11

Villa von Düchtel

1906

We were all rather subdued upon returning to Ursula’s house after the incident at Neuschwanstein. The snow was falling harder now, and the villa, rather than enveloping me in warmth, added to the chill that had taken hold in my bones. Everything seemed off-kilter, out of balance. The sparely furnished rooms were cold and every sound echoed ominously through the place. Our hostess went up to the ballroom to contemplate the paintings Liesel had brought. Birgit went to her room for a bath and a nap. Max shut himself in the music room, refusing to allow Sigrid to go with him. Kaspar and Felix, adopting a posture of being aggressively undaunted, announced they were going for a ski. Kaspar, pointing out that he’d had no trouble with the stairs at Neuschwanstein, insisted his knee was fine. Liesel asked to accompany them.

“Are you quite sure you want to?” Felix asked. “Kaspar slows down for no one.”

“I shan’t try to keep up with you, only follow in the tracks you lay down. I enjoyed it more than I expected yesterday, but am terribly bad at it and don’t think I’d like breaking through the fresh snow on my own.”

“Suit yourself,” Kaspar said. “We’re leaving as soon as possible in order to return before sundown.”

“I’ll change in a flash.” She raced off in the direction of the stairs.

“Does this mean you’re coming as well?” Kaspar asked his wife.

“Absolutely not,” Sigrid said. “As you well know, I’d prefer a sleigh ride.”

“We’ve discussed this ad nauseam. Not today.”

“It will have to come, sooner or later. You cannot avoid it forever.” She patted his cheek, then went upstairs. As it was abundantly evident the sleigh ride in question was not merely a sleigh ride, I wondered what she meant; but before I could give it much thought, Liesel reappeared, and the skiers set off, leaving Colin, Cécile, and me on our own.

“It is something of a relief, is it not, Kallista?” We’d gone into the gallery, where my friend summoned a footman to bring us champagne. Still cold, I asked for mulled wine instead. He reappeared with it all in short order. Cécile shrugged. “Such an ungainly group of people, and so many of them.”

“Each of them more challenging than one would hope,” Colin said.

“Indeed. It surprises me that Ursula gathered these particular individuals together. She’s usually much better at planning a party.”

“I imagine she wanted to include her daughter, which necessitates Kaspar’s presence,” I said.

“Yes, and then he insisted on Felix, who in turn insisted on Birgit. More champagne, I beg you, Monsieur Hargreaves.”

Colin retrieved the bottle from the ice-filled bucket left by the footman and refilled her glass. “You insisted on us.”

“Kallista had to see Ursula’s ancient art!”

“Quite,” I said, wrapping my hands around the hot mug of glühwein. “I’m impressed with the manner in which she’s displayed her collection. In the context of this gallery, one might be forgiven for thinking the Cycladic pieces are modern. But as for the way the guest list came together, you and Sigrid are the only two people here Ursula really wanted to see.”

“Don’t forget Liesel and Max,” Cécile said.

“Liesel was a necessary addition for the paintings, so it’s no surprise she was summoned,” Colin said. “I do feel for the poor woman. She’s doing her best to fit in, but she’s got as much of a chance at succeeding as the Spartans did at Thermopylae.”

“I disagree entirely,” I said. “They faced far better odds and held off the enemy much longer than she could ever hope to. What about Max, Cécile? Why’s he here? He lives close enough that there’s no reason for him to have stayed after the initial soirée.”

“This is where it is nécessaire to consider Ursula as the expert manipulator she is,” Cécile said. “Do not think I judge her for this. It is an art, an art she has perfected over a lifetime, and an art she never uses for ill purpose. She knows her daughter is unhappy and is trying to move her in the direction of a little joy.”

“By prodding her into an affair?” Colin asked. “Aside from the dubious morality of the whole thing, shouldn’t Sigrid be free to choose her own lover?”

Cécile shrugged. “Consider whom she picked when she had the opportunity.”

“Consider the baroness’s own unhappiness in her arranged marriage,” Colin said. “Is this so different from what her parents did?”

“It’s certainly not the same,” I said. “Max and Sigrid have loads in common and they’ve been fast friends since childhood.”

“Rather like you and a certain Duke of Bainbridge, but no one would suggest the two of you should be thrown together romantically,” Colin said.

“Jeremy? Perish the thought! I’d sooner be at Thermopylae fighting the Persians.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Colin said, touching my arm just for a second. “If Sigrid wanted Max, she would’ve married him.”

“Much though it pains me to disagree with you, Monsieur Hargreaves, I must. You did not know Sigrid before she met Kaspar. There was no soul in Bavaria who didn’t expect her to marry Max. The cows in every Alpine valley were aware of the deep connection between them.”

“Are we to believe that the lure of Allerspach’s charm was too much for her to resist?”

“That’s inconceivable,” I said. “The man is a boor. Jeremy would make for a better choice of husband.”

“Kaspar has not been on his best behavior,” Cécile said. “However, he is a decent-looking man, and when he wants to be charismatic, he’s more than capable of it. He’s strong and fit and full of passion. He can swim across the Alpsee and climb a mountain immediately thereafter. Max is earnest and sincere and gets winded even looking at a lake. His idea of climbing is a musical scale. I do not suggest he is inadequate in any way, only that Kaspar is so visibly different. It is not surprising he turned Sigrid’s head.”

“Homer tells us love deceives the best of womankind. Were they happy, at first?” I asked.

“Bien sûr. The attraction between them was very strong. That it did not last came as no surprise to anyone.”

“Did Ursula try to dissuade her from the marriage?” I asked.

“She did.”

“Yet the expert manipulator failed,” Colin said.

“It was an error she will not repeat,” Cécile said. “She abandoned subtlety in exchange for relentless pressure, something that rarely proves effective.”

“Why would she adopt such a strategy when she’s so proficient at manipulation?” I asked.

“Because she was terrified, terrified of seeing her only child trapped in a marriage as disastrous as her own had been. Desperation leads to bad decisions.”

“And brought exactly what she feared,” I said. “It’s rather sad.”

“In a way, I suppose.” Colin drew his brows together and ran a hand through his tousled curls before putting down his empty champagne flute. “She shouldn’t have been meddling in the first place. Given space and time, her daughter might have realized her choice was a poor one before the wedding.”

“Perhaps, but not likely in this case. Sigrid was governed by a grand passion. Who can resist such a thing? You did not, Monsieur Hargreaves.”

“Yes, but, fortunately for us all, my grand passion resulted in a disgracefully happy marriage.” His eyes met mine and my cheeks flushed crimson.

“Forgive me for interrupting.” It was Liesel, still wearing the heavy boots and the thick loden jacket she’d put on to ski. Snow was melting on her wool hat. “Would any of you have a headache powder? I seem to have overtaxed myself and am in more pain than I should ever have thought feasible.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said.

“Nor do I, but Ursula always keeps some on hand,” Cécile said. “I’ll fetch some from her.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’m most grateful—” She swayed just a bit, then her head rocked back and forth, her knees buckled, and she fell on the floor. Try though we might, we couldn’t rouse her, and none of us was in possession of smelling salts. I object to them entirely. Years of observation have taught me that fainting is the result of affectation or too-tight stays. I would’ve expected either from Birgit, but not from the sensible Liesel. Colin shot to his feet, scooped her up, and carried her to her room.

The commotion brought Sigrid, whose eyes looked red and puffy, from her room. Shortly thereafter, we heard Ursula’s heels clattering on the marble stairs that led to the ballroom. Neither of them had any smelling salts, so I knocked on Birgit’s door. It took rather a lot of banging to rouse her, but at last I succeeded.

“Dear me, Lady Emily, what’s this all about? Can’t a girl get a little rest before the evening’s entertainment? Do tell me there will be entertainment. I can’t bear another dull night.” She looked exhausted, but then one often does when awakened from a deep sleep. Her pillow had left a line across her cheek. I stated my purpose. She did, of course, carry smelling salts. “One never knows when a faint might prove convenient,” she said, a wicked smile on her face.

“Isn’t it preferable for someone else to have them on hand to revive you?”

“Certainly, but it’s less and less common to find someone with them these days, so I make sure they’re ready to spill out of my reticule on my way to the ground. Otherwise you run the risk of an overeager rescuer giving you a good slap.”

I did not comment on this inanity. “I’ll return them as soon as possible.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ve got a spare.”

She followed me across the corridor and Ursula waved them under Liesel’s nose. She started, coughed, shook her head, and started to sit up. Ursula gently pushed her back against the pillows. “Not yet, my dear. You ought to rest.”

“My head…” Her breath was labored. “I get headaches frequently but the pain has never been quite this excruciating.”

“I’ll get you a powder that will offer relief and another that will help you sleep,” Ursula said. “Don’t even think of coming down for dinner. We can have a tray sent up when you’re awake.”

“You’re kindness itself, Baroness. I hate to impose upon you like this.”

“It’s no imposition at all. Now keep still and don’t try to talk. Hargreaves, pull the curtains so the light doesn’t bother her. I’ll be back before you know it with those powders. The rest of you, go downstairs and leave the poor woman in peace.”

We all did as directed, more or less. The others went downstairs, but Colin pulled me into our room.

“I wish this were a romantic assignation, but I suspect you’ve something else on your mind,” I said.

“Quite.” He closed and locked the door behind us. “What do you think is going on here?”

“Kaspar’s been attacked twice and Liesel fainted. Perhaps something other than overexertion caused her headache.”

He shook his head. “That’s unlikely. What does anyone want from her? A lower price for the paintings?”

“My mind’s running in an altogether different direction. She was in the grotto before we were to meet in the courtyard. Max and Sigrid were next door, in the king’s study. When she noticed the time, she went to fetch them. I asked her where exactly they were standing and she hesitated ever so slightly before answering. I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked.

“She might have caught them in flagrante delicto, perhaps sharing a passionate kiss inspired by some of the racier moments in Tannhäuser. Only he who has known / your ardent embrace knows what love is and all that. Sigrid’s marriage isn’t a happy one, but that doesn’t mean she wants her husband to know she’s…”

“Quite.” Colin tugged off his jacket and flung it toward a chair. It landed on the floor. He eyed it suspiciously and unknotted his cravat. “If they’re entangled in some sort of affair, her mother has put her in an awkward position having both gentlemen in the house at the same time.”

“If they’re involved romantically, Max would have ample motivation to want Kaspar entirely out of the picture.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the murderous type.”

“Precisely,” I said, “and if he’s responsible for the attacks on Kaspar, he’s demonstrated that he’s not particularly capable, either. He may, however, eventually get the hang of it.”

“Unlikely, but possible.”

“He could try something easier. Poison, for example.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He started to pace, up and down, in front of the windows. The snow had not stopped, but it was lighter now, and the mountains were visible once again in the distance. “What if these incidents are intended to scare Kaspar, not to harm him? The shot today had a better chance of causing serious injury—”

“Or death,” I interrupted.

“Or death, yes, than the cut ski binding, but whoever fired failed to hit his mark. Allerspach was more or less standing still, and there are plenty of vantage points from the windows around the courtyard that would have provided a clear shot. Either the shooter is incompetent or he never meant to injure the man.”

“If the shot was deliberately fired to scare him, what’s the shooter’s goal?” I asked.

“I’ve not the slightest idea.”

I sank into a chair opposite the windows from where I could see both the mountains and my husband. “Max couldn’t believe it’s possible to frighten Kaspar into leaving his wife. If he’s behind the incident, the shot missed its target due to incompetence.”

“I agree. So who among Ursula and her guests would want to scare Allerspach and to what end?”

“If Kaspar were a superstitious sort of man, he could perhaps be persuaded that if he doesn’t start treating his wife better, he’ll suffer an ignominious fate.”

“First, although he’s not the sort of chap I’d choose to spend much time with, he’s not the worst husband I’ve ever met. He and Sigrid give every appearance of getting along well enough.”

“Appearance is the crucial word,” I said.

“Yes, but until we have firm evidence to the contrary, we’ve no reason to believe their marriage is in dire straits. Second, is there anyone present in this house whom you believe seeks to bring the couple closer together? We’ve nothing but our own speculation to support any of these theories.”

“It’s early days, my dear man, the stage of investigation where fiction is our friend, where flights of fancy may lead us to the truth.”

“I’m not sure I can subscribe to that idea,” he said. “Still, something isn’t right and I’m deeply concerned that if we don’t figure out who’s behind these incidents, Allerspach could find himself in a most thankless situation.”

“I believe dead is the word you’re looking for. You’re in safe company, darling; there’s no need for euphemisms with me.”