Thomas Ochiltree

by Death Waltz in Vienna

  But von Falkenburg could no more turn back now than he could fly to the moon. And if he came face to face with von Lauderstein…who knows? He felt suddenly conscious of his fists and his sword, although he knew it would be folly to use either.

  Self-discipline had to be the watchword, he told himself.

  He made his way through the incredible confusion of the Ronacher’s backstage, with its air heavy with perfume, and the smell of makeup, and the smell of not too much bathing, for that matter.

  He tried to remember where dressing room Three-B was. Heinkel was right. It had been a long time.

  He asked another chorus girl, and was told by her too that Adèle had a caller. As he proceeded nevertheless in the direction indicated, the chorine turned to another and nudged her.

  “Perhaps they’ll fight!”

  “Here?”

  “Nein, you silly goose. Officers don’t fight backstage at a theater. They do it in the Prater. At dawn!”

  “With their swords?”

  “Or with pistols, as they choose. Till one of them is dead. That’s the way honor is with the gentlemen from the army.”

  Von Falkenburg could not help smiling as he overhead this, despite the seriousness of his mission. He realized that theatrical people had to have their own theater, and the world of high society and the officer’s mess filled the role. Doubtless the girls liked to imagine what it would be like to have a duel fought over them.

  They were appealing girls. He remembered being second once to a friend who had just such a chorus girl as mistress. The friend had been killed, and even though the duel had not been fought over her, he had gone and informed the girl so that she would not have to learn about her lover’s death from the newspapers. He remembered how her fresh, lively young face had crumpled with pain.

  Here was the dressing room Three-B, and there were voices coming from inside it.

  “Don’t forget all that I’ve done for you Hanna!” a male voice said. So Hanna was Adèle’s real name.

  “I suppose you want me to go down on my knees for you?” a woman’s voice replied.

  “A little respect wouldn’t be out of order, young lady!”

  “To get respect, you have to earn it!”

  Most interesting: the male voice was angry, threatening…and yet von Falkenburg would have been willing to bet that there was an undercurrent of pleading in it.

  “When I tell you to go to hell, we’ll see what happens to you!” the male voice stormed.

  “Were you the one who got me an engagement at the Ronacher, Mr. Big Protector?”

  Tart…sarcastic…but not altogether certain in its bravado. That was Hanna. The next sound was not that of a voice, but of a slap.

  “Out, you pig! How dare you strike me! I’ll scream if you don’t leave at once!”

  “Hanna…I didn’t mean it!”

  “Out!”

  “Please, Hanna…!”

  Physical violence and bullying, then whimpering in the face of defiance. Von Lauderstein’s personality was much as von Falkenburg had imagined it.

  “Say you’ll forgive me, Hanna.”

  “I shouldn’t….”

  That, von Falkenburg realized, meant that forgiveness was negotiable.

  “I’ll show you tomorrow how much I love you,” von Lauderstein said.

  That, of course, would mean a visit to a jeweler’s on the Graben. Von Falkenburg wondered if Putzi would have to pay for that too.

  “We’ll see,” Hanna said. She should have been an actress rather than a singer, von Falkenburg decided. The tone of sulky, conditional half-forgiveness was pitched perfectly to ensure maximum generosity.

  “Show me you forgive me, Hanna.”

  “I haven’t forgiven you yet….”

  “But you will, I know you will. Show me you will!”

  “My friend, all this has given me a headache.”

  “Please! I’m begging, Hanna. An officer, begging!”

  “Maybe later tonight. Now please go away!”

  Von Falkenburg realized that he had better withdraw. If von Lauderstein found him outside of his mistress’s dressing room, he would doubtless draw a conclusion as natural as it would be wrong. A hysterical scene or a challenge to a duel would certainly not fit von Falkenburg’s purposes at present. He walked quickly back down the corridor and struck up a conversation with one of the chorus girls. He could not resist the temptation to sneak a glance at von Lauderstein, however. For that matter, it might be useful for the future to know what the man looked like.

  Von Lauderstein came steaming out of the dressing room and stormed by him. A red face, bull neck, and yet a small waist. Probably wore a corset, von Falkenburg decided.

  Von Falkenburg headed back to the dressing room.

  He knocked.

  “Yes?”

  The tone of the voice that came through the door contained just enough sharpness to let the knocker know that he had better not be von Lauderstein coming back to do some more pleading.

  “I’m Captain von Falkenburg, the friend of Princess von Rauffenstein you met a few days ago.”

  “Oh, please come in!” That tone of voice, he realized, was doubtless the same as the one she would use with the manager of the Ronacher.

  “Ah, the handsome, inquisitive captain,” she said with a friendly smile that appeared largely genuine. Von Falkenburg realized that von Lauderstein doubtless brought out the worst in her, which was hardly surprising.

  “Good evening Mademoiselle.”

  “Between friends it doesn’t have to be ‘Mademoiselle.’”

  “What should it be?”

  “Hanna.”

  “Not Adèle?” he asked with a smile.

  “Such a dumb stage name. My agent thought it up.”

  “I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t knock a few minutes earlier.”

  “You can say that again, Captain. So jealous! And such a fool!”

  “You could always send him packing,” von Falkenburg suggested.

  “Don’t think I don’t. I did just now, ’smatter of fact.”

  “For good?”

  “Not right now. In some ways, foolish, jealous men are the best.”

  Von Falkenburg thought of von Lauderstein standing stiff and humiliated in some jeweler’s shop, while an obsequious clerk said, “of course, pearls are always flattering to a young lady, and…if you’ll permit me to say so…always appreciated.”

  “But when you’re a big star you’ll tell him to clear off for good?”

  “I look forward to it every day. But becoming a big star is sooner said than done.”

  “You have this engagement, don’t you?”

  “For two weeks. But after that…. Now of course, if the Princess were to talk to the manager….”

  Hanna’s eyes lit up like candles. She was the most mercenary little thing he had ever met, but he could not help liking her for some reason. Perhaps because there was something childlike about her self-centeredness.

  “Princess Helena is willing to do everything she can to further your career,” he said, adding, “and if the career doesn’t work out, to give you enough money to retire from the stage.”

  Helena could certainly do that, even if Hanna’s talent, coupled with Helena’s influence, was not sufficient to ensure the girl a good career.

  “But…but why would the Princess be so good to me?” Hanna asked. There was suspicion on her voice. Hanna clearly came from a world where one never got something for nothing, von Falkenburg reflected. But then it occurred to him that one never did anywhere.

  “She needs your help against someone, Hanna,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Von Lauderstein.”

  Hanna sucked in her breath, while her brown eyes grew as wide as saucers. Von Falkenburg could guess that it was not so much the suggestion that she act against the interests of her lover that bothered her. Rather, it was having to choose between two alternate sources of protection and income, when cle
arly she would prefer to keep both.

  “Why…why does she need my help against von Lauderstein?” Hanna asked cautiously.

  “Because without that help, he’ll kill her.”

  What he was asking Hanna to do could involve some real danger to her, and he would not, could not, under those circumstances, deceive her.

  “Kill her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kill her? But why?”

  “To harm me. Von Lauderstein and I are mortal enemies,” von Falkenburg said.

  “Kill her?” Hanna repeated, horrified.

  “You may be able to help me save her. But if you try, it could be very dangerous to you.”

  “Dangerous? You think I care?” Hanna asked with a flaring up of that spirit which was her best quality.

  “Very dangerous, Hanna. Von Lauderstein has already killed a friend of mine.”

  “That pig! That pig!” she almost screamed. “The one person to get me a break in show business, the one person who took an interest in my career, and that…that…that bloated bully, with his paunch held in by a corset like a woman…he’s going to kill her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen, I don’t care about a reward, or anything like that! Not a contract here at the Ronacher, nor money, nor anything! Just tell me! Just tell me what I can do to help the Princess, and I’ll do it!”

  Von Falkenburg realized that Hanna was being completely sincere. She really was not thinking of the advantages she might obtain from helping Helena. What was it Helena had said to him…that for theater people, nothing mattered like a chance at the big time? Helena had given Hanna that chance.

  “Just tell me!” Hanna repeated, almost hysterical.

  “Very well,” he said, “I am going to go get a closed cab. Wait until I send the cabby to the stage door for you. I’ll explain the rest later. While I’m getting the cab, you can take off your paint and put on your regular clothes.”

  She nodded her approval.

  Von Falkenburg found a closed cab waiting outside the Ronacher for the show to let out.

  “Where to?” the cabby asked him as he climbed in.

  “Out onto the Ring and right. Then right again onto the Franz-Joseph-Kai, and right onto the Ring again.”

  “But sir, that’s…”

  “A circle. I know.”

  The cabby shrugged his shoulders and clicked his tongue to the horse, which started forward.

  As the cab rolled along the street, von Falkenburg peered out the little window in the back, noting the vehicles behind him. If any of them followed him around the circular route he had indicated, that would mean for certain that someone was tailing him.

  As it was, there was another cab behind him that went along the whole semicircle of the Ring and turned right after him onto the Franz-Joseph-Kai, the embankment that ran along the Danube Canal. Just as von Falkenburg was wondering what to do next, however, it turned left across one of the bridges.

  Von Falkenburg’s cab turned back onto the Ring as he had ordered, and passed the Stadtpark.

  “Another circuit sir?” the cabby asked.

  “No. Back to the Ronacher.”

  The cabby shrugged again.

  “Stop in front of the stage door. Go ask for Fräulein d’Églantine.”

  “How’s that?”

  “É-glan-tine.”

  Then inspiration came to von Falkenburg.

  “And tell the doorman to say if anyone asks, that she left with Captain von Falkenburg,” he said.

  When a frantic Colonel von Lauderstein made inquiries, that answer would just throw him into greater desperation.

  At last, he was hitting back, and hitting back hard. Whether he won or lost, just hitting back was satisfying in itself. And he was beginning to think that he had a glimmer of a chance of winning.

  Hanna appeared and climbed into the cab.

  “Another circuit sir?” the cabby asked, not without a hint of insolence.

  “No.” Von Falkenburg gave him an address. It was the address of Helena’s mansion.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sight of the Princess’s lover showing up at her mansion with another young woman was enough to cause even Alphonse’s impassivity to waver; for just a split second the faintest shadow of what in another man would have been astonishment passed over the butler’s face.

  Von Falkenburg certainly was not going to waste time explaining things on the doorstep. He simply ushered Hanna past Alphonse as if the house belonged to him.

  Once the door had closed behind them, he said, “Alphonse, the Princess is in very considerable danger.”

  “Yes sir,” Alphonse replied. And then, in spite of years of self-imposed stoicism, he could not help adding, “danger, sir?”

  That hardly surprised von Falkenburg. Since he loved Helena, it seemed perfectly natural to him for others to do so too – and certainly only some kind of love-from-afar could have made Alphonse pass up the opportunity to show his perfect training by replying to von Falkenburg’s astonishing revelation with a simple, unruffled, “yes sir.”

  “This young lady has a very important role to play in helping your mistress, Alphonse.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  If Alphonse was so receptive to his orders, it was only in part, von Falkenburg realized, because Alphonse knew that he was Helena’s lover. Alphonse prided himself on being the perfect butler in the same way that others pride themselves on being perfect sergeants: unless they receive orders, they cannot play their role.

  “Now, Hanna,” von Falkenburg said, “follow me.”

  He led her into the little writing room where he had read the note Helena had left him at the time of her abduction.

  “You’re good at making von Lauderstein do what you want. Now sit down and write….”

  Hanna bit her lip.

  “Write that you’re frightened because a strange man has captured you….”

  She looked even more doubtful.

  “You can write, can’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course I can write. But I’m not good at composing a letter,” she replied.

  “For God’s sake, girl, you’re not taking a test at school. Just say in your own words that you’ve been captured, and you’re frightened, and you want him to help you.”

  It was interesting, von Falkenburg decided, that Hanna, who had developed twisting men around her little finger into a high art, had never thought of doing so in writing. But it was also perfectly exasperating. He knew that he could never in a thousand years compose a letter that sounded as if it came from her.

  Hanna sucked on a pen for quite a while, then applied herself to the task. She got ink on her fingers and cried out in vexation, while von Falkenburg pretended to examine the books in a bookshelf so that she would feel under less pressure.

  “Nyah, it’s not very good,” she said finally.

  He took the blotted sheet from her, and read:

  “My Big Treasure!

  “I’m very scared because I am I don’t know where and he says ‘he’s going to hurt me.’ He means it I know. I’m so sorry I was unkind to you, this is my punishment from God, I know it is. I know I’m a bad ungrateful girl but I’m very truly sorry and frightened too, he says, ‘he’ll stop at nothing.’ I love you so much my treasure, and I know you’ll want to help me, and if you do I’ll never be bad again. I’ll be yours forever and ever,

  “Your little turtle dove,

  “Hanna”

  “Perfect!” von Falkenburg thought on reading the letter. Clearly Hanna had talents she never suspected. Then a terrible doubt came to him.

  “Have you written to von Lauderstein before?” he asked.

  “Notes to say I can’t see him,” she replied.

  “Often?”

  “Five or six times.”

  “So he’s seen your handwriting?”

  “Yes, but I don’t like him to, because I’m not educated. He’s so conceited.”

  Since von Lauder
stein had seen her handwriting, von Falkenburg felt that he would have no doubt in his mind as to the letter’s authenticity. All that was needed was one final touch. He picked up a little pair of scissors from the desk.

  “What are you doing? Stop!”

  “I just want a lock of your hair.”

  “You’ll spoil it!”

  In his exasperation, von Falkenburg was not far from cutting a lock off anyway. But then he had a better idea.

  “Are you wearing anything he gave you?” he asked, having in mind something like one of her rings.

  She smiled coyly and raised her skirt so that he could see the lace fringe of her petticoat. It seemed a strange sort of gift, but doubtless von Lauderstein worshipped the hem of that petticoat with his lips every time she deigned to let him.

  “Perfect!” he thought once again.

  He knelt in front of her, scissors at the ready.

  “My petticoat!”

  “The Princess will buy you ten nicer ones if you will shut up and hold still!” he said between clenched teeth.

  “The Princess. I forgot,” Hanna replied. She held herself perfectly stiff, like a soldier in front of a firing squad determined to show that he can die game.

  Snip! It really was first class material, von Falkenburg observed. That, rather than the fact that it came from her lover, was doubtless what made Hanna so attached to it.

  Now there remained only one more thing to do. He sat down at the little writing desk where he had felt such despair and where he now felt such determination.

  “Von Lauderstein! [he wrote]

  “Enclosed are a letter and a token of its authenticity which may be of interest to you. If you wish an exchange of prisoners – and let me add that I strongly advise you not to discuss this matter with Putzi – come to the Wien at 3:00 A.M. with Princess von Rauffenstein. I will be waiting for you with Hanna down by the water under the Stubenbrücke.

  “E.v.F”

  It was with considerable satisfaction that he sealed the envelope. Von Lauderstein would be at home, there could be no doubt about that, for Hanna had hinted that she might give him an advance on the forgiveness he was going to purchase tomorrow. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, he would receive this missive: a letter from the one person in the world (next to himself) who meant as much to him as the gaming tables did, accompanied by a desecrated token of his love for her, and a letter from von Falkenburg showing that he was hitting back, and had taken his enemy on the flank.