Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Pippa lay in bed, the blanket drawn up to her nose, her eyes scrunched shut. She held her breath and tried to avoid moving.
“Pippa. I know you are not sleeping.” A cool hand touched her forehead. “Nor are you ill. If you are feigning illness to escape the ball, let me tell you right away that it is not working.”
It appeared there was no deceiving the Archduchess, who remained hovering over her.
Pippa opened her eyes and looked straight into hers.
Mimi pulled off the blanket with an energetic movement.
“You are wasting precious time. You should dress and help me dress instead of lying in bed, moping.”
Pippa made one last attempt. “But I really do not feel well. I have no appetite at all, my head aches, and I have trouble breathing. And here,” she tapped her chest, “it feels awfully constricted.”
Mimi gave her a sympathetic look. “Judging from your symptoms, it is a very grave illness indeed. It is incurable through conventional medicine. Do you want to know what it is called?”
A look of alarm crossed Pippa’s face. “What?”
Mimi bent over and whispered in her ear. “It is called lovesickness.”
Pippa shot upright. “It cannot be. It is entirely impossible. You heard yourself that I have released Klemens,” she swallowed painfully, “so there is no reason whatsoever for me to feel this way.”
Mimi looked at her pitifully. “Poor child. You have every reason to feel this way. But—” she pulled Pippa from bed “—this is not something you should discuss with me, but with Klem. And tonight is the perfect opportunity: the Redouten ball!”
“But there is nothing more to discuss!” Pippa protested. “And I would be most grateful if I did not have to attend the ball.”
“Nonsense, you must go. After all, you are my companion. I think I shall wear the white silver,” she mused, lifting an exquisite confection of gauze and satin.
A band of ruffled silver trimmed the high waist, and tiny silver flowers were embroidered along the hem.
It was one of the most beautiful gowns Pippa had ever seen.
“And for you, the pink satin.” She pointed at the dress draped over the chair, white lace over a pink satin slip, and embroidered with little rosebuds at the hem and décolleté.
“Complete with, let us see. A pearl necklace, bracelets, and earrings. And some bright rosebuds in your dark hair would look charming. You will be absolutely stunning.”
“This dress is for me?” Pippa gasped. She had never worn anything as beautiful in her entire life. She touched the delicate lace with a finger. It was the dress of a princess. “It is too good for me.”
“Nonsense.” Mimi pulled her into the middle of the room and beckoned the abigail. “My companion needs to look every bit as stunning as I do. Take off your dress and try it on. You shall look divine in it.”
There was no point in protesting. Pippa had to wear the ballgown. Her curls were tied up, little rosebuds affixed in her hair, and when she looked into the mirror, she hardly recognised herself.
Mimi clapped her hands and stepped back, eyeing her with approval. “You look perfect. You will bowl Klemens over. As well as every other gentleman in the ballroom.”
“But I do not want to bowl Klemens over,” Pippa began.
“Nonsense, of course you do.” She drew her forward and whispered in her ear. “It is the best strategy when all else fails, you see.” Her eyes twinkled.
Pippa really did not know what she was talking about. “There, take it off now. We must make sure it does not get a wrinkle so everything is perfect tonight.” Pippa took the dress off obediently.
While the abigail was curling her hair, Mimi said, “I want roses in my hair.” Pippa lifted the red rose that lay in a bowl on the dressing table.
Mimi shook her head. “No, the colour is too strong for my hair colour. I need a shade lighter. Go fetch them for me, Pippa, since Martha here is busy with my hair.”
Pippa hurried into the corridor.
Roses. Roses. Where on earth would she find roses?
Below stairs, naturally, in the servants’ quarters.
She hurried down the familiar backstairs and entered the corridors that led to the servants’ quarters.
In the room where they kept the decorations for the dining room, there would be flowers.
She entered the room. It was empty. Her eyes swept over the tables that were spilling over with ivy, orchids, and how could it be that there was every other kind of flowers but not roses?
She found them eventually, in a pile on the table next to the sink, half-hidden by the open cabinet door.
She stepped behind it and picked up several when the door opened and two footmen entered with silver trays.
Pippa was hidden behind the open cabinet door. She had meant to step forward and offer a greeting when she heard a voice, low and tight, say, “They discovered the missive. I do not know about you, but I do not intend to die for this cause.”
Pippa froze.
“Neither of us shall,” another voice answered. “Just trust me.”
“Trust?” The first man’s laugh was a dry rasp. “How do I know you are not a spy for Metternich? If he gets wind of this, it is over.”
“It was planned,” the other returned, quieter now.
“The missive you delivered was a decoy, a false trail for the authorities. If you find one, know it is deliberate. But listen.” He glanced left and right, then breathed the words, “The Society of the Torch meets Thursday week in the Crypta of the Minoritenkirche. If all goes as planned, it will overturn everything. We will have a new order by nightfall.”
“I shall believe that only when I see it,” the other grumbled.
The door opened, closed, and then there was silence.
Pippa remained in the room for several minutes longer, then she opened the door carefully, looked left and right, and when no one was in the corridor, she slipped out and up the stairs from whence she had come.
Pippa’s heart hammered, and her mind whirred.
What had she just heard?
The Society of the Torch. Was that not what Von Hager had been asking her about?
They were having a meeting next Thursday.
It sounded ominous. What were they trying to do? Overthrow the empire?
Feeling increasingly uneasy, Pippa returned to the Archduchess’ rooms with the roses.
As she helped with the final touches of Mimi’s wardrobe, she could not help but have her thoughts repeatedly drawn to the conversation she had overheard.
She would have to tell someone.
But who?
Klemens?
She bit her lip.
Von Hager? He would not be present tonight. She could send a message to Agent August. But no, that was too risky. What if it got intercepted? She would have to inform him personally. But it was impossible for her to leave the palace.
Who else could she tell? Metternich? It would make sense, but how to reach the man?
She stepped out through the French double doors, welcoming the cool night. The verandah was linked to the rooftop garden with the greenhouse. She had several hours left until the ball.
Pippa entered the greenhouse and was instantly rewarded with the warmth, calm, and fragrant atmosphere. She walked among the flowers, admired their colour, and sat down on the bench, wondering what she should be doing.
“You look uncommonly thoughtful, young lady,” said a voice, making her jump. The gardener looked at her sheepishly.
“Oh! Herr G?rtner.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Well met. I am glad to see you again. Do sit down.” She moved aside, and the man sat.
“But do not let me disturb you. I apologise for having frightened you. You appeared to be deep in thought.”
“I enjoy coming here as it helps me think. The flowers keep me company. All three hundred and twenty-four.”
The man chuckled. “That is accurate. How did you know?”
“A rough estimate. I am good with numbers, you see.”
“What were you so deeply lost in thought about?”
“I am in a bit of a dilemma.” She looked at him earnestly. “And to be honest, I am not at all certain I should talk about this.”
The man put a pipe into his mouth but did not light it. “If it is a secret, keep it to yourself, of course, and I shall not pry.”
“Yes.” Pippa was silent for a long moment, weighing her options.
The gardener seemed content to wait, puffing gently on his unlit pipe.
Finally, she spoke. “But what if this is a bad sort of secret? A secret that, if remaining untold, might cost many lives? Would that not be a reason to tell it? Or even more: does one not have a moral obligation to tell it then?”
“That would depend on who the bearer of the secret is.” He looked at her intently. “I gather it is not yours?”
She shook her head. “It is something I overheard just now in the servants’ hall. Two footmen, who believed themselves alone in the room, were discussing a very sensitive matter.”
“Well, if it is footmen, I gather that sensitive matter might pertain to one of our important guests here. There are countless rumours and scandals circulating these days.”
She shook her head again. “I fear it is something weightier than that.”
“Now you certainly have me intrigued.”
She paused, bit her lip, then decided to tell him. “It might be about treason.”
The man’s hand froze as he lifted it to his pipe. “Oh, dear.”
“Have you ever heard of the Society of the Torch?”
“I have indeed. It is rumoured to be a secret society, a hotbed of Jacobins, though no one knows for certain since they are so elusive.”
“I overheard that they have a meeting in the Crypta of the Minoritenkirche on Thursday. To create, I quote, ‘a new order.’ I find that sounds rather threatening and ominous. I should report that to Metternich directly, should I not?”
“That is rather alarming, indeed. I believe that Metternich ought to be informed, yes. But he tends to be rather inaccessible these days, particularly for a young woman like you. The Polizeihofstelle?”
Pippa grimaced. “I am not in good standing with them. They had me interrogated only yesterday.”
“Dear me! And why is that?”
“For being a Jacobin sympathiser,” she replied gloomily. “Which I am not, I assure you!”
“I gather our police minister is, at times, rather overzealous,” the gardener muttered. “He should do his job investigating that society instead of wasting his time interrogating innocent young women.”
“Yes, I emphatically agree!”
“Well, young woman, you must not tarry. Deliver your message at once to either Hager or Metternich. Who knows, but you may have done the empire a huge favour, and you shall be lauded a heroine for having prevented a revolution.”
Pippa laughed. “Hardly. I daresay in the end it might turn out to be nothing of much importance. But I shall do as you say.” She got up.
“It was a pleasure to talk to you, young lady, as always,” the gardener replied and left, looking thoughtful.