The air was cold and dim, thick with the scent of candle wax, incense, and holy water. She walked down the centre aisle of the Gothic church, white pillars soaring high on either side. She counted the pews. There. The third. She slipped into the hard wooden seat near the outer edge, close to the ornamented bench end.
Her fingers slid along the walnut panelling, pressing lightly until she heard a faint click. A small drawer opened beneath.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The church was empty.
She retrieved the missive she had written earlier, folded into a neat square, and slipped it inside the compartment.
There. Done.
Her first intelligence delivered to Metternich, as requested.
She’d followed his instructions and left the missive in this secret hiding place rather than handing it over to a footman.
He had wanted her to discover the identity of the woman Archduke Klemens loved. He wanted a name.
Well, she had given him one. And it was sothoroughly encrypted that he wouldn’t be able to make head nor tail of it.
Her mouth quirked into a smile.
She took a moment of silence, said a prayer for her father, then slid out of the pew and left the church as quietly as she had come.
She did not see that behind the farthest column, merging with the shadows, stood a female figure who had observed her every move.
Pippa bought two bags of roasted chestnuts, one for the Archduchess and one for herself, and dawdled on her return to the palace, stopping to watch a puppet theatre. The exaggerated antics drew chuckles from the crowd.
A puppet appeared with a pompous roll of hair and a white military uniform. “I am Prince Lucifer!” a voice proclaimed behind the wooden stage. “And I am to marry the Russian Grand Duchess this Christmas! She is more beautiful than the sun and moon combined.” Another puppet jerked into view, a princess in a glittering crown. “But oh, oh, oh, what am I to do when I love another?” A third puppet appeared bashfully in the corner, a lady with painted cheeks and golden curls.
“Marry both!” shouted a voice from the audience.
“Marry the Russian Grand Duchess and keep the other as a mistress. That’s the way of it, heheh,” called another.
Pippa nearly choked on her chestnut.
“I have heard it is to be a grand wedding at the Augustinerkirche,” said a voice beside her. A woman speaking to her companion. “The Russian GrandDuchess has a tremendous dowry. An entire chest stuffed with diamonds.”
Pippa went still. A sharp pang shot through her chest; whether alarm or jealousy, she could not say.
The antics onstage continued, the puppets now mocking the Tsar and his amorous entanglements.
Pippa decided she had had enough. She turned to leave.
As she crossed the street toward the Hofburg, a man appeared before her, blocking her way.
“Fräulein Philippa Cranwell.”
He wore a nondescript brown suit and a plain hat, his face impassive.
She inclined her head.
“You are to accompany me to thePolizeihofstelle. Come with me, if you please.”
Pippa’s fingers cramped around the paper bag with the chestnuts. “Polizei? But why?”
“I am not at liberty to say. I am under orders from Baron von Hager directly.”
Pippa paled. To be ordered to thePolizeihofstelleby Hager directly meant only one thing: she was in trouble.
Her eyes shifted to the side of the street as she calculated how quickly she could sprint across and disappear into a side alley. If she could make it to the Graben, surely she could lose him there amongst the hustle and bustle.
