The count bowed and clicked his heels. “Lord Merridew,” he said.
“I"m delighted you cared enough about dear Karl to come to London after the bombing, but do you think it wise? Both of you here, the villain might try again.”
“That"s precisely why we shall return to Neuschlosswold immediately. I apologize for the whole dreadful thing, Lord Merridew. Naturally I shall cover all expenses of rebuilding and redecorating.”
Lord Merridew said there was no need for that, but the count only smiled and gave the tiniest of headshakes. Of course he"d pay. He pulled the elaborate gold and platinum watch from his waistcoat. “I wonder if we should go to the station and meet the others there,” he said to Karl. “You and I will take a carriage alone.”
Karl wondered why the count would choose to be alone with him, but he was pleased. With only his father in the carriage, Karl wouldn"t be outnumbered.
“I protest. This is nonsense,” Lord Merridew cried. “You"re trying to leave, Your Excellency? No, no. You must stay here. It would look exceptionally shabby if you turned and fled London, as if we English couldn"t keep you safe.”
“You couldn"t,” the count said drily. “My son was nearly killed.”
“Near-death experiences occur in every country,” Karl said. “For example, I hear my Uncle Hans-Friedrich might not recover from an attack of poisoning.”
The count laughed. “You can"t compare some bad fish to a bomb.”
“Can"t you?” Karl asked softly. “Murder is murder no matter what the method.”
“Murder?” His father"s face went blank, and Karl wished he believed that look of amazement.
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“You are serious, Karl? Someone attempted to kill Hans-Friedrich?” Uncle Arthur made a few tutting sounds of dismay. “Dreadful business. Do you know who made the attempt on his life?”
The count cut in. “Nonsense. It was not murder. It was an unfortunate incident. Fish can be dangerous, and the man"s a glutton.” He fingered his watch.
“We should depart, Karl, as soon as you"re ready. After all, we wouldn"t want another bombing. Lord Merridew"s life might be at stake, and we don"t want to visit more destruction here.”
Karl felt a jolt of fear. Had his father just threatened Uncle Arthur? When Karl had impulsively pushed, he"d hoped to get the whole ugly truth out in the open for once. He should have waited until he and his father were alone.
“Yes, of course, Father.” He went to his uncle and put his hands on the older man"s shoulders. “Thank you for everything, Uncle Arthur. You"ve been marvelous to me as always. If something should happen to me—”
“Erbgraf,” his father interrupted. “This is ridiculous. You are saying your farewells like an emotional woman.”
“I disagree. I speak like an emotional man,” Karl said mildly. He pulled his uncle into an embrace and whispered. “My father is behind it all. Don"t trust him, ever.”
He felt the start of surprise in his uncle"s body, but thank goodness the man didn"t speak. Karl held him for another few seconds.
“Come.” The count went to the door, opened it, and gestured imperiously. “We will hurry. I"m sure the hack is waiting for us out front.”
Karl walked past the desk and, feeling absurd, slipped a heavy glass paperweight into this pocket.
“I think perhaps I will drive with you to the station,” said Lord Merridew.
“No,” said the count. “But thank you.” He strode to the front of the house.
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Karl shook his head. In a low voice he said, “I expect I"ll be fine. But if I"m wrong, you must be careful. Perhaps you could get some help from Mr. Reese"s friend, Mr. Gilley.”
“Yes, he has been the greatest assistance the past few days,” said Lord Merridew. “And some of his friends are in the area. I might send them along.”
The count heard the last few words. “Along? Who would you send where?”
Lord Merridew waved a pudgy hand airily. “It"s nothing at all, my dear count.
I"m just prattling. Like m"sister used to do.”
Despite the fear pressing Karl, he felt a rush of warmth. His mother had indeed liked to talk. He was surprised to see a rare smile on his father"s face. “Yes, she was a rare prattler, my wife.” Could that possibly be affection in the count"s smile? Karl wished he saw scorn on his father"s face, but rather feared his father
was
capable of love. Let no harm come to any more of us today, he prayed, but knew it was likely in vain.
They walked down the stairs to the carriage, and his father climbed in first.
He leaned out the window to issue orders to one of the men who"d come with him from Neuschlosswold.
Odd that the count said he didn"t want the entourage to follow too closely behind, and even stranger that the count made the effort to explain himself. “We needn"t make a parade through the streets,” his father said. “We have no wish to draw attention to ourselves.”
Karl settled next to him. The glass paperweight lay heavy in his pocket, a ridiculous weapon, but the only one he had.
The hack started up, and Karl"s father stared straight ahead as he always did when in a closed carriage.
Karl supposed he might as well have the sort of conversations he"d longed to over the years. There was no point in circumspection now. “You loved my mother, didn"t you?”
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His father glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the usual spot.
“I"m sorry I was a disappointment to you, Father,” he said. “But at least she never was. Except for her long absences here in England. I expect you didn"t appreciate them.”
The count might not have heard, except for the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The carriage halted at a cross street, then turned a corner.
Karl sighed and went on. “Do you think she would approve of your trying to kill your brother and then me?”
The count"s back went straighter, and his chin jutted. “You are full of nonsense, Karl. I beg of you to be silent.”
“No, I don"t think I will. I know you"re the one who has done it all, arranged the deaths, Father. Sputtering and denying won"t change the truth, and I won"t hold my tongue any longer.”
“You are
absurd
.”
Karl ran his fingers over the cold, smooth surface of the paperweight. He wouldn"t attack. But he guessed it wouldn"t take much more prodding to get his father to physically attack him, and he wanted to be ready.
“I think you can forgive the rest. The way I am perhaps too loud or do not always remain as solemn as I should. And there was the period of time after the war when I drank too much. You didn"t like that lack of self-discipline.”
“No. I didn"t. Nor do I care for these ludicrous accusations. You"re being overemotional and melodramatic.” The count still managed to maintain his composure, but his left leg jiggled madly.
“But those character flaws wouldn"t be enough to make you wish to kill me.
No, there"s a simple reason for that, I think. It"s because I enjoy fucking men, isn"t it?” Oh, how Karl enjoyed throwing the coarse, blunt word at his father like a The Nobleman and the Spy
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punch. Acknowledging the truth aloud to his father was the most liberating experience he"d ever felt.
“Shut up.”
“Cousin Gerhard wouldn"t do such a thing, and he"s the best to inherit from you. That"s why you killed his father, isn"t it? Bypass your weak brother and mold his son into the exact likeness of you.
“I don"t understand why you"d try to kill Uncle Arthur, but it would be something to do with politics, I imagine. Nothing personal concerning him.”
The count"s hands were clenched tight. So were his lips, which had a rim of pale white around them. Did the count hold back angry words, or was he ready to slam out with his fists?
He was ready to go even further. He snapped “shut up” again and drew a pistol from his jacket pocket, pointed at Karl"s heart.
“Attack me with something other than your foul words,” his father said in a low voice. “Come on. We"ll get this done now.”
“So I am to attack you, and you shoot me in self-defense,” Karl said.
“You are not a stupid man, I"ll grant you that. And this is not easy for me.” The count swallowed. “Doing what is best, what is right, is rarely easy. I must think of Neuschlosswold-Binder.”
“Poor Father.” And Karl realized his words weren"t entirely sarcastic.
His father didn"t appear to notice Karl had spoken. “It does not benefit anyone to have you thought a murderer. I think it will be an assassin, so I shall be injured in the fight. That would be for the best.” The count"s hand and voice were steady.
Karl stared into those cold eyes. Would his father be able to kill him like this, face-to-face, instead of using confederates as assassins? Yes, Karl suspected the man was capable of anything.
At that moment, the carriage drew to an abrupt halt. There was shouting, the door swung open, and someone catapulted inside. An arm flailed across Karl"s face, 172
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knocking him backward. The count"s pistol went off, the loud report deafening in the enclosed space. Karl"s ears rang. He struggled to sit up, but a body lay half on top of him.
Jonathan again.
For a moment there was a confused blur of limbs tangled together, bodies grappling, men grunting, and knuckles punching against flesh. Karl tried to extricate himself in order to help. He hefted the paperweight in his hand. Glimpsing the top of his father"s nearly bald head over Jonathan"s shoulder, the count"s hat having fallen off in the scuffle, Karl threw the paperweight at it.
A second shot cracked through the air. The acrid smell of burned gunpowder filled Karl"s nose. Abruptly the combatants went still, with Jonathan sprawled on top.
Karl hauled Jonathan off the count. A scarlet rosette bloomed squarely in the center of Father"s white shirtfront, slowly spreading out and seeping into his embroidered jacket. His eyes were open and staring at Karl, but he wasn"t seeing him. Karl had encountered many dead men in his years as a soldier and knew what it looked like when the spark had gone out of a man.
There was nothing he could do for his father. Karl didn"t know whether he felt rage, sorrow, or grief, but he didn"t have time to figure that out, as the man in his arms groaned.
“You"ve been hit!” He pushed Jonathan back onto the seat across from the one where his father"s dead body lay, and crouched before him. He examined the red stain oozing down Jonathan"s cheek. Christ, the bullet had grazed his cheek.
Another few inches, and it would"ve hit his eye socket and torn into his brain.
“I"ve had much worse.” Jonathan stared at the body and then directed his intense gaze on Karl. “But your father. Karl. Your father. I-I"m sorry.”
Karl dipped his head in acknowledgment. He wasn"t ready to think about his father—everything he"d said, what he"d been prepared to do, or his dead body sprawled in one corner of the hack.
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“He would have killed you,” Reese whispered.
Karl nodded. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He held it against the wound and cupped his other hand around Jonathan"s jaw. He felt the warmth and the pulse beating there, comforting him with the knowledge that Jonathan was alive. Only then did Karl realize the carriage had stopped and the door was still hanging wide open. Suddenly another figure filled the door frame, also with a drawn weapon. “Hochgeboren, are you all right?” Cohen asked.
“How the bloody hell did you get here?” Karl demanded.
“I came with the Englishman, Baker. Reed. Reese. Whatever his name might be. What happened?”
Karl nodded toward the count, trying not to look at the body or think of it as his father. He must remain detached and cold right now. There would be time for mourning later.
“As you see. My father tried to shoot me. Reese shot him. But Father had one thing right. We must say there was an anonymous assassin who got away. The count"s men and the police will accept that story given the bombing.”
“The London police will believe what you tell them,” Jonathan said heavily.
“They"ll be much more likely to accept the idea of zealous anarchists than a murderous count.”
He pushed Karl"s hands away from his head and started to rise. “We"ve got to go now, Cohen and I, before the police come.”
“What about the driver?” Karl asked.
“He"s unconscious.” Cohen glanced up at the hack"s perch. “We caught up with you on horseback. I convinced the driver to pull over, and Reese jumped onto the box beside him and cracked him over the head. When the man wakes, he can honestly say the hack was overtaken by thieves.”
The chill inside Karl increased. “By God, we can"t just leave an innocent bystander. He could be seriously injured.”
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Cohen sighed deeply. “It is necessary. I"ll gather the others at the hotel and go to the station as the count told me to do. No one will suspect my part in it.”
“I"ll go to Gilley"s,” Jonathan said. He touched his injured cheek, and Karl wondered what story he"d tell Mr. Gilley. Knowing Jonathan, he"d simply stare the man into silence should Gilley ask. The fleeting image warmed Karl, but only for a moment—the core-deep cold remained. His father was dead and a villain. Which was worse? He hardly cared. He only knew he couldn"t be anything like the graf and carelessly toss aside other humans" lives.