Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (14 page)

Only the low rope and
three feet of deck separated them. She was dressed in a coat and skirt of
Harris tweed that set off her figure to perfection. Her rich, dark brown hair
was hidden by a big flat cap, a blue scarf of some soft material that held it
in position framed her pale face and was tied in a large bow under her chin.
She was looking directly into De Richleau’s eyes, and her own were wide with
surprise at so suddenly being confronted with him.

The Hungarian Count had
noticed nothing unusual in her attitude. Brushing up his black moustache with
an elegant flick of the fingers, he greeted her in German, with due deference
but as an old friend.

“What a delightful
surprise to come upon your Imperial Highness in such circumstances. I knew that
you were due to leave England shortly, but not the actual day of your
departure. May I crave the honour of forming one of your suite, and so derive
great additional pleasure in my journey home?”

As he spoke, she turned
towards him and extended her hand. “Certainly you may, Count. It is always a
pleasure to have your gay company.”

Stepping over the rope,
he took her hand, bowed low over it, and kissed it. Then, with a smile and a
wave towards De Richleau, he said:

“I pray your Highness,
permit me to present an old and treasured friend: a distinguished soldier and
traveller, who will prove far more capable of entertaining you than myself—The
Duke de Richleau.”

The whole episode had
taken place so unexpectedly, and so suddenly, that there was nothing De
Richleau could possibly have done to avoid this embarrassing denouement. He had
already removed his hat, so he could now only maintain a suitably grave
expression and, remaining where he stood, bow formally before her.

He expected her to
acknowledge his presentation with a bare nod, then evade further conversation
with him by saying that she did not wish to increase her suite further; or even
to take her revenge by announcing that they had met before and she did not find
his company amusing. But she did neither. Instead, she greeted him with the
regal graciousness that she might have accorded to a stranger, but her words
contained a subtle innuendo that was meant for him alone.

“I have heard of M. De
Richleau. It is said that he is a hunter of great daring, and goes only for the
most difficult game. I shall be delighted for him to join my party and
entertain us with some of his more successful exploits.” Again she extended her
slim hand; and as De Richleau kissed it his heart suddenly began to beat faster
from the vivid memory that when last they had met he had held her in his arms
and kissed her lips.

She then introduced the
members of her suite. There was a middle-aged couple, the Count and Countess
Aulendorf, in whose charge she was obviously travelling; two ladies-in-waiting
of about her own age, Baroness Paula von Wolkenstein and Fraulein S
á
rolta
Huny
á
dy;
her equerry, Captain Count Adam Gr
ü
nne;
and her treasurer-secretary, Herr Rechberg.

While she was making the
introductions, two sailors appeared and began to erect a canvas screen where
the rope crossed the deck. It had, at first, been rigged on the leeward side of
the vessel, with the object of screening the Archduchess from the stares of the
passengers further forward. But it transpired that she was an excellent sailor
and preferred the deck to windward, so the ladies’ maids, valet, grooms and
footmen of the party had been given its more sheltered side.

As the steamer nosed its
way out of the harbour it became apparent that, although the day was fine, a
cross-wind was making the sea distinctly choppy. So Ilona Theresa turned to the
fairer and slighter of her two ladies, and said: “Paula, I know how you hate it
when it’s like this. Do please go and lie down in your cabin. You’ll be much
more comfortable there.”

Bobbing a curtsy, the
fair girl thanked her and left the group. Then Herr Rechberg stepped forward
and asked permission to retire for the same reason. The others tucked their
rugs about them and made themselves comfortable in their chairs. But Ilona had been
telling Julien Esterhazy about her experiences while in England, for only ten
minutes, when the Chief Steward arrived to announce that luncheon was now ready
and would be served at any time Her Imperial Highness wished.

She smiled and shook her
head. “I believe it is going to be really rough when we get farther out, and I
don’t want to miss a minute of it. I will have a cup of soup and a chicken
sandwich up here. But that is no reason why any of you should be deprived of a
proper meal. You will please all go below and enjoy your luncheon. I insist
upon it.”

It was clearly a command,
so no one thought of remonstrating. Count Gr
ü
nne
summoned a tall footman, who took up his position behind the Archduchess’
chair, in case she required anything; and, with the plump, grey-haired Countess
Aulendorf leading the way, the rest of the party went below to the
dining-saloon.

As the stranger in their
midst, De Richleau was given the place of honour at the table, with Countess
Aulendorf on his right and the dark-haired Fraulein S
árolta
Huny
á
dy
on his left. While the
hors d’œuvres
were served the talk continued to be about Ilona’s visit to England, and after
a while the Countess remarked a trifle tartly: “In some ways it was quite
enjoyable, but I shall be extremely glad to get her home.”

“Why do you say that,
Countess?” inquired Esterhazy. “I have always understood her to be a model of
propriety and tact.”

“She was until quite
recently,” the Countess sighed. “No mistress of a princess’ household could
have asked to be responsible for a more docile and well-behaved girl,
particularly at her age.”

“Ah! There you have it,
my dear,” remarked the elderly Count. “She should have been married long before
this, and at the first opportunity I mean to speak to the Emperor about it.”

Adam Gr
ü
nne
was a short, dark man, with broad shoulders, and a small brown moustache. He
gave a quick shrug. “The trouble with the Emperor is his great age. He hardly
notices any longer as the years drift by, and probably thinks of his
granddaughter as still scarcely out of the nursery.”

“But tell us, Countess,” Esterhazy
urged, “what pranks has your lovely charge been up to?”

“Oh, nothing very
serious; yet enough to cause me considerable anxiety. On three occasions during
the past fortnight she got up before the household was astir, ordered a horse
to be saddled for her, and went riding, with only a groom in attendance, in
Hyde Park. Even more perturbing, she slipped out of the house one afternoon all
on her own and went shopping in Bond Street. Then, when I remonstrated with
her, she only laughed and declared that she was tired of being treated like a
child.”

S
á
rolta
Huny
á
dy
kept her dark eyes fixed demurely on her plate. She had abetted these escapades
and knew that the Countess had more grounds for her disquietude than she chose
to relate. Without consulting anyone, Ilona had sacked her elderly tiring-woman
and engaged a flighty-looking French maid through someone she had met at one of
the embassies. When asked for an explanation, she had replied sharply that she
did not intend to be spied upon any longer. At two balls she had drunk just a
little too much champagne; not enough for anyone who did not know her
intimately to notice it, but enough to make her refuse to come home at the time
scheduled for her departure; and, as etiquette forbade anyone leaving before
she did, hundreds of people had been kept up till five in the morning. Then
there had been the episode of the book. Only S
á
rolta
knew how Ilona had got hold of it. She was a gay young minx herself and
prepared to take any risk to make her charming mistress’ life a little more
amusing. It had been a copy of
Three Weeks
by
Elinor Glyn, and when poor old Olga Aulendorf had caught her charge reading it
she had nearly had a fit. None of them could imagine what particular devil had
got into Ilona these past ten days or so, but S
á
rolta
hoped that he had found a permanent home, as that would mean much more exciting
times than she had been used to when they got back to Vienna.

Count Aulendorf stroked
his pointed grey beard with a well-manicured hand, then quite unconsciously
poured cold water on S
á
rolta’s
thoughts by saying to his wife: “Really, my dear, I don’t think you have any
great cause to worry. Compared with ourselves, the English are very unconventional,
and no doubt it is having been so much in their company that has affected her.
As soon as she gets back to the more decorous atmosphere of the Emperor’s court
she will soon settle down again. I am much more concerned about her health.”

“Why do you say that,
sir?” De Richleau asked. “She looks the very picture of healthy young womanhood
to me.”

“Yes, she looks strong
enough, I agree. But as a young girl she was delicate. That was the main reason
why the abortive arrangements for her marriage were put off longer than they
would normally have been. But it is her cough that worries me, and the hectic
flush that colours her cheeks every time she gets at all excited.”

“Has she seen a doctor?”
inquired the Duke.

“Not recently. I tried to
persuade her to see one in London, but she refused. Probably because she feared
he might prescribe the curtailing of her amusements.”

“I think,” put in Gr
ü
nne,
“that her cough has only been worse recently owing to the dampness of the
English climate. A few weeks at Ischl should soon make it disappear.”

“Or at Godolfo,” added
Esterhazy, who naturally favoured his native country. “She loves horses, and
nowhere in the world can she get better riding than we can give her on our
Hungarian plains.”

The talk then turned to the
Duke’s last visit to Budapest, and he inquired after numerous friends he had
made there. Several of them were known to various members of the party, and
during the rest of luncheon they gossiped cheerfully about their mutual
acquaintances.

By the time they got back
on deck the sky had clouded over, and a heavy sea was running. It was clear
that Ilona’s hopes were to be fulfilled, and that long before they reached
Ostend the ship would be ploughing her way through a storm. The Archduchess
looked up at her duenna and said:

“I fear the weather is
going to favour me at your expense,
Frau Grafin.
Please do not attend me further if
you would prefer to lie down. And I know that on such occasions you like to
have the
Herr Graf
with
you; so I willingly excuse him too, from further attendance.”

With a murmur of thanks
the Aulendorfs retired. Then, as a bigger wave than they had yet encountered
lifted the ship high in the water, S
árolta
asked if she might follow them. Esterhazy offered to take her below, and was
evidently not feeling very well himself, as he did not return. But, meanwhile,
Gr
ü
nne
and De Richleau had seated themselves on either side of Ilona and she had asked
the Duke to tell them about some of his narrow escapes while after big game.

The Duke had been on
safari in the Belgian Congo, and shot tiger from the backs of Rajahs’ elephants
in India, but so had many other people; whereas far fewer had hunted in the
jungles of South America and, having taken part in several minor wars there, he
had had many opportunities to do so.

In consequence, he began
to talk of the Amazon, with its hundred mile-wide mouth, turgid sheets of
fast-flowing oily water, and tributaries so long that by comparison all but the
largest rivers in Europe were only streams. He told of the moist, exhausting
atmosphere that made one feel like a prisoner in some vast over-heated
greenhouse; of the clouds of mosquitoes; of the snakes, tarantulas and leeches
that swarmed on the banks of every creek; of the swamps from which one could
see the fever rising like a grey mist in the evenings; and of the alligators,
jaguars, and hostile natives with poison blow-pipes—all of which lurked unseen
and might at any time deal death to the unwary traveller.