Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Hector had thrown up several times in the carriage, then fallen into the sleep of the dead. After the fiasco with Talleyrand, they had left him in the servants' quarters with Mona watching over him while they finished their performance. The next morning, the poor boy had a headache.

"I will never touch alcohol again for the rest of my life," he groaned.

Mona placed her hand on his forehead. "Let this be a lesson to you, Hector Arenheim. This happened because you got greedy. How many of those cherries did you eat?"

Hecki pulled a face. "I picked them off the cakes first, and then I saw a bowl of them and ate them right out of the bowl. They were so delicious I couldn't stop. I also drank some of the liquid. How could I have known that they were evil cherries?"

"Oh, Hecki." Lena shook her head. "Does your head still hurt?"

"Like the very devil," the boy groaned .

Lena had been torn between embarrassment for her son, concern for his well-being, and the fear that Talleyrand would have them all thrown into prison for having ruined his expensive shoes. To her immense relief, the gentleman had a sense of humour. "It reminds me of the time I drank my nounou 's cherry liqueur which she kept hidden in her cupboard," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "I was about the same age as that boy and rendered incapacitated for an entire day. How long ago that was, and yet I remember it as if it were yesterday…"

"But your shoes, monsieur," Lena wailed. "Please allow us to have them cleaned."

"What, and have me run around in my stockings in the meantime?" he chuckled. "Never fear, madam. My servants will attend to it." He lifted a finger and a footman came running.

"You are too generous to overlook this," Lena had told him.

"At least this otherwise tedious and dull evening has seen a touch of excitement, even if it was at my expense." His eyes had twinkled merrily.

Later, Lena confided in Theo and Mona. "Perhaps all this performing is folly after all. Because not only are these people highly eccentric, but they keep late hours, which is difficult for the little ones, and I am beginning to doubt whether in the end it will have all been worth it." She had kept the secret agreement she had with Agent August to herself, only mentioning that this opportunity had been presented to them unexpectedly at the last moment .

"They paid you, didn't they?" Theo asked, suppressing a yawn.

She opened the purse to show him the coins she'd been given before they left.

"Well, then it was worth it," he said, a mischievous grin spreading over his tired face. "Even if Hecki nearly caused a diplomatic scandal. I wonder whether the Wiener Abendblatt will run a story on this tomorrow. I can see the headline now: ‘Even children vomit on French diplomacy!'"

"Theo!" Lena groaned. "Please don't even joke about that."

He laughed. "As much as I dislike the French, I must admit, I rather like this Talleyrand. Seems to be a good sport."

Lena agreed.

They hadn't arrived at home until three in the morning, and now everyone was still asleep, even though it was midday.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to write the missive for the spy. The instructions were to document everything she'd seen and heard that evening.

She chewed on her pencil, then began to write. The image of the man who'd been staring at her arose in her mind. She nearly dropped the pen.

Who was he?

And why had he stared at her like that?

Had she just imagined him? He'd disappeared in the blink of an eye .

Shaking her head as if to rid her mind of these images, she continued writing her report.

She met August in the early morning hours at the lamppost outside the house and discreetly handed him the missive. He tucked it away swiftly and pulled out a small leather pouch, which she gratefully accepted. Not only was food for the week secured but the rent as well. Lena heaved a sigh of relief.

"I know you've detailed everything in the letter, but just out of curiosity—who did you encounter there?" August pushed his hat back so she could see his clear, sharp eyes.

Lena told him about the interchange between Castlereagh and the King of Prussia.

He nodded. "Their difference in the matter is well known. Who else?"

"Talleyrand." She cleared her throat, hoping her face did not betray anything about Hecki's mishap. "He was speaking with another gentleman I couldn't identify. He was of medium height, very handsome with dark blond curly hair, and a slightly receding hairline." She recalled with indignation how he'd winked at her. She frowned. "He was rather preposterous and arrogant."

And then there was the other, darker gentleman. Lena felt a chill down her spine merely by thinking of him. For some reason, she didn't want to mention him to August.

"I wonder who he could have been," she murmured .

August smiled knowingly. "Medium height, dark blond curly hair? Was he very charming?"

She felt a flush creep up her cheeks. "I wouldn't know."

August chuckled. "Of course he was. They call him the ‘Adonis of the Drawing Room.' He is quite popular among women. Did he seem to recognise you?"

Lena threw him an astonished look. "How did you know?"

August smirked. "We know everything. That, my dear Frau Arenheim, was Prince Metternich—the man to whom our head of police reports. The man for whom, ultimately, you are spying."

With a grin, he tipped his hat and sauntered down the road, whistling a tune.

Lena stared after him, utterly flabbergasted.

Lena went to the market with Mona. Together, they planned to prepare the children's favourite meal: plum dumplings, lovingly rolled in buttered breadcrumbs and sweetly powdered with sugar. It was a delight to the senses.

"We must buy a lot of plums, Mama," Mona said enthusiastically. "The boys always have a competition to see who can eat the most. I want to eat at least three myself."

She had both hands in a bowl of potato dough when there was a sharp knock at the door. She heard the scuffling of footsteps in the house as one of the children hurried to open it.

A moment later, Theo appeared in the kitchen. "Mama, there is someone there to see you."

Lena looked up with a frown. "Who is it? I'm in the middle of making dumplings."

He shrugged. "They didn't say. They look like very fine people, though. I think you should talk to them. I put them in the parlour."

Lena dropped the dough into the bowl and wiped her fingers on her apron. She took it off, stepped out into the hallway and opened the door to the parlour.

Her eyes swept across the room to where two gentlemen stood by the fireplace, their top hats laid aside. She could instantly tell that they were people of Quality. Both men turned and stared at her.

One was of average height, dressed in a simple but well-tailored brown suit. His countenance held an air of open friendliness. When his gaze fell on her, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

But it was the other gentleman who truly captured her attention.

He was tall, impeccably dressed in beige pantaloons paired with a dark blue coat. His neckcloth, spotlessly white, was expertly tied around two stiff shirt points. He held a walking stick in one hand and gloves in the other. Dark hair framed his features, which, while not exactly handsome, exuded an air of arrogance and icy aloofness.

A tremor ran down Lena's spine.

"You," she stammered. It was the same gentleman who'd looked at her with such a penetrating stare the previous evening.

Their eyes locked. Once more, the man's gaze pierced her soul. His jaw clenched and his lips thinned. He stood as still as a marble statue. He was also as pale as one. The only movement in his entire body was the ticking of a vein in his right temple.

Lena forgot to breathe.

At first she did not notice the third occupant, a lady sitting quietly in an armchair. She was elegantly attired in a fine walking dress, a cashmere shawl draped over one arm, her bonnet adorned with feathered plumes. She stood abruptly.

"Oh!" escaped Lena's lips.

The lady tripped forwards, grasped her hands and shook them as if she were a long-lost friend.

"I am so delighted to see you again!" She beamed at her.

Heaven help her, it was the mad Englishwoman.

Aware that she had bits of potato dough stuck under her fingernails, Lena pulled her hands away and hid them behind her back.

"When we met earlier, you said your name was Helena Arenheim?" the lady said.

"Yes, that is correct."

"It is clear you do not remember any of us. A shame. I am Lady Evangeline Stafford-Hill." She looked at her expectantly. "Does the name sound familiar?"

Lena shook her head. She was acutely aware of her own simple, washed-out blue cotton dress, and the jam stains on the sleeve. Her hair probably resembled a bird's nest. She rubbed the tip of her nose self-consciously, not realising that in doing so, she left a smudge of flour on it.

The English lady's mouth broke into a delighted grin. "I would like to introduce you to someone." She took a deep breath and said, "This is my brother, Julius, the Duke of Aldingbourne." She gestured to the arrogant-looking gentleman.

A Duke? He was an English Duke?

She had no idea how to behave when one was presented to a Duke, English or otherwise. What was one supposed to do? Hold out one's hand to be kissed? Bow? Curtsy? And if so, which one, and how deep?

Lena ended up performing a mixture of both, a crooked curtsy-bow. "How do you do?" she murmured, hoping that she had done the right thing.

He opened his pale lips once, twice, but no sound emerged.

"And this is his secretary, Mr Emil Mortimer," the lady continued, pointing at the younger man in brown.

"Good heavens." The younger man stared at her with eyes so wide they looked like they would pop out of his face any minute. "How can it be? How is this possible?"

Lena did not know what to make of his reaction. She clasped her hands behind her back and wished them all to Jericho.

But the expression on the Duke's face was becoming increasingly worrying. He looked distinctly ill. Perhaps he needed some fresh air. Lena was about to suggest he sit down when he finally spoke.

"Catherine," finally broke from his pale lips.

Oh, no, no, no, no. Not again.

Lena backed away as the man dropped his stick and gloves and proceeded to descend down on her with unnerving determination. She backed away. "This is a mistake," she stammered as she bumped into the armchair.

As she turned to flee, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm with a steely grip and pulling her towards him. Abruptly, she found herself pressed against his chest—solid as marble, yet radiating heat. Dazed, she blinked, trying to process the sudden proximity.

"By all the saints," he breathed.

Lena looked up at him, bewildered, as he gently cradled her face between his hands, studying it intently. His finger traced the mole on her right cheek so delicately that goosebumps erupted across her skin. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably.

A waft of his cologne entered her nose. A masculine smell of cedar and musk, earthy and wooden, warm and…familiar. She paused, catching her breath, her chest tightening. A wave of emotion washed over her, an ache, a sadness she didn't understand. Glimmers of something flickered at the edge of her consciousness, yet out of reach.

She gasped. "Who are you?"

"The question is, who are you?" the Duke replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Are you an actress? An impostor chasing title and fortune?" His grasp tightened on her chin, the other still cupping her cheek. "Are you real?"

Lena's mouth dropped open. "I—What?"

"Julius." Lady Evangeline groaned. She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "She can hardly be an impostor chasing after your title and fortune when it was us, specifically me, who chased her to begin with." Turning to Lena she said, "I apologise. What must you think of us. It is the shock of seeing you again after all this time. Julius!" she hissed. "Apologise."

The Duke opened and closed his mouth several times, then said with a hoarse voice, "You're right. That comment was unnecessary and uncalled for. I apologise."

Lena grasped the armchair for support. "You're mad. You're all mad." Her entire body trembled.

"If I may say so, I do not believe she is an impostor, Your Grace," Mr Mortimer interjected, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "She appears to be quite—authentic. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen her with my own eyes, though she clearly does not seem to remember any of us."

"I told you so!" Lady Evangeline exclaimed triumphantly. "Didn't I, Julius? I told them I saw you in that street, but Julius wouldn't listen. You can't imagine the schemes I concocted to find you and bring you two together, and now look, it's happened entirely by chance. It is fate lending a hand. You appeared suddenly at the Metternich soiree, playing like an angel, and Julius finally saw you. He dropped his champagne glass and almost fainted. Then you disappeared again. You must stop doing that, it is a most vexatious habit. With Mortimer's help, we were able to track you here." She clapped her gloved hands together, beaming.

Lena shook her head with determination. "Oh, no. You are mistaken. My name is Helena Arenheim, as I have repeatedly tried to tell you. Who is this Catherine you insist I am?"

The Duke dropped his hands to his sides. "My wife," he replied, his tone dull.