“What do you think of Lord Arkley?”
“He is so kind – and so very different from any other man I have ever known before.”
“I found him charming!”
“He has been to see you?”
“Yes. He came yesterday after you had given him my message. We talked of his mother and I think if she saw him now Leila would be very proud of him.”
“He is very – intelligent,” Mariska murmured.
“Which is not of interest to most of the women he knows!”
“I have always heard that men – do not like clever women.”
The Duchesse smiled.
“It depends how they show their cleverness. What a man dislikes is a woman attempting to dominate him and trying to prove that she is cleverer than he is.”
“In other words she has to be humble and subservient. That is a very Germanic outlook.”
“It is not what I mean,” the Duchesse said sharply. “French women have ruled France since the time of Diane de Poitiers, but they do it cleverly using feminine wiles which blind a man to the fact that he is being manipulated.”
“I certainly don’t want to manipulate anybody,” Mariska smiled. “I am delighted for a man to – teach me because I realise how – ignorant I am.”
“I am sure that is what any man would be pleased to do,” the Duchesse said, “especially when the lesson is that of love.”
As if she felt a little embarrassed by the turn that the conversation was taking, Mariska said quickly,
“I do not want to talk about myself. I am tired of that subject. I want to talk about you, ma’am. Has the King been to see you?”
“He is coming to tea tomorrow afternoon,” the Duchesse replied, “and that means, of course, that I shall have all those lovely women waiting for him in their scented boudoirs ready to scratch my eyes out.”
She spoke with such satisfaction that Mariska had to laugh.
“Do they really scent their rooms?”
“Of course they do! And they wear those very improper so-called tea gowns’ which are little more than glorified nightdresses.”
There was an expression on Mariska’s face that told the Duchesse that she was thinking not of the King but of the women who tried to ensnare Lord Arkley.
“Such affaires de coeur are not serious,” the Duchesse said softly. “They serve merely to passer le temps. Love, real love, is very different and for that there is no need for scented boudoirs and seductive tea gowns.”
Mariska did not answer, but there was an expression on the Duchesse’s face that told her she was thinking that there was no place in her life for love.
“Don’t despair, ma petite,” she said gently. “All things pass, especially unhappiness.”
“I must try to think of – nothing but getting Friederich – well,” Mariska said bravely.
Then, as if she was determined to keep the subject from herself, she said in a different tone,
“Oh – I know what I wanted to ask you – because you know everybody. Have you ever heard of a Baroness von Kettler?”
The Duchesse stiffened and looked at Mariska in surprise
“Baroness von Kettler?” she repeated. “Why should you ask me about her?”
“Somebody – mentioned her name,” Mariska replied hesitatingly, “and – I-I wondered who she was.”
“I will tell you all about her,” the Duchesse responded, “at least all that anyone is likely to know about such an extraordinary woman.”
“Why is she extraordinary?”
“Perhaps a better description would be that she has had an extraordinary career. It is rumoured that she was first found singing or dancing in some low café, but one cannot be quite certain if that is the truth.
“An actress?
“That would be a polite word for it!” the Duchesse said dryly. “The first time she was noticed was when she ensnared, and I am quite certain that is the right word for it, poor old Baron yon Kettler, who was an exceedingly rich widower and socially too significant to be ignored.”
“He married her?
“He married her and produced her with the triumphant air of a conjuror bringing a rabbit out of a hat,” the Duchesse said.
“And she is accepted socially in Germany? I have never heard of her before.”
“Not in the circles that you and Friederich move in, but outside the Royal Courts it would be difficult for anyone to bar their doors to Baron von Kettler.”
“And the Baroness is a German?”
“No, no! I never said that. She is a mongrel of many nations. People have suggested that she has Turkish or Egyptian or Moorish blood in her veins – Heaven alone knows what the truth is! I believe she once said that her father was Polish.”
“And she is – beautiful?”
“It is not the sort of beauty I admire,” the Duchesse said sharply, “but she is certainly striking with slanting eyes, red hair and a sensuous manner that reminds me of a snake!”
Mariska was listening in amazement.
If that was what the Baroness was like, then why had General von Echardstein threatened Friederich that, if he did not achieve what the Kaiser wanted, they would bring the Baroness to Marienbad?
She could remember him saying,
‘She is a very alluring woman and has done excellent work for us in the past.’
Quite suddenly she realised what that work was!
With a voice that trembled she asked barely above a whisper,
“Do you – think that the – Baroness is a – spy?”
“Of course she is,” the Duchesse answered. “She is mixed up in every intrigue that emanates from behind the closed doors of the Secret Service in Berlin.”
She saw Mariska’s startled expression and went on,
“It was the Baroness who created havoc amongst the young Diplomats in Paris to such an extent that the President threatened to put the Kettler salon out of bounds.”
She thought for a moment and then she went on,
“There was some scandal, I forget what it was now, over Spain. It was all hushed up and no one was quite certain what happened, but the Baroness was at the bottom of it all.”
“Then why – ?” Mariska began and then her voice died away.
Almost like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fitting together she began to see what was happening.
It was because of something that concerned King Edward and Lord Arkley that Baron von Echardstein and Admiral von Senden had come to see Friederich.
They were well aware that he had known Lord Arkley in the past and that he had stayed at the Palace at Wilzenstein.
On the Kaiser’s instructions they had told Friederich to find out something they wished to know and, when he had not succeeded at the dinner party, then Friederich had turned to her to assist him.
Now she understood why he was so insistent that she should repeat to him everything that Lord Arkley had said to her. Now she understood why she would be permitted to ride with him again tomorrow.
For a moment it seemed absolutely incredible that they should expect her to spy on anyone, least of all on an Englishman, when she herself had English blood in her veins.
Then she knew with a new perception that the Germans would expect her to be completely loyal to her husband’s nationality and to the ‘superior’ country that she had been ‘privileged’ to marry into.
She was shocked, and yet, she thought, she might have known from the very beginning that after the Kaiser had ignored Friederich for three years he would only have contacted him again if there were some ulterior motive for it.
Overwhelmed by what she had just learnt and hardly aware of what she was doing, Mariska rose to her feet to walk to the window.
The Duchesse watched her and then said quietly,
“It is always wise, Mariska, my dear child, to face the facts, however unpalatable they may be.”
“And if the facts – shock and – disgust one?”
“The Eszterházys
have always had courage.”
“It is not a question of courage,” Mariska replied, “but of knowing what to do – of feeling helpless and impotent.”
“In such circumstances,” the Duchesse reasoned, “I have always followed the dictates of my heart.”
After she had spoken there seemed to be a silence when Mariska could hear her own heart beating. And yet she knew that the Duchesse had given her the answer.
She turned from the window and said,
“I must go back. Friederich is resting, but he may want me and as you know he does not like me to visit you.”
“Friederich or no Friederich, I hope you will come again,” the Duchesse smiled.
“You know I will – and thank – you, ma’am.”
“There is no need of thanks, dear child.”
The Duchesse watched Mariska as she walked towards the door. After she had turned and smiled a goodbye, the Duchesse sat for some time with her eyes closed.
She was praying and somehow she felt with a perception and almost a sense of clairvoyance that comes with old age, that her prayers would be answered.
*
Mariska felt as though for the rest of the evening she moved in a sea of indecision that tossed her first one way and then the other as she asked herself what she should do.
Her first thought was to confront Friederich with the knowledge she had acquired and inform him that she would not lower herself to be a ‘cat’s paw’ for the Kaiser or any other man in the whole world.
It was despicable that, while they were using her husband in such a way, he should involve her.
At the same time she could understand how desperately Friederich wished to reinstate himself in the Kaiser’s esteem and how he longed to be accorded the standing in Berlin that he had enjoyed in the past.
‘Even if he succeeds in this assignment, it is unlikely they will be grateful,’ Mariska thought, ‘and, if then he is of no further use to them, they will drop him like a hot brick.’
She had not lived in Germany for three years without learning of the ruthlessness and the lack of humanity that emanated from the Kaiser and was shown by all his immediate entourage.
To her it was utterly degrading that any man of Friederich’s breeding should, out of wartime, be used in such a manner by Generals and Admirals who were not capable of doing their own dirty work.
She remembered vaguely all the fuss that there had been in the newspapers about the Morocco affair and she supposed that was what General von Echardstein was interested in now.
She was quite certain that, if King Edward did in fact confide to Lord Arkley his secret plans and aspirations for the future, in no circumstances would he reveal them either to Friederich or to herself.
And how could she be expected to behave like Baroness von Kettler?
From all the Duchesse had said that the Baroness was a very superior spy. But could men really be so foolish as to let a woman, however infatuated they might be with her, extract from them State secrets which they knew were completely confidential.
How was it done? How was it possible for any man to be so stupid as not to realise when he was questioned by a woman that any answer he might give would be indiscreet?
Then she knew the answer and because it shocked her she felt herself blush.
Mariska was very innocent about love and the behaviour of men and women.
She had always been chaperoned by her mother and, although in the many houses of the Eszterházys there were young men a girl could laugh and dance with, it would have been unthinkable for there to be any loose talk or even the innuendoes which the French seemed to introduce into every conversation.
Mariska had not yet reached eighteen when she was married and, although she was extremely intelligent, emotionally she was completely unawakened.
It would have seemed extraordinary to most people but, although she was not twenty-one, she had never been passionately kissed and no man had ever made an approach to her.
Despite all the books she had read she understood very little about what a man actually did when he made love with a woman.
Although she suspected the means by which the Baroness extracted information from young Diplomats, she was ignorant of what exactly happened and even to surmise on such things made her shy.
But this did not solve her own problem of whether she should ask Friederich outright what he was trying to make her do and tell him that whatever it might be she would not do it.
Then, as they sat at the dinner table, Mariska, finding as usual that it was impossible to eat because she felt nervous and on edge, knew that it would be impossible to speak to her husband.
He was getting steadily drunk, ordering the waiters to fill and refill his glass with a heavy claret that made his face redder than usual.
He was also grumbling about the food and whenever he looked at her Mariska thought that there was hatred in his eyes.
She was used to it and tonight was no different from hundreds of other nights when they dined alone.
But perhaps because she had had a shock or perhaps because in the early morning she had known an inexpressible happiness, everything seemed sharper and more poignant than it had ever done before.
Friederich had now reached the stage when he demanded brandy, drinking it quickly and refilling his glass as if he did not think the waiters were attentive enough.
“You will be riding with Arkley tomorrow morning,” he said, so unexpectedly that it made Mariska jump.
“Yes – you said I – might do – so.”
“Well, listen to what he has to say and talk about the subjects that interest him.”
“What are those?” Mariska asked.
She felt as if someone outside her asked the question.
There was silence as if Friederich was wondering what he could say and forcing his mind to think clearly.
“Talk about France,” he said at length. “King Edward is obsessed with those damned French!”
“How do you – know that?”
As if her question warned him that he must be careful of what he said to her, he hesitated before he shouted in reply,
“I can read the newspapers, can I not? I can learn like everybody else that King Edward prefers the impropriety and false gaiety of Paris to the intellectual sobriety of Berlin.”
“Perhaps – His Majesty goes to – Paris for a – holiday?” Mariska ventured.
“He goes to ingratiate himself with those ‘frogs,” Prince Friederich snarled, “and the French know how to please the old goat.”
Mariska did not reply and, working himself up into a rage, Prince Friederich continued,
“They made up songs about him. He dines with actresses and demi-mondaines. I don’t mind telling you that the French will sing, ‘Vive Edouard’ to a different tune if they are not careful.”
“What do you mean by – that?” Mariska asked.
She thought that Friederich was going to tell her what she half-suspected, that Germany intended to march on France.
Then, through the drunken fumes that invaded his brain, he pulled back at the last moment from an abyss of indiscretion.
“What the devil do you want to ask so many questions for?” he demanded in a different tone. “You just do as I tell you! Talk to Arkley about France and let’s hear his opinions.”
Mariska did not answer. She merely rose from the table leaving her husband pouring himself out another glass of brandy.
In her own bedroom she realised that she felt very cold although it was a warm evening.
She felt in fact as if everything around her was cold and dark and she could not find her way back to the light.
For a moment she thought that she must go to the Duchesse and ask her advice as to what she should do.
Then she knew that she could not be so disloyal to her husband, even with somebody as close as the Duchesse and who was French.
There was only one person she could confide in, one person she must tell, a
nd it was for his own sake more than hers that he must know the truth.
It seemed a long time before she heard Friederich being taken to bed.
He was cursing Josef as he usually did, but his voice was not as strong as it had been earlier and many sentences he started died away into incoherent drunken murmurings.
All the rooms of the suite opened out onto the balcony. The first was the sitting room, which was adjacent to Lord Arkley’s and then there was the bedroom that was occupied by Mariska. It communicated with a large room next door, which was Friederich’s and beyond it was a small dressing room where Josef slept.
Mariska waited until there was silence from the next room.
She knew then that Josef would have put her husband to bed and that he had fallen asleep instantly.
There was, however, every chance that in an hour or so he would wake and start shouting for somebody to attend to him.
She looked at the clock.
It was still early not yet half past ten and Lord Arkley would be dining either with the King or else in one of the luxurious Villas whose distinguished owners entertained large parties night after night.
But wherever he might be Mariska only hoped that he would come back to the hotel through the garden.
Most parties, she knew, ended in the casino and the quickest way to the hotel was along a well-trodden path that ended amongst the illuminated lawns and flowerbeds of the Weimar.
‘I will sit under the willow tree and wait,’ Mariska told herself.
She knew that from there she could see if the lights went on in Lord Arkley’s sitting room and her wait had been in vain.
It was still very warm, but she drew out a soft velvet wrap from the chest-of-drawers in her room and carrying it over her arm went from the suite and down a side staircase leading to a door that opened into the garden.
She saw no one and moving across the garden pushed her way through the overhanging branches of the willow tree.
She sat down on the seat where Lord Arkley had found her that first night and composed herself for a long wait.
She tried for the moment not to think of what she had discovered, but to slip away into that enchanted land that they had talked about.
It was difficult not to keep looking towards the path that led through the fir trees and then again at the windows of his room.
Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances Page 55
