An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(52)

“And if she has not?” Stoker asked.

“That is the bridge yet to be crossed,” she said.

He looked to me, but we both realized it was a formality. Stoker could never refuse a woman in distress of any variety. To have the baroness, a noble and handsome woman, pleading with him for so small a favor was far beyond his ability to rebuff.

“Baroness,” he began, his tone doubtful.

She must have known she had won as soon as he failed to reject the proposal outright, but she pressed anyway. “Our suite is very comfortable,” she urged. “And it is late and you both have had a terrible shock. The explosive might have been a nasty prank, but it was still a dreadful experience and we feel responsible. We have prevailed upon you both so far beyond the bounds of good manners, I shudder to think what opinion you must hold of us. To host you here, in luxury, with the most comfortable beds and the most delicious food, to send you home well rested and well fed, it is the least we can do. But perhaps you do not want to allow us the chance to repay your kindness and to make amends for what you have already endured?”

Stoker looked helplessly at me. He always was far too malleable where women were concerned. I gave the baroness my most gracious smile. “You are very kind, Baroness, but I think we should sleep better in our own beds. As you say, it has been a most exhausting day. We will, of course, be at your disposal should you wish us to call again,” I told her.

She inclined her head. “Very well. Come, Fraulein. I will help you change into your own clothes.”

The chancellor turned to Stoker.

“Thank you for your efforts tonight, sir. You may change in the room you used earlier.”

Stoker allowed the chancellor to lead him to the room put aside for his use while the baroness took me to the princess’s bedchamber, careful to lock the door once we were inside. The business with the bomb seemed to have unnerved her even more than I had first realized.

“The chancellor may be quite right and you may wake up tomorrow to find her here, wondering like the Three Bears who has been sleeping in her bed,” I added with a nod towards the vast silken four-poster.

“Just so,” she replied, but the frown did not leave her brow, and she moved mechanically through the lengthy process of disrobing and dismantling the royal creation she had made of me. Jewels were replaced in their boxes, hairpieces were combed out, garments were folded away. After some delay, Yelena appeared carrying a tray with a small teapot and earning a scolding from the countess for her tardiness. She gave the noblewoman a sullen look as she carried the gown off for sponging, banging the door behind her.

“That girl,” the baroness fretted as she lifted the lid on the teapot, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. “She has been harboring thoughts above her station ever since she took up with Captain Durand.”

“I understand they mean to marry,” I ventured.

The baroness gave me a knowing look as she poured a thin stream of liquid from the pot into a fragile china cup marked with the Alpenwalder otters. “In our country we would say you have long ears, like a hare, Fraulein, the better to hear gossip. But yes, Yelena is little better than a peasant, you understand. For her to marry a man of the captain’s station is a very great thing for her. It gives her ideas.”

“What is wrong with ideas?” I asked gently.

“La! You Englishwomen are all the same,” she clucked as she handed me the cup. “So modern with your bicycling machines and pamphlets on voting. Some woman shouted at me on the pavement the other day because she wanted money to stop vivisection. I told her, I do not even know what this is, but whatever it may be, ladies should not be shouting on pavements to stop it.”

“Vivisection is the performing of operations on live animals for research,” I told her as I peered into the cup. The liquid was green in color and bits of dried petals floated on the surface.

She pulled a face. “That does not sound very nice. Perhaps I should give her a few coins if I see her again.” She nodded towards the cup. “This is a tea made of St. Otthild’s wort,” she explained. “We drink it in the mountains for all things—to ease us when we are wakeful, to soothe us when we are sad. It is even good for women’s troubles,” she confided. “I thought it might calm your nerves after that dreadful incident at the opera. And perhaps give you a little energy as well.”

I sipped it and felt myself beginning to relax at once. As a cream for the skin, it had smelt of roses, but the aroma of the tea was similar to our own elderflower, subtle and elusive. It was a gentle concoction, and I thanked her.

“There is no need to drink it if you do not like the flavor,” she told me. “It is an acquired taste to some.”

“I do like it,” I assured her.

“Do you require anything else? Biscuits? Honey?” she asked. But I could see the signs of worry and fatigue stamped upon her features.

“Nothing at all. I am quite revived, Baroness,” I said.

My eyes fell then to the chocolate box containing the threat against Gisela. I took a few more sips of the tea. “On second thought, a chocolate might be nice,” I ventured.

The baroness looked at me in surprise. “Of course, Fraulein.”

She pressed the box upon me. “You must take it.”

“I could not possibly,” I protested. “It is the princess’s.”