Chapter 18: Seventeen

Theo anxiously straightened the cuffs of his tuxedo as he quietly surveyed the dining car. He should be feeling relaxed and ready to enjoy a nice fancy dinner, but after what Nightingale had divulged during their meeting, he could only feel a growing unease nagging away at the back of his mind. 

Alphand must have sensed something was off, because he offered him a glass of sherry while asking delicately, “is Monsieur Cath perhaps feeling uncomfortable at the moment?” 

“No, I was just…” He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I’m feeling just a little tired.” 

“It’s no wonder, you must have been sitting on the edge of your seat throughout the impromptu audience with Her Highness,” Alphand said, giving him a sympathetic look. “Try the sherry at least. I heard from the waiter that the average age is thirty full years—a delectable specimen of a senior unfortified wine unlike your average sherry.”  

Theo swirled the glass in his hand slowly, watching the pale straw yellow liquor spin. He breathed in its fragrance before taking a test sip. Though the sherry had a rather unassuming sweet smell, with just a taste, he could tell that it had a complex flavour of dark fruits, oak, and a hint of aged balsamic mixed inside the sweetness that could only arise from natural ageing in a barrel. 

“This wine only reveals its true qualities when savoured to the fullest,” he remarked. “Quite a remarkable sherry indeed.” 

“I’m glad that it’s to your liking too, Monsieur Cath,” Alphand said, smiling under his stiff waxed moustache. “By the way, you are currently single, are you not?” 

At Theo’s hesitant nod, he laughed. “Haven’t any ladies on this train approached a fine gentleman like you yet?”

“No, not really…” Except for that damn woman who should be six feet under, he thought. 

“So Monsieur Cath is really aiming for Her Highness and Her Grace…a taste too exquisite, I fear.” 

He wondered how Alphand would react if he were to reveal that Rasputina had proposed to have sex with him before. Granted, it was an utterly distasteful proposal, but it did happen…wait a minute. How the hell did Alphand come to the conclusion that he was after Rasputina and Anastasia?! Something must be wrong with his mind to even entertain the possibility that he would want to fuck either a man in woman’s clothing or the goddamn princess of the Empire! 

Of course, this was all in his head. He maintained a composed smile as he spoke. “I’m afraid Monsieur Alphand is deeply mistaken. We do not share that kind of relationship.”

“That is surprising…” 

Lord, you really believed I’m interested in a crossdressing fake bitch and a princess suffering from mental illness?? Thinking this with a horrified shudder, Theo made a mental note to reevaluate Alphand’s sanity. 

While he had been distracted, Alphand changed the subject of their conversation. “Do you know them, Monsieur Cath?” 

“Sorry?” He followed Alphand’s eagle-eyed gaze to the opposite corner of the dining car. Under the brilliant gaslight, two beautiful ladies stood side-by-side sipping at their sherry glasses. Of course, the word ‘beautiful’ could be applied to pretty much everyone in the dining car, so it was practically meaningless. Basically, the two ladies’ beauty were outclassed by everyone else—even Rasputina, if she’d actually tried. “You mean to, uh, ask for my opinion?” 

“No, no, no, I wouldn’t dare to jeopardise my engagement. I’m just introducing the other passengers to you. After all, you didn’t talk to any of them, right?” Alphand smiled at one of the ladies, who was dressed in a plain black floor-length gown with three-quarter sleeves—not unlike a concert dress. She caught his stare and politely bowed her head, her cheeks visibly reddening. Yeah, right, what happened to your engagement?

“She is Mademoiselle Mira Wolf, a violinist from the Far Eastern Territories who has recently risen to stardom in the Empire. She’s travelling to the Exposition Universelle to perform in the opening ball.” He nodded at her equally-unassuming companion, who chose to ignore them. “Mademoiselle Talemi. From what I’ve heard, she’s a self-taught conductor and a friend of Wolf’s.” 

“Aha…” Honestly, he couldn’t care less about the two. “A pair of cultured ladies, I guess.”

“They reside in the No. 13 and 14 berths at the very front end of the carriage. Their compartment is isolated from the rest by a vestibule, if you have noticed,” Alphand continued, nudging him suggestively. “I can assure you that I sleep like a log during the night, Monsieur Cath.” 

What a load of bullshit, he wryly thought, for a man who woke up before the sun rose this morning. 

“Bonsoir and bienvenue, Your Highness and Grace.” The Wagon Lit conductor’s voice provided a momentary distraction, which Theo happily used to end the conversation and gaze in the direction of the dining car entrance, as with everyone else. He amusedly wondered what those two ill-fated idiots would wear—

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Theo’s mind froze mid-thought. 

To say that he was shocked would be the biggest understatement of the era. Quite frankly, Rasputina and Angelica looked more angelic than human in their dazzling pure white dresses. Ethereal beauties who had descended from the heavens and redefined the word ‘beautiful’ to fit their own images. 

How the fuck? With one look, Theo knew he had been completely blindsided by that cunning bratukha of his. 

Beside him, he clearly heard Alphand letting out a low whistle of amazement. “Bonté divine, elle est belle. Si belle que te regarder est une souffrance,” he murmured, so awestruck he could only muster compliments in formal language. 

Every other passenger held similar gazes of verneration at the two heads of state. If not for this being an ordinary formal dinner hosted in the confines of a train carriage, Theo was certain that everyone would have been kneeling on the ground right then. 

What stumped him, however, was how Rasputina and Anastastia seemingly didn’t notice their own appearances or the sheer amount of attention they had just attracted. No amount of beauty can cure an idiot’s lack of self-awareness, he supposed. 

As if on purpose, they kept flashing poor Machel smiles that would thaw even the most frozen of hearts. It was nothing short of miraculous that the Conductor didn’t faint there and then.  

“Please enjoy yourselves to your hearts’ content, Your Highness and Grace.” With the same amount of haste a mouse would have scurrying away from a furious chef, Machel darted behind them and welcomed Nightingale into the dining car. 

Theo finally managed to break out of his trance-like state and focused his eyes on Florence Nightingale instead. She was accompanied by another lady—her sister, Parthenope, if he remembered her name correctly—and since they arrived late, the pair of sisters didn’t seem to be affected by Rasputina and Anastasia’s spell. 

Nightingale glanced around the dining car with an uncharacteristic frown before her eyes squarely met his. Without hesitation, she glided across the car and right up to him. “Fedya, we need to talk.” 

“Don’t call me by that name in public…” Theo saw the look in her eyes and stopped himself. “Give me a minute.” 

He turned to Alphand, who was still staring at Her Highness and Grace like a follower having seen the Lord perform a miracle before his eyes, and muttered a random excuse to leave. Alphand simply jerked his head up and down, not even sparing him a glance. 

“Let’s go to another car,” he whispered, opening the connecting door quietly and stepping into the vestibule of the second-class carriage. 

She followed after him stealthily, and Parthenope slipped through the door like a ghost before Theo closed the door shut. Since the vestibule wasn’t illuminated, he could only depend on the faint glow of gaslight seeping out through the cracks in the doorway to guess at Nightingale’s expression. Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant as evident when she finally spoke. 

“We have a feigling on board,” she said in a hiss. 

Feigling meant ‘coward’ in the Königreich common language. But in the Evidenzbureau, it was code for a danger lurking in the shadows—an assassin. 

Theo chose his next words very carefully. “Do you have any proof?” 

After all, both of them were former officers of the Evidenzbureau—the word ‘evidence’ was quite literally in the name. It was an unspoken rule that they would never prosecute anybody without proof of guilt, unlike the brutes in charge of the Gestapo. 

Nightingale exchanged a glance with Parthenope and surprisingly, shook her head. “The evidence is not with me right now.”

He raised his eyebrow. “So you’re saying that there is evidence yet to be procured? Where is it?” 

She paused, probably a deliberate act to emphasise her point, before lowering her voice. “With Rasputina.” 

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