Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You are to be on duty tonight,” Drimmel informed Pippa the following night. “His Imperial Highness is to receive visitors.”
“Again?” Pippa groaned.
Drimmel didn’t scold her. “Let us hope it’s not as bad as the previous night,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. Then he gave her a critical look. “You are to stay alert, for you may be summoned at any time.”
“Surely he won’t ask me to go into the room when it’s full of visitors?” Pippa exclaimed. “I’m not a footman.”
“No. He dismissed his old footmen.” Drimmel shrugged. “Dismissed the entire lot, maids too. Espionage,” he added curtly. “And took you on instead. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he specifically asked for you. You’re to assist the female guests and clean up any spills or accidents.”
Pippa swallowed. “But that would require me to enter the salon in the presence of the guests.”
Drimmel nodded. “You must go about your work swiftly and invisibly.”
She nearly laughed. “Invisibly. Very well. I shall try my best.”
He ordered Pippa to sit on a footstool in the corner near the tiled chimney until she was needed.
For a change, Pippa was only too glad to obey, for she was exhausted.
The stove’s warmth enveloped her like a blanket.
She was content to remain half hidden behind a tall potted plant, where she could observe the guests without herself being seen.
She was called only twice to assist the ladies with torn hems and wine-stained shawls or to sew on a stray button.
The work was light and, despite her dislike of sewing, pleasant.
The ladies chatted freely while she was with them, as if they did not fully register her as a person, yet accepted her presence.
From their conversation, she learned the Tsar was not to appear that evening.
“They say the Princess Bagration made a scene that shook the walls,” one woman said as she adjusted her shawl in front of the mirror. “Out of jealousy. So he didn’t come tonight; he is placating her in his own apartments.”
Pippa smiled faintly, remembering the scene the princess had made when she first encountered her.
She understood now that the princess had not meant to seduce Klemens, but intended to use him to make the Tsar jealous.
But Klemens had refused to take part. He had insisted upon this several times since.
Wasn’t this evidence enough that he hadn’t changed?
That he was still the same person deep down?
If so, if he truly hadn’t changed, then…what was keeping her from fully trusting him?
Her teeth grazed her lower lip as she paused with her sewing, the needle mid-air.
“Did you finish sewing the button?” The lady turned impatiently.
“One more stitch, my lady,” Pippa mumbled. She made a last crooked stitch in the fine muslin, cut the thread and got up.
When the women retired several hours later, only the gentlemen remained, and the conversation turned to politics.
The air thickened with tension and cigar smoke, and the voices turned clipped and caustic.
From behind the stove where she was sitting, Pippa realised they were conversing in English and French.
She leaned forward, peering through the leaves of the plant that covered her, and saw him.
The Archduke lounged in an armchair, his extended legs crossed, and looked handsome as sin in a dark blue suit that moulded to his form to perfection.
His long curls brushed his shirt points; his lips curved in a lazy smile; his eyes were half closed, glittering with amusement.
He exuded a practised indifference that made him seem at once aloof and untouchable.
She had never seen him like this before, and her heart twisted. The conclusion she’d reached only moments earlier disappeared in a puff. The man she’d known in private—the one who could be earnest, passionate, kind—was decidedly gone, replaced by this jaded creature of the court.
Across from him, leaning against the mantelpiece, was Prince Hardenberg, Prussia’s chief negotiator. He was holding forth about Saxony with a booming voice that carried through the room.
Next to him stood Castlereagh, stiff and elegant. “Prussia annexing Saxony will upset the balance of power,” he said sharply. “It will destabilise Europe and turn the centre into a Russian-Prussian bloc. We must prevent that at all costs.”
“Saxony deserves to be punished,” Hardenberg thundered. “For conspiring with Bonaparte.”
“Gentlemen, Austria will not allow Central Europe to become a playground for Russian ambition.” Another voice entered the fray, low and smooth, sending a shiver down Pippa’s spine as she recognised it.
Metternich.
When had he joined the party?
She moved her footstool slightly forward so she could observe the group of gentlemen as they conversed.
“A Russian-controlled Poland would make her too powerful,” he continued. “If Prussia swallows Saxony whole, Austria will be pressed between hammer and anvil. A balance of power shall benefit us all.”
Castlereagh’s tone was cutting. “I am relieved to find you for once in agreement with us, but what guarantee have we that you won’t change your mind behind our backs?”
“Austria would, naturally, expect territorial concessions elsewhere if Prussia took too much of Saxony.” Metternich pulled out a silken handkerchief and inspected it.
“Of course.” Hardenberg leaned forward, both elbows on his knees, fixing him with a penetrating stare. “You have your eyes on Venice, do you not?”
“Amongst other things.” Metternich polished his quizzing glass with the handkerchief.
The Archduke gave a languid yawn. “Such as Istria, Illyria, Dalmatia, Lombardia, Tuscany, Parma, Tirol—did I forget something, Prince? In short, all the lands that once belonged to the Austrian crown before Bonaparte took them.”
“You speak as though you wish to restore the Holy Roman Empire. How very like an emperor’s son,” Hardenberg scoffed.
“The chances of my ever inheriting the emperor’s crown are as likely as Bonaparte returning from Elba—nil,” the Archduke replied lazily. “But why should Austria stand idly by while the rest of you feast at the table, hm?”
Castlereagh’s smile was thin. “And here I thought Your Imperial Highness was not interested in politics. Aldingbourne said you were not to be underestimated. It seems he was right.”
The Archduke shrugged. “Frankly, I care not a whit. The entire business is fatiguing. That is why we have our most excellent minister of foreign affairs to see to it. Am I right, Prince?”
He flashed a gleaming smile at Metternich, who bowed back with exaggerated grace. They seemed in agreement on this point, at least. And yet, watching them, Pippa sensed the tension beneath the courtesy.
Then Hardenberg’s fist crashed down. “And I say Saxony shall be ours!”
The glasses rattled. One toppled and shattered. Wine splashed across the carpet and onto the guests.
Metternich hissed, “My stockings!”
Castlereagh let out a sharp scoff.
The Archduke raised a finger in silent command, his expression one of long-suffering amusement.
Drimmel nudged her. “Go.”
Her heart leapt. She seized her brush and shovel and stepped into the glittering room.
She knelt and began sweeping the shards.
Her hands trembled slightly as she gathered the glass into the pail, wiped up the spill and sprinkled salt on the red stain on the carpet. She pointedly avoided looking in the Archduke’s direction. Then, as quietly as she had come, she rose and withdrew to the antechamber.
There, she drew an unsteady breath. That had gone well. The others had not seen her. Not truly.
Not even Castlereagh had looked her way. If he had, he might have recognised her, the girl who had spied on him some weeks before. They had all ignored her.
All except one. One pair of eyes had followed her every movement, and she could feel them on her until she withdrew to the antechamber.
After all the guests finally left, it was well past two in the morning. She was barely awake, sleeping on her feet.
Drimmel nodded to her. “Very well, I can finish up. You may turn in for the night.”
She made her way down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase when a softly lisping voice stopped her. “Miss Philippa Cranwell. If I may have a word.”
She blinked and turned. “Yes?”
“Ah.” Standing in the middle of the corridor, with his quizzing glass dangling from his fingers and an enigmatic smile playing about his lips, was Prince Metternich.
“So you really are Miss Philippa Cranwell.” He looked immensely pleased at having caught her.
It took Pippa one horrifying moment before she realised she’d reacted to her real name.
“Oh no. It is Anna Braun,” she began, then realised it was an exercise in futility. Her shoulders slumped.
He stepped closer, one, two steps, a gleam of curiosity in his pale eyes. “We are well beyond that deception, yes? I believe it was August who gave you that utterly unoriginal name. He is a splendid fellow otherwise, and very loyal, but rather uncreative when it comes to these things.”
Dangle, dangle, the quizzing glass moved back and forth like a pendulum.
She moistened her lips and did not know what to reply.
“I understand he recruited you on the agreement that you would supply us with, err, intelligence. I believe you have done so rather more diligently than would have been necessary. The secret police has forwarded me some of your reports.”
Pippa blinked at him. “You remember what I wrote in those reports?”
“My dear child, I remember absolutely everything I read in every single report.”
“You read every single report personally?” But he must have hundreds of agents spread throughout Vienna, who supplied him with thousands of reports. Daily.
He smiled, pleased. “Indeed. I read every report personally. Your reports have been interesting, shall we say? And if I may add, rather verbose.”
Pippa racked her brain to remember what she’d written in her last report. Her nose wrinkled.
“In the secret meeting Lord Castlereagh had with the Duke of Aldingbourne in Archduke Leopold’s quarters,” he cited, “Castlereagh wore a wine-coloured waistcoat and a light blue coat, with golden cuffs, and Aldingbourne a dark blue coat, light breeches, silken stockings and buckled shoes.” He paused.
“Followed by an elaborate description of the diamond-studded buckle that took up at least a paragraph.”
Pippa clasped her hands behind her. “Well. Yes. So I did.”
“Followed by a curt, one-sentence summary, I quote, ‘They talked about matters pertaining to the congress.’” The dangling stopped. “My dear Miss Cranwell,” he sighed. “Really?”
Pippa flushed.
“Then, if I recall correctly, you followed up with a list of rather interesting observations, like Hardenberg having a hole in his left stocking; that Lord Steward’s neckcloth was vermilion-striped with rose and tied in the mathematical style, though it was incorrectly tied, followed by a perplexing mathematical equation proving why such a conclusion was correct.
Rounding it all up with the observation that he seemed to have forgotten to shave because he had a stubble on his chin.
Profound observations, Miss Cranwell. Profound. ”
“Yes, well. One tries one’s best.” Her eyes slipped away from his face.
“It isn’t good enough, Miss Cranwell.”
She suddenly found the marble square plate on the floor of profound interest and traced the pattern with her left foot.
“But then,” he continued, “I suppose one can’t expect more from the daughter of Professor Basil Cranwell.”
“You know who I am.” It was quite a redundant statement, for of course Metternich knew who she was, and who her father had been. His next words confirmed that.
“Why, naturally? The daughter of one of the most controversial radical thinkers of our time.” His lips curled slightly.
“Disgraced at the British court and sent into exile. Such an unfortunate reputation, your father’s.
Radicalism, exile, and all that. But we mustn’t hold the sins of the parents against their children.
” His eyes met hers in the ensuing pause. “Must we?”
Coldness rushed through her body, freezing her veins. What was he implying? The silence between them grew thick with unspoken threats.
But he merely chuckled. “You are not without intelligence, Fr?ulein Cranwell. I see you have understood the gist of my meaning.”
She licked her lips. “What in particular is it you need, sir?”
He regarded her for one moment with half-hooded eyes.
“You have access to Archduke Leopold now that you have become his personal chambermaid. He has dismissed the previous team because he suspected they worked for me, and rightly so.” He bent forward.
“Little does he know that you’re no better.
You must have heard the rumours regarding His Imperial Highness. ”
“You mean that they call him the Blonde Lucifer?”
Metternich chuckled. “That, too. But I meant the more recent ones.”
Pippa, truly, had no idea what he meant.
“It is no secret that he is not on the best of terms with his father, the emperor. The main reason is that he is resisting the marriage that is to be arranged for him.”
Pippa felt his words like a punch in her stomach, but she schooled her expression to remain placid.
“What I want you to do,” Metternich continued, “is to discover the reason behind his resistance.” He tapped his quizzing glass against his chin.
“I would wager a fortune that it is a woman.” A beat.
“I want you to discover who she is, and what hold she has over him that he would put himself at odds with the Emperor.”
Pippa’s mouth dried. “Very well. You want a name, then.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “I shall get it for you.”
He smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. “I see we understand each other perfectly, Miss Cranwell. Or shall I say, Fr?ulein Braun?”
With a small nod, he turned and strolled away, leaving Pippa staring after him, her heart pounding in her chest.