Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07

by The Second Seal

  CHAPTER VIII - THE DARK ANGEL OF THE ARSENAL

  De Richleau knew that it was customary for some person of importance to take the parade every day at a show of such national interest, but somehow it had never occurred to him that Ilona might do so; and her appearance was now so unlike what it had been at their previous meetings that, for a second, he failed to recognize her.

  As the function was almost entirely a military one, she was wearing the uniform of Colonel-in-Chief of her own regiment of Hussars. It was sky-blue with silver facings. The train of her habit was looped up over her left arm, showing a glimpse of Hessian riding boots beneath its skirt; a half-cloak trimmed with grey astrakhan swung gallantly from her erect shoulders, and from the centre of her flat-topped busby a white plume, eighteen inches high, nodded gaily. The Duke thought that she looked ravishing, and caught his breath in admiration as she advanced to the front of the box, looking neither to right nor left. There, instead of acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd with a bow, she stood stiffly to attention and brought her hand up in a smart salute; then she sat down in a gilt arm-chair, and the show went on.

  It was not until the interval that she saw De Richleau. When it arrived, she withdrew into a reception room behind the box and everyone in it followed her. As her glance fell upon him the faint pink deepened in her cheeks, but after only a second’s hesitation she beckoned him to her, and said graciously:

  “I did not know that you intended to honour Vienna with a visit so soon, Duke. I hope that you are enjoying yourself in our lovely city.”

  He bowed over her hand. “As there are no wars at the moment, your Imperial Highness, a soldier of fortune like myself is forced to take a little leisure; and nowhere in the world holds such attraction for me as Vienna.”

  She flushed again and quickly introduced him to the elderly General who was her official escort. He was a small man with a flowing grey moustache that seemed too big for his withered, wrinkled face; but a pair of keen, bright eyes showed that his brain was not as atrophied as his countenance. His name was Franz, Freiherr Conrad von Hötzendorf, and it was then little known outside his own country; but De Richleau knew it, for it had been given to him by Major Hankey as that of the man who had, eight years previously, been entrusted by the Archduke Franz Ferdinand with the reorganisation of the Imperial armies. He was their present Chief, and, it was expected, would lead them in the event of war.

  Ilona had turned to receive some of the competitors, whom she had desired should be presented to her during the interval, but von Hötzendorf addressed De Richleau with quick interest:

  “So you are a soldier of fortune, Duke. In which wars have you fought?”

  De Richleau mentioned his South American campaigns, then that the Turks had given him the command of a ramshackle Army Corps in their war with the Balkan Federation.

  “Ramshackle or not, to have commanded an Army Corps in active warfare is a thing of which not many men can boast,” commented the General swiftly, “and particularly at your age. My profession is a passion with me, and I am interested in every aspect of it. I should much like to hear of your experiences while with the Turks. Will you lunch with me one day at the Arsenal?”

  “I should be very happy to do so, General,” replied the Duke, striving to keep out of his voice the real elation he felt at receiving such an invitation.

  Von Hötzendorf produced a little book with neat, angular writing in it, cast an eye over his engagements and suggested the following Tuesday, the 12th of May. For the Duke that meant putting off a lunch party at the Metternichs but, nevertheless, he promptly accepted.

  There were further introductions and small talk while the party nibbled little cakes and sipped eis-caffee Viennoise with a three-inch layer of rich cream on top. Then they returned to the box. After the final parade Ilona spent a few minutes making the usual tactful remarks of royalty to the people round her, before leaving. To De Richleau she said:

  “No doubt, Duke, I shall see you at the Czernins’ ball on Monday?”

  He bowed from the waist. “Your Imperial Highness is most kind, and I count it a great honour that you should command my presence.”

  The Czernins were not among his acquaintances, but her remark was tantamount to an order, so he knew that he would have no difficulty in securing an invitation. Adam Grünne was, of course, in attendance on her; so when thanking him for the afternoon’s entertainment, De Richleau mentioned the matter. The equerry said at once that he would have the Duke’s name added to the list of guests that had been submitted to the Court Chamberlain and inform the Countess Czernin, and the following afternoon he received a big gold-crested card requesting the pleasure of his company at the ball.

  Now that the Duke had been six days in Vienna, he was fully relaunched in Viennese society, so the week-end passed in a pleasant round of social engagements: but the thought of Monday night was never far from his mind, and whenever he was alone he kept wondering a little anxiously what attitude Ilona would adopt towards him when they had a chance to talk alone together.

  The Czernins were one of the greatest families in Austria and occupied a palace of their own in the Josefstadt district. This lay on the far side of The Ring and had once been a garden city in which many of the Austrian nobility had country houses just outside the walls. These had since mostly disappeared, to give place to some of Vienna’s finest Government buildings, the spreading of the University and big blocks of luxury flats. But some of the great private mansions still remained, and the Czernins’ palace lay just behind the Rathaus.

  On his arrival, De Richleau found a very similar scene to that which he had witnessed on driving up to Dorchester House just a month earlier, except that this was made infinitely gayer from the continental custom of officers wearing their uniforms, instead of civilian clothes, when off duty. The Imperial Guard were resplendent in white and gold; jägers in green mingled with dragoons in scarlet and hussars in light blue, pearl and grey. Here and there a more sober note was struck by officers in the dark blue of the Austrian navy, the dark green of the artillery, and the grey-blue of the infantry. But most magnificent of all were the Hungarian nobility, who wore their own hereditary costumes of rich fur-trimmed velvets and brocades.

  The Duke soon found several of his acquaintances and could easily have filled up his card with dance engagements; but he committed himself only for those early on his programme, from fear that he might have to cut a later one on account of Ilona. It would have been a flagrant breach of etiquette for him to ask her for a dance, but he thought it certain that she would send for him during the course of the evening, and he eagerly awaited her arrival.

  At ten o’clock she appeared in the ballroom accompanied by the Count and Countess Czernin, who had left their position at the head of the stairs to escort her to a low dais, from which she could watch the dancing or join in it, as she felt inclined. To-night she was dressed in oyster satin, and looked much more regal than she had at Dorchester House, as the bright blue cordon of an order, with a great diamond star upon it, crossed her breast: a necklace of rubies, the centre piece of which was the size of a pigeon’s egg, glowed round her throat, and a tiara scintillated on her high-piled chestnut hair. As she crossed the room she passed quite close to De Richleau, but she did not appear to notice him, and she was soon surrounded by a little court of mainly elderly people who hid her from his view.

  Ten minutes later his thoughts were temporarily distracted from her, as the band broke off a Mazurka it was playing to blare into the National Anthem, and the Count and Countess Czernin again appeared, this time to escort across the room His Imperial Highness, the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand and his wife.

  De Richleau regarded this middle-aged couple with special interest for more reasons than one. Firstly, as heir apparent to an Emperor whose age was eighty-four, the Archduke was well on the way to replacing the old man as the most important figure in the empire. It was he who. against the Emperor’s wish, had ordered the reforms which von
Hötzendorf had introduced into the Imperial armies; and probably it would depend upon him, more than any single individual, whether Austria accepted a challenge from Serbia and possibly precipitated a general European war. Secondly, he had shown unusual character and determination in over-riding all opposition in order to marry morganatically.

  On the Crown Prince Rudolph’s death, the Emperor’s brother, the Archduke Charles, had become the heir apparent, but when he died in 1896 the succession passed to his son, Franz-Ferdinand. The Emperor then decided that it would be a good plan to marry his new heir to Rudolph’s widow, Stephanie of Belgium, but the unforeseen exposure of a love affair in which Franz-Ferdinand was engaged, had brought swift ruin to this project.

  While staying with the Archduchess Isabella, Franz-Ferdinand had fallen in love with one of her maids of honour, the Countess Sophie Chotek, a Czech who, although titled, was very far from belonging to the highest aristocracy. The Archduchess suspected the affair but the Countess, when questioned by her mistress, flatly denied it. Then, purely by chance, the Archduchess picked up a locket belonging to her maid of honour: on opening it she found that it contained a miniature of Franz-Ferdinand which had written across its back ‘Thine for ever’.

  The Countess was immediately dismissed, and the reason for her disgrace injudiciously noised abroad. Upon which, feeling that he had compromised the young lady and brought about her ruin, Franz-Ferdinand declared his intention of marrying her.

  The Emperor, who regarded the perpetuation of his dynasty through undiluted royal blood as a sacred charge, was horrified, and did everything in his power to prevent the match. But Franz-Ferdinand announced that he meant to go through with it, even if it necessitated his renouncing the throne both for himself and his children.

  After harrowing scenes, a compromise was reached, by which he sacrificed the claims of any children he might have by the Countess, and hers to recognition as his official wife, while retaining his own as heir apparent. But this did not altogether solve the problem of her position, as, although she could never become Empress of Austria, under the ancient laws of Hungary, which permitted morganatic marriages, she would, upon the old Emperor’s death, automatically become Queen of that country.

  Since their marriage in 1900 she had borne her husband three children, and he now made no secret of the fact that he regretted having signed away their rights of succession in favour of his nephew, the young Archduke Charles. Moreover, the Countess Sophie was a clever woman with boundless ambition, and it was said that in due course she would stop at nothing to get herself proclaimed Empress.

  At present, therefore, their position was in the highest degree invidious. The Archduke was becoming more and more the real ruler of the state, and the army already regarded him as its supreme chief. But his wife, although now over forty and recently created Duchess of Hohenberg, was still not received at court. The Emperor continued to insist that no royal honours should ever be paid to her, and many members of the ancient Austrian nobility followed his lead, partly owing to their contempt for the Czechs, whom they regarded as a subject race, and partly on account of her comparatively low birth, but above all because she had brought dissent and uncertainty concerning the succession into the imperial family.

  As against that, other noble families, like the Czernins, received and courted her for a variety of reasons. If they wished to be on good terms with Franz-Ferdinand it was almost impossible not to do so as, except for state functions at which her presence was barred, he took her with him wherever he went. But some of them had formed a genuine liking for her, and others openly championed her cause from the cynical belief that in course of time she would become the acknowledged mistress of the Empire, and that she would then shower rich rewards on all who had taken her side against the old Emperor.

  Not least among these was the Kaiser, Wilhelm II. The German monarch was shrewd enough to appreciate her brain and the probable extent of her future influence. He had received her in Berlin only semiofficially, from fear of offending the Emperor, but had gone out of his way to treat her with special courtesy; and whenever he passed through Vienna he never failed to pay his respects to her. As Major Hankey had informed De Richleau, this policy had already borne rich fruit, as Franz-Ferdinand was devoted to his wife and nothing swayed him more than such attentions to her. In consequence, from having been anti-German as a young man he had, in the past few years, come to regard the Kaiser as a great personal friend, and now invariably took his advice on all questions regarding the Austrian army.

  As the Duke unobtrusively watched the couple from some thirty paces distant, he thought of that, and wondered if in some way he might use the Duchess of Hohenberg’s ambitions, or the Archduke’s eagerness to see his wife publicly acclaimed, for some purpose of his own.

  Several times De Richleau endeavoured to catch Ilona’s eye, and as the dancing proceeded he took occasion now and then to pass within a few yards of her. But she continued to ignore him, so he began to think that she had repented of her impulse to afford him what amounted only to another meeting in public, until, at last, after the supper dance, Adam Grünne sought him out in the buffet and told him that Her Imperial Highness desired his presence.

  With his heart beating a little faster, he accompanied the equerry to the dais, where Ilona gave him her hand to kiss, and said with a smile: “I have not seen you dancing very much this evening, Duke, although I am told that you are a good dancer. I have just had my wish conveyed to the band that they should play the ‘Blue Danube’. I trust you are not too blasé to partner me in it.”

  He returned her smile. “It is watching the perfection of Your Highness’ dancing that has made me disinclined to dance with less gifted ladies to-night. You see, I was once told by someone whom I much respect that it is better not to waltz at all than with someone who does not waltz really well.”

  As he handed her down off the dais her blue eyes sparkled. By her ordering the ‘Blue Danube’ and by his remark, both had deliberately recalled their dance together at Dorchester House and all that had followed it. He took a firm grip of her waist, and a moment later they swung smoothly away across the floor.

  They made their first circle of the room in silence, then he whispered, “Am I forgiven?”

  “Of course you are,” Her eyes were turned away from him, but her breath fanned his cheek. “Otherwise I should not be dancing with you.”

  “I had begun to think you never meant to. May I hope for another before you leave?”

  “No. For me to dance twice in one evening with a stranger would certainly be remarked. Besides, I am dancing with you now, just this once, only because you took the trouble to come to Vienna in evidence of your repentance.”

  “What would you say if I told you that I do not repent?”

  “I forbid you to say such things.”

  “You cannot forbid me to think them. And I did not come to Vienna to seek forgiveness, but in search of love.”

  She dropped her long dark lashes and remained silent a moment.

  Then she said coldly: “I am told that Vienna is a good place for a man like yourself to find it. The girls here are very pretty, and do I not recall your telling me that you often—often formed unions of—of a temporary nature?”

  “I have occasionally done so in the past; but you know very well I did not mean that.”

  “Then—then I prefer not to be enlightened as to your meaning.”

  “So you are still afraid?”

  Her body tautened for a second. “Of what?”

  “Of love.”

  Again the pink of her cheeks deepened slightly as she exclaimed: “You must not talk to me like this. Now that you know who I am, you have no right to do so.”

  “I know only that you are the most lovely person in the world.”

  To that she did not reply, and they circled the room in silence again. Then he asked, “Will you sit out with me somewhere in the interval after this dance?”

  She shook her h
ead. “No. That is impossible. You must take me back to the dais immediately the band stops.”

  “Then, when may I see you again?”

  “As it is my duty to appear often in public no doubt an opportunity for you to do so will soon occur.”

  “You are unkind,” he murmured reproachfully. “I meant, to talk to you—to tell you how I treasure the memory of that kiss more than anything in my whole life.”

  She hesitated a second, then burst out: “I have no wish to talk to you again. That first time the things you said were excusable. You thought me then some little heiress of no account. But now you are aware of the gulf that separates us, it is an impertinence to embarrass me in this fashion, and I will not permit it.”

  A wave of depression surged through him. This dance, to which he had been looking forward so eagerly, had begun so well, but somehow the secret bond that seemed to have been established between them had showed signs of strain almost from the beginning, and now she had made it plain that she had no further use for him. Surely, he thought, she would not have asked him to dance solely to pronounce her formal forgiveness on a matter that they both knew was already forgiven. She must have expected him to make love to her and, granted that, he had not said anything to which she could take exception. He did not understand her attitude, but in view of their positions there was nothing he could do other than accept it. So he said with a sigh:

  “A cat may look at a king, Princess, and to every man there comes at least once in a lifetime a woman for whom he would dare everything, and of whom he dreams fond dreams. It is my misfortune that I should not only have looked at, but talked to, you; and so incurred your displeasure. But after to-night I will not trouble you again with my presence, and in the meantime you may rest assured that I will treat Your Imperial Highness only with the profound respect that is your due.”