Next day the tension that he felt was considerably lightened by the news that the Kaiser had not postponed his summer cruise to Norway, but sailed upon it the very morning that the fateful Austro-Hungarian Cabinet meeting had been held. It seemed, to say the least of it, unlikely that if the Supreme War Lord of Europe really thought there was the least chance of being called on to loose his legions within a matter of days or weeks he would calmly have gone off on a holiday. This hopeful indication that saner counsels were prevailing was strengthened by the announcement that the Emperor had left Vienna for Ischl, and von Hötzendorf gone on leave. Evidently no further move was to be made for the moment, and in the past a war postponed had often proved a war averted. So De Richleau began to think that Count Tisza’s apprehensions had so played upon his mind that he had exaggerated the danger of the situation.
Ilona paid her invalid another visit on the Friday, and brought him a photograph of herself in a beautiful frame set with semi-precious stones. She looked as well as ever but, for once, seemed distrait and worried. Tactfully, he endeavoured to discover the reason, but she refused to admit that she had anything on her mind; so he could only put it down to the fact that she had made a definite appointment to be overhauled by Dr. Bruckner on Monday, and must be dreading the possible verdict on her condition more than she cared to let him know.
Delighted as he was to have her photograph, caution counselled him to hide it as soon as she had gone. But he regarded it lovingly in secret many times during the next two days, and put it out again on his bed-side table just before she was due to arrive for her Sunday visit.
To his surprise and annoyance, Paula von Wolkenstein was in attendance on her instead of Sárolta. He guessed at once that some accident or indisposition must have prevented Sárolta from accompanying her royal mistress at the last moment and, it being too late to cancel the visit, she had had no choice but to bring the little blonde baroness instead. His guess proved correct, as Ilona said, after they had been talking for a few minutes, that she was sure he would be sorry to hear that Fraulein Hunyády had ricked her ankle that afternoon when coming down stairs.
Adam Grünne did his best for the lovers by taking Paula over to the window, but Ilona had to remain seated sedately in an arm-chair; and kisses, sweet whispers and tender sighs, were all entirely out of the question. After the freedom they had enjoyed during her previous visits, they found the situation extremely trying. They were now so used to talking intimately that there seemed nothing at all they could find to say while unwelcome ears were listening. In addition, Ilona’s cough was worse and she seemed in even lower spirits than she had been on Friday; so De Richleau was neither surprised nor dismayed when, instead of staying for her usual hour, she stood up after twenty minutes of stilted conversation and took her departure.
His three visitors had not been gone more than two minutes when Paula came back into the room alone. “Excuse me. please.” she said demurely, “but I forgot my bag.” And she walked over to the window-to get it.
As she re-crossed the room she paused near De Richleau’s bed and, for a moment, stood regarding Ilona’s photograph with a faint sneer on her small, pursed up mouth. Then, with calm insolence, she remarked:
“You know, she thinks she can keep her secrets from me. But she can’t. I wonder how Prince Boris would like it if he knew that she had given you her photograph to keep beside your bed?”
“What the devil do you mean?” exclaimed the Duke angrily.
The little vixenish face beneath the pile of flaxen hair broke into a cruel smile: then she laughed. “Oh, didn’t you know? To cement the new treaty we are making with Bulgaria it has been arranged that she shall marry him.”
CHAPTER XIX - THE TRUTH WILL OUT
That night the Duke suffered the torments of the damned. He felt certain that Paula had deliberately left her bag behind as an excuse to return and launch her poisoned shaft, and was convinced that, however malicious her nature, she would never have invented such a story. Before he had had time to collect his wits and question her further, she had walked quickly from the room. But her statement fitted in, both with what Count Tisza had said of the urgent necessity of securing Bulgaria to the Triple Alliance, and with Ilona’s inexplicable depression during her last two visits.
In vain De Richleau chid himself for a fool. He told himself that he had always known that his affair with Ilona could never be more than a summer idyll, and that at any time arrangements might be made for her to marry suitably. But now that the blow had fallen, such thoughts brought him not an iota of comfort, neither did the knowledge that it was himself she loved, and not the twenty-year-old Prince Boris. He was experienced enough to realize that jealousy was a selfish, senseless, futile emotion, out of which no good could ever come; yet he was harrowed by it as he had not been since its pangs had gnawed at him when he learned in his ’teens that his first mistress was deceiving him.
Next day, the doctor pronounced his leg sufficiently mended for him to get up and take a few steps on it; so when Ilona came on Tuesday she found him sitting in an arm-chair. Sárolta had not twisted her ankle badly and two days’ rest had enabled her to resume her duties. As soon as she was settled in the window with Adam Grünne, Ilona kissed the invalid and he drew her down beside him. By then he had had time enough to absorb the shock and appreciate that she must be feeling as badly about it as himself, so he took her hand and said gently:
“Why did you not tell me?”
Her blue eyes clouded with distress. “So you know—about Boris?”
“Yes. Paula told me when she came back for her bag, after your visit on Sunday.”
“The little beast!” Ilona exclaimed. “I’ll dismiss her for this!”
“Get rid of her by all means, dearest; but I suggest that you should find some other reason for doing so, otherwise she may cause trouble. She noticed your photograph at my bed-side, and inferred that she knew about us.”
Ilona shrugged. “The photograph does not prove anything. Royalty often give photographs of themselves to their personal friends. She can know nothing, and is only guessing.”
“Still, if you dismiss her for this, it will confirm her impression.”
“That is true. Then I’ll do as you suggest.”
“But why, my sweet, why didn’t you tell me about your engagement?”
“It is not an engagement—yet.”
“The project then. You must have known of it some days ago.”
“I did.” Ilona sighed. “But I knew it would make you miserable, and I thought that if I kept it to myself for as long as possible we might continue to snatch a little happiness while we may.”
“Is it—is it as good as settled?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.
She nodded. “There seems no likelihood of a hitch; and I’ll have no alternative but to go through with it. Had some German or Italian Prince been proposed for me, I might have declared my personal inclination so averse to him that they would have dropped it. But I cannot do that in this case. A swift conclusion of the alliance with Bulgaria is considered of such importance that my feelings are of no account whatever. It is my duty to accept the situation with apparent pleasure. You see that, Armand, don’t you? So please, please don’t make it harder for me.”
“I understand,” he murmured. Then, after a moment, he said: “But if there can be no escape from this wretched blow of fate, would it not make it easier for you to do your duty if—if we end things now?”
Her arm was round his shoulder and she quickly put her hand over his mouth. “No, please! My private life remains my own, to do as I will with; at least until I am married.”
He kissed her hand and drew it away. “As you will then, my sweet Princess. We’ll do our best to forget this sword of Damocles that is suspended over our heads. But you have not told me yet what Dr. Bruckner said about you yesterday.”
“Oh, Armand!” she stooped and brushed his forehead with her lips. “I must ask your forgiveness about tha
t. I felt certain that any doctor would tell me that I ought to go back to Ischl and rest again. In view of this other business nothing would now induce me to leave Vienna, because that would mean leaving you. It seemed senseless to consult Dr. Bruckner and then ignore his advice. So I sent to tell him that I had changed my mind, and did not wish to see him.”
“But, Ilona dearest, that was very wicked of you. Even if you refuse to take his advice for the time being, you must see him. You must at least find out if there is anything seriously wrong with you.”
“There is not. I’ve told you so a score of times.”
“I wish to God I were as certain of that as you seem to be. But I am far from it. If you will, count it only as a stupid whim of mine. Just to please me, and set my mind at rest, I beg you to see Bruckner before the end of the week.”
She shrugged. “Very well then. I will. I promise.”
By Thursday De Richleau was able to hobble about enough for him to be allowed out for the first time. So, that afternoon, Ilona took him for a drive in the Prater, and she told him that Dr. Bruckner was coming to examine her next day.
As the time was fast approaching when the Duke would be fit to leave the nursing home, the problem of how they could meet with any frequency in future was causing the lovers considerable anxiety. There would no longer be any excuse for Ilona to play ministering angel; it would be indiscreet for him to wait on her at the Palace more than about once a week; and Court mourning continued to veto her appearance at even small private entertainments.
It was dark-eyed, wicked little Sárolta who solved their difficulty for them. A relative of hers, named de Lazalo, had already achieved a considerable reputation as a painter. His studio was in a private house that he occupied, just off the Schotten Ring, and she was prepared to vouch for his discretion. She suggested that if Ilona commissioned him to paint her portrait, she could arrange for sittings two or three times a week, and the Duke could meet her there without anyone who might make trouble being the wiser. Both of them were delighted, and she was asked to arrange the matter so that the first sitting could take place early the following week.
On Saturday Ilona called for the Duke in her carriage again. Rather to his surprise, but to his immense joy and relief, she told him at once that after Dr. Bruckner had examined her on the previous day, he had confirmed the opinion of the Court physician. He had, of course, prescribed country air and rest, but declared her malady similar to that with which her grandmother had been inflicted. The symptoms of intermittent fever and the exceptional delicacy of the throat muscles were the same, and a quieter life was all that was needed to keep the attacks in check.
Dr Bruckner’s view was certainly confirmed by the fact that since Court mourning had relieved Ilona of her public functions she appeared very much better. But this afternoon she was wearing an unusually heavy veil, and, after saying how glad he was to hear her good news, the Duke asked her why she had suddenly chosen to conceal her lovely features.
Leaning across the carriage towards him, she lowered her voice: “I thought we would celebrate by playing truant from the watching eyes of the servants for an hour or two. Adam has arranged it all, and we are going out to Grinzing.”
Ten minutes later the carriage pulled up in a shady avenue of the Park. On the opposite side of the road another was waiting; but instead of having the Imperial Arms emblazoned on its panels and liveried servants on its box, it was a shabby old Victoria driven by a bottle-nosed cabby.
When the four of them had transferred to the meaner vehicle, it set off north-west, out of the park and along the south bank of the Danube for about three miles, then, leaving the river, carried them up the hill through the vineyards to the old village that had become an outer suburb of Vienna.
It was a very favourite spot with the Viennese, who came by the hundreds on Sundays to spend the afternoon and evening in its Heuringer, as the wine-gardens there were called. Each autumn, nearly every Viennese went there at least once, to try the new vintage; but all through the summer the gardens were open for pleasure seekers to drink the previous year’s wine at long, wooden tables, where they could picnic if they wished, dance and listen to the band.
Adam Grünne told the cabby to pull up at an archway, over which a bunch of green fir branches hung from a pole—indicating that a fresh cask of wine had been broached there that day—and they went inside. To most people it would have been just a pleasant little outing, but to Ilona it was a terrific adventure, as she had never been informally to such a place before or sat at a bare wooden table drinking out of a thick tumbler. In the hot sunshine the fresh, slightly sharp wine tasted delicious and the merriment of the ordinary patrons of the place was infectious. Sárolta and Adam danced several times and, although De Richleau’s leg made it impossible for him to dance with Ilona, he was amply compensated by having her with him in such carefree surroundings.
For a Saturday afternoon the place was fairly full, as it was the 18th of July and the summer holiday season was just beginning. During the past ten days the crisis had died down. The Austrian people were still angry, but it was now nearly three weeks since the assassinations and their Government had taken no action, so the drum-banging that had followed the terrible event at Sarajevo now looked like one more war scare that might be relegated to the history books with Agadir.
All over the world people were making their preparations to go to the beaches, the rivers and the mountains on pleasure bent. The Isle of Wight would soon be full of Germans, the Rhine of British trippers, the Belgian and Dutch plages of French families, and the German Baltic resorts of Russians. Every capital would have its thousands of foreign sightseers and an advance guard of them had already reached Vienna.
In the wine-garden De Richleau could easily pick out Englishmen in Norfolk jackets, crop-headed Germans and olive-skinned Italians, and a glance at any of them was enough to show that war was the very last thing they were thinking about.
On the table at which Ilona’s party were sitting a previous occupant had left a copy of the morning’s paper and a head-line in it caught the Duke’s eye. It ran, ‘King George V Reviews British Fleet’, and, drawing the paper towards him he remarked to Ilona that it must have been a sight worth seeing.
Apparently Mr. Churchill had not been content to parade only the ships of biggest and latest design in honour of the Monarch. He had taken advantage of the summer training period of the Naval Reserve, which had enabled all three fleets to be assembled. Thus, on the one summer day he had concentrated incomparably the greatest assemblage of naval power ever witnessed in the history of the world. The three fleets were easily capable of destroying the navies of any other two powers together, and so numerous was this armada that, steaming in close formation, line ahead, at 15 knots, it had taken more than six hours to pass in review before the Royal yacht.
Recalling what Count Tisza had said about the Kaiser’s rash encouragement of the Austrian war-mongers, the Duke thought the gesture admirably timed and worthy of the peace-loving but resolute Englishman who had planned it. The review had been scheduled to take place long before Franz Ferdinand had been murdered, so it was a purely domestic peace-time affair and a threat to no one: but if any measure could give the hot-headed Kaiser pause, this tremendous demonstration of naval might should do so.
All too soon Ilona’s clandestine visit to Grinzing was over. They drove down the hill and transferred to the Imperial carriage in the Heiligenstadt wood, where Adam had arranged for it to meet them. It was, too, the last drive that De Richleau was to take with her, as on the Sunday he was leaving the nursing home to return to his old quarters at Sacher’s.
On arriving there, however, he found a note from Adam, giving de Lazalo’s address and the pleasing information that Sárolta had arranged with the painter for Ilona to sit for him the first time on Tuesday.
De Richleau set off in good time for the new rendezvous and, having paid off his cab, took up a position on the opposite side of the street, from
which unobserved he could watch Ilona drive up. As soon as her carriage had set her down, he crossed the road, so that as it drove off he was able to hobble up to the door of the house just after it had closed behind her, and give the servant who admitted him the impression that he was a member of the Archduchess’ suite who had been shut out by mistake.
The house was a comfortable modern one with a big studio at the back, which had lofty windows in its north wall and a door that led on to a small paved garden to its west. Some time passed in looking at the painter’s work and discussing how Ilona should be posed, so he made only a few preliminary sketches of her that afternoon, then offered them iced coffee in the garden.
After they had been out there for a few minutes, Ilona said to de Lazalo, “Would you think me very rude if I take Count Königstein in to have another look at your sketches?” Then she added with a friendly smile, “He is quite an art critic, you know, but I would not like to embarrass either of you by asking him to criticize work in front of its creator.”
The painter was a polished and charming man; moreover Sárolta had already told him to what he owed the present commission and sworn him to secrecy; so he returned Ilona’s smile and only expressed the hope that they would not be too hard on his first efforts to catch her likeness.
Thus, the lovers were able to snatch a quarter of an hour alone together. Then, as Ilona was about to leave, de Lazalo, prompted by Sárolta, tactfully asked De Richleau to stay behind and give him his opinion of some more of his work, so saving him from being seen by her coachman and footman leaving the house with her.
Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 Page 38
