“She said I should come alone.”
“To keep up appearances, take her along. You would never go to such an establishment alone; it would draw too much attention. Let the widow approach you, then hand her the list. That is all you need to do. We will take over from there.”
Evie pondered this. “What exactly do you intend to do?”
Hartenberg smiled, but it was not pleasant. “The less you know, the better.”
Evie certainly knewhow to be fashionable when the need warranted it. For her excursion to Dehne’s, she had attired herself in the very height of French fashion: a velvet hat graced by a massive white plume, and a thick, fur-lined coat from beneath which the expensive Belgian lace of her walking dress peeked forth. Fur-lined satin slippers protected her feet, and she carried a muff the size of a pillow. Within its hidden pocket lay her most precious possession: a Manton pocket pistol, loaded and charged. This time, she would not enter the encounter unprepared.
Evie and Clara secured a table in the middle of the room. A strange stillness pervaded the establishment, far quieter than on her previous visits, which Evie noted before settling into her chair. They ordered hot chocolate and Nesselrode pudding, the most fashionable of confections. The Viennese had embraced the dish with enormous enthusiasm ever since the Russian diplomat bearing that name had seen fit to lend his consequence to a chilled mountain of pureed chestnuts, candied fruit and custard. Evie found it a fine thing, to have one’s legacy immortalised as a pudding.
“Some might think it an odd combination, to drink something hot and eat something frozen alongside it, but I find I love it entirely. To first burn one’s tongue and then soothe it with the ice,” she told Clara. “And now, do tell me all about the latest society gossip.”
Clara obediently embarked on a detailed account of the latest scandal, but Evie’s eyes travelled the room, attending her friend’s chatter with half an ear. The patrons wereindeed few. By the window sat a mother with her daughter; nearby, a couple argued over the menu with a practised weariness that suggested they must be married. There was no sign of the Baroness. Neither Hartenberg nor Schneider had appeared, and a sliver of worry tightened in Evie’s chest at the thought of what she was to do if they failed to show up at all. Her instructions were strict and simple: she was to sit there and drink hot chocolate and eat some cake, and to wait for the Baroness. Evie wondered whether Clara’s presence would be a deterrent to her. Her instructions had been to appear alone; however, surely she would understand that it was impossible for her to come to a place like this without her companion. Yet time passed and no sign of the woman.
“The pudding, my lady,” a waiter rasped. He placed a silver plate before her, topped with a dome-shaped confection decorated with cherries and gilded chestnuts. It appeared substantial enough to feed an entire army.
“Good heavens. How on earth are we to eat all that?” Evie exclaimed.
“With your spoon, my lady,” the waiter pointed out.
Evie, who had already retrieved the utensil, looked up with a flash of irritation. Her gaze collided with a pair of storm-grey eyes peering from beneath a thicket of bushy brows. He winked.
With a sharp gasp, Evie dropped her spoon.
Hartenberg! He was entirely unrecognisable, with whiskers and bushy eyebrows, and a big apron tied over a simple suit. Even his hair was arranged differently, slickly combed backwards instead of forwards, over his forehead.
He promptly bent to retrieve her spoon, whisking a fresh one from some hidden pocket and placing it before her. He winked once more.
Evie pressed her lips together to prevent herself from bursting into laughter.
So this is how it was: they were all disguised. There were rather more waiters there than necessary, and that gentleman by the window reading a newspaper might be a secret agent as well. They would not let her out of their sight, not for one minute.
And yet…the Baroness was not stupid. Surely she would realise that the coffee room was unsafe. Besides, their last meeting had taken place in that other room in the corridor. She’d told Hartenberg about it, of course, but he’d insisted she remain in the main coffee room.
“If she wants something from you, you must let her approach you. You dictate the rules of the game, not she,” he’d maintained. While that felt reasonable, Evie felt down to the marrow of her bones that the Baroness would not be playing according to any rules other than her own. She was as certain as she was of her own name that the Baroness was waiting for her in the other room right now, and she was wasting time by remaining here with Clara.
Hartenberg had disappeared with the tray full of dishes. This was her chance.
Evie swallowed and rose from her seat. “I shall be back anon,” she told Clara. “Pray, save some of the pudding for my return.”
Clutching her muff, she quickly slid out of the main door before the three waiters noticed she was gone, and slipped down the corridor to the room.
Hartenberg would kill her if he discovered that she had disobeyed orders, but she knew this was the right thing to do.
She stoodoutside the door and drew a long, steadying breath.
The door closed behind her with a definitive click. Evie looked around, confused, her pulse quickening. She was alone. She tightened her grip on the muff.
The Baroness sat in the corner, half-obscured by shadow.
“I see you are punctual,” she said, her voice as musical as ever. “Did you bring what I requested?”
Evie withdrew the folded paper from her muff and held it out. “Hartenberg had it in his study, just as you suspected. I cannot say whether it is truly what you seek.”
The Baroness took it with a gloved hand, perusing the contents with a keen eye. “I am surprised. I did not think you would follow through.”
“What do you intend to do with it?”
