A knock sounded and the key immediately turned in the lock.
“Fräulein?”
“Here,” she said, recognizing the matronly voice of the housekeeper. She’d hastily dropped onto the settee near the fire, pulled the blanket up to cover her feet, and snatched her book up as she did. “I was about to get ready for bed, Frau Shemper. What do you need?”
“Oh! I’m sorry to disturb you. I brought the warming pan.” The older woman easily hefted the brass pan filled with coals, flipping back the coverlet and sheeting to glide the pan over the cool linen sheets to warm them. “It will be very cold tonight, and there will be snow. Also, I am wanting to let you know that our Führer will be here by lunch time. This is unexpected, and early, yes?” She beamed, and flipped the blankets over the warming pan.
“So,” she continued. “I will press your good day clothes for you tonight, ja?” She bustled to the wardrobe, pulling it open and taking out two day dresses, a skirt and a crisp, finely woven cotton and silk blouse. “These I will press, in case you need to change or we are to go in the garden to meet our Führer when he arrives, ja? So, I will say good night.” She frowned into the wardrobe for a moment then shut the door. She motioned to the bottle of wine. “Do you need a new glass, Fräulein?”
The glass on the table lay on its side, dripping one lone drop of wine from its rim. It had evidently fallen over, or been knocked over when Dix entered the room.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Grace exclaimed as she leapt from her sitting place to right the glass. “I didn’t realize I’d turned it over. I’m sorry, Frau Shemper, I have stained the table linen.”
“Ah, not to worry, Fräulein,” Frau Shemper soothed, her frown fading as Grace wiped at the floor with a lace edged handkerchief pulled from her sleeve. She hated to ruin the fine linen and lace, but didn’t want the woman to get down on the floor herself and possibly see Dix.
“Oh, nein, nein,” she protested, hurrying to pluck the cloth from Grace’s hands. “I should have done that,” the housekeeper scolded. “Or have been sending Franz to do it. Here, let me take that.” The housekeeper held the stained lace well away from the garments she’d laid over her arm and tsk-ed over the state of the white linen and lace, liberally stained with red wine. “I will see to it, I have much that I can do to take out the wine. Do you want a new glass?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Grace said, and corked the bottle with ease. Thank goodness the bottle, three-quarters full of red wine, hadn’t turned over as well. “I was about to go to bed.”
The housekeeper nodded. The stained square of the handkerchief disappeared into one of Frau Shemper’s skirt pockets.
“Yes, I was afraid I might wake you.” Frau Shemper set the clothing aside long enough to collect the warming pan. She neatly flipped the covers into place, then, without the slightest bobble in the pan, she gathered the garments and bobbed a curtsey. “I’ll see to these and have them for you in the morning.”
“Thank you, Frau Shemper. Good night.” Grace ushered the woman to the door, holding it as the housekeeper stepped into the hall.
“Good night, Fräulein.” The woman bobbed a curtsey and pulled the door to. Housekeeper and clothing vanished in a wave of cold air from the hall as the door shut with a snap. The guard turned the key and Grace was alone.
Well, almost.
Damn. The timeline was now a ticking clock. She had to find the diary before Hitler arrived, and get out of the manor house before security increased exponentially with his presence.
“Dix?” she whispered. “You can come out. She’s gone.”
She heard the muted rustle of fabric, and Dix scooted out from under the bed. He lay on the floor, immobile, breathing heavily.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, kneeling to check his pulse. His skin was clammy with sweat and his heartbeat bumped at an erratic pace.
“Nothing,” he muttered, pulling his wrist from her grasp. “Give me a minute.”
“You’re sweating. Your heart rate is irregular. You’re not all right,” she said flatly.
“No, but I will be,” he said, his whisper harsh in the dusky room. “Now leave it.”
Offended at having her concern shoved in her face, Grace stalked to the window, giving him the space he’d so rudely requested. Within a few minutes, he rose. His breathing had moderated to normal, and he was again careful to make no sound. As annoyed as she was, she was intrigued with him. How could such a big man move so quickly? So silently?
“That diary isn’t worth your life,” he said, his whisper sharp.
She shook her head, then, realizing he might not see that in the dim light, she gripped his shoulder, and pulled him down to her so she could speak clearly.
“You misunderstand, Mr. Dixon. It isn’t a simple heirloom. It’s a valuable business tool. It can’t fall into the wrong hands.”
How to make him understand without telling him all?
“I have notes in it that I need for Char and my father.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “They said you were smart. Canny. It doesn’t matter.” He dismissed her excuses. “No matter how important you think it is, my job is to get you out, not go chasing after some book and get us both caught.” Dix opened the wardrobe and gestured. “Get dressed.”
He also pulled out the soft suitcase on the floor of the cabinet.
“Pack a few things, and let’s go.”
Grace backed away. She had no sure way to know if this man, this Dix Dixon was legitimately from her brother, despite the comment about the birthmark. The ring was convincing. But if he was, Char would have known to tell him--or her father would have--that she wouldn’t leave without the diary.
“No.”
He whipped around, his face a study in shock. “What do you mean, no?”
“Just that. I won’t go without the diary.”
“You will,” he hissed, walking towards her. There was a menace in his face now that hadn’t been there before. “I have a job to do and you’re it. I don’t go back on my word, and I don’t fail. If I have to tie you up, gag you and haul you kicking and thrashing over the border, it will be hard, but I’ll do it.”
To her chagrin, Grace retreated a step. She wanted to stand firm, but in the face of this grim man, she felt a trickle of unease.
He meant it.
“I believe you,” she said. And she did. “But that diary is worth more than my life and yours put together.”
His expression implacable, he advanced, then, unaccountably, he stopped.
She’d seen a wolf once, in Russia. The massive, powerful creature had stopped, silent and powerful, a picture of contained violence and play in one creature. She remembered it standing, as Dix now stood, head cocked ever so slightly, listening.
His sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones were limned by the light from the fireplace, making him an icon carved from some dark, rich wood. The attraction she’d felt sneaking around the edges of her consciousness blew through her, full force.
Her belly constricted, and she felt every inch of her femininity as she pressed her knees together to keep them from wobbling. Here was the pack leader. The alpha wolf.
“They’re here, the advance guards. Damn,” he cursed harshly. “I’ll be back, and diary or no diary, I will get you out of here.”
She still hadn’t heard whatever had alerted him. She strained to catch any sound other than their harsh, entrained breathing.
“Not without the diary.” She managed to keep her voice firm. Implacable.
He was at the window before she saw him move. “Your brother and father would skin me alive for letting a book keep me from bringing you home.”
Now, finally, she heard what he’d heard. The roar of powerful engines in the distance, then, the grind of truck gears.
Troop transports, most likely. Hitler’s advance guards.
He pulled the ropes close to the window, slid out the casement ready to climb upward.
She had to make him und
erstand. From the determined set of his jaw, he would do as he said and take her, willing or unwilling. She had to make him understand. She couldn’t leave without the diary.
He rested a booted foot on the sill, and looked upward as he prepared to climb.
“Be ready,” he hissed. It was all he said.
She leaned out, decision made. She had to trust him. Her gut said he was dangerous, her body wanted him, and her mind argued there was still a remote chance he was a Nazi spy.
Head or gut?
Which was right? Were they both right?
It didn’t matter. She was out of time.
“Dix,” she said, restraining him. He looked down, impatient to start the upward climb. “My brother and father would kill me themselves if the codes and ciphers in that book fall into Hitler’s hands.”
His face betrayed his shock. “You’re joking.”
“Not in the slightest,” she declared. “It’s far more important than my life. If you have to, and you can get the book, leave me and take it, get it back to London. That’s how it needs to be.”
The surprise on his face was the last thing she saw before the headlights from the trucks lit the road, and raised a shout from the guards at the gate.
Chapter IV
There was a bustle of activity as the trucks rolled up to the gates and were passed through.
Grace hastily shut the window, but left it unlocked. If Dix could get the book and get her tonight, they could go.
If not...
She tugged at the belt on her robe, and paced to the wardrobe, the floor creaking beneath her feet. She stopped. How had he moved so quietly? How had he known the creaking board was there?
It was as if he was that wolf she’d envisioned.
She shivered at the thought, and warmed herself again at the hearth. The flames were mesmerizing. Watching them let her put everything aside and think.
First things first. She should set up her bag so she could grab it and go. If there was no time for the bag, she needed to be dressed as warmly as possible at all times so if she had to go in what she stood in, she could.
That might be challenging if he didn’t get her before dinner tomorrow. Grace shuddered at the thought of coming face to face with the maniac who had ordered the invasion of Poland and caused her own beloved England to declare war.
The rumors about his changes in Germany were horrifying. Especially the reports that he championed active eugenics—-the segregation and isolation of non-Germans and those he considered defectives into specific areas and neighborhoods. The darker rumors said there were hospitals where the ill or troubled went in, but never came out.
His Volkstum prattle of a folksy, happy countryside, focused on a pure Germany as his propaganda put it. Other rumors had come from her connections, as well, rumors of old people and orphans being rounded up and sent away. They too were never heard from again.
Rumors aside, it was obvious the man was ruthless and power-mad. Those who foolishly dismissed his influence after the Bierkeller Putsch, a coup attempt, which came a mere two years after the Armistice, which ended the Great War, were no longer laughing.
Most were no longer living.
And stories of his abiding interest in the occult were now common knowledge on every continent.
Grace clutched the brooch. Oh, Lord in heaven. Was that it?
She’d never experienced the jewel’s power. Although she’d had suitors and been engaged once, no one had yet brought out the supposed power of the gem. Aunt Grace had insisted most emphatically that she would know. It was Aunt Grace who’d convinced her to end her engagement.
“The quality of the dream will tell you the jewel is at work,” her Lady Aunt had assured her with a dreamy smile. “But don’t trust the literal vision,” she had warned. “It will fool you, and frustrate you, but you’ll know you’re on the right track when you begin to have the dreams.”
Her fiancé had elicited no dreams, and no real spark of love either. With Aunt Grace’s help, she’d ended it before it had hardly begun.
“Right then,” she said, shaking off the memory. “That’s not going to happen, in Germany, on the brink of war,” she reassured herself. “That’s for home and hearth. And, since its likely pure bosh as well, I’m setting it aside. Time for action, not dreams.”
The legend of the jewel, and destined love, made for a good story. That, evidently, is what got her stuck here. No wonder General Freisenstadt hadn’t questioned her about her travels. It had been the book, yes, but not for her codes. Hitler wanted the jewel.
Now that it made sense, Grace’s determination settled in. She eased the wardrobe open. From the drawers at the bottom of the gorgeous old mahogany cabinet she took underthings, silk stockings and shoes, then slipped them in the bag. She left several pairs as well, rearranging and fluffing them to make the drawers look full.
There were notes and papers in the bag tucked under the false bottom. Frau Shemper hadn’t found them, and until now, Grace had left them there, not wanting to call attention to her bag or anything else. They were valuable documents, but she could remember most, if not all of the information they contained.
If she could take them with her, all the better. If not, she would toss them in the fire and be sure they burned before she left.
Done with all she could do tonight, Grace banked the fire and hurried to get under the covers. The huge, solid bed was comfortable. It’s down filled coverlet and linen sheets lay heavy on her shoulders as she snuggled into the pillows. She had a last wistful thought of home and her own heavily curtained bed before sleep claimed her.
The dreams came swiftly.
Bold colors swirled in her mind, making her smile in her sleep. They were so bright! Nothing like her usual dreams.
The images settled into place with a snap, however, and she saw herself, hand in hand with a German officer. The braid and silver buttons, the insignia and sharply outlined red swastika on the black wool of his coat declared his superior rank, he was one of the elite Nazi faithful.
Most of his face was shadowed by his stiff uniform cap, but his lips twisted in a harsh smile as he pulled her along behind him.
In her big, wide bed, desperately trying to wake up, Grace held onto the jewel like a lifeline. The gold was cold now, as cold as the snow in the vision’s winter night.
The dream ended as abruptly as it began, with him dragging her out of the door of a small building, into the darkest of nights, into the blowing snow. The door closed behind them with an audible snap, shutting out the last gram of warmth and peace in her soul. Her heart pounded in fear, hammering like it would leap out of her chest.
Grace jolted awake, and sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping, one hand clutching the jewel, the other pressed to her galloping heart. The jewel was a heavy, reassuring warmth in her hand, helping to calm and soothe her spirit.
The dream. It flooded into her waking consciousness in bright, vivid detail.
It hadn’t been like other dreams.
Is this what her Aunt had meant about the visions that came with the jewel? Had this horror, this nightmare, showed her intended, destined husband?
A Nazi? Oh, dear God.
Worse, a Schutzstaffel officer?
German and Nazi were bad enough, but the SS? They were at the heart of every evil, horrid rumor coming from Germany for more than a decade.
Dear Lord, what can I do?
In the gardener’s quarters, Dix fumed. If she’d just come with him they could be halfway to the border. Instead, he was stuck trying to find a stupid book.
He loved books, but no book, including one with ciphers and codes, was worth a life.
He’d changed clothes on the roof, then slipped down the back wall of the lodge, walked the steep rooftree of the kitchen annex, and climbed down the ancient, wide branches of the snow-covered elm growing there.
“Mysteries, secrets,” he muttered in his father’s native Cherokee. “A woman who protects both.”
&n
bsp; He wanted to curse her for her stubbornness, as he simultaneously admired her wit and courage. If she was a courier and the secrets were kept in the diary she’d spoken of, then she was far more than she seemed.
She was also in one hell of a dangerous position.
The troops coming in--soldiers who’d nearly spotted him as he’d exited her room--were added guards for the compound in advance of Hitler’s arrival the next evening. After the attempt on his life earlier in the summer, Hitler took no chances with his safety.
Two additional cars had driven in advance of the truck, and those held several more high ranking officers and their aides de camp.
Grace and her book might be a small part of this, but this was a meeting for other things. Major things.
Dix frowned. How could he get in to hear what was going on? There was a root cellar, part of which extended under the dining room. There was a dumb waiter to send up wines, ciders and casks of regional beer, which were kept in the cool of the cellar. The problem was, he wasn’t kitchen staff.
He was a gardener-slash-woodsman-slash-manservant. He’d gotten the post by bribing the man who’d been in the position with passage to England. It was a dangerous, expensive bribe. He couldn’t be sure the man would actually take the ticket and go, or whether he would turn Dix in. He thought he’d read his man right, but...
It wouldn’t have mattered if they could have left tonight. There was no way the man could make it back here to report Dix to anyone, not from where Dix had left him. The longer Dix stayed, however, if the man was planning a double cross, the higher the chance that Dix would be caught.
Also, the more he interacted with people, the more difficult it was not to slip up and betray his American origins. He’d managed to stay out of sight of the German military as he’d made his way to Zweiburg. The obvious stoop and limp he’d employed, with the eye patch and scars on his cheek, he was believable as a damaged, lowly workingman going to take his cousin’s place at the hunting lodge.
He’d already been told that he wouldn’t be allowed in the house when Hitler was in residence. Hitler despised damaged people. Although Dix’s alter-ego, Franz, claimed his injuries came from serving in the Great War, Frau Shemper told him to stay out of Hitler’s sight.
A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology Page 15
