Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The footman guarding Archduke Leopold’s rooms looked her up and down with mistrust. “You’re not one of the usual maids.”
Pippa’s mind worked quickly. “No, I’m new. Frau Benedikt sent me personally to give the room another thorough clean.” She lifted her shovel and broom.
Mentioning Frau Benedikt proved fortuitous, because the man completely transformed.
He looked over her shoulder nervously as if fearing Frau Benedikt would materialise there any minute.
“She did, did she? No wonder. The two maids who had to clean up the mess earlier were so overwhelmed, one burst out in tears.”
Ah. So he was inclined to gossip, was he? Pippa leaned in confidentially. “I heard the orgy that happened here last night was particularly wild.”
He snorted. “You have no idea. His Imperial Highness brought a casket of some vile Scottish liquid with which some English duke presented him. Called whisky.” He leaned forward confidentially.
“Had a nip myself and the stuff is vile, I tell you. Vile! Anyhow.” He cast another look down the hall.
“The entire party was so drunk, they were lying under the billiard table by midnight. One of them broke an expensive vase, and a third threw up into the wastepaper basket.”
“The wastepaper basket?” Pippa opened her eyes wide. “Please, not the wastepaper basket!”
“Or it might have been the fireplace. I daresay both.” He nodded at her broom.
“Frau Benedikt sent me to double-check whether the cleaning has indeed been done thoroughly.” No harm in uttering the magic name again. “You know the old saying. Good to clean once, but better be thorough and do it twice.”
“Never heard of that saying. But if Frau Benedikt says you must do it all over again…” He shrugged his shoulders.
She squared her shoulders and lifted the broom. “Yes. Must clean. Particularly the wastepaper basket.”
“Happy cleaning, then.” The footman stepped aside and let her pass.
The Archduke’s apartment consisted of four connected rooms. A drawing room, a study with a library, a bedroom and the billiard room. Pippa looked about in awe at the splendid rooms.
The walls were papered in sage green silk tapestry, mahogany furniture covered with gold-green upholstery and a thick, dark green moquette carpet, with an odd pattern of what looked like pineapples; green curtains draped the high, tall windows in all rooms. It was clean; if indeed a wild orgy had taken place the night before, there was now no sign of it. The maids had done thorough work.
Pippa entered the study and headed for the wastepaper basket next to the desk. It was a simple desk, covered with green baize, and on it was an inkstand, a pen, and nothing else. The basket was, of course, empty, because the previous maid had emptied it. Pippa huffed. She had come too late.
Her eyes travelled one more time over the room’s furniture, the oddly patterned carpet, when her eyes saw something white gleam in the corner by the window. She went there, and her heart jumped when she recognised that it was a small, balled-up piece of paper.
“At least something,” she muttered, unfolding the crumpled ball, trying to decipher it. It looked like a letter, or a note.
“Deplorable penmanship,” she sniffed. “Let’s see.
Dearest Mimi, It grieves me sorely that I cannot join you at supper tonight.
I am not at all pleased to hear you will host the Tsar, who is much too free with his attentions.
He is a great flirt, so beware of the man.
I miss your company more than I can say and remain, as ever,
Yours, etcetera etcetera.”
The signature she could not decipher since it was badly scrawled.
Pippa snorted. “Mimi? A love note to one of his many mistresses, no doubt. Sounds like he’s a jealous lover.”
Then she stared at the paper. “How odd. He writes just like Klemens. Same cramped scrawl—”
A sound came from the antechamber.
“Yes, Your Grace, the room is most definitely available, Your Grace, even though His Imperial Highness isn’t currently present!” It was the footman from earlier, shouting.
Pippa nearly dropped the paper.
He was warning her that someone was about to enter the study, and she had to get out of there as quickly as possible. But where?
Her gaze flew wildly to the tapestry door on the other side of the room. Her escape. That door, no doubt, led to a servant corridor. She took one, two steps, then a deep voice at the door said in impeccable German, though with a strong English accent, “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
And the footman shouted, “Yesss your Grrace!!”
Pippa did not think twice.
She dove right behind the curtain, dragging the broom and the shovel with her.
She heard the door open, then after a while close again with a soft click.
Pippa held her breath.
“This is probably the only room in the entire palace not riddled with spies. You are aware that Metternich listens from the ceiling? That vent above the conference chamber hides a false roof. Clerks crouch up there, scribbling down every word.” It was the same deep voice, except he was now speaking English.
Pippa pressed her hand over her mouth to keep her breath quiet.
“He does?” replied a tenor voice. She heard a snapping and clicking as if someone had opened and closed a snuff box. A sniff. “How infernal of him.” Another sniff. “Infernal. But creative.”
“He plays a double game. You know that he’s been setting up secret meetings already, conducting preliminary negotiations, so to speak? The Tsar and Frederick William aren’t even here yet. I received such an invitation only yesterday, which is why I wanted to consult with you first.”
“I don’t trust the man. I don’t think there is anything to gain by those meetings. He is attempting to forge alliances before the congress even begins officially. But this game can be played by us as well. And I say we ought to play it, shamelessly. Which brings us to His Imperial Highness.”
“What about him?”
“I thought he was to join us here. Wasn’t this the entire point? Using personal ties for a greater purpose?”
“The Archduke?” the deep voice replied, amused. “You underestimate him, Castlereagh, if you think he’ll allow himself to be used.”
“Yet I am certainly not mistaken in thinking the man is more political than he appears to be.” Footsteps sounded muffled on the carpet. “I daresay he plays the fool for the sake of his father, or Metternich.” A pause. “Or both. You know him better than any of us. Can you pull him to our side?”
“He won’t let himself be manipulated. He is far too shrewd. And I care for him too well to allow it.”
“Are you certain we can trust him? How long have you known him?”
“Since we were boys. We met on the Grand Tour before the wars.” A pause. “I would trust him with my life, as he does me.”
The man made an impatient huff. “All the better reason to use him. It is too good an advantage to waste.”
“That I refuse.” The deep voice was suddenly cold. “I will never jeopardise that trust.”
“Come, come, Aldingbourne. I never meant anything drastic by it. For his trust you need to keep, come what may. I merely meant that you could—carefully—sound him out to see whether he can be drawn to our side.”
“He carries no political weight. You know that Metternich holds the reins in that regard, as much as he holds the emperor firmly in his hand. As for the Archduke, he is to marry the Russian Grand Duchess. It is a public secret. If Metternich says it is to be done, it will be done.”
A tuneless whistle. “Never say he’ll pull the same trick on him as he did to his sister? Metternich snapped his fingers and lo and behold, she ended up being married to Napoleon.”
Aldingbourne uttered a curt, dry laugh. “Let him try. I doubt he’ll succeed.”
“Are you saying the archduke is resisting?”
“One may put it that way. His heart is occupied elsewhere. So you see, our friend will prove himself to be immune to schemings, manipulations and machinations, whether by you, or by Metternich. I daresay even Metternich finds him a hard nut to crack. Better to focus on Talleyrand. I hear you met him yesterday?”
“Yes.” A huff. “A cantankerous old fox whose words are more slippery than soap. Yet he is convincing, and his eye misses nothing.” Castlereagh laughed softly. “He is also a rogue. It appears the fairer sex is quite taken with him, despite his advanced age.”
“Are they?” Aldingbourne’s voice sounded amused.
“The question is how we might use that.” Fingers drummed on a tabletop. “I say. You have the reputation of a rogue somewhat yourself, don’t you?”
A laugh. “What, me? Certainly not.”
“Come, come. I’ve seen how the ladies look at you. How about you take advantage of that and use your power of seduction to see what you can get out of the former Tsar’s mistress?”
“Believe me, I have more than my hands full with a certain lady already. She takes up all my spare time, energy and effort.”
“And who might that be?”
“My sister Evie.”
“Ah. That’s right, you came with your sister. She is enchanting. Do lend her to my wife once in a while, she would be delighted to have some company. Emily is quite taken by Vienna and loves nothing much more than going shopping.”
“Evie will be more than happy to comply. I say, Castlereagh, we must return before Metternich sends his bloodhounds to sniff us out.”
The voices moved to the door.
There was a longer pause. Then Pippa heard the door open, and close with a click.
They had left.
Pippa exhaled all the pent-up breath.
Her hand shook, her knees had turned to jelly, and she took two, three breaths to steady herself.
That had been the most frightening, thrilling, interesting situation she had ever found herself in.
Well, with the exception of one, for kissing Klemens had been all that and more, but the point was that she had had no idea that being a spy was so thrilling. And physically demanding. She had barely dared to breathe the entire time.
Drawing in big gulps of air, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room—and froze.
For standing next to the desk was a lanky gentleman with sandy blond hair, arms crossed, a thunderous scowl over his forehead.
And leaning nonchalantly against the desk with crossed legs was a tall, dark-haired gentleman with an eagle nose and eyes of ice-cold silver, looking at her with an arrogantly lifted eyebrow.