She laughed at her own joke and then she continued,
“When I come back tonight, I’ll bring you a nightgown. The woman I am attending can quite easily spare one. Anyway I’ll say I want to mend it for her.”
“It is so very kind of you,” Tilda said, “but – ”
“She’s more your size than I am,” Frau Sturdel went on, “and I expect you want to look pretty for your husband as you’ve not been married for very long.”
“Thank you,” Tilda said.
There really seemed to be nothing else she could say.
“I’ll not forget,” Frau Sturdel said, “but now I must be going. You’ll find some food in the larder, if your husband is running a fever, which he might do after a wound like that, give him something light to eat such as eggs. You will find both eggs and sausages.”
“Thank you very much,” Tilda said. “You will be back this evening?”
“I shall be back at six o’clock to feed the chickens.”
“And what about the night,” Tilda asked. “We must not turn you out of your bed.”
“You are not doing that, my dear,” Frau Sturdel replied. “I have to be with my patient. The baby is due at any moment, but you know what babies are! It may arrive this afternoon or wait a week! Anyhow I must be there!”
She lowered her voice, as if someone was listening, to add,
“She’s not a strong girl. She’s not Bavarian, but comes from Alsace. They’ve not the stamina we have! I only hope she pulls through all right.”
She picked up her shopping basket.
“Well, all I can say is it won’t be my fault if she doesn’t. Take care of yourself. You’d better bolt the door after I have gone.”
“I will do that,” Tilda said.
She watched Frau Sturdel going heavily down the hill by a path that led to the village.
The midwife’s house was high above the others and in consequence isolated.
Tilda was thankful for that.
It meant it was unlikely that they would be disturbed and as in a small village they doubtless knew the movements of everyone else and once Frau Sturdel was back with her patient everyone would be aware where they could find her.
She bolted the door and crossing the kitchen went into the bedroom.
Rudolph was still asleep.
He looked amazingly handsome and somehow younger with his eyes closed and with the white frill of a nightshirt against his suntanned skin.
Tilda stood looking at him.
How could she have imagined yesterday when she had first seen him in the woods near the Linderhof that she would today be here alone with him in a small bungalow without any idea of how she was to return to Munich?
She remembered the passionate demanding kisses he had given Mitzi as they stood together under the silver birch trees.
She felt then he was somehow more exciting and certainly different from any man she had ever seen before.
She remembered how reluctant she had been to leave the woods with the aide-de-camp, not knowing who Rudolph and Mitzi were.
Even now she knew little more, although she had taken part in a wild adventure with him and last night she had slept beside him in the same bed!
What would her mother say?
Tilda could almost see the outraged expression on Princess Priscilla’s face and hear her exclamations of horror!
Then she began to laugh.
It was so incomprehensible, so unbelievable, and yet so very much more enjoyable than those gloomy Royal Palaces of her disapproving relatives and the sour criticism and grumblings of the Dowager Lady Crewkerne.
‘Whatever happens in the future,’ Tilda told herself. ‘I shall have this to remember. This – and Rudolph!’
Chapter Five
Tilda came back to wakefulness to lie with her eyes closed, letting thoughts drift in and out of her mind.
She remembered first where she was, then she wondered how long they would have to stay in Frau Sturdel’s bungalow and how they would go back to Munich when it was safe.
There were so many problems and yet, as she lay half- asleep, they did not seem so insurmountable as they had appeared last night when she had gone to bed.
She felt in some strange way as if she had stepped into another world and another life. She was no longer Lady Victoria Tetherton-Smythe, but was in actual fact Tilda Weber.
She was a person of no consequence and she no longer felt apprehensive about her grand and frightening Royal marriage with a man everyone whispered about.
A slight movement made her open her eyes and she found herself looking directly at Rudolph.
Their faces were only a few inches apart and, as she stared at him, Tilda realised that he too must just have awakened.
There was an expression of sheer astonishment in his eyes and then he said in a low hoarse voice,
“What, are you doing here? What has happened?”
It was, Tilda realised, still very early in the morning and the sunlight coming through the sides of the curtains was very pale.
Then, as she was about to answer Rudolph’s questions, she suddenly remembered that she was in bed with him and she was wearing a thin flannel nightgown which Frau Sturdel had brought her last night when she came back to feed the chickens.
“I-I can – explain,” she replied hesitantly.
“I remember now.” Rudolph said slowly. “I was shot in the leg and you gave me laudanum.”
“It was not my – fault you took too – much.” Tilda said defensively.
“Too much?” he queried.
“You slept all yesterday,” Tilda explained, “It was the night before that we escaped from the Police.”
He made a movement as if to turn on his back and gave an exclamation of pain.
“You must be careful,” Tilda said hastily. “It is only a flesh wound, but you will find it very painful.”
“It is painful! ”
A little cautiously he raised himself higher on his pillows.
Then he said,
“Would it be an indiscreet question to ask why you are in bed with me?”
Tilda blushed.
Even in the dim light it showed crimson against the whiteness of her skin.
“There was – nowhere else for – me to sleep.” she said, “and you were – unconscious.”
“I hope you are not thinking that I am ungracious enough to complain,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Besides,” Tilda went on, the words coming out in a rush, “Frau Sturdel thinks we are – married.”
“I think you had better start at the beginning,” Rudolph said, “and tell me who is Frau Sturdel, although I would guess she is the owner of this house.”
“She is the village midwife,” Tilda answered, “and that is why I found bandages in her kitchen.”
Rudolph put his hand up to his forehead.
“This dope is making me feel extremely stupid,” he said. “I suppose it would not be possible for me to have some coffee?”
“I will make you some, if you will shut your eyes,” Tilda answered.
“Perhaps you should explain to me why that is essential,” Rudolph answered. “As I told you, I am feeling a trifle thick-headed this morning.”
“I-I am not – dressed,” Tilda faltered in a low voice. “Frau Sturdel brought me a – nightgown and it would have seemed – ungracious not to – wear it.”
She paused to continue shyly,
“Besides it was rather – uncomfortable sleeping in – the only clothes I have.”
“Your explanations are most plausible,” Rudolph said, “and now I understand your predicament I promise you I will close my eyes.”
“I will dress in the kitchen,” Tilda said, “and then I will bring you some coffee.”
She sat up in the bed.
“Your eyes are closed?” she asked anxiously.
“I can see nothing,” Rudolph replied.
Tilda slipped out of bed and,
picking up her clothes that she had laid on the only chair in the bedroom, she went into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
The fire in the stove had died down, but she did not have to relight it.
She had brought in a large number of logs from outside before she went to bed, which she now put in the stove.
The flames were soon crackling and she knew that by the time she had washed and dressed the water for the coffee would be boiling in the saucepan.
Cold water from the jug swept what her nurse had always called the ‘cobwebs’ from her eyes.
Turning, she looked at herself in the small mirror which hung on the wall and combed her hair.
It fell in soft waves on either side of her face and she swept it back from her small ears to let it fall down her back with the few hairpins she had left.
She had lost several running through the woods.
When the coffee was prepared, she poured it into a pretty china coffee pot that matched a large cup and took from the larder a bowl of thick cream that Frau Sturdel had brought back with her yesterday.
She carried it on a tray into the bedroom.
Rudolph had raised himself still further on his pillows and Tilda set the coffee down beside him.
She pulled back the curtains from the window and the sun came streaming in turning her hair to a golden halo.
“I see you are a very proficient housewife,” Rudolph remarked. “As we are supposed to be married perhaps you will tell me our name?”
“It is – Weber,” Tilda said a little shyly.
He laughed.
“Not very original or distinguished.”
“It was the first name that came into my head” Tilda confessed, “and anyway it would be unwise for us to have anything very distinctive, as you well know.”
“Have you told our hostess that we are in hiding?”
Tilda nodded.
“She was very kind and sympathetic and I know she will not give us away, but we cannot stay here indefinitely.”
“Naturally not,” Rudolph answered. “When does she think I will be able to travel?”
“I have not asked her,” Tilda said, “but she is a very experienced nurse and when she comes back this morning she will dress your wound. Then she will be able to answer all the questions that are important.”
“What is happening in Munich?” he asked.
“Frau Sturdel said last night that there are reports of rioting and the students have actually set some buildings on fire.”
“Not a very cheerful prospect for our return.”
“I know,” Tilda agreed unhappily. “But what will they imagine has – happened to me?”
“Suppose you tell me who they are?” Rudolph asked.
He had poured out the coffee and was drinking it while they talked.
Tilda paused and thought quickly.
She would have to be very careful what she said.
“As I told you,” she said after a moment, “I was with my – uncle in the Beer Hall. When I took hold of your – hand I thought it was – his.”
“And I thought you were someone else,” Rudolph smiled.
“Mitzi!” Tilda blurted out involuntarily.
She would have bitten hack the words when she saw the surprise in his eyes, but it was already said.
“Mitzi?” he repeated. “What do you know about Mitzi?”
“I-I saw you arrive while I was waiting for my – uncle to buy the tickets into the Beer Hall,” Tilda answered, “and I – heard someone say her – name.”
It sounded a lame excuse even to herself, but Rudolph smiled.
“Everyone knows Mitzi,” he said, “I am not worried about her. The students will not harm her.”
“Who is she?” Tilda asked.
“You don’t know?” he enquired.
Tilda shook her head.
“She is the best-known and most popular Music Hall artist in the whole of Bavaria. She is a tremendous draw and has an enormous number of admirers.”
Remembering how pretty Mitzi was, Tilda was sure that this was true.
At the same time she could not help feeling humbly that Rudolph would find her a very inadequate substitute for the woman he thought he was saving in the riot.
“She is – very pretty!” she said in a low voice.
“Very!” he agreed. “But we must concern ourselves with your problem. What do you think your uncle will do?”
That was a question she had been asking herself and she had already come to the conclusion that for the moment neither the Professor nor Lady Crewkerne would want to do anything.
It was more than likely that they would just wait and hope she would turn up.
To make enquiries of the Police would be to advertise the fact of her disappearance and the one thing they would wish to avoid would be the scandal of people knowing that she had actually been present at a riot in the Beer Hall.
“I am sure they will be very worried,” Rudolph said, “although you still have not explained to me who they are.”
“There is my uncle,” Tilda said slowly, “and another – relative who is travelling with us.”
“And what about your husband?” he asked.
He saw the astonishment in Tilda’s eyes and added,
“I see you are wearing a wedding ring.”
“No, it is not a wedding ring,” Tilda replied, “although I am betrothed.”
“To a Bavarian?”
Tilda nodded her head.
This was a safe answer at any rate. Bavaria was a large country.
“And will he not be distraught at your disappearance?”
“He may not – know about it,” Tilda said hesitatingly. “He has not yet – arrived in – Munich.”
“Tell me about him,” Rudolph said. “Are you very much in love?”
“I have not met him!”
There was a moment’s silence and then Rudolph repeated almost incredulously,
“You have not met him?”
“No,” Tilda answered uncomfortably, “our – marriage has been – arranged.”
“I should have thought that was unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?”
“Someone who looks like you must have dozens of suitors, but doubtless this arranged marriage will bring you many advantages.”
“I – suppose so,” Tilda answered.
Because she was nervous at the way the conversation was developing, she said hastily,
“Let me get you some more coffee. Has what you have drunk cleared your head?”
“I certainly feel a little less of a nitwit,” he answered.
“I would get you some breakfast,” Tilda told him, “but it seems rather impolite not to wait for Frau Sturdel and I don’t like to take the fresh-laid eggs from the hens without asking her permission.”
“I can wait,” Rudolph replied, “and I am hoping that Frau Sturdel will be able to provide me with a razor. I certainly need a shave.”
“I will put some water on to boil,” Tilda said. “She should be here at any moment. I am sure she will have her husband’s razors hidden away somewhere.”
“What has happened to Herr Sturdel whose bed I am undoubtedly occupying?”
“He is dead.”
“In which case I can hardly thank him for the loan of his nightshirt,” Rudolph said,
“I doubt if he needs it where he has gone,” Tilda answered mischievously,
She had her hand on the door into the kitchen when Rudolph asked,
“What is your name? Your real name?”
Again Tilda had to think quickly.
“Hyde,” she said, thinking it was appropriate to her present position, “and it is spelt with a ‘y’.”
“I will not forget that when I write to you,” Rudolph said with a twinkle in his eyes.
She laughed as she left him to fill the kettle.
Frau Sturdel hustled in like a fresh wind.
“So you are awake, young man,” she said to Ru
dolph, “and about time too! I was beginning to think that you intended to dream your life away”
“Thanks to you, meine frau, I have a comfortable place in which to do so,” Rudolph said. “My wife and I are deeply grateful.”
Tilda saw that Frau Sturdel was delighted by his courtesy.
‘He has a way with women,’ she told herself.
Once again she thought of how he had kissed Mitzi amongst the trees and how provocatively she had run away from him, not running so fast that he could not catch her.
“Now you cook the breakfast,” Frau Sturdel said to Tilda, “and I will make your husband comfortable.”
Tilda could hear them laughing together in the bedroom while Frau Sturdel put fresh bandages on Rudolph’s leg and gave him her husband’s razors so that he could shave himself.
“You need not worry about that man of yours,” she said to Tilda when she had finished. “He’s as strong as a horse and the wound is healing nicely. Of course he wants to get up, but I have absolutely forbidden it!”
Tilda looked at her enquiringly and she explained,
“I don’t want him to start bleeding again. Young people are always impatient. Leave a wound alone and it will heal itself, that’s what I always say.”
“Have you heard any news about the rioting?” Tilda enquired.
“My patient’s husband works at the Post Office and they, of course, are in communication with the City. They say that things are still bad, but beginning to settle down.”
“There have not been any enquiries in the village about us?” Tilda asked anxiously.
“No one knows you are here,” Frau Sturdel said reassuringly, “and the Policeman who looks after this village lives two miles away.”
Tilda breathed a sigh of relief.
“I brought you some food for your midday meal,” Frau Sturdel said. “I expect your husband will be feeling hungry, once the effects of the laudanum have worn off. It is good beef and tender if you cook it slowly.”
“I will do that,” Tilda promised.
“I will be back this evening. Just keep him quiet. That is all you have to do.”
She put on her coat and picked up her shopping basket.
“Take care of him and don’t worry. You are not likely to have any callers.”
Love Conquers War Page 9
