Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Pippa was taken to the Oberste Polizei- und Censur-Hofstelle—the Supreme Police and Censorship Court Office.
She was ushered into a narrow room with a small window.
“Sit.” There was a table filled with papers, behind which sat a man with a pale face, thin lips and greasy black hair. He did not look up when she entered but kept scribbling, taking down her name, age and marriage status.
“Parents?”
“I have none.” She swallowed painfully. “My father died recently.”
“Name?”
“Basil Ambrose Cranwell.”
The pen hovering over the paper paused mid-air. His shrewd green eyes shot up to meet hers. “An Englishman?”
Pippa nodded.
He lowered the pen. “And your mother?”
“She died when I was five.”
He leaned back. “Cranwell. Cranwell.” He pursed his lips. “Of course. That English professor. Natural Sciences?”
“Mathematics and Philosophy. He was a Cambridge man.”
“Ah.” He tapped his pen on the paper. “They say he was one of the most brilliant minds of this era. But didn’t he publish a scandalous treatise that made him fall into disgrace with the English crown? Which is why he came to be in exile here?”
“It’s a vicious lie!” Pippa flared up. “That’s what evil tongues say to blacken his name.”
“And why would they do that?”
“How should I know? Jealousy? Politics? Because they wanted to eliminate an influential voice on the king?” Pippa’s temper had got the better of her.
For the man was right. Her father had indeed been a tutor to the Prince of Wales until he had fallen out of grace because the treatise he’d published had been too radical for the conservative taste that prevailed at court.
Yet he’d claimed it was grounded in logic and science.
The man across her gave her a veiled gaze. “He is dead now.” Hearing those words pronounced in such a cold manner caused her heart to clench.
Suddenly he switched languages. “If Professor Cranwell was indeed your father, you must be fluent in English,” he said in perfect English, though with a strong German accent.
“Indeed, I am.” Pippa replied in perfect King’s English without missing a beat. After all, she’d spent her childhood in England before her father had taken her to the Continent.
“French?”
“Not as fluent as English, but conversant,” she replied in French.
“Ah.” Then he switched back to German. “And why are you in Vienna?”
“To be with my intended husband.”
“Who might he be?”
“Klemens Lindenstein.”
“Occupation.”
“Student.”
“Age.”
She paused. “Twenty-eight.” Was he? She wasn’t sure, entirely. She’d known Klemens for years. How could she not know his precise age? But twenty-eight seemed like a good number.
The man promptly noticed her hesitation and commented, “That’s rather old to be a student.”
Pippa did not deign to answer.
On and on he snapped questions, and she answered. When it came to answering why she did not have any papers, she explained how her reticule had been stolen.
The man assessed her with sharp green eyes. He tapped a finger against the paper on which he’d written. Pippa met his gaze. She refused to be intimidated.
“Fr?ulein Cranwell.” He gave her another penetrating stare. “If that, indeed, is who you say you are. From what you tell me, you have no family, job, or place to stay, and your betrothed has gone missing. That is very convenient, is it not?”
Pippa grew cold. “What do you mean?”
“You claim to be Professor Cranwell’s daughter, but since the man has died, where, precisely, is the proof that you indeed are who you claim you are? You have nothing and no one here who can identify you.”
Pippa winced. But it was true.
He crossed his fingers. “You know what we do with people we can’t identify?”
She licked her lips, which had gone intolerably dry. “You treat them to a hearty bowl of goulash soup?” Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten in two days.
The man remained unamused. “A cheeky, fearless young thing, aren’t you?”
Pippa certainly tried her best to appear fearless, even though she quailed inside. She met his eyes squarely. “I am certain it isn’t anything pleasant, nor something I care to know, so why ask?”
“Yet you should know, because this is about to become your fate, too. We hold people without papers here until positive identification can be acquired. In gaol.” He bent forward with a smirk. “They call it the bottomless pit because people disappear inside, never to return.”
Pippa felt the blood leave her face.
“As you can imagine, it’s not a good place to be. Lately some disease seems to have broken out which emptied the place in no time,” he said meditatively. “Solved our problem of an overpopulated prison rather easily. However, my dear, you are very lucky, indeed.”
“How so?” The man was, without doubt, an idiot, and there was nothing more she wanted to do than to punch him in the nose. Next to numbers, the only other thing Pippa knew how to do well was to throw a good punch. But something told her that this was not advisable to do in the current circumstance.
“Indeed, you may be spared that fate. You seem to be a reasonably intelligent girl.” Tap-tap-tap, his finger went on the paper. “Fluent in French and in English. Particularly English, which might come in useful…” Tap-tap-tap. “In short, I have a proposition.”
Pippa narrowed her eyes. She’d heard of those so-called propositions that newly arrived country girls in the city were often given.
They were promised the blue from the sky, only for them to end up walking the streets, or worse.
But she was no na?ve milk-and-water-miss, no she was not! She would not fall for it.
“What proposition?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
“I can get you a position.”
Ah. There it goes.
“How fortunate! What position could this be, I wonder? A position as a maid in an aristocratic household, maybe?”
He threw her a short, surprised look. “Indeed.”
She glared at him.
“The lack of servants these days is dire,” he continued smoothly. “Particularly maids are in high demand. Especially in the better households. Interested?”
Pippa huffed. Then she pushed her chair back with a creak as the legs scraped the wooden floor and got up.
“You mean to sell me to a bawdy house. No, thank you. I’d rather you clap me in your bottomless pit.”
The man blinked. “Bawdy house?” Then he pulled himself up stiffly. “I see you’re labouring under a grave misapprehension. Do sit again, Fr?ulein, and let’s discuss this.”
“There is nothing to discuss—” Pippa began, but the man snapped, “Sit!” and she plopped back into her chair.
Because, really, what other choice did she have?
The man glared at her. “Who, exactly do you think I am?”
She eyed him with suspicion. “I don’t know. Who exactly are you?”
“The name is August,” the man snapped. “And I am one of the most respected and hardworking men in this entire department. In fact,” he puffed out his chest with pride, “I have been awarded by Baron von Hager, personally, a medallion of distinction.” Von Hager was the head of the police department.
August pointed at the wall. Indeed, there was a medal hanging from the wall, framed.
“We are aware that innocent young ladies are lured into indiscreet professions against their will, and believe me, no one is as fastidiously working to eliminate this evil from the world than me.”
It looked like she had hit him painfully with her accusation. Come to think of it, it was a long stretch, indeed, to accuse the police force itself of selling women into slavery. A twinge of remorse shot through her. But still, Pippa trusted no one, only herself.
“How do I know you are speaking the truth and the offer is an honest, valid one?”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “You don’t. If my name and my honour won’t convince you, nothing will, and we might as well save each other’s time and end this interview at once, and I will escort you to gaol, where you wait until your identity can be verified.”
He half rose, and Pippa blurted, “No, no—do sit and tell me more about that position!”
He sat again, still affronted. “Like I said,” he said stiffly, “it is for the position of a maid.”
Assuming he spoke the truth, and it was a real job offer, she, too, had heard that the need for domestics these days was dire. But...servitude?
Her father had been a renowned scholar and professor.
True, they hadn’t lived in wealth and glamour, but she wasn’t nobody, either.
She’d lived with her father in a house with their own staff, a cook, maid and footman.
She’d loved rambling about the mountain meadows and forests in trousers, and she’d been known as Professor Cranwell’s wild girl, until she had donned skirts and become a lady.
And under her father’s tutelage, she’d received an excellent education.
To accept August’s offer meant forgetting her heritage. To climb down the social ladder and become a servant.
“You would be given legal papers, of course. An identity. You know that without papers you can’t do anything in this country.
Regular income. A roof over your head.” He lifted a hand.
“Have you thought where you will sleep tonight? Make up your mind. Otherwise you will have to wait here in gaol until someone can provide proof of your identity.” He narrowed his eyes.
“That intended husband of yours, for example. But alas, he’s disappeared? ”
She was in a fix.
Her mind raced. Here this police agent was offering her a position.
It appeared to be genuine. It wasn’t what she’d normally choose for herself, and it hurt her pride.
But she should grab it with two hands. Papers, income, a roof over one’s head.
She needed security first. Then she could look for Klemens.
If they locked her up, how could she look for Klemens?
Her shoulders slumped. “Where is the position?”
He drew the feather of the pen between his fingers. “I will tell you only after you’ve accepted it.”
Again, suspicion rose within her. Everything in her told her not to trust the man. But what should she do? What other options did she have?
None.
She had no choice, really. She took a big breath. “Very well.” She gave a curt nod. “I’ll do it.”
He folded his hands across the document and leaned forward. “Of course, this position comes with some conditions.”
“Conditions? What conditions?”
“This is a position that most servants would die for. Quite literally, too.” He smirked. “You will be rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty.”
The high and mighty?
“Ambassadors, dukes, princes and monarchs from Europe. The entire gamut will be flocking to our illustrious city within the next few weeks. They all will be within your reach.”
Pippa’s mouth dropped open.
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “There are not many maids who are capable of understanding English and French. Your assignment is to report what they are doing. Each and every one of them. Where their rooms are. What they are eating, who they are meeting, what letters they are receiving and from whom. Everything, down to the colour of their slippers and stockings. Do you understand?”
Pippa felt a chill sweep through her body, as the truth of what he wanted from her finally sank in. “In other words, you want me to spy for you.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “I knew you were a clever girl.”
She crossed her arms. “It isn’t a good enough offer for me.”
August’s jaw dropped. “Are you bargaining with me?”
“Well, yes. If one calculates the value of my service, which has to be performed under highly precarious circumstances, and weighs it against the value that I am to receive—for the lack of my papers is moot if I decide not to remain in the city and go home—one must come to the conclusion that the two numbers don’t match up. ”
He blinked at her, confused. “What numbers?”
“They are hypothetical. But it is an elementary calculation. By spying for you, you gain, let us say, the value of eighty-three. Possibly ninety-five. Whereas in return I gain, for merely being allowed to reside within the city, shall we say, a mere fifty-two. Three, maximum. Can you see how that is unequal?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Hypothetical value. These two numbers don’t match up, you see. There has to be an equal give and take in any transaction.”
His brow cleared. “You are saying that you demand more payment in return for being a spy. Why not say so to begin with?”
“It is more or less what I said. I thought my argument would have more weight if I back it up with a calculation.”
“I can offer you—” he lifted a hand and weighed it back and forth “—four guilders?”
Pippa shook her head. “Ten. Then I believe the value would amount to the same.”
“Ten guilders! That is only as much as we pay our best informants. You have neither experience, nor value.”
“I might not have the experience, but I am not na?ve. You yourself said my value lies in my ability to speak foreign languages. How many young ladies are there in my position who can do the same?”
“Hmpf.”
“Precisely.”
August stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You are quite a saucy young thing, aren’t you?”
“Now that we have established that fact, pray, will you tell me where exactly that position is?”
The man leaned back and folded his hands in front of him. “Ah yes, that is a crucial piece of information, is it not? I wonder whether you’ll be up to it?”
“Where is it?”
“In the emperor’s winter residence.”
“The winter residence?”
“Hofburg palace,” he said impatiently. “Where else?”
Pippa stared at him, her heart thudding. Hofburg Palace. The residence of the imperial family.
What in heaven’s name had she agreed to?