Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
She had indeed memorised the list. It was full of outlandish names, half of which she could not even pronounce.
“I have a memory like wax,” Evie explained. “I need but see a thing written once, and it stays imprinted in my mind for good. It is somewhat inconvenient to have so many random things stored in my brain, much like one stores boxes in an attic.”
Hartenberg snapped the quill out of Schneider’s hand and pushed the paper towards her. “Write it down.”
After some hesitation, she picked up the quill and began to write.
Kasper Draskovic, Graf von Witt, Karl Ludwig von Schulmeister, Franz von Leykam, Chevalier Valmont.
Both men choked simultaneously.
Evie paused to look up.
“Good God,” Hartenberg breathed.
Schneider slammed his fist onto the table. “Schulmeister. I knew it. An Austrian spy of Alsatian origin. Valmont is a well-known French agent. No surprise there. But von Leykam? That is a coup.”
She wrote down thirteen more names before she set down the quill. “I shall not put down Julius’s name. It was the last one on the list.”
Schneider looked slightly ill. Hartenberg’s granite face gave nothing away as his eyes moved down the list.
“How do we know this list is authentic?” Schneider asked.
Evie scowled. “Do you think I am inventing these names?”
“She could not possibly have heard of Valmont. Nor Schulmeister.” Hartenberg picked up the paper and studied it.
Then he lifted his head to study Evie. “Let us attempt an experiment.” He picked up the pencil and quickly jotted down a list of thirty or so random names.
Then he held the paper out to Evie. “Look at it.”
After she had read the list, giving her barely thirty seconds to do so, he whisked it away. Then he pushed the pencil towards her. “Now write them down.”
She gave him a long, speaking look. Then she picked up the pencil and easily wrote down the names, without hesitating even once.
“Brilliant,” Schneider breathed. “Utterly brilliant.”
She pushed the paper towards Hartenberg, who ascertained that everything she had written was correct.
“What an enviable talent,” he muttered. “Truly. As for authenticating the list, that will be our next task.” He handed the paper to Schneider.
“The question that remains is this: what do the Widows intend to do with this list once they have it?” Hartenberg tapped an impatient finger on the table.
“One would have to wait and see what they are up to.”
Evie stared. “You cannot possibly want me to hand them this list? Just like that?”
Schneider’s head snapped to Hartenberg as well. “Sir? Wouldn’t it be better to keep it locked away somewhere safe until we have verified the list?”
“We need to give the Widows something. I do not believe the woman was bluffing when she threatened to ruin Aldingbourne’s name if Lady Evangeline did not give her what she wanted by tomorrow.”
“With respect, sir, if the list is authentic, handing it over is a considerable risk,” Schneider said.
“Which is precisely why we shall manage what happens next.” Hartenberg’s tone did not invite further debate.
Schneider’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Then how about fabricating names?” Evie suggested.
“They will know it is a fabrication. Never underestimate your enemy.” He paused, then said, “Add Aldingbourne’s name.”
“But why?”
“If it is missing, she will know it is a fabrication.”
“True, true,” Schneider hummed.
Hartenberg turned abruptly to Evie. “You will meet her at the appointed place tomorrow and hand her the list. Have Miss Honeywell accompany you.”
“She said I should come alone.”
“To keep up appearances, take her along. You would never go to such an establishment alone; it would draw too much attention. Let the widow approach you, then hand her the list. That is all you need to do. We will take over from there.”
Evie pondered this. “What exactly do you intend to do?”
Hartenberg smiled, but it was not pleasant. “The less you know, the better.”
Evie certainly knew how to be fashionable when the need warranted it.
For her excursion to Dehne’s, she had attired herself in the very height of French fashion: a velvet hat graced by a massive white plume, and a thick, fur-lined coat from beneath which the expensive Belgian lace of her walking dress peeked forth.
Fur-lined satin slippers protected her feet, and she carried a muff the size of a pillow.
Within its hidden pocket lay her most precious possession: a Manton pocket pistol, loaded and charged.
This time, she would not enter the encounter unprepared.
Evie and Clara secured a table in the middle of the room.
A strange stillness pervaded the establishment, far quieter than on her previous visits, which Evie noted before settling into her chair.
They ordered hot chocolate and Nesselrode pudding, the most fashionable of confections.
The Viennese had embraced the dish with enormous enthusiasm ever since the Russian diplomat bearing that name had seen fit to lend his consequence to a chilled mountain of pureed chestnuts, candied fruit and custard.
Evie found it a fine thing, to have one’s legacy immortalised as a pudding.
“Some might think it an odd combination, to drink something hot and eat something frozen alongside it, but I find I love it entirely. To first burn one’s tongue and then soothe it with the ice,” she told Clara. “And now, do tell me all about the latest society gossip.”
Clara obediently embarked on a detailed account of the latest scandal, but Evie’s eyes travelled the room, attending her friend’s chatter with half an ear.
The patrons were indeed few. By the window sat a mother with her daughter; nearby, a couple argued over the menu with a practised weariness that suggested they must be married.
There was no sign of the Baroness. Neither Hartenberg nor Schneider had appeared, and a sliver of worry tightened in Evie’s chest at the thought of what she was to do if they failed to show up at all.
Her instructions were strict and simple: she was to sit there and drink hot chocolate and eat some cake, and to wait for the Baroness.
Evie wondered whether Clara’s presence would be a deterrent to her.
Her instructions had been to appear alone; however, surely she would understand that it was impossible for her to come to a place like this without her companion.
Yet time passed and no sign of the woman.
“The pudding, my lady,” a waiter rasped. He placed a silver plate before her, topped with a dome-shaped confection decorated with cherries and gilded chestnuts. It appeared substantial enough to feed an entire army.
“Good heavens. How on earth are we to eat all that?” Evie exclaimed.
“With your spoon, my lady,” the waiter pointed out.
Evie, who had already retrieved the utensil, looked up with a flash of irritation. Her gaze collided with a pair of storm-grey eyes peering from beneath a thicket of bushy brows. He winked.
With a sharp gasp, Evie dropped her spoon.
Hartenberg! He was entirely unrecognisable, with whiskers and bushy eyebrows, and a big apron tied over a simple suit. Even his hair was arranged differently, slickly combed backwards instead of forwards, over his forehead.
He promptly bent to retrieve her spoon, whisking a fresh one from some hidden pocket and placing it before her. He winked once more.
Evie pressed her lips together to prevent herself from bursting into laughter.
So this is how it was: they were all disguised. There were rather more waiters there than necessary, and that gentleman by the window reading a newspaper might be a secret agent as well. They would not let her out of their sight, not for one minute.
And yet…the Baroness was not stupid. Surely she would realise that the coffee room was unsafe. Besides, their last meeting had taken place in that other room in the corridor. She’d told Hartenberg about it, of course, but he’d insisted she remain in the main coffee room.
“If she wants something from you, you must let her approach you. You dictate the rules of the game, not she,” he’d maintained.
While that felt reasonable, Evie felt down to the marrow of her bones that the Baroness would not be playing according to any rules other than her own.
She was as certain as she was of her own name that the Baroness was waiting for her in the other room right now, and she was wasting time by remaining here with Clara.
Hartenberg had disappeared with the tray full of dishes. This was her chance.
Evie swallowed and rose from her seat. “I shall be back anon,” she told Clara. “Pray, save some of the pudding for my return.”
Clutching her muff, she quickly slid out of the main door before the three waiters noticed she was gone, and slipped down the corridor to the room.
Hartenberg would kill her if he discovered that she had disobeyed orders, but she knew this was the right thing to do.
She stood outside the door and drew a long, steadying breath.
The door closed behind her with a definitive click. Evie looked around, confused, her pulse quickening. She was alone. She tightened her grip on the muff.
The Baroness sat in the corner, half-obscured by shadow.
“I see you are punctual,” she said, her voice as musical as ever. “Did you bring what I requested?”
Evie withdrew the folded paper from her muff and held it out. “Hartenberg had it in his study, just as you suspected. I cannot say whether it is truly what you seek.”
The Baroness took it with a gloved hand, perusing the contents with a keen eye. “I am surprised. I did not think you would follow through.”
“What do you intend to do with it?”
“These names are priceless.” She tapped a finger against the parchment. “Imagine the possibilities.”
Evie licked her dry lips. “What possibilities?”
The Baroness merely offered a thin smile. “You have done good work.”
“May I go now?”
“Not just yet. I would like to discuss the possibility of you joining our organisation as a permanent member.”