He heaved a sigh and went into the washroom. I do not know exactly what precautions he took to rid himself of the chocolates, but there was the distinct sound of retching and then the running of water. When he returned, his moustaches were a fraction less exuberant than they had been before, but he appeared well enough. I gripped his face and peered into his eyes.
“Your pupils seem normal. Stick out your tongue,” I ordered.
He pushed my hands aside, but gently, as he stuck out his tongue. His breath smelt of peppermint drops. “I am perfectly fine,” he insisted.
“You may have been poisoned,” I pointed out.
“Hardly likely,” he said. “The chocolates smelt and tasted fine.”
“Some tasteless substance,” I began.
“Much more common in fiction than in reality,” he assured me. “And I have rid myself of anything possibly noxious, which was a dreadful waste of good chocolate.”
I gave him a narrow look. “You will tell me if you feel at all unwell?”
“Well, I am hungry now,” he told me, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He rummaged in his pockets, unearthing a slab of shortbread wrapped in paper.
“You have the digestive capabilities of a gannet,” I told him. I turned my attention to the box. “When was this delivered?”
He examined it closely, shrugging. “There is nothing to indicate when it arrived or from whom.”
“Do you think she saw it?”
He considered a moment. “I should think not. If she saw it, she would have surely shown it to Durand or the chancellor.”
“She mightn’t have liked to,” I pointed out. “It is rather unpleasant.”
“All the more reason to pass it to the men responsible for her security,” Stoker countered. “And if she chose not to do so, why replace it in the box?”
“Out of sight, out of mind?” I suggested. “A stalwart soul might have faced the thing directly, but we have heard from those nearest to her that she has been known to be elusive. Perhaps this is the sort of thing she runs away from.”
His gaze sharpened. “You think she saw this and left of her own accord rather than being abducted?”
“I think we cannot rule anything out at present.”
I thrust the note back into the box, carefully concealing it with the remaining bonbons. “There is no time to deal with this at present, but it is evidence of something. I only wish I knew what.”
Stoker reached for my arm. “Veronica, I do not like this—” he began.
Before he could finish, the air was rent with a shriek. “Unhand her, sir! You will mark the velvet!”
The baroness entered, as stately as a ship in full sail. She had dressed her own hair in a more modest approximation of my own coiffure, piled high and embellished with plaits and jeweled pins. A tiara of garnets and enormous pearls sat atop, thetremblantpearls quivering in outrage. Her gown was the same hue as her gemstones, dark velvety red and edged in sables, the colors warming her pale cheeks almost as effectively as her rouge. A sash of the Order of St. Otthild crossed her bodice, pinned neatly with a jeweled otter badge. She wore no other decorations, but it was enough. She looked every inch the regal court lady.
She flicked a closed fan at Stoker, rapping him sharply upon the knuckles. “Know your place, sir.”
He gave her a deferential bow and tried to catch my eye, but I let my gaze slide just to the side, never quite meeting his. It would have been an excellent joke to share if I had permitted it. But I felt unlike myself in the princess’s clothes, armored almost, in satin and diamonds, aloof and untouchable. And when the baroness beckoned for me to walk ahead of her, I stepped forward on feet that scarcely seemed to touch the ground.
Just then, the sound of raised voices came from the sitting room. The chancellor made an exclamation—of some strong emotion, although whether it was pleasure or rage, I could not say. The baroness raised an imperious hand to me and to Stoker.
“Wait here,” she instructed. She slipped through the door, and after a moment her voice was added to the muffled conversation. I could hear a man’s laugh—distinctly not the chancellor’s—and then the voices carried on for a few minutes, low tones occasionallypunctuated by a quick question or exclamation from the visitor. At length the baroness flung open the door, her color high.
“Fraulein, you will come,” she said. Stoker followed in my wake and I could feel the warmth of him standing just behind me when I stopped. The chancellor had been joined by a gentleman slightly taller than average height. He wore the customary Alpenwalder moustaches, but his were of a rich chestnut hue, only a little darker than the burnished waves of his hair. His eyes were very dark and bright with interest as he regarded me. He was wearing a uniform similar to the chancellor’s, but with a dozen more medals and a riband of the princely order. Everything about him was just a shade more—where the chancellor and the baroness were limned in watercolors, this fellow was cast in brilliant oils.
His mouth, pink and plump lipped, curved into a smile as I approached. He surveyed me up and down, quickly at first, then a second time more slowly and not as respectfully as he would have done his princess, I was certain. He did not scrutinize; he ravished.
“Enchanting,” he said in a low, melodious voice. He swept into a sudden low bow, his half cape touching the carpet. “I am Your Serene Highness’s most humble servant,” he said.
I froze. Was I meant to play the part of the princess already? I had not been prepared for this meeting.
