t spent the time necessary to become fluent.” 

“It’s a wonderfully passionate language. How long will you be in Vienna? Perhaps we could meet and practice our conversational skills while you’re here.” 

“That would be lovely,” I said. 

“My instructor in the ancient language, Monsieur Rhoussopholous, is incomparable.” She fluffed her skirts, a flighty gesture that was at odds with the rest of her. “And the best classicists in the world come to me. Although not so often as they used to.” 

“You have been entirely negligent of your needs since the death of your son,” Cécile said. 

“Isn’t it enough that I manage to stay alive? Even that requires more effort than I’m inclined to expend. My poor dear boy. I miss him terribly.” 

“I can’t imagine a pain greater than that felt by a mother who has lost her child,” I said. “I’m so very sorry.” 

We all sat very still, no one speaking, until the empress shook her head. “I will never believe that he killed himself.” She looked at Cécile. “You know he and his father had radically different political views. The French and the English both would have been happy to see Rudolf on the throne instead of my husband. He might have been persuaded to transfer Austria’s allegiance away from Germany.” 

“Which means they would never have wanted Rudolf dead,” Cécile said. “This is a fruitless line of thought, Sissi. You must stop.” 

“I’m sorry if we’ve distressed you,” I said. 

“I no longer remember what it is not to be distressed.” She closed her eyes and said nothing further for a long moment. “I do have one other thing to tell you,” she said, opening her eyes and looking directly at me. “I’ve a friend who’s still…active…in political matters. He knows about you, and told me that you’re in danger.” 

“Did he say how he knew?” I asked. 

“No, only that you’ve drawn the attention of one of your countrymen, a very undesirable man.” 

“Mr. Harrison,” I said. 

“You must tell Monsieur Hargreaves at once,” Cécile said. “He will arrange to have you protected. He can—” 

“No, Cécile. It’s fine. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry. Please let’s not discuss it any further right now. Tell us about Klimt. Are you going to see him tonight?” 


“You think they will strike against these children?” Cécile asked after we’d left the palace. 

“How did you know that’s what I suspect?” 

“You entirely abandoned questioning her once she’d told you about the emperor’s plans. You would never have let go of the topic if you were not satisfied with the information before you.” 

“I shall have to learn to be less obvious,” I said. “But yes, I do think that’s where they’ll attack. Mr. Harrison wants to start a war. If he could assassinate the rulers of Austria and Germany simultaneously, as well as a group of innocent boys—” 

“People would be angry, but I do not see how that would lead to war.” 

“What if it leaked out that the attack was supported by the British government?” I asked. 

“Mais ce n’est pas possible.” 

“Mr. Harrison is part of the government.” 

“You must inform Monsieur Hargreaves at once.” 

“Yes.” I was paying attention only to the snow falling outside the window. 

“Kallista? Are you listening? We must do something about this threat at once.”

“We don’t have credible information about a threat,” I said. “All we’ve done is trust that the empress knew what to look for in her husband’s diary. She could have missed something.” 

“You don’t believe that. Be careful, Kallista. You will never feel right if you sacrifice even one life in an attempt to save Colin’s.” 

“You’re quite wrong about that. For him, there is nothing I would not sacrifice.” 


27 December 1892

London


Dear Lady Ashton,


I was quite taken aback by your letter. Although I suspect your condolences were not heartfelt, they were appreciated nonetheless. My dear Basil was a man of incomparable talent, and all of Britain will feel the loss of him. He was not well understood by his peers—that, I suppose was the price levied on him for greatness.

I was rather amused by your request. Surely you are not so naïve that you would believe, even for an instant, that I would share with you such sensitive information? But I will admit that after you drew my attention to Robert Brandon and his family difficulties last summer when you were investigating the murder of David Francis, I found myself growing more than a little fond of the man, although he lacks the callousness required to be a truly extraordinary politician. Even without this scandal, he would never have survived in politics.

He’d already been cut from Basil’s inner circle, and knew that his career was hopeless. Regardless, I don’t believe he committed murder. Mainly because he’s not cold-hearted enough to do such a thing.