Chapter Thirty Three
A Voice On The Wind
Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.
"What do you mean, more?"asked Edith, clearly bewildered by what Friedrich had just said.
But he didn't choose to enlighten her. At least not now.
In fact, he seemed not even to have heard what she had said. Edith saw her husband looking about him, seeing what to the both of them were surely the familiar surroundings of Rosenberg's ornate Entrance Hall. Then, Friedrich shook his head.
What he had learned, what he had witnessed down there in the Marktplatz at St. Johann had made him sick to his stomach; made him almost even ashamed to be an Austrian. However, it was neither the time, nor indeed the place, to recount what had happened in the village; the unpleasantness which both the boys and he had encountered. Let alone what had occurred earlier today in the Wurstelprater. Nor was it politic to speak openly of the fact that it seemed to Friedrich that their time here at Rosenberg was all but done.
For a moment nobody else spoke. Indeed, no-one seemed to quite know what to say. But then, despite all that had happened, despite all that yet remained to be told, ironically enough it was the children, or to be more precise, Simon, who unwittingly provided the answer. For, on catching sight of Robert clutching a teddy bear under his left arm, Simon who, as was only to be expected, had his beloved bear Oscar with him, grinned.
"Oh, Oscar, will you just look! Your Uncle Robert's brought home a friend for you!" Whereupon Simon held Oscar up so that he could see better the new arrival and, being a very well brought up young bear, so of course mindful of his manners, helped by Simon, Oscar waved a paw in friendly greeting. At which everyone laughed. As to whether this was because of the silliness of Simon's statement, young Robert being cast in the guise of an uncle, or out of sheer relief that someone had said something, really didn't matter.
With Robert's bear having returned Oscar's friendly greeting, Rob went down on his knees; beckoned his little sister forward.
"He's for you, sis'," he said softly; held out to Rebecca the teddy bear which he had won back in the skittle alley in the Wurstelprater.
"For me?" Rebecca sounded somewhat doubtful, as well she might. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and gently stroked the little bear's fur. "Really?"
Robert nodded. Whereupon, a smiling Rebecca flung her arms around her blushing brother, before promptly taking full possession of the teddy bear. For a moment, she said nothing, seemingly completely tongue tied, hugging the little bear tightly to her, until at last, prompted by Nanny Bridges, like Oscar Bear, The Honourable Rebecca Crawley, aged all of five years, also remembered her manners.
"Thank you!" Rebecca positively beamed. "I'm going to call you Winnie," she said promptly, nodding her head in affirmation of the fact. Clearly, the nomenclature bestowed by her upon the new furry arrival was to be non-negotiable.
And that was that.
Robert rose to his feet while, shepherded by Nanny, off went Rebecca upstairs, clutching Winnie Bear securely under her right arm.
His mother moved forward.
"Robert, darling, that was very, very sweet of you". Mary hugged her son to her and kissed him on the cheek; something which, before today, she would never have done in public. Again Robert blushed.
"Are ya all right, son?" Tom asked softly, clearly concerned for Danny's welfare.
"Grand!" said Danny. "I won a penny whistle". Avoiding meeting his father's eyes, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Danny stood looking down at his feet where something seemed to have attracted his attention. For someone who, at times, could be just as talkative as his beloved Da, Danny's reply had been almost monosyllabic; devoid of emotion, certainly. All the same, sensing that there was a very great deal which Danny hadn't said, Tom didn't press him, waiting until Danny himself chose to speak, which the boy did almost immediately and with a surprising rapidity; the words gushing out of him in a torrent with all the force of the tumbling waters of a mountain stream.
"At least I was ... I mean we all were ... until that man fell. Then there were those others ...".
"What man? What do you mean by fell ? What ... others?" Sybil asked, trying and failing to make sense of what she was hearing. She reached out and caressed Danny's cheek with her fingertips; saw by the expression on his face that she had misjudged his mood, something which had happened several times recently. With Danny flitting between boyhood and manhood, seemingly with consummate ease, but in reality very unsure of himself, Sybil never knew from one day to the next in which of the two realms she would find him. Danny's next words confirmed this.
"Ma, I'm not a little boy anymore, " he growled. "So don't treat me like I am".
"Darling, I know you're not. All the same ..." Sybil was on the point of reaching out her hand again, but this time she had the good sense to check the gesture. Seeing her do so, Danny seemed to realise that he had spoken unmannerly.
"Sorry, Ma, I didn't mean to be ..." He gave his mother a rueful smile.
"It's all right, my darling. I do understand".
Danny grinned.
"I know ya do, Ma," he said softly. In conscious emulation of what his mother had just done, he reached out his hand and stroked her cheek.
"Robert? What about you, old chap?" his father asked.
"I'm fine, father".
"Really?"
"Yes, of course". Robert nodded his head. His face puckered.
"Now old man, we both know that isn't true, is it?"
Slowly, Robert shook his head.
"Like Max said, father, it was horrible!"
Whereupon, Friedrich realised that he had to say something, if only to spare the boys yet more questioning.
"There was an accident ... in the Wurstelprater ... on the ferris wheel. A man fell from one of the gondolas ... in fact, from the one below ours. He was killed. Decidedly unpleasant all round," he explained.
"But how on earth … Don't they lock the cabins from the outside ..." began Edith. Again Friedrich shook his head, indicating that the matter should be left where it was. At least for now.
"Oh, I nearly clean forgot. Saiorse, these are for you". Smiling, Robert now held out the bag of sugared almonds.
"For me?" she asked, echoing Rebecca's words. Saiorse sounded doubtful; in her case, disbelief being tinged with suspicion. That Robert should have brought her something from the fairground ...
"Yes. I know they're your favourite". Out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw Danny grinning, at the same time reaching inside the pocket of his own shorts for Saiorse's bag of bonbons. "Why don't you try one?" Rob asked innocently.
"Not before supper, I think. After," said her mother.
"Oh, Ma!"
"Well, perhaps just one".
Like Rebecca, Saiorse positively beamed. Perhaps she had misjudged Robert. Taking one of the sweets from the bag, she promptly popped it inside her mouth and began to chew. A moment later, she twisted her face in disgust.
"Robert Crawley, I hate you!"
Feigning all innocence, Robert snatched back the bag of sugared almonds.
"Oh, cripes! Sorry, Saiorse. You don't like almonds, do you? No, of course you don't. Those are for Simon. Here Si' … As Robert handed Simon the sugared almonds and also a small box tied with blue ribbon containing several pieces of Punschkrapfen, Danny having given Bobby his little box of Sacherwürfel likewise all neatly done up with red ribbon, now gave his sister her own bag of bonbons which Saiorse, not believing a word of what Robert had said about the sugared almonds, viewed with understandable suspicion.
"No nuts?" she asked cautiously.
"No nuts, for sure. Scouts' honour," said Danny and grinned.
"Ya weren't ever in the Scouts," retorted Saiorse tartly.
Danny smiled.
"I know!"
"Look, Mama, I won a 'plane". Max sniffed again; now held up the toy plane which sported a broken wing.
"Where did you …"
"In the shooting gallery …"
"It looks like it's come off the worst in a dogfight!" laughed Matthew.
Max laughed too.
"Rob put his foot on it, Uncle Matthew ... when I dropped it. Not that he meant to of course. It was when those boys started rocking the car from side to side down there in St. Johann. Anyway, Papa said he'll be able to repair it".
"Boys? What boys? Rocking the motor?" his mother asked. Once again Edith's eyes met those of Friedrich.
"Yes," he said. "As I said, there are things to tell you. But later, when the children are …"
"Yes, of course. And, as it so happens, we have things to tell you too," said Edith.
"Oh?" Friedrich raised a quizzical brow.
But before Edith could even make to reply, Max asked the inevitable question: where were Uncle Conrad and his chum? Surely they weren't still working on Junkers were they? Not in the rain. Max had promised to show them his collection of model aeroplanes.
"Well, darling, the thing is ..."
The Nursery, Rosenberg, later that same evening.
Despite Saiorse's voiced pronouncement that she was not a child, all the children took their supper together, upstairs in the nursery, the meal proving, unsurprisingly, to be a lively, noisy affair, ably overseen - policed might have been a more apt word - by both Sybil and Nanny Bridges.
After supper was over, the children played games including charades and Pinning the tail on the Donkey which, with help from her two brothers - not that anyone minded this in the slightest - was won by young Rebecca. However, notwithstanding protestations from Danny and Rob, Sybil drew the line at the children playing at Murder in the Dark in which Robert was all for Saiorse playing the part of the victim. Thereafter, once everyone had changed into their nightclothes, the children trooped downstairs to say goodnight to their parents, before going up to bed. As to whether that was to sleep was entirely another matter but, as Sybil said to Tom when, arm in arm and a short while later, they themselves came down the main staircase to go into dinner, on past form what with all today's excitement, not to mention the noise of the storm, it seemed rather unlikely.
Dining Room, Rosenberg, later.
With dinner tonight being a formal occasion, with not even the older children present, Mary had taken the greatest pains over her toilette; was wearing a Schiaparelli gown of midnight blue that set off the ivory colour of her shoulders to perfection. Thankfully, she had left this particular ensemble behind here at Rosenberg when they had travelled to Hungary, otherwise it would undoubtedly have been lost when Rózsafa had burned.
For her part, Edith had donned an exquisite Vionnet evening dress, this of turquoise tulle covered with couched turquoise rayon ribbon-work, and with it the magnificent tiara and matching earrings which Friedrich had bought her when Max was born. Compared to these pieces, Mary thought the Grantham tiara and earrings, which she had inherited from her late grandmother, looked positively tawdry. She was grateful therefore that the Grantham jewels had not left England; still reposed in the bank vault in York where for safety's sake Matthew insisted they be kept. However, when earlier this evening, Edith had offered Mary the loan of another Schönborn tiara, Mary had politely declined. Had said to Matthew privately that, had she accepted Edith's well meaning offer, she would have spent the entire evening feeling like Second Hand Rose of music hall fame.
As for Sybil, she was just as desirous as her two sisters of putting on a good show. While Mary might have thought otherwise, Sybil liked clothes; had purchased an evening gown and several new dresses from Clerys on O'Connell Street in Dublin especially for this trip. Nonetheless, she cared not a fig for the fuss and palaver of changing for dinner, the wearing each evening of a new ensemble, let alone fretting about having the right pieces of jewellery with which to adorn it.
It was as the Bransons had been coming downstairs to dinner, Sybil wearing again the delicate, shimmering, hand beaded, satin belted blue green silk gown which she had bought in Clerys, that Tom heard tell of Edith's offer to loan Mary a tiara, of Mary's polite refusal, and that the offer had not been extended to Sybil. Whereupon, Tom smiled; said there was no need to gild a lily, the remark promptly earning him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
With the three men all wearing white bow ties, tuxedos, black dinner jackets, and trousers, and in the case of Matthew and Tom each of them a pair of patent leather shoes from Church's of Northampton, on seeing Edith and Mary so stylishly attired, Tom said that had he known everyone was going to dress up, he would have gone the whole hog and worn his cloth cap.
Edith smiled and Mary pulled a face.
"Only kiddin', for sure!" laughed Tom kneeling down and retying one of his shoe laces.
"Just your cloth cap?" whispered Sybil close in his left ear. Tom looked up at her and grinned.
"Ah, now, me darlin', that would be tellin'!
While outside the walls of the house the summer storm continued to try and do its worst, here within Rosenberg's splendid panelled Dining Room, where portraits of some of Friedrich's ancestors - most he said had been scoundrels for all that they were knights and grandees of the Holy Roman Empire - gazed down stiffly from out of gilded frames, all was unruffled calm. Witness also to a mute display of ordered opulence; the long mahogany table set with porcelain, a much-prized family possession, a dinner service gifted to one of Friedrich's forbears as long ago as 1735, each piece bearing upon its reverse the mark of two crossed swords confirming their provenance from the Meissen factory near Dresden in Saxony; while the soft, warm glow of candlelight reflected in polished woodwork of both the chairs and table, burnished silver cutlery, and glassware of sparkling crystal.
Given Frau Eder's reputation as a cook, as was only to expected, dinner here at Rosenberg proved excellent but, while undeniably convivial, the meal was, understandably, rather overshadowed by what had befallen Friedrich and the boys; first on the Riesenrad at the Wurstelprater in Vienna, then later in the market place at St. Johann, as well as also by what had occurred here with the visit of the Bundessicherheitswachekorps to the house. Hearing what had prompted it, given what he had been told earlier by Goldstein and the others earlier and thereafter by Herzog and Klein in the Watchman's Chamber of the Stephansdom all of which he had imparted but a short while ago to the others seated round the dinner table, in this Friedrich was of them all the least surprised, having gleaned rather more of what was said to have occurred from Weismann's enquiries down there in the village. Said too that, even if it had upset Max, it had been a wise precaution for Wyss and Salvatore to have left when they did; even more so now that the weather had taken a decided turn for the worse. As to what would become of Max and Eva, if the telegram was indeed from them, only time would tell. However, said Friedrich, tomorrow he would put in hand what enquiries he could in order to try and ascertain whether or not there was any truth in the content of the telegram from Oradea in distant Roumania.
Talk around the table turned, eventually, to other matters, including, somewhat surprisingly, what Mary had overheard Matthew and Tom discussing in the Billiards Room at Downton before they all left for Austria; namely the forthcoming Grand Prix to be held at Bremgarten near Bern in Switzerland in August of next year. Not of course that Mary could admit to knowing anything about it as to have done so would have been to have given the game away. It seemed that Matthew and Tom had it all planned. Tom and Danny would travel over to England and meet up with Matthew and Robert in London. From there all four of them would travel by train down to Dover, thence across the English Channel, and so by train down through France and into Switzerland. Would Friedrich and young Max like to join them?
Friedrich glanced at Edith; saw her smile and nod her head. They had both agreed long ago that Max should be allowed to live life to the full, so long as that did not mean him taking any unnecessary risks. Given that Friedrich's property in Switzerland was situated not far from Bern, in the canton of Fribourg, attending next year's Grand Prix at Bremgarten should present no difficulty, provided that Friedrich was here in Austria and not abroad in the Near East. So, for the present, he said he would not mention the proposed trip to Max although he knew he would be absolutely delighted, the more so because Max would be seeing Danny and Robert again, than because of a particular love of motor racing.
According to Tom, the idea for the trip had come about as a result of an entirely unsolicited piece he had written for his newspaper on the well known racing driver, Hugh Hamilton who, while he lived in England and drove under the British flag, had been born in Omagh in County Tyrone, in what was now Northern Ireland. According to Tom, "Hammy" Hamilton had been so pleased with the article in the Irish Independent that he had telephoned Tom at his office on Talbot Street in Dublin, offering to obtain tickets, for both he and Matthew for next year's Grand Prix in Bremgarten.
"It must have been quite some write-up you gave him," observed Sybil dryly.
Tom grinned.
"It was. Don't ya remember me telling ya about it?"
"No, not especially, darling, no. After all, you write so many articles".
"I was rather pleased with it, for sure," said Tom.
"And modest with it too!" Sybil laughed. She was enjoying this.
As for Mary, given what she knew already, but could not admit to knowing, she remained to be convinced.
"So, why a ticket for Matthew as well?" she asked, immediately suspicious. "Or, did he he help you write the article?"
Mary saw Matthew and Tom exchange nervous glances. No, said Tom, the article had been entirely his own work, but as it so happened, Matthew already knew Mr. Hamilton. Matthew shook his head at Tom suggesting he should not have said what he just had.
"Really? I don't think I've ever heard you make mention of him, darling".
For once, Matthew's ability with words seemed to have deserted him.
"Well, er, no ..."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
According to Matthew's version of events, he had met Mr. Hamilton, a former salesman for MG, quite by chance, in Switzerland, where Matthew had been attending a session of the League of Nations. "Hammy", it transpired, had gone over to inspect the racing circuit at Bremgarten in anticipation of taking part in next year's Grand Prix.
"I found him a really interesting fellow".
"No doubt because he used to sell sports cars!"
"Maybe". Matthew grinned.
"Now, correct me, if I'm wrong, darling, but the League of Nations meets in Geneva, does it not?"
"It does".
"And the racing circuit at Bremgarten is ... near Bern?"
"It is".
"Thank you".
"My pleasure".
"Which is over a hundred miles from Geneva. Or, to put it another way, more than four times the distance between Downton and York".
Mary saw Matthew and Tom exchange further glances. As well they might. Geography was not known to be Mary's strong point, so just how was it she knew the exact distance between Bern and Geneva?
Clearly Mary and Sybil's thoughts were one and the same. What they had been told so far sounded very much like Matthew and Tom attempting to wriggle out of being behind the planned trip themselves; trying to pretend that it had come about by pure chance, which was something neither Mary nor Sybil credited for an instant, and which Mary now put into words.
"So you're asking us to believe, are you, that, on the strength of an unsolicited article written by Tom, and a chance meeting in Switzerland between Matthew and a former MG salesman, that this Mr. Hamilton, clearly a kindly not to mention wealthy individual, quite out of the blue, just happens to offer to obtain tickets for the both of you to attend this this race?"
"It's not a race, darling. It's a Grand Prix," explained Matthew patiently.
"Is there a difference?" Mary went on to say that she couldn't see there was. Both involved motorcars being driven at high speeds around a racing circuit, in this case one which was over four and a half miles in length, on roads which were tree-lined, and said to be very dangerous in wet weather.
"Well, er ..."
"No well er about it; it does. And, the fastest driver wins. That, in my book, equates to a motor race".
"Well, there's a little more to it than that, darling".
"Is there? I'd like to know exactly what!"
Again Tom and Matthew exchanged looks. Not only did Mary know the distance between Bern and Geneva, but she evidently knew a very great deal about the racing circuit at Bremgarten too. It was tree-lined, and both Matthew and Tom were well equally well aware that concerns had been raised not only about this, but also the tightness of several of the corners.
"You're right in what you say," said Tom, clearly impressed.
Disregarding what she saw as a blatant attempt by her Irish brother-in-law to butter her up, Mary nodded.
"Yes, I know," she said crisply.
Sybil now waded back into the fray.
"Assuming that we agree to this, and it is by no means certain that we will, while all of you are off gallivanting about in Switzerland, just what are we supposed to do?"
"Well ..." began Tom.
"Well nothing. When you two have given that some serious thought, then we'll discuss it further".
Not that either Mary or Sybil had any intention of stopping "the boys" and Friedrich going on their jaunt, especially when they knew it would give so much pleasure to Danny, Robert, and darling Max. However, it would not go amiss to leave Matthew and Tom to ponder for a while just how they would "make it up" to their wives. In that regard, Sybil recalled another gown which she had seen in Clerys where Tom had been so decidedly sniffy about the cost of the one she had eventually purchased for this trip. Well ...
As for Mary, what with Matthew always going on about economising, the prospect of next year's Royal Ascot and the Henley Regatta loomed large, for which, of course, she would need new clothes. A long overdue trip up to town beckoned. And had Matthew not already said that he would buy her several more of Madame Schiaparelli's delightful silk scarves? Well, she would hold him to that.
Bahnhof, St. Johann, about the same time.
Because no train was now scheduled to stop here until tomorrow morning, the small wayside station of St. Johann was deserted, the lamps on the platform long since extinguished, the shutters of the building closed, and, on this stormy night, the elderly stationmaster and his wife sitting snug within their kitchen, deaf to hearing anything save Radio Wien.
But in driving rain, stop briefly the westbound express most certainly did, thus allowing two people to descend from one of the third class carriages. Something which they did furtively, unobserved, on the opposite side of the line, and well away from the darkened bulk of the rain-soaked, shuttered station building.
Dining Room, Rosenberg, sometime later.
On hearing Friedrich's news, of having been appointed to lead the excavation at Samaria out in Palestine, everybody was quick to offer their warmest congratulations, whereupon the man in question smiled, swiftly raised in salutation, and just as promptly, set down his wine glass.
"Thank you but as to whether I accept …"
"Oh, but there's no question about it. You must!" Edith urged.
"Darling, given what's happened, it might be better for all of us if I …"
"Nonsense! You must take up the appointment. The boys and I will be perfectly safe here at Rosenberg".
"Really?"
"Yes, of course".
"If for one moment I thought that …"
"Then don't think. We'll be fine".
"If you're absolutely sure …"
"I am".
Friedrich nodded.
"Very well then. So, to other matters. Darling, I agree entirely with what you said to Matthew. There is absolutely no reason why any of you here should feel the need to depart from Austria any earlier than planned. Unless of course, for the sake of the children, you are uneasy about staying on. Although, given what has happened, it might be sensible … not to leave the estate".
Matthew nodded.
"I agree wholeheartedly. But as this affects all of us, it must be a joint decision". He looked inquiringly at Mary."Darling, what do you think?"
Mary smiled.
"Thank you for asking me. Well, given what the three of us went through there in Hungary, speaking for myself, I have no intention whatsoever of being forced to leave Austria merely on the word of some jumped up little corporal. That being so, I'm with you. The Crawleys will stay put".
While Tom agreed with Matthew, he too knew that this had to be a joint decision. Glancing across the table at Sybil, seeing her nod her head, he also smiled.
"And the same goes for the Bransons. We're staying on, for sure".
Edith raised her glass.
"A toast then … To staying on!"
Everyone else likewise raised their glasses.
"To staying on!"
Edith smiled.
"And I know of one young man who will be especially pleased by your decision".
Everybody laughed. Max's abiding affection for both Danny and Rob was well known.
Later, Drawing Room, Rosenberg.
"Just listen to the rain!"
With everyone having adjourned to the Drawing Room for coffee, as if to reinforce what Friedrich had just said, heard by one and all, another savage gust of rain drove hard against the windows of the Dining Room. At which point, clearly audible too despite the noise of the incessant rain, echoing across the Entrance Hall, from the front door of the house, came the sound of someone knocking hard at the front door. "Who the devil can that be at this hour, and on such a night?"
Straining his ears, Friedrich heard voices but for all that was none the wiser. Then, when Edith ventured to suggest, nervously, that it might be the Bundessicherheitswachekorps paying a return visit here to Rosenberg, Friedrich shook his head.
"If so, given the frosty reception you gave them earlier today, I doubt very much if this time those thugs would be so polite as to knock," he observed.
Several moments later, the door to the Drawing Room opened, the butler entered, and having closed the door firmly behind him and crossed the room, Kleist came to a stand beside Friedrich seated beside the tiled stove.
"Excuse me, sir …"
"Yes, Kleist. What is it?"
"There is a personage at the front door, asking to speak with you urgently, sir". It was evident from his tone that the butler did not consider the caller to be anyone of standing; indeed, from the expression of distaste clearly registered on Kleist's august face, quite the reverse.
"A personage? Is the individual known to you?"
Kleist's intake of breath, involuntary as it was, was heard by one and all. Feist could not believe his own ears: that the master should venture to suggest that he, the butler of Rosenberg, would ever know someone of such low standing as the individual now awaiting his return at the front door of the house.
"No sir, not known. But I understand he is a ... confederate ... of those men who forced their way in here the other night".
Thrusting back hard on his chair, Friedrich came quickly to his feet.
"Then be so good as to let him in directly!"
"Sir?"
"And be quick about it!"
"Yes, sir". Quick was not a word in Kleist's lexicon; the old butler withdrew from the room at his usual sedate pace.
"Friedrich …" began Edith. Her husband shook his head.
"Not now. This doesn't look good. Matthew. I'd be obliged if you would …"
"Yes, of course". Matthew likewise rose to his feet.
A few moments later Kleist re-entered the room to say that the master would be grateful if the mistress and Frau Branson would join him and the Graf directly. Edith and Sybil promptly rose from their seats while, unwilling to be left behind, Mary and Tom now followed the others out into the Entrance Hall where they saw Friedrich and Matthew talking to a man, one of two people, the other being a young woman, both of whom were soaking wet. At Friedrich's insistence the woman had taken a seat on one of the hall chairs, water now pooling on the flags from her saturated clothes, and who, if Sybil's quick appraisal of her was correct, was not only in considerable distress and exhausted, but expecting a child and, in the early stages of her parturiency. While Edith recognised neither of the two arrivals, it seemed that at least the man was known to Friedrich; was, it transpired one of the two men he and the boys had encountered in the Stephansdom earlier today ...
"Felix Herzog". The young man, dressed in fusty black, bowed gravely to Edith "And this ... is my wife". He indicated the young woman seated on the chair beside him.
"Your wife?"
Herzog nodded; began explaining rapidly that both of them had been forced to leave Leopoldstadt at a moment's notice earlier tonight.
"We barely had time to throw a few clothes into a case and make good our escape, before the Bundessicherheitswachekorps came calling".
"But why on earth should they have ..."
Sybil shook her head in disbelief.
At times, men could be so bloody unobservant. She cut her brother-in-law off in mid flow with a peremptory wave of the hand.
"Friedrich, please, not now! Edith would you tell them that I am a trained nurse, that I work in a maternity hospital in Dublin, that there is nothing at all to fear. And be so good as to then ask the young woman when her baby is due".
"Yes, of course". Edith did swiftly as Sybil had asked. It transpired that the baby was not due for another month but Sybil was right. The child was already on the way; the early stages of the woman's labour no doubt brought on by the stress caused her by couple's hasty flight from Vienna. Mention was made of a journey in a jolting, horse drawn cart. But Sybil wasn't interested in hearing the details of that. She knew they had to get the young woman upstairs and into bed otherwise her child would be born here on the floor of the hall. As if to reinforce Sybil's view of just how things stood, a spasm of pain coursed through the young woman's body. She cried out; clutching her stomach, before crumpling forward onto her knees from the chair.
The contraction subsided; passed.
In an instant, Sybil became practical. Seeing the naked fear in the faces of the young couple, she now sought to reassure them.
"Tell him we must get his wife upstairs".
Again Edith translated; before telling an obviously ruffled Feist to ask Frau Lehner the housekeeper to see that a bed was prepared immediately. Said that the empty room at the end of the corridor leading to the landing would suffice. To see also that both hot water and linen were brought upstairs.
With this wholly unexpected turn of events, the old butler's face was now almost as ashen as that of the young Jewess. After all, this kind of occurrence was not something of which he had any experience; was quite out of his ken. However, and perhaps for the first time ever in his ordered life, Feist realised that promptness was the order of the day; indeed, was of the very essence. That being so, as well as being grateful to have an excuse to be out of the way, at a far quicker pace than was his wont, the old butler strode purposefully across the hall and disappeared through the baize door.
Behind him, here in the Entrance Hall, watched by the others, including an admiring Tom, without further ado, Sybil took charge of everything. After all, she had dealt with many similar such situations in the past.
"What's the young woman's name?" she asked. It transpired she was called Esther. "Would you tell ... Esther ... that we're going to help her upstairs, get her out of her wet things, and into bed where she'll be warm and much more comfortable". Edith nodded; did again as she had been asked.
"Mary, darling, would you help me?" Sybil asked.
"Me?" Mary could not conceal her surprise. Nonetheless, she nodded her assent. "Yes, of course. What, exactly, do you want me to …"
"First, help me get her to her feet. One on either side. You on the right, me on the left. Support her by the elbows".
"Like this?" Heedless of the water staining her fine Schiaparelli gown, Mary did as she was asked.
"Yes. Now, slowly does it".
Between them, Sybil and Mary eased Esther gently to her feet before, having crossed the hall, beginning a painfully slow ascent of the main staircase. Having stopped several times to allow Esther to rest, the three women finally reached the landing, where watched by those below they paused yet again, before then turning, and disappearing out of sight down the passage.
Below in the hall, Edith saw Herzog eyeing the couple's battered suitcase. She smiled.
"Here, let me take that for you". Reaching down, Edith picked up the suitcase.
"Don't worry, Herzog, your wife's in very good hands". Friedrich was relieved to see the young man relax, if but a little. "Now, I think all of us could do with a stiff drink. But first, it's a change of clothes for you, I think. Edith would you be good enough to ..."
"Yes, of course".
Edith pressed the bell; gave orders to the manservant who appeared to find a suitable change of clothes which would suffice for the young man, as well as a bite for him to eat - something hot and on a tray would do - then bring both directly to the master's study. This done, carrying the suitcase belonging to the Jews, Edith set off briskly up the stairs after the other three women. Watching the retreating form of his own wife climbing the staircase, Friedrich clapped an arm about young Herzog's shoulders.
"Your wife will be just fine. Now, shall we?" Friedrich indicated the closed door to his study; a moment or so later all four men had disappeared inside.
After what he considered to be a suitable interval, having told Frau Lehner all of what had occurred, and she, having understood what was required, having given the necessary instructions regarding the provision of both hot water and linen, Feist returned to the hall, it was to find it empty. Now, as he stood there pondering as to what he should do next, he observed Hans, one of the footmen, bearing a loaded tray and a change of clothes, knock on the door of the master's study, and go inside.
Upstairs, Rosenberg.
For Frau Herzog, whether or not she herself realised it, compared to what she had gone through earlier tonight, the quiet, lamp lit bedroom at Rosenberg was an oasis of calm.
With Esther having been undressed, washed, given one of Sybil's own nightgowns, and put to bed, for the moment all the others in the room could do was to watch and wait. What would be, would be. While Sybil tried to put a brave face on things, she was, nevertheless, circumspect in what she said to Mary and Edith. Save for her own experience and training first as a nurse and then as a matron, she had nothing here which she would have had to hand in the Rotunda Hospital in Dublin to help a young woman such as Esther experiencing the travails of childbirth. Most of all, there was nothing to help Esther with the pain of her contractions.
Of course Sybil knew that cleanliness was paramount. Was well aware that in her own hospital, as indeed in others elsewhere in Ireland, the rates of puerperal fever had been much reduced because of the insistence on everything being kept scrupulously clean and sterilised, with doctors finally having come to accept the part which they themselves unwittingly had played hitherto in the spreading of infection, now washing their hands and likewise insisting on far more stringent levels of hygiene. It was, thought Sybil, one of the greatest of all ironies that in recent times in Ireland it was wealthy women who were far more likely to die of puerperal fever if only because they, or rather their husbands, could afford to pay the professional fees demanded by a doctor for his attendance at their lying-in; that disease and infection were far more likely to be contracted in a hospital, with poorer women in Ireland giving birth at home, where, if nothing went wrong, there was, paradoxically, a greater likelihood that they would survive the pangs of childbirth.
All the same, the rates of maternal and infant mortality in Ireland remained stubbornly high. Many mothers and their infants did not survive childbirth; were prone to contracting, and then succumbing to all manner of other illnesses. Most Irish women seemed to consider the business of childbirth to be a natural part of their lives and which had to be endured; viewed medical intervention with a considerable degree of suspicion, if not downright hostility. Sybil herself had been on the receiving end of this on many occasions, having, at times, as Tom could well attest, bruises to show for her pains, when all she had been attempting to do all was to try and ensure the safe delivery of a baby and then the survival of both the mother and her new born child.
For most of the patients who came into the Rotunda, little, if anything at all, was known of their earlier medical history and while the lucky few might have had a couple of home visits from their local doctor, even in Dublin, and especially out in the countryside, such visits were very much the exception rather than the rule. Sybil knew nothing of Esther's medical history and there was also the added problem that she spoke only German which Edith then had to translate. And there was something else too. In Ireland, in some rural areas owing to a shortage of professional midwives, handywomen, grandmothers, or even neighbours were often the only persons available to help deliver babies. Whether this was the same in Austria with Sybil at some point having to call upon either Mary or Edith to act in this role, only time would tell.
There was one thing Sybil could say with some degree of certainty: that even if Esther's contractions had now started, she was well overdue and, very worryingly, showed symptoms of early toxaemia. Even if the birth were to be accomplished without any other complications manifesting themselves, without a balloon catheter induction and forceps delivery, there was no doubt in Sybil's mind that if her own diagnosis was correct, Esther would become fully toxemic. This being so, it was now that Sybil had asked Edith if the local doctor, the same one who had been called to attend both Danny and Simon following their mishap out at the Old Tower, could be summoned here to Rosenberg tonight.
Sensing intuitively that, despite Sybil's sang-froid, all was perhaps not as it should be, but nonetheless having the good sense not to press her sister for any further details, Edith went downstairs to telephone Dr Berger. However, given what had occurred, before she did so, she said to Sybil that it would be for the best if the identity of the young woman was not disclosed; at least not until the doctor had arrived. That Sybil did not pretend to understand, but, realising that some degree of circumspection was called for, said she would leave it in Edith's hands as to what the doctor was told in order to gain his attendance here tonight.
Down in the Entrance Hall, Edith picked up the receiver and when the exchange answered asked to be put through to the residence of Dr. Berger. She kept her story simple. A friend of the family, who was expecting a child, needed the services of a doctor. Would Dr. Berger be prepared to attend? It transpired that, despite the weather, the good doctor was presently out on another call but, on his return, his housekeeper who answered and took down the details, would tell him that Frau Schönborn had telephoned. She had no doubt that the doctor would attend in due course but, it might yet be a while before he reached Rosenberg.
Friedrich's Study, Rosenberg.
A short while later, having towelled himself dry and changed into the clothes which had been provided in the small alcove off Friedrich's study, looking slightly less like a drowned rat, Herzog now came back into the study, and seated himself on the chair his host indicated.
"Here, get that down you!" Herzog took gratefully the glass of brandy proffered him and swallowed the contents in a single gulp, before applying himself with equal gusto to bread and a bowl of steaming Gulasch a stew of meat and vegetables seasoned with paprika, washed down with a mug of cold beer.
While the young man ate his fill, Friedrich sought once more to reassure him, saying that his wife would have been made comfortable, would be warm and snug in bed. Said again, too, that she was in very good hands and that if anything were to happen, then Herzog had his word that he would be the first to be told. That the local doctor would be sent for. Hearing this, Herzog's head snapped up in alarm, with Friedrich saying that this was perfectly normal, even if the circumstances which had brought the two of them here to Rosenberg were not. Then he turned to Matthew.
"Humour me ..."
Matthew looked surprised.
"Humour you, Friedrich? Certainly, if I can. But I should warn you in advance that I'm not very good at charades," laughed Matthew.
Friedrich smiled.
"Oh? Given your other activities, which we touched on when you returned to Rosenberg, and again over dinner tonight, I would have thought it just your cup of tea. Be that as it may, back there in the hall, I'm certain you two recognised each other. I'm not wrong am I?"
Matthew and Herzog exchanged glances.
"Well ..."
"Don't tell me that Herzog here is another of your chaps?"
"No, not exactly?"
"Not exactly? How, not exactly?"
"He has … connections … with some of our people in Vienna".
"By our people I assume you mean the British Embassy on the Metternichgasse?"
Charming as always, in his answer, Matthew was equivocation itself.
"Perhaps".
"Spoken like a true member of His Majesty's Secret Service".
Herzog looked up from his impromptu meal and smiled.
"I'm just an errand boy," he said disarmingly before taking a bite of bread and another mouthful of Gulasch. "This really is very good".
Friedrich smiled.
"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I'll be sure and see that my wife tells our cook!"
"Oh, you do a very great deal more than just run errands. But as to what you do … No, no more on that," laughed Matthew.
"Very well. So, what was it that happened there in Vienna that led both of you here tonight? Presumably it was nothing to do with matters involving the Residence on the Metternichgasse? And even if it was, I don't suppose you'd say?"
Herzog shook his head.
"No, I wouldn't. However, I rather think it had more to do with what happened today at the Riesenrad".
"I see. So …"
"We had nowhere else to go," ended Herzog, now having explained in some detail what had occurred there in Leopoldstadt, following the death of Friedrich's would-be assassin on the Riesenrad.
"But how did they …"
"Know? How do they ever know these sort of things? I expect our flat was being watched. A careless word spoken here or there, perhaps overheard in a bar or a café, even on the street. Maybe even an informant, a traitor in our midst, just like there was here". Friedrich nodded; explained that on his return from Vienna, he had told his family what had happened, and about the Muller boy. Went on to relate how the Bundessicherheitswachekorps had paid a visit here, and the ugly scene which had taken place down in St. Johann later this afternoon. It was as well, said Friedrich, that Herzog and his wife had not gone there for, if they had, it was unlikely either of them would have ever reached Rosenberg alive.
"What happened to Goldstein and the others?"
Herzog said that, as far as he knew, they too had managed to avoid arrest. At least for now. Would be lying low before trying to make their way to friends in … At this, Friedrich held up his hand; said he did not wish to know where it was Goldstein and the others might go. Then, if asked, he could say with all sincerity that he did not know. It was, said Herzog, much easier for them in that they …
"… did not have a wife in tow who was expecting a child. Yes, of course".
"Then, remembering what you had said to me there in the Watchman's Chamber at the Stephansdom. That if ever we needed…"
"Yes," said Friedrich quietly. "Not that I ever expected it would come to this, nor indeed so so soon. But have no fear, I meant what I said. So there's no need for you to …"
Herzog nodded.
"Then, thank you".
"And is that all?" asked Friedrich.
"Well, not quite. A moment ago, I told you we managed to give them the slip, before doubling back to the Westbahnhof, and jumping on a train. But we didn't have any money for the fare ... If it hadn't been for that damned ticket collector, we'd be half way to Salzburg by now! Not long before we were due to pass St. Johann, we heard the bastard on his way down the train checking everybody's tickets. There was nothing for it but to pull the communication cord. Then we ... er ... got off". Herzog grinned, shamefaced.
On hearing this, Tom smiled; remembering his misspent youth when he had often chanced his arm by travelling on the suburban railways in the Dublin area without a ticket.
"You think you managed to give them the slip, do you? Friedrich asked.
"Yes, I think so".
"And no-one else saw you arrive here?"
"Save for the farmer who then gave us a lift part way in his cart, no".
"Farmer? What farmer?"
Herzog explained that but a short way from the station, and in driving rain, they had been overtaken by an elderly man driving a cart laden with straw. What they would have done, had he not taken pity on them … He had brought them here, well almost, by a circuitous route through the woods.
"The journey was very difficult for my wife; given her condition, every bump was torture for her ..."
Friedrich nodded.
"Yes, of course".
Then, maybe, just maybe ...
However, despite Herzog's confident assertion that no-one had seen his wife and himself climb down from the train at St. Johann, save for the old farmer who afterwards had given them the lift, with what had happened earlier today, the countryside hereabouts was, quite understandably, awash with rumour. This, like a spark in tinder dry undergrowth had smouldered, needing but the slightest of breezes to fan it into flame: in this case the news that unexpected visitors had arrived under cover of darkness at Rosenberg. This intelligence, like a voice on the wind, had reached the Gasthaus at St. Johann and thereafter the ears of Captain Iselmann of the Bundessicherheitswachekorps but a couple of hours after Herzog and his wife had arrived at the schloss.
And it did not take very long for the authorities in Vienna to put two and two together: the Herzog's hastily abandoned flat in Leopoldstadt, several unconfirmed sightings of the fugitive couple, including one in the vicinity of the Westbahnhof, along with the later, unscheduled stop of the Linz bound express at St. Johann, because a person or persons unknown, on board the train had pulled the communication cord, yet who, despite a thorough search of the carriages, could not then be found.
Friedrich's Study, Rosenberg.
With the storm at last having cleared away, it being a warm, still night, a short while ago Friedrich had flung up the sashes of the windows. A moment later, he held up a hand for silence.
"What's that? Listen …"
From somewhere down in the valley there came the sound of several vehicles climbing, clearly at some speed given the screeching of tyres, the narrow, twisting road leading from St. Johann, the beams of their headlights weaving in and out of the all encroaching trees, disappearing out of sight only to reappear again a moment or two later. Given that the road led nowhere else but to Rosenberg, it was obvious that the motors and their occupants, whoever they might be, were coming here. Drawing ever closer, they would reach the schloss in a matter of minutes.
And reach it they did.
With gravel flying, the column of vehicles, belonging to the Bundessicherheitswachekorps, swept into the forecourt, screeching to a stand in a spray of scattered chippings, and illuminating the facade of the house with their powerful headlamps. There now came a series of barked orders, interspersed with guttural cries, and raised voices shouting that no-one was to be permitted to leave, the pounding of many pairs of booted feet, followed quickly by a thunderous hammering on the front door of the house.
Author's Note:
Public radio broadcasting began in Austria in 1924. By 1934 all of the country could listen to what had become known colloquially as Radio Wien.
Second Hand Rose the title of a popular song made famous by Fanny Brice in the revue Ziegfeld Follies which opened on Broadway in June 1921.
Church's of Northampton - the centre of the English shoe making industry is in Northamptonshire. Based in the county town, Church's is one of the oldest firms still producing high quality, handmade shoes.
Hugh 'Hammy' Caulfield Hamilton (1905-1934) was a British racing driver, "perhaps the top British driver" of his time. Everything else told of him in the story is true. Sadly, he would be killed when his racing car burst a front tyre and then hit a tree during the 1934 Grand Prix at Bremgarten. It was established afterwards that Hamilton had suffered a heart attack before the crash, caused it was said, by injuries sustained in a previous racing accident.
MG - the famous British Automotive marque founded by Cecil Kimber in the 1920s; the M.G. Car Company Limited was the British sports car manufacturer that made the marque famous. No wonder Matthew was interested to meet Mr. Hamilton!
While medical research at the laboratories of Bayer AG, part of the huge German chemical trust I G Farben, into the effectiveness of sulfa antibiotics - which would in due course be found to kill the streptococci responsible for a whole range of bacterial infections inside the body, including puerperal fever - was ongoing, they were not yet available. Prontosil, the very first of these new wonder drugs would be patented in 1933, the same year in which the story is set. Equally, it should be understood that, even in developed countries, many of the routine medical practices and treatments available to expectant mothers in the twenty first century, and which we take for granted, simply did not exist in the 1930s. Most would not even begin to become available until after WWII.
The British Embassy in Vienna still stands on Metternichgasse on the same site it has occupied since 1873.