Chapter Thirty

L ist stood and surveyed the room. “Where’s the diener ?” He’d mixed English and German, calling the servant a “diener.”

“You haven’t finished the round,” Alfie said, playing another card. He needed to see if List could still follow the rules of whist.

A footman came to the card table and picked up the decanter.

“Another!” List commanded.

The footman reached for the decanter and lifted the stopper out with a “ pop .”

Five doses? No, no, no.

There was nothing else to be done. He needed to keep the baron from receiving another dose. Alfie downed his glass in one large gulp. “I haven’t had my second yet!” He held his empty glass out to the footman.

The servant froze, and his gaze darted to the earl who, as the host, decided who should get the last precious pour of the drugged digestive.

Violet’s hand came to the earl’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Isn’t there enough to split the last bit?”

“No!” Stan rose and buttoned his coat. “I’ve had enough, and I think the baron should get it all.” Then he turned to Alfie. “I’m sorry, but he’s a visitor from abroad and ought to enjoy the remainder of his time in London.”

“No.” Alfie took the decanter from the footman. List’s hands were purple, which meant that his blood was not pumping enough blood through his body. He was sweating profusely already; his pupils were large, but he didn’t blink. Any more and he could—and probably would—die.

“How dare you?” List thundered, trying to rip the bottle from Alfie. But Alfie was swift and withdrew it from his grasp. “I want that!”

Oh no . List had begun to slur audibly and bowed over the card table, propping himself up on his arms like a tiger gasping for his last breath.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to overstep.” Bea came to Alfie’s side and tried to take the decanter from him. “Here, let me pour.”

But Alfie shook his head when Bea’s eyes caught his.

“Do it,” the prince insisted, his eyes hard and unyielding.

Alfie hesitated, his hand trembling as he clasped the decanter. “No!” He was a healer, not a murderer. The weight of his Hippocratic Oath pressed heavily on his conscience. Finally, he made his decision. With a swift motion, he lifted the bottle to his own lips and drank the remaining serum.

The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s pulse quickened, not from the serum, but from the realization that his career—the one thing he had always clung to—now felt like a consolation prize. Bea was unattainable, and the truth of her feelings eluded him. Surrounded by the luxury at the Langleys and next to Prince Stan, Alfie felt meager. Yet, he wasn’t going to let his shattering heart stand in the way of his career—nor could he let his mixture be the cause for a man’s death—regardless of how much he knew List deserved to suffer.

The delicate intricacies of the political landscape were daunting, but Alfie had been privy to plenty of his aristocratic patients’ secrets not to underestimate the power of gossip among the Ton. Yet, Bea and Violet were surely better-versed at making the connections.

“I don’t know what any of this has done for you, but I’m finished,” Alfie said as he jumped up and made for the door. The others followed close behind, leaving the baron slumped over the table. When he got out of the baron’s earshot—not that the man was capable of listening and comprehending at this point—he said, “Don’t come back to me for any other sort of hocus pocus. I’m a man of science and none of this is part of what I usually do.” He saw the butler approaching but couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.

“When you get to your practice, let Felix know that he can expect new shipments of gold,” Bea said quietly. “I know where the friction point is and can resolve it.”

Alfie froze and turned to her slowly. All eyes were on her.

“What do you mean?” Violet asked.

“He gave away too much.” Bea smiled. “Didn’t you catch what he said?”

As if on cue, everyone narrowed their gazes, but Stan was the only one who gave a slight shake of his head. “What exactly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Austria under the Habsburgs and Prussia under the Hohenzollerns vied for Central European dominance for so long and now that Napoleon’s threats are gone, they are engaged in every sort of power struggle.”

Silence followed, and Alfie tilted his head back. During his time in Vienna, he’d heard all the names of the royal line that was the Habsburg-Lorraine dynasty. The head of the family and the ruler at that time was Emperor Francis II. After the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire, he became Francis I, the first Emperor of Austria, reigning since 1804.

“The Vienna Congress?” Stan asked.

Bea nodded slowly. “My father was there. It shifted everything.”

“I don’t understand,” Alfie muttered. Even though he’d still rather be leaving but he might as well hear Bea out. Especially since perhaps this would be one of the last times he’d see her at all.

“Well, King Max of Bavaria allied with Napoleon Bonaparte, which led to its elevation to kingdom status in 1806 in the first place. This alliance was primarily driven by the Bavarians’ desire to reduce Habsburg influence in their region and gain territorial expansion.” Bea spoke as if this were as plain as day.

“Oh dear!” The earl sank onto the armchair. “The Wittelsbach Dynasty.”

“But if this were the friction point, then List should be on the side of the Prussians, shouldn’t he? The Austrians and the Prussians are rivals over the territory.” Stan rubbed his chin and started to pace the room.

“King Max is a Wittelsbach,” the earl said. “And he promulgated the Bavarian Constitution last year and introduced a bicameral parliament,” Bea said.

Alfie was still not following. “Like the House of Lords and the House of Commons here?”

“No, because there’s a key difference.” Bea lifted her right index finger as she explained, looking more like one of his professors than Alfie ever imagined possible. “The Bavarian system limits voting rights to wealthier citizens with inherited titles.”

“Aha!” Violet sank onto the settee and reached for her husband’s hand. Alfie noticed through the corner of his eyes that the earl placed a gentle hand on Violet’s stomach as if to check for a heartbeat.

Good for them.

“So List plays both sides?” Alfie asked.

Stan pivoted and came to Alfie’s side. “He only wants to serve his own purpose.”

“But you still cannot prove it, Stan,” Bea intercepted.

“Prove what?” Alfie asked.

“That List is exploiting the gold mines in Transylvania, and then he is blaming the shortage of gold on the Prussians when he speaks with the Austrians.”

“And when it’s the other way around, he blames the Austrians, so the Prussians are upset,” Stan added.

“ Streiten sich zwei, freut sich der Dritte ,” Alfie said. “It’s an old German proverb. This means that when two parties are in conflict, a third party may benefit from their dispute.”

“He’s exploiting my country! My land!” Stan combed both hands through his dark hair. “And he’s getting away with it!”

“Well, then, I should present this information to the prince regent and—” the earl rose and seemed eager to end the evening, assuming a thank-you-for-coming-but-go-now-pose.

“If you do that, you hurt my friends,” Alfie said as a wave of queasiness twisted his insides. How much of the concoction did he drink? Two and a half glasses?

“Why?” Violet asked, joining her husband.

His normally steady hands trembled, fingertips brushing against his clammy forehead as he leaned against the wall for support.

“Because if you are all correct, then the Jewish Crown Jewelers are List’s scapegoats. They have a trade route and can supply everything except for gold. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires… but no gold. They don’t have access to the mines because they can only trade freely in the Pale of Settlement,” Alfie said.

“Which ends much farther north,” Stan confirmed. This was even worse: List’s plans were to isolate the gold mines and keep them permanently out of reach for Felix, the Klonimuses, and the Pearlers—every bit of List’s effort was driven by the hatred of the Jewish Crown Jewelers and any other Jews who needed gold. Since they supplied Felix’s gold foil for the practice, cutting off their trade access meant the practice couldn’t remain financially viable. Most of all, it was unfair that a single man could cause such damage to the livelihoods of hard-working, talented people. Especially those like the Crown Jewelers because they were the best and not because they were Jewish. The unfairness of it all brought his blood to boil. He wanted to help Felix and the others, and at least the truth serum had brought clarity to List’s motives.

*

Bea watched Alfie from across the room, her concern growing with every passing second. His face was flushed, with a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead under the soft glow of the chandelier. He tugged at his collar, his movements agitated and restless. It was clear to her that he was in distress, though he valiantly tried to mask it. The truth serum was taking its toll, gnawing away at his composure, and she could see the strain etched into his features.

Henry, ever vigilant, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “You can’t go home in a hired hack in this condition,” he said, his voice laced with authority and concern. “I’ll send you home in my carriage.”

Bea felt a surge of determination. She needed to speak with Alfie, to understand what was troubling him so deeply and to offer whatever comfort she could. Crossing the room with purposeful strides, she approached the men. “I’ll go with him,” she announced, her gaze fixed on Alfie’s fevered expression. “I need to get home as well.”

Violet inhaled sharply and Bea knew her friend was no doubt worried that Bea’s virtue could be compromised if she were traveling alone in a carriage with him, but she shot the countess a woman-to-woman glance and Violet shut her mouth with a snap.

Alfie glanced at her, his eyes flickering with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it seemed as though he might protest, but then he simply nodded, his resistance melting away under the weight of his exhaustion. However, as they moved toward the door, Bea noticed his reluctance. His steps were hesitant, as if he was trying to maintain a distance between them even within the confines of the carriage.

Once inside, the carriage jolted forward, and Bea found herself seated beside Alfie in the dimly lit space. She turned to him. “Speak to me.”

“No,” he croaked and turned away, looking out the window.

This was new. It was awful, for he usually never took his focus from her. Gone were the hungry eyes from that morning.

“I saw you at the park with Chromius,” Bea started.

“I saw you, too.” He glanced at her, but Bea could see hurt in his gaze even though the carriage’s cabin was dark. “Glad it worked.” He turned away, watching the streetlights pass by as if they held a truth he couldn’t find in her face.

“It didn’t work. The potion, I mean.”

His snorted. Hmpf! was the only response she got. “It will.”

“I don’t want it to work anymore. Not with him.”

“Then don’t use it.”

He shifted as if he was uncomfortable, and his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside.

“Alfie?”

He didn’t respond but she noticed his body tensing. “It’s nothing, Bea. Just… not tonight,” he replied, his voice rough with an edge of desperation.

“Tell me what’s the matter with you or is it such a terrible secret?”

“Everybody has their secrets.” He gulped.

The pain in his voice pierced her heart. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, but he flinched away, his body unyielding. Bea withdrew, feeling a mixture of hurt and frustration. She longed to bridge the divide that had opened between them, but Alfie seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length.