It was clearly a dismissal.
“Of course.” Arianna rose, uncertain of whether she had accomplished anything useful. Perhaps her brother would have more luck. Mrs. Schuyler might be more inclined to confide in a charming and handsome gentleman.
Lost in thought,Arianna was halfway through the maze of corridors leading back to the ballroom when a sudden scream shattered the stillness. She tensed, her senses on full alert, and quickly loosened the strings of her reticule, where her pocket pistol lay swathed in the delicate silk.
The scream came again. It sounded close by.
Quickening her steps, Arianna rounded a turn and spotted a gleam of light spilling from a half-open door just ahead. She approached cautiously, and on hearing the low murmur of male voices ventured a peek inside.
The Ice Princess was leaning heavily against Dmitri Orlov, her shrieks having subsided to sobs asshe clung to his shoulders. Prescott was crouched down beside a body lying face down on the carpet.
He looked up on hearing her enter the room.
“Is he . . . dead?” asked Orlov, which drew a fresh moan from his fiancée. She looked on the verge of collapse.
“Yes.” Prescott frowned. “For heaven’s sake, take Tatiana back to the adjoining room and have her lie down.”
Orlov hesitated.
Arianna wondered why. Clearly, the young lady was distraught.
“Yes, of course.” He slipped his arm around Tatiana’s waist. “Come, my darling. I’m so sorry you’ve had such a shock.”
Arianna waited until the door clicked shut before coming closer. There was no sign of blood or violence . . .
“What happened?” she asked.
“The four of us were conversing in the other room when our friend . . .” Prescott gestured at the corpse. “. . . excused himself, saying he felt a trifle unwell and wished to sit for a bit and catch his breath.” He looked away. “Then we heard a thud, and rushed in to find him like this.”
“I see.” She moved around and bent down for a closer look at the dead man’s face, which was angled to reveal one sightless eye and a half-opened mouth. The tongue, she saw, was a little swollen. “Was he in ill health?”
“Apparently, yes.” Prescott’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Dmitri was aware of thefact that Yevgeny had been suffering from heart spasms, though the two of them were careful to keep it from Tatiana. As you saw, the news made her go to pieces.”
Arianna considered the information. “He looks young to be having heart trouble.”
The major said nothing.
“You called him a friend,” she noted.
“Yes. He’s Yevgeny Naryshkin, one of our cousins. He and Tatiana are very close.”
“Were,” corrected Arianna softly.
His expression remained impassive. “Might you inform one of the French ambassador’s retainers of the situation, so it may be handled discreetly, while I go and comfort my cousin?”
“Of course.” She agreed that it was best to keep the situation a secret for now.
Prescott glanced down at the body, and then turned away without a further word.
Arianna returned to the corridor—just in time to see a flutter of mulberry and black silk disappear around the corner leading back into the bowels of the palace. It suddenly felt like intrigue was a palpable presence—an unseen spider weaving its sticky strands round and round her and her companions until they were all helplessly trapped in its web.
Her chest clenched, but she shook off the mordant thought and hurried back to the ballroom to inform Saybrook of what had happened. He quickly took charge of informing the ambassador’s majordomo and ensuring that everything wouldbe dealt with quietly and efficiently.
“Shall we find a private salon?” asked Saybrook on returning from his duties with two glasses of spirits in hand. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you hot chocolate, but I’ve brought a measure of brandy.”
“Just as long as it’s not hemlock,” she murmured.
Which earned her an odd stare.
