“I am sorry, Friederich, if I have upset you – but quite honestly Lord Arkley is not the sort of person who would betray State secrets to a woman – any woman – least of all – me.”
“You did not try! You have let me down. How could you have been so brainless, so idiotic as not to have discovered even one piece of information that Wilhelm wanted?”
“He should have employed someone more experienced than I am – in such a dirty business,” Mariska then retorted. “But there is no point in us discussing it. Goodnight, Friederich! ”
She walked towards the door of her room when suddenly she realised that her husband’s head had sunk forward onto his chest.
She hesitated.
“Friederich. What is it?”
He did not move. His head was bent and his hands were hanging down the sides of the wheelchair over the rug that covered his knees.
“Friederich!”
It struck her that he might have had a stroke and she moved towards him ready to put her hand on his forehead before raising his head to look into his eyes.
Then, as she touched him, he put out both his hands to seize her and she realised that he had merely been pretending so as to catch her off her guard.
“Friederich – let me go!” she cried.
But it was too late.
“Now I will punish you as you deserve! You may have stopped me from shooting you, but there is nothing to stop me from beating you to death!”
He held her wrist with his left hand and pulled her half-across his knees.
Then with his right he drew the thin whip from beneath the rug.
Mariska heard it swish through the air, before the intolerable pain of it seared her back.
She struggled and slipped to the floor, but he did not release her and now sprawled across the foot of his chair she was in exactly the position he required.
The whip fell again and again on her back and, although she struggled and writhed to escape, Friederich’s hold on her left wrist was like an iron band.
He was whipping her with a fury that she knew contained all the pent-up rage that had been evoked in him when he learnt that the Kaiser had no longer any need of his services.
His anger had given him a strength that was abnormal. He had not drunk as much as to be incoherent as he usually was, but instead was inflamed by the alcohol.
Mariska felt the thin lawn of her nightgown tear beneath the strokes of the whip. Now it was searing her flesh like streaks of fire.
Although she was determined not to scream, she heard a cry as if it came from someone else and she thought that she was listening not to herself but to some strange animal in pain.
The cry came again and again and then, as the pain became intolerable through a haze of deepening darkness, Mariska heard Josef’s voice.
“Your Royal Highness! Stop, Your Royal Highness.”
“She is going to die! She is going to die as she deserves, a traitor to the Fatherland! A creature who is not worthy to be my wife and to bear my family name.”
“Stop, Your Royal Highness! You cannot do this.”
“Get out of my way! She is going to die! Die for what she has done to me. I will kill her, kill her. She shall die!”
The words sounded like the growl of some savage animal and far away in the distance another animal was crying and whimpering, a small animal caught in a trap.
Then suddenly there was the report of a pistol and the sound of it echoed and re-echoed around the room.
*
Lord Arkley had dined with King Edward in his suite.
It was the sort of dinner party that the King most enjoyed giving before visiting the casino and then going on to supper with some glamorous and hospitable hostess.
There were only six of His Majesty’s personal friends present and everyone could therefore talk freely and without reserve.
Among the guests was, of course, the Marquis da Soveral, who kept them all laughing, and another was Lord Arkley.
The food was superb, the wines chosen with discriminating taste and, when the port was passed around the table, the King leant back in his chair and lit one of his inevitable cigars.
“That reminds me, sir,” Lord Arkley exclaimed. “I brought you as a present a box of the very latest Havanas. I meant to give them to you before but forgot about it. They are made from a special leaf that is never exported.”
“I shall certainly be delighted to try them,” the King said. “Send one of the servants for the box.”
“I will fetch it myself,” Lord Arkley replied. “I think it is in one of the drawers, which are locked.”
“What else do you keep there, Arkley?” someone asked. “State secrets? Or your love letters?”
“Neither,” Lord Arkley replied. “But I doubt if you will believe me.”
They laughed at this and he left the room and began to walk along the corridor that led right across the hotel to his own suite.
As he went, he heard the rumble of thunder and thought to himself that tonight at any rate Mariska would not be waiting for him under the willow tree.
At the same time he knew that it would seem very long before he would see her again at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.
He had never known any woman who made him feel as if every second away from her was like the passing of a century.
He wanted to talk to Mariska, he wanted to look at her and most of all he wanted to feel with her this fantastic upsurge of spiritual love that was like nothing else he had ever dreamt of or imagined.
His thoughts were full of Mariska as he entered his suite and switched on the light.
Hawkins would be downstairs having his supper.
He had locked the cigars away in a drawer simply because he meant them to be a present for the King and, if he left them about, any visitor who called on him might help himself.
He drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, chose the one that fitted the drawer and turned it in the lock.
As he did so he raised his head.
He thought that he had heard a sound that was like a cry.
He remembered the first night how he had heard Mariska scream and learnt that she was being beaten by Prince Friederich.
Hardly realising what he was doing his feet carried him through the open windows and out onto the balcony.
The cry came again. It was not very strong and he prayed that he might have been mistaken.
Then he saw that the lights in the sitting room next door were out, but there was a golden radiance coming from one of the rooms beyond.
Was it possible, he asked himself, that brute was beating Mariska again and if he was how could he bear to hear it without interfering?
As he stood indecisively staring at the flowers and vines that divided the two balconies from each other, there was a crash of thunder.
‘I am sure I was mistaken,’ Lord Arkley told himself.
Then there came a cry that was unmistakable and a moment later he could hear a man’s voice speaking and knew that it must be Josef.
Prince Friederich now was shouting and Lord Arkley held his breath.
“I will kill her, kill her!” he was screaming in German. “She shall die!”
Then there was the report of a pistol and at the same time the thunder broke overhead.
As the lightning flashed across the sky, Lord Arkley half-climbed, half-vaulted over the partition between the balconies.
He ran towards the open window and entering saw Mariska lying on the floor, her body half-naked, her back criss-crossed with countless weals from a whip, some of them bleeding.
Slumped in his chair the Prince was still holding the whip, but, as Lord Arkley entered, his other hand relaxed slowly so that he released Mariska’s wrist.
Josef, with the pistol smoking from the shot, had not moved.
He was standing staring at his Master as if he could not believe what he had done.
Lord Arkley took in the whole scene with the quickness of a man of actio
n who was used to danger and, as he walked further into the room, Josef looked at him and said simply,
“His Royal Highness would have – killed her! He – meant to – do so.”
“I realise that,” Lord Arkley said grimly.
He bent down and picked up Mariska from the floor.
She gave a little murmur and turned her face against his shoulder.
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “He will not hurt you anymore.”
He held her close against him.
Then he said,
“Josef?”
“Yes, my Lord?”
‘Why did you leave him alone?”
“He sent me for some coffee, my Lord.”
Josef made a little gesture with his hand towards the coffee which he had set down on a table. The dish of peaches was beside it.
Lord Arkley looked at it for a moment.
“Go downstairs again, Josef, take back the coffee and say that your Master has complained that it was not hot enough. Make some joke about it. Then when it is refilled come up again.”
“My Lord – ” Josef stammered.
“Do exactly as I tell you in case someone heard the shot,” Lord Arkley ordered.
Even as he spoke, he thought it most unlikely since the thunderstorm was directly overhead and forked lightning every few seconds.
“When you come back into this room,” he went on, “you will find that His Royal Highness has committed suicide!”
Josef stared at him for a moment as if he thought that he had taken leave of his senses. Then, because he was a quick-witted man and used to taking orders, he understood.
“When you find your Master slumped in the chair with the pistol in his hand, you will not distress your Mistress,” Lord Arkley said, “but you will come for help to the nearest room, which will be mine. Do you follow?”
“Yes, my Lord, I follow.”
“Then go. Go at once. Give yourself just time enough to go downstairs, fetch the coffee and come straight back again. Do you understand?”
“I understand, my Lord.”
“Put the pistol on the table.”
Josef did as he was told and, as he picked up the coffee tray, Lord Arkley said,
“Whatever happens, Josef, Her Royal Highness must not be involved. Do you hear me?”
Josef bowed and went from the room closing the door quietly behind him.
Carrying Mariska Lord Arkley went into the next room. He switched on the light and laid her down gently on the bed.
She was only half-conscious, but he thought that she had heard what he said and she looked up at him her eyes dilated and terrified.
“There must be no scandal, my precious. Leave everything to me. When I have arranged about Friederich, I shall send your maid to awaken you and tell you what has happened. For your sake and Josef’s no one must ever know the truth.”
He covered her with the sheets and blankets then he took her cold hand and raised it for a moment to his lips.
Then he turned and walked back through the communicating door into the sitting room.
Picking up the revolver he wiped it carefully with his handkerchief and placed it in Friederich’s hand, his forefinger on the trigger.
Then without haste Lord Arkley walked from the suite and back into his own sitting room.
Even as he reached it, he saw in the distance Josef coming along the corridor with the tray of coffee.
He had not long to wait before Josef knocked on the door and came in.
The little man was pale, but quite composed. He looked at Lord Arkley and there was no need for words.
Together they went back into the sitting room where the Prince was slumped motionless in the chair with a red stain of blood flooding over his white shirt front.
“You will stay here, Josef,” Lord Arkley said. “I am going to see the Hotel Manager and the Prince will be moved. You know nothing. You have no idea why your Master should do this, except that he has recently been in great pain.”
Josef nodded and Lord Arkley left the room and went downstairs to the Manager’s office.
As he expected, Herr Hammerschmid was still available to anyone who wished to see him.
Lord Arkley asked to speak to him in private and he was taken to an inner room.
Briefly he told Herr Hammerschmid that he had gone to his own suite and thought that he heard a shot.
“I doubt if anyone else would have noticed it,” he went on, “because the thunderstorm broke at the same time.”
Herr Hammerschmid waited apprehensively.
“I think, however,” Lord Arkley said quietly but meaningfully, “that Prince Friederich has suffered a severe heart attack. I feel sure, Herr Hammerschmid, that your hotel doctor will verify this. But it is, of course, essential that His Royal Highness should be moved to a clinic for treatment.”
He met the eyes of Herr Hammerschmid and knew that they were both thinking the same thing.
For there to be a scandal in the Hotel Weimar when the King of England was staying there would be disastrous from the hotel’s point of view and might seriously affect the other guests.
There was nothing a holiday resort disliked more than a suicide.
In Monte Carlo when such a thing happens it was, nine times out of ten, hushed up.
Lord Arkley was banking on the idea that Marienbad would wish to do the same.
Herr Hammerschmid went to the door and spoke to a page outside.
“The doctor will be here within a few minutes, my Lord,” he said to Lord Arkley. “May I suggest that you return to your dinner party? There will be no need for anyone to learn tonight of the unfortunate heart attack that His Royal Highness has suffered from.”
“That is what I thought,” Lord Arkley replied, “and perhaps when His Royal Highness has reached the clinic and is settled comfortably for the night, you would arouse Her Royal Highness’s lady’s maid and instruct her to inform her Mistress.”
“You may leave everything in my hands, my Lord,” Herr Hammerschmid said briskly. “And, of course, if His Royal Highness’s heart attack should prove fatal tomorrow or the next day your Lordship will be the first to be notified.”
“That is most considerate,” Lord Arkley replied. “His Royal Highness is an old friend.”
Herr Hammerschmid bowed him from the office.
Lord Arkley walked upstairs, collected the box of cigars from the drawer he had left open and went back to the King’s dinner party.
Chapter Seven
The private railway coach belonging to Prince Miklós Eszterházy which Lord Arkley had found waiting for him in Budapest was extremely comfortable.
There were servants wearing the family livery to wait on him and, having drunk a glass of delicious sparkling Hungarian wine, Lord Arkley sat down to a meal that could not have been bettered in any of the most famous restaurants of the world.
It was, however, difficult for him to think of anything but the end of his journey and that he would soon see Mariska again.
He thought now, as he had thought many times before, that it had been the longest year he had ever known in his whole life.
But he had been wise enough to know that they must observe convention and that she must mourn her husband as was expected.
It was only as the summer passed that he began to feel more and more impatient.
When finally King Edward VII said to him,
“Are you coming to Marienbad with me as usual?” he had known that his time of waiting was over and the happiness he longed for was just around the corner.
What had been so frustrating was that he was unable to communicate with Mariska.
He had known that letters were dangerous since anything in writing might be read by prying eyes. For the same reason to meet her was completely impossible.
The only consolation he had after that terrible evening when he had carried her half-conscious and bleeding to her bed was that the Duchesse would be at her side.
I
t had been an almost unbearable strain to go back to the King’s party to talk and laugh as if nothing had happened.
Only when everybody moved on to the casino did Lord Arkley feel that to be confined any longer between four walls would send him mad.
Instead he walked alone through the woods, taking the path where he had ridden that very morning with Mariska.
He knew, as he had always prayed and hoped, that God had been merciful and that now the future was golden and eventually they could be together.
But there were many obstacles and difficulties to overcome.
The one which concerned Lord Arkley most immediately was whether Mariska’s health would stand the strain of what she had been through and all the exhausting Ceremonial that would be attached to Friederich’s burial.
There was, of course, always the outside chance that the truth would be exposed and that a scandal, which would rock every Monarchy, would break if it was revealed that Friederich had been shot by his valet to prevent him from killing his wife.
Lord Arkley was sure, however, that Josef could be trusted to keep silent to save not only his own skin but also Mariska’s good name.
He was an experienced judge of men and he was convinced, although nobody had told him so, that the only reason why Josef had put up with Friederich’s intolerable behaviour and unceasing insults was that he was devoted to Mariska.
It was therefore unthinkable that he would allow her suffering to be exposed to the sneers and laughter of the world.
Lord Arkley also felt that he could rely on the good sense of Herr Hammerschmid. There was, he knew, no group of people more afraid of scandal and its effect on their reputation than hotel proprietors.
Herr Hammerschmid was excessively proud that his hotel was patronised not only by the King of England but also by a number of other Monarchs who followed his lead almost slavishly.
To jeopardise all this for one not very important German Grand Duke was unthinkable.
Lord Arkley was confident that Friederich’s body would be spirited away to some private nursing home where he would be ‘too ill for anyone to see him’.
This was exactly what happened.
In the morning when he made enquiries Lord Arkley was told gravely that His Royal Highness Prince Friederich having suffered a severe heart attack was on the ‘danger list’.
Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances Page 59
