An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(102)
I thought of the letter nestling in my pocket which beckoned us on to a new adventure. “With perhaps just a little detour on our journey,” I said, linking my arm with his.
“What detour?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“That,” I told him, “is for me to know and you to discover.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “Very well. But I may also know a thing or two that you do not.”
“Oh, really? Tell me,” I urged.
“Better yet. I will show you.” He leant near to my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. “‘I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a heathen,’” he murmured.
“God bless John Keats,” I replied fervently.
He escorted me back to our lodgings and proceeded to demonstrate for me the wisdom that Pompeia Baker-Greene had imparted during their private conversation. The next morning, utterly sated and rather tired after a vigorously sleepless night, I rose early and dressed, careful to ease out of the room quietly so as not to waken Stoker, who was, poor fellow, utterly demolished with fatigue.
Making my way to the cheesemonger, I selected the largest, most delectably fragrant cheese I could find and ordered it sent to England to Pompeia Baker-Greene.
“Would you care to include a message, Fraulein?” the cheese maker inquired.
“Not at all,” I told him with a smile. “She will know what it is for.”
I stepped out of the shop and into the cobbled street just as the sun topped the flank of the devil’s staircase, warming the side of the mountain with its golden light. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the hillsides of the lower slopes, bright green with spring grass, were dotted lushly with the first buds of St. Otthild’s wort. A passing breeze caught the top of the Teufelstreppe, blowing snow off the peak in a long, lazy trail of powdery white, like the last feather from an angel’s wing as it ascended to the heavens.
I drew in a deep breath of cool mountain air and turned my face to the rising sun for just a moment. I thought of the discoveries we had made in the course of this adventure, the secrets left unspoken. And a whisper of a chill breeze brushed across my face, like the passing of a shadow over the moon.
Just then, a familiar voice called my name from above, and I looked up to see Stoker, sleep tousled and smiling down at me from the open casement.
I pushed aside all thoughts of peril and secrets and raised my face once more to the sun. Whatever lay in our future, whatever our destiny, we would face it together, stalwart and devoted, I vowed. Excelsior!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Alpenwald, with its customs, language, folklore, inhabitants, flora, fauna, and history, is entirely fictitious, as is its capital of Hochstadt and the Teufelstreppe. While many British princesses married into German principalities and duchies, George III’s only sister to do so was Princess Augusta, the Hereditary Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel. Although Empress Frederick (Queen Victoria’s eldest daughter, the Princess Royal) was in England during January 1889, she did not broker a secret peace treaty in opposition to her son the kaiser.
Alice Baker-Greene and her family are also fictitious, although many female mountaineers were making audacious climbs during the nineteenth century, and two in particular—Annie Smith Peck and Fanny Bullock Workman—did indeed hold up suffragist banners in their photographs. The climbing rivalry between these two mountaineers was legendary and both have provided inspiration for the character of Alice Baker-Greene.
Many operas have been written with Atalanta as their subject, most notably by Handel, but the particular work referenced in this book does not exist.
St. Otthild is also a figment of the author’s imagination, as are her otters rampant.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As ever, tremendous gratitude to the team at Berkley/Penguin, Veronica’s champions and my collaborators. Particular thanks to Craig Burke, Loren Jaggers, Claire Zion, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Jin Yu, Jessica Mangicaro, Jenn Snyder, Ivan Held, and Tara O’Connor. The marketing, sales, publicity, and editorial departments are full of dedicated and talented people who give their all to Veronica and I am hugely grateful for their generosity. The art department has created exquisite covers for every novel, but this one goes above and beyond.
For more than twenty years I’ve had the privilege and joy of working with my agent, Pam Hopkins, and this is my sixth adventure with my editor, Danielle Perez. They are gifted, kind, and insightful women who have given me advice as well as friendship, and I am a better writer for knowing them.
Many thanks to Ellen Edwards, the acquiring editor who gave Veronica a home, and Eileen Chetti, my copyeditor who keeps Veronica tidy with eagle-eyed precision.
Much love to those who offer practical support, sympathetic ears, kindly advice, and safe spaces: Jomie Wilding, the Writerspace team, Blake Leyers, Ali Trotta, Delilah Dawson, Ariel Lawhon, Joshilyn Jackson, Lauren Willig, Susan Elia MacNeal, Robin Carr, Alan Bradley, David Bell, Rhys Bowen, and the Blanket Fort.
For Mom, Dad, and Caitlin—you are my everything.
For Phil. Forever. For always.