An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(76)

“Our famous Alpenwalder cheese,” the baroness told me. “It is most delicious with a glass of wine or toasted onto bread.”

I surveyed the groaning trays as Guimauve, stretched on the bed, lifted his head to sniff at the various enticing aromas.

“Is it always like this?” I asked the baroness as Yelena presented me with a delicate china cup filled with clear chicken consommé. I sniffed appreciatively at the steam.

The baroness smiled. “Of course. People like to demonstrate their gifts and it is natural to do so for royalty.”

“Quite a way to live,” I mused, sipping at the soup. A single dumpling floated on the surface. I scooped it up and took a bite. It was full of minced chicken and some flavorsome herb—tarragon, perhaps? It was one of the most delectable things I had ever eaten, but I could scarcely force it past the corset.

“You eat like a small bird,” the baroness said in disapproval. “Now, I must go and retrieve the jewels for tonight from the lumber room. Eat,” she ordered. She rattled off a series of instructions to Yelena in the Alpenwalder dialect—no doubt commanding her to force-feed me like a Michaelmas goose, I reflected darkly.

But as soon as the baroness had left, Yelena turned to me. “Do not eat if you do not wish. I will eat your share.”

“Yelena!” I exclaimed in an excited whisper. “You do speak English.”

“Yes,” she said. She helped herself to a cheese tart.

“But why do you pretend not to?”

She shrugged. “It is not for them to know everything.” She ate the cheese tart in one bite and reached for another.

“You know why I am here?” I pressed.

She rolled her eyes heavenwards at the obviousness of the question. “You take the place of the princess.”

“Do you know anything about her disappearance? Where she might be?”

She hesitated, darting a glance to the door. “Perhaps. I might know something about the night she left.”

“I know you made her a loan of your cloak,” I said, and she gave a start before dropping her lids in a look of grudging respect.

“Perhaps you do not require what I know,” she said in a demure murmur. Guimauve moved from the bed, putting out a paw in supplication. Yelena busied herself pulling a little chicken from a sandwich and feeding it to the cat.

“Do not be tiresome, Yelena,” I said with governessy firmness. “Tell me!”

Yelena gave me a sly look, her expression identical to Guimauve’s as he considered the spread of dishes upon the tray. “Such things are not free, Fraulein,” she told me.

“You want me to pay you for information?”

“I am not a rich girl,” she said, her lips twisting bitterly. “But I want to marry. If I have money, it will be easier.” She flicked another look at the closed door, and I recalled what the baroness had told me about Yelena’s romantic inclinations.

“You wish to marry Captain Durand,” I said.

“His family are very proud. They think I am a peasant because I am Russian, but I am no peasant,” she told me, her eyes bright with pride or hostility, I could not tell. “My father was put into prison after the attack upon the tsar.”

I blinked at her. “The attack upon the tsar? You mean the bomb that killed Tsar Alexander?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “My father had nothing to do with this, you understand. He knew those involved, he went to a meeting or two, but nothing more. He did not know of the plot. He did not act,” she insisted. It sounded to me as if he had had rather more than nothing to do with the conspiracy to assassinate the tsar, and my blood ran a little cold at the idea of an anarchist’s daughter in the employ of the princess.

“How did you come to work for the princess?” I asked.

“My mother had a sister who married an Alpenwalder and I was sent to my aunt so that I would be safe. My aunt married beneath her, an innkeeper,” she said, fairly spitting the word. “He expected me to make beds and empty chamber pots, and one day I said, ‘If I am to do such things, I might as well do them in a palace!’ And I went into the princess’s household as a chambermaid. She noticed me and the way I dressed my hair,” she said, touching a hand to her neatly plaited locks. “When her maid was ill, she sent for me to dress her hair. She liked my way of talking, and from then on, she sent for me often. When her maid left her post to marry, the princess offered me the post. I do good work for her,” she added with pride.

“But why hide the fact that you speak English?”

She reddened. “They talk about me when they think I cannot understand. The nobles and the high servants, they all speak English. If I keep my mouth closed, they say things in front of me they think I cannot understand.”

“And you blackmail them for it?” I hazarded.

“It did not begin that way,” she said, her mouth thinning unpleasantly. “But often they let slip little things they do not want other people to know. I ask only for small sums and that they keep my secret. I have put aside ten pounds,” she said, bringing out a small bundle from her pocket. I recognized one of the princess’s handkerchiefs knotted into a pouch. She opened it to show me the assortment of coins and notes, some German, some French, even a Swedish krona or two.

“Very resourceful,” I told her. The knowledge that Yelena was little better than a common blackmailer was distasteful; however, I had no wish to stem the tide of revelations.