Chapter Eight

Heil Hitler!

Grand Salon, Schloss Wolfsgarten, Germany, December 1936.

Here in the Grand Salon of the schloss, Lu looked up from the photo he was now holding; then glanced again down at the table beside him, at the framed photograph of his Uncle Nicky. There were several scattered around the house, and his signature, like those of many of Lu's relatives, was scratched upon the glass of one of this room's window panes. More to the point, just as Lu's parents were presently opposing his marriage to Margaret - Peg as she was known - from what Lu had been told as a boy, when Uncle Nicky had informed his own parents that he wanted to marry Lu's Aunt Alix, Papa's sister, Sunny as she was known in the family, his uncle's family had been vehemently opposed to the match.

However, despite strenuous objections from Uncle Nicky's parents, he and Aunt Alix became engaged, and in due course married. Had gone on to have five children: four girls and a boy, all of them first cousins of both Lu and his elder brother George Donatus who, just as Louis was known in the family as Lu, was known as Don. So with this in mind, Lu intended to press his suit, and, come what may, whatever it might cost him, he would marry the Honourable Margaret Geddes whom he had met at the Winter Olympics, held earlier this year, in February, at Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Bavaria, and which, had been attended by no less a person than the Fuhrer himself. Not that Lu had much time for Herr Hitler, unlike several of his kinsmen who had joined the Nazi Party, something which even Don and his wife were contemplating doing. Nowadays in Germany, if one did not agree with the Party, it was wise to say nothing; dissent was not an option.

This said, Lu wondered what if push really came to shove, would he ever be prepared to make a stand? Not that it was ever likely to happen; for all he wanted, after Peg and he were married, was to write poetry, and live a quiet life, here on the estate, which, despite all that had occurred, still belonged to the family, even though it had been a close run thing.

For, since the Novemberrevolution which, at the end of 1918, had brought down every one of the centuries old German kingdoms, grand duchies, and principalities as if they had been of no more substance than a house of cards, Papa and Mama, while still styled as Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of Hesse, no longer reigned. And although they had kept Wolfsgarten, the Residenzschloss in Darmstadt had been lost to them. Nonetheless, when Papa, who was ailing, died, then Don, who was married, with a growing family of his own - two young sons and a daughter - would take his place here at Wolfsgarten, but only as Hereditary Grand Duke.


Now, as Lu wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he fell once more to considering his own future; his marriage to Margaret which, God willing, would take place next year. Assuming, of course, that parental opposition on both sides - Peg's parents were not greatly enamoured of her marrying into a German princely house - could be overcome and, rather more importantly, that dearest Peg accepted his proposal, which he had yet to make. All the same, reflected Lu, in the end it would have been for the best if Aunt Alix had not married Uncle Nicky.

For, in 1896 they had become Tsar and Tsarina of Russia.

Both of them were now dead.

So were their five children: Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and their young brother, the Tsarevitch Alexei.

All seven of them.

Brutally and foully murdered by the Bolsheviks during the civil war, which had swept across Russia in the aftermath of the Revolution; their bullet ridden, bayoneted, beaten bodies, stripped naked, doused in sulphuric acid and then thrown into an unmarked grave, somewhere near the town of Ekaterinburg in the Urals.

If this was not awful enough, on the day after the murders in Ekaterinburg, another of Papa's sisters, Aunt Ella, had also been killed by the Bolsheviks, when she, the widow of Grand Duke Sergei, together with other members of the Russian Imperial Family, had been thrown alive down a mineshaft, then left there to die of their injuries and starvation, at a place called Alapaevsk.


Trieste, Kingdom of Italy, February 1937.

Once part of the Austrian Littoral of the sprawling Austro-Hungarian Empire, since 1920 the bustling city and port of Trieste had belonged to the Kingdom of Italy. Here on the quayside, just below the station, while Friedrich and the two boys, Robert and Max delighted to be in each other's company, all three of them warmly wrapped, waited patiently to board the recently refurbished, gleaming, white hulled liner, the S.S. Conte Biancamano, belonging to Lloyd Triestino, the waters of the Adriatic sparkled in the winter sunshine.

When Robert had arrived here by train from Venice not an hour since, to be met on the crowded concourse of the station by Uncle Friedrich and a smiling Max, had they but known it, their paths had all but crossed that of Captain Eccles who, a short while earlier, had been inbound from Alexandria, before he himself had caught the train for Paris. While neither Eccles nor Robert had ever met, given that Rob very much resembled his father, had they encountered each other, Eccles would have been left in no doubt as to the identity of the boy's father.

But here in the busy station at Trieste, this did not happen.

All things considered, it was probably just as well it had not.


Arthur's Club, St. James's Street, London, February 1937.

Buoyed immensely by what he had been told by the consultant in Harley Street that, following a thorough examination, the problems he had been experiencing recently, despite how debilitating they had been, were more than likely down to sciatica, although this would have to be confirmed by the x-rays Trefusis had taken, Matthew duly returned to his club, where Eccles was shortly expected. When Matthew had last heard from him, it had been by telegram, despatched from the Gare Maritime in Calais, saying that Eccles was boarding the S.S. Canterbury and would be catching the Golden Arrow from Dover, due to reach Victoria at 7pm. Assuming that the express kept to time, Eccles would be here an hour or so from then. In the meantime, Matthew telephoned Mary to let her know that, accompanied by Cavendish, Robert was on his way to Trieste, and with the good news regarding what Matthew himself had been told by the consultant in Harley Street.


Now, maybe it was on account of the weather, or else the time of year, perhaps it was both, but there were few members in the club tonight. Seated by the fire, Matthew looked about him and took in again the agreeably pleasant surroundings: the heavy, ornate plaster ceiling; the enormous gilt mirror above the mantelpiece; the electric chandeliers; the gilt lamps; the comfortable, if worn sofas and easy chairs, along with the highly polished woodwork of the desks, bookshelves - perhaps the club might be persuaded to take some of Downton's surplus volumes - and tables; the thick pile of the faded carpet. Yes, Arthur's was exceedingly well appointed. Yet, for all this, as with so many things these days, the club was not quite what it had once been. There were said to be financial difficulties. Not that these were ever spoken of openly and if they were mentioned at all, it was in hushed tones, or else alluded to with much clearing of throats, as if the matter was thoroughly disreputable. Matthew assumed that this explained why the club's cellar of fine wines had been auctioned off by Christie, Manson & Woods in 1932.

However, some things never changed.

For if one dined at Arthur's, as Matthew and Robert had done last night, dressing for dinner was still de rigeur; a requirement which had caused problems for Tom a couple of years ago when, in the autumn of 1934, he had come over to England and travelled up to London to meet with fellow journalists from Fleet Street. Later, having joined Matthew at Arthur's, finding that Tom had not brought his evening clothes with him, the dining room there effectively barred to them, at Tom's suggestion, he and Matthew had bought fish and chips from a shop down an alleyway and had sat and eaten them on a bench in St. James's Park, before Tom returned to his hotel and Matthew to Arthur's.


Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, autumn 1934.

On learning what Matthew and Tom had done, Mary had been horrified. Sitting on a park bench eating fish and chips was what one would expect from a pair of down-and-outs, not of a Peer of the Realm and Deputy Editor of the most important newspaper in Ireland.

"Dear God! Whatever next?"

Whatever next indeed.

"That empty shop ... the one you pointed out to me on Back Lane, behind the Grantham Arms," said Tom, straight-faced.

"What of it?" Matthew asked.

"Does it belong to the estate?"
"Yes. All the properties in the village do. Leasehold. Like the rest. Why do you ask?"
"Be a grand place to open a chip shop! Potatoes from off the farms, fresh fish delivered daily from Whitby. The estate would make a small fortune out of it, for sure!"

"Now there's a thought! We'll need a name ..."

"Why not call it ... Crawley's?" Tom grinned.
"Over my dead body," exclaimed Mary, before realising she had been cozened. "Honestly, you two!"


On board the S.S. Conte Biancamano, Eastern Mediterranean, February 1937.

"Is that good?" asked Uncle Friedrich, now bestowing an indulgent smile upon his son and nephew.

Here aboard the Conte Biancamano, beneath the ornate, domed, glass atrium, the magnificent, galleried, First Class Dining Room of the sleek Italian liner, presented a particularly elegant prospect. For the most part, it was one of shining woodwork and spotless white linen napery; the wonts of those dining attended to attentively and discretely by a clutch of stewards resplendent in their immaculate white tunics and highly polished brass buttons.

Midst an array of competing succulent aromas, the discrete clink of cutlery, the ring of glassware, and the soft ebb and flow of conversation, with his mouth presently full of ice cream, Robert, could only nod his head.

"It's absolutely delicious, Papa". Max grinned broadly at his English cousin, before applying himself once again to his own dessert of profiteroles.

"Rather!" exclaimed Robert. Having cleared his mouth, he said that from time to time ice cream was served at school over in England, but only during the Summer Term, and it was never as excellent as this.

The only cloud on the horizon was the absence of Danny, of whom, after he had set sail from Dublin for Spain, there had been no firm news. Except for the fact that Robert was able to report that, shortly before he had left Downton with his father to travel up to London, Uncle Tom and Aunt Sybil had received a postcard; sent by Danny from some place in France.

"Well, let's hope they soon have further word," observed Uncle Friedrich. After all what else could one say?

Having finished his ice cream, Robert nodded.

"I do hope so," he said earnestly".

"So do I," said Max with equal fervour, while here in the Dining Room the small orchestra now struck up with a spirited rendition of Puttin' On the Ritz.


Bay of Biscay, about the same time.

"Jaysus! What the feckin' hell was that?" yelled Danny.

A towering column of filthy seawater shot upwards through the murk close to the port side of the leading British merchantman; followed a matter of seconds later by another, everyone on board the Pieter assuming that the ship must have hit one or more of the mines bobbing along on the surface of the ocean. It had not; but it was something just as deadly, if not more so. Through the fog there came an enormous flash and, as the rags of mist briefly parted, to their horror, they saw the enormous iron grey bulk of a warship which turned out to be the flagship of the Nationalist navy, the heavy cruiser, Canarias.

Owing to the drifting banks of fog, the Pieter had not come under attack; for the present the mines on the surface of the sea presented a far more immediate and lethal danger. With a pair of thick ropes tied securely around their waists, boathooks in hand, Danny and Pim were let down over the side, until they were close to the waterline. Then, swinging themselves out just above the choppy surface of the sea, with their feet resting against the hull, the two of them began "walking" along the side of the steamer towards the stern, at the same time pushing the two mines in the same direction with the boathooks, until they had passed clear of the Pieter. Not that it could be left at that, as the mines posed a mortal danger to other vessels; not least the other British steamer lying astern. So, to cheers from Danny's mates and the rest of the crew, once Pim and Danny were safely back on deck, one of the Volunteers now took aim at the floating mines with his rifle and, with two well-aimed shots, blew them to pieces.

But their relief was short lived; a moment later and the Canarias turned its huge 8 inch guns on the hapless Pieter.


Arthur's Club, St. James's Street, London, several days before.

A short while later, having settled himself back into the depths of the winged armchair, stretching out his legs, and warming his feet before the roaring fire, Matthew signalled to the steward for another brandy.

A moment later, the man was standing beside him with the requested brandy on a silver salver.

"Thank you".

When, having set down the brandy on the small table next to Matthew's armchair, the steward remained standing exactly where he was, Matthew sensed there must be something else. He wondered if he had he forgotten to pay his mess bill. He thought not. So ...

"Beggin' your pardon, Your Lordship but I believe you are awaiting the arrival of Captain Eccles?"

Even now, some six or so years after he had inherited the title from his late father-in-law, on occasions, Matthew still found himself looking around to see just who it was who was being addressed as Your Lordship. He did so again now; fortunately quickly realising his mistake.

"Yes, indeed I am".

"I'm very sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Your Lordship, but I've been reliably informed there's been an accident ..."

Matthew sat bolt upright in his chair.

"Involving the Boat Train?"

"Yes, sir. At least in a manner of speaking. I understand the train's been stopped, sir; somewhere well south of Victoria. Sevenoaks, I think it was. An alert porter on the platform there saw that, as it passed through the station, one of the doors on the train was open. Swinging wildly it was. The porter notified the railway authorities and the express was brought to a stand with a thorough search being made, both of the train and of the line, which revealed a man had fallen from one of the carriages, in the long tunnel there, at Sevenoaks, and been killed".

"I see. And just how does any of this concern me, or for that matter, Captain Eccles?"
"Well, that's just it, Your Lordship ..."
"What is?"
"The man who fell from the express ... was Captain Eccles".


Drawing Room, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, the following evening.

"God knows!" exclaimed Matthew. "It just doesn't make sense. Any of it. What on earth was Eccles going to tell me? I suppose now I shall never know!"

"He gave you no idea?" Mary asked.
"No, none at all. Except to say that he had to speak to me on a matter of great urgency. And as for the police ..."

"What about the police?"

"Following my telephone call, two Southern Railway detectives turned up at the club to speak with me".

"And?"

"Well, the strange thing is, they seemed to know less about what had happened than did I; wanting to know how I knew Eccles, where we had first met, what he wanted to speak to me about, and so forth. They gave me a right grilling, but in return would give me no information as to how Eccles had died. Other than to say he had fallen from the Boat Train in the tunnel at Sevenoaks. That they believed a faulty lock on the carriage door was to blame".

"Well, isn't it likely that was what happened? That it was just a tragic accident?"

Matthew shook his head.

"There's something about this whole affair which just doesn't add up. Exactly what, I'm not entirely sure. But it's all wrong".

"What is?"
"I can't put my finger on it, but I know something is".

"So what do you intend to do?"
"I've already put enquiries of my own in hand. If anything comes of them, you'll be the first to know".

Mary nodded; assumed that Matthew had been in touch with the Foreign Office. If so, there was no use pressing him further on the matter; at least for now.

"And what about Robert?" Now that he's on his way to join Friedrich and Max, how is he to return home to England?"
"The necessary arrangements have already been made".

"Oh?"

"Yes. Cavendish is returning to London in about a month or so's time. Robert will travel back with him. I'll go up to town and meet them both at Victoria. Oh, by the way, I have it on good authority ... that Tibor and Harriet are out in Palestine. Exactly where, I'm not entirely sure. You know Harriet!"

Mary nodded. Yes, she did know Harriet, and, to be perfectly frank, was not that enamoured of her. As to whether this was partly on account of the fact Harriet had married Tibor, Mary had never really stopped to think.

"Doing what? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"It's probably best that you don't!"

Despite the lateness of the hour, the Drawing Room door opened and Barrow came in, to announce that a telegram had just been delivered for His Lordship.

"Thank you".


When Barrow had gone, Matthew tore open the telegram and hurriedly scanned its contents.

"It's not ... bad news, is it?" Mary asked hesitantly. With still no firm word on Danny's whereabouts, and with Robert on his way to Palestine ...

"No, not at all. Well, talk of the devil! It's from Tibor!"


Tradesman's Entrance, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, a few days later.

"'Ere, Billy! Papers!" breezed Sam Bulstrode jauntily.

"Ta!" Billy - William - took the proffered newspapers; was surprised when Sam made no attempt to move.

"What is it?"

"Saw yuh, yest'rday. Down there by the bridge!" Sam tapped the side of his nose and winked.

"Did you now?"
The boy nodded.

"Yeah! That Eliza, bit of all right, she is! If yuh know wot I mean!" Sam gave a knowing smirk.

"You cheeky little bugger! Go on, clear off!"

Sporting the broadest of grins, Sam smartly turned his bicycle about and, gravel flying, set off whence he had come.


On weekdays, The Times, The Telegraph, The Illustrated London News and, since 1931, at the request of His Lordship, The Manchester Guardian. Usually all present and correct, but, as Mr. Barrow had told him, it was best to check. So, Billy did. The headlines were all to do with the war in Spain, the forthcoming Coronation, the whereabouts of the former king, and also Mrs. Simpson. From the pictures he had seen of her so far, Billy thought she looked a scrawny old bird. Certainly not someone for whom, had he been called upon to do so, he would have given up both an empire and a kingdom.

Hullo! What the dickens! There must be some mistake, surely.

As far as Billy knew the abbey never took The News of the World. Far too salacious for the likes of them upstairs. Came out on Sundays. Billy glanced at the date. Yesterday's edition. Read the headline, emblazoned in capitals, in heavy type, two words followed by an exclamation mark, splashed across the front page:

TURKISH DELIGHT!

Billy read on.

Blimey!

"Mr. Barrow!"


Drawing Room, Downton Abbey, a week later.

"Who was it?" Mary asked, as Matthew came back into the room from taking a telephone call in the the Entrance Hall. She looked enquiringly up at him from behind the newspaper.

"That, was Major Richardson. Apparently, there's sickness in the house. So, it is with much regret neither he nor his wife feel it appropriate to risk coming here for dinner tomorrow night". Matthew flopped down on the sofa beside Mary, spread his hands and shrugged. "To be perfectly frank, I've never much cared for Richardson, even though he is ex-military. He plays a rotten game of billiards. More to the point, he's always struck me as a pompous ass! After Tom had the misfortune to make the major's acquaintance, he thought much the same, although being Tom, he put it rather more graphically than that!"

"I bet he did. Darling Tom!"

"Yes, something about Richardson being a gob ... something or other. I forget exactly what it was he called him. Certainly not the kind of remark to be uttered in polite company at the dinner table. Of course, it didn't help that, having done some digging of his own, Tom had found out the gallant major had served with the Black and Tans in Ireland".

Mary nodded her head.

"That I can well imagine. The Haighs from Carr Hall cancelled yesterday too and with much the same excuse. Apparently, some of their servants have gone down with the sort of thing those kind of people go down with. I find myself wondering if there hasn't been a reoccurrence of the Spanish Flu".

"Trust me, darling, there hasn't".
"Matthew, I'm perfectly well aware there hasn't. We both know the reason why everyone is cancelling, don't we? That piece in the ... what was it again? The News Chronicle?"

"The News of the World", darling".

"Yes. Quite. So, just what do we do? Issue a writ, I presume? For libel".

"The article made no mention of you by name, so ..."
"It didn't need to. Anyone who knows us, will know it's about me. Referring to the eldest daughter of an earl, who still enjoys hunting ... the thrill of the chase ..." Realising the double entendre, patches of colour flamed across Mary's cheeks. "Then making mention of a house party, held in Yorkshire, before the Great War, where the unnamed woman is said to have had a fling with a young Turkish diplomat ... his untimely death, the exact circumstances of which remain a mystery to this day. Why, it's outrageous. It makes me sound like Mata Hari!" Mary snorted her displeasure.

"If you say so ..."
"I do say so!"

When Matthew said nothing further, but merely shook his head, Mary took that to mean he had no idea what should be done, causing her to round on him for what she perceived as a lack of support.

"Well you're a great help, I must say! Just as all those years ago, after Papa had lost most of Mama's fortune, when I asked you to help us, you wouldn't. And you won't help me now!"

For Matthew, that stung. Nonetheless, he knew that now was not the time for a display of raw emotion but rather for calm, objective thinking. He could see that, even if Mary herself could not. So, when his reply came, Matthew kept his temper and his voice deliberately level.

"That's hardly fair, Mary. You now know perfectly well why, at the time, I said an emphatic no to using Lavinia's father's money to bail out your father".

For Mary, that quietly spoken rebuke rankled as harshly as if Matthew had lost his temper; to be reminded, even if indirectly, of Papa's fecklessness, of the mess she knew Matthew had found he had inherited when, eventually, for the price of doing what she had asked him to do, and investing all of Lavinia's late father's money, amounting to several thousands of pounds, in the estate, Matthew had, as a quid pro quo, insisted on taking control of the running of Downton. Thereafter, a full audit of the estate's finances of the estate had revealed that the situation was even worse than Matthew imagined. That, as he had later told Mary, without a significant injection of capital, there would have been no alternative but to auction off the entire contents of the house, and put the whole estate up for sale.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, this is just the same".

"No, it isn't. Not by a long way".

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. What we should do is ..."

But Mary wasn't listening.

"Of course, if this any of this appears in the foreign papers, I know someone who'll be pleased ..."

"Who?"

"Why, Edith, of course. She'll love every minute of it, my past transgressions being plastered across the pages of the gutter press for all to see!"

"I doubt that very much".

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You know, sometimes, Mary, you're your own worst enemy".

"Am I? Am I indeed? I don't see you rushing to my defence!

"I was about to ... if only you'd let me get a word in edgeways!"
"Well, go on, then! Say your piece!"
"What I was about to say ... Firstly, Edith won't derive any pleasure from this ..."
"Oh, won't she? You don't know how she hates ..."
"Mary, for God's sake! Will you, for a change, just listen!"

Surprisingly, Matthew's clear exasperation produced the desired effect.

"Very well. I'm listening". Mary placed her hands demurely in her lap; sat looking expectantly at her husband.

"Thank you. Now, Edith will derive no enjoyment out of this. Nor will Friedrich. And neither will Tom or Sybil. As to what we do, then we do what they least expect".

"They? Who do you mean by they? And what will they least expect?"

"Whoever it is who has orchestrated this. And what they least expect is that we do ... precisely nothing".

"Nothing?"
Matthew nodded.

"Just so".

"But people will say there is no smoke without fire".
"What of it? We can rise above that, you and I. So, we carry on, as before, and say nothing. Treat this whole ghastly business with the contempt it deserves. Not an easy course to chart, I know, because people will expect there to be comment, a reaction on our part, but in this, the better part of valour is discretion, for, in the end, we will win through, and with our heads held high".

"If you say so".

"I do".

"Very well".


"By the way, I have a surprise for you. I have it on good authority …"
"No doubt from one of your chums in the Foreign Office …"

"Indeed. It seems that we are to play host to a member of one of Europe's oldest princely families".
"Oh? Who?"

"To give the young man his full name, His Highness, Louis, prince of Hesse and by Rhine; presently serving as Third Secretary at the German Embassy in London. Apparently, he is coming here to give us the once over".
"Give us the once over?"

"In a manner of speaking".

"Well, whoever he is, I'm not at all sure I approve of that".

"Neither do I; but needs must. As I said, he's an attaché at the German Embassy and is coming here next week to meet with us, on a reconnoitering trip, at the behest of von Ribbentrop. I suspect it may have something to do with what's been in certain of the newspapers".

"Oh! A member of one of Europe's oldest princely families?"
"Yes, the young man's father, who is quite elderly, was the last reigning Grand Duke of Hesse Darmstadt. He lost his throne at the end of the war when all the German princely states became republics".

"And when his father dies, this young man will become Grand Duke in his place?"
"Titular Grand Duke. Since 1918, all German prince whatever their titles may infer, neither reign nor rule. But, no. The young man has an elder brother who will, eventually, succeed his father. The reason I mention all of this is because both the brother and his wife are rumoured to have Nazi sympathies. Given that the younger one has a post at the German Embassy, we must take it that he shares the same views".

"I see. Presumably, he speaks English?"
"Yes. Very well indeed".

"That's a relief. Otherwise I might have felt compelled to ask Edith to come over from Austria sooner rather than later and what with all our other problems, that would never do! In fact, I think I'd sooner try and learn German myself".

Matthew laughed.

"There's no need for that. Mine is quite passable. Although ..."
"Although what?"
"The prince studied archaeology at university. That being so, I'm certain Edith would have found they had a very great deal to talk about".

Mary raised her ever expressive eyebrows.

"Given half the chance, I've no doubt that she would!"


Downton Abbey, a few days later.

"I can't do this!"

Matthew turned his head to look at his wife.

"Yes, you can. Just remember that I love you. That aside, not only are you the countess of Grantham, but you're also the bravest woman I know. Now, do what you're so good at doing".

"Which is what?"

"Playing the part of the perfect hostess".

Tyres crunched on gravel and a moment later, the Rolls sent from the German embassy drew sedately to a stand in front of the abbey.


As to the smartly dressed young man who had climbed swiftly out of the motor and was now striding purposefully towards them across the gravel, Mary judged him to be in his late twenties. When he was but a few feet away, their visitor came smartly to attention, clicked his heels together, and raised his right arm, extending it from his shoulder into the air with his right hand straightened.

"Heil Hitler!"


Standing next to Matthew, silently observing every aspect of this performance - there was no other word for it - Mary permitted herself the briefest of sideways glances at her husband's profile; only to see that he had donned a mask of inscrutability; one which was worthy of Barrow.

What then followed suggested for all the world to those present that the young man had done nothing out of the ordinary; that he had not just done what undoubtedly he had. For, remaining absolutely impassive, fists clenched, his hands down by his sides as if he was on parade, Matthew waited patiently until the prince lowered his right arm. Then, never for once taking his gaze from their visitor, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the young man's face, ignoring both the Nazi salute and the spoken German greeting, Matthew now extended his own right hand in the customary British manner.

"Your Highness, may I bid you welcome to Downton Abbey. I trust you had a pleasant journey? Permit me to introduce to you my wife, the countess of Grantham". Matthew's tone was mellifluous, measured, and precise; indeed, disarmingly so.


As the prince straightened up from executing a baisse main, stepped back a pace, Mary was reminded, painfully so, of the very first time she had met darling Max; some six years ago, in the salle d'attente of the railway station on the quayside in Calais. Quite why it was, that of all the children born into the family, it should be Edith's eldest, who meant so much to Mary, a paradox if ever there was one, was something which, even on the odd occasion when she happened to think about it, Mary had never been able to fathom. When she had made mention of the matter to Sybil, she had offered some ridiculous nonsense about it being all to do with something Sybil called reverse logic: that Mary disliked Edith intensely so, in turn, she adored her eldest son. However, Mary remained unconvinced.

Glancing up at the sky, Matthew saw it was beginning to rain; indeed, the first drops were already darkening the gravel.

"Shall we all go inside ..."

With his open hand, he indicated the front door of the house.


Here, within the privacy of the Drawing Room, a surprise awaited the Crawleys; one which neither Matthew, nor for that matter Mary, could ever have foreseen.

Seated by the fire, with a cup of tea in his hand, glancing at the sandwiches and cakes, the prince smiled.

"Afternoon tea. How, quintessentially English!"

Mary smiled.

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"But of course. You may not know this, indeed why should you, but my grandmother, my father's mother - not that I ever knew her - was English. A daughter of Queen Victoria. And my aunt, Her Royal Highness, the Marchioness of Milford Haven, who bears the same name as the late Queen, lives here in your country, at Kensington Palace".

"Indeed. So Lord Grantham was telling me before your arrival".

"Now, as to what brings you here to Downton ..." Matthew, settled himself back comfortably on the sofa.

"Before we begin, I owe both of you an apology ..."
"Whatever for?"
"That display ... out there on the forecourt, in front of you and your servants".

"Display?"

"Of my loyalty to the Fuhrer".

"But are you not loyal to Germany, to your Fatherland?"

"Of course. But not to what it has become. However, before I say anything more, I must have your assurance that what I say will remain within these four walls. My own life depends upon that. And far more importantly, so too, does the life of your king".

Author's Note:

Lu - Louis, Prince of Hesse and by Rhine (1908-1968). He studied archaeology and art at several German universities and later served as Third Secretary, or as an honorary attaché, at the German embassy in London in the 1930s.

The Honourable Margaret Geddes (1913-1997). Born in Ireland, she became a notable patron of the arts in post war West Germany. Her father, an academic and politician, later served as British ambassador to the United States.

News of what had happened at Ekaterinburg and Alapaevsk was broken to Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig (the father of George Donatus and Louis) by another of his sisters, Victoria, Marchioness of Milford Haven (1863-1950) who lived in England.

The auction of Arthur's stock of fine wines in 1932 is perfectly true. The building, much changed inside, is now occupied by the Carlton Club, whose original premises were destroyed in the Blitz.

Southern Railway detectives - each of the Big Four Railway Companies had their own police force.

Despite what Matthew tells Mary, Louis would succeed to the Hessian Grand Ducal title in November 1937, in the most terrible circumstances, this following the air crash over Ostende in Belgium which claimed the lives of his brother, sister-in-law, and two young nephews all of whom had been en route to Louis' wedding in London. Also killed in the disaster were Louis' mother and several wedding guests, along with the three man crew of the 'plane. The air crash is graphically, in my view intrusively, portrayed in an episode of the second series of the Netflix production, The Crown. Incidentally, the aeroplane was not German - as is depicted - but belonged to the Belgian airline, SABENA.

Awaiting the arrival of his family at Croydon Airport (then the airport serving London for international flights) on being told what had happened, Louis fainted. He never really recovered from the deaths of his family. Later, he and his wife adopted Lu's little niece Johanna, aged one. Given her age, the little girl had been left behind at Wolfsgarten. Sadly, she died of meningitis in 1939.

Launched in 1931, later, as the flagship of the Nationalist navy, the Canarias fought in several actions during the Spanish Civil War. She was scrapped in 1977.

In the late 1920s and early 1930s, believing Hitler intended restoring the Hohenzollern dynasty to the imperial throne, many German princes joined the Nazi Party, no doubt hoping to regain their lost titles and rights. Don and Lu did not do so until May 1937.

Following the air crash, Louis and Margaret lived quietly at Schloss Wolfsgarten. Later, after the war, Winston Churchill sent an aeroplane to bring Margaret to England, to see her dying father. It was through Margaret that the British Royal Family re-established contact with their German relatives.

While it is true that Louis was a reserve officer in the Wehrmacht, he was a lover of both art and poetry, who would stand as godfather to Prince Edward, the youngest son of Queen Elizabeth II. With all of this in mind, while Coronation 1937 is fiction, I have cast him as opposed to the Nazi regime.