Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (15 page)

But he also endeavoured
to convey the beauty of the scene; the unending primeval forests, in which the
branches of the huge creeper-covered trees met overhead so thickly that the
blazing tropical sun filtered through only as a dappled twilight; the
astounding riot of colour, the vivid green of the rank vegetation caught by a
patch of sunlight, and the dazzling blue of patches of sky overhead; the
monstrous white fungi, bigger than a man and splotched with red; the silvery
ferns; the yellow lizards; the birds and butterflies of every hue; and, above
all, the fascination of the unending mysterious silence in these distant places
where white men had so rarely penetrated.

He went on to relate a
few episodes in which he had unexpectedly come face to face with dangerous
animals, and others in which he had seen rare species that had never yet been
captured for a European zoo. Then, as he paused, she said:

“You seem to have had
many narrow escapes. Tell us, now, which of your experiences you found most
frightful.”

He smiled. “I think my
most terrifying experience was being caught and nearly crushed to death by a
boa-constrictor, when my rifle was out of reach, and none of my people within
call. I managed to force the brute’s head against the trunk of a tree and hack
it off with my knife: but I was only just in time, and it took me over a
fortnight to recover.”

“Gracious God!” she
exclaimed, her deep blue eyes widening. “That was certainly a desperate
situation. In fact it is difficult to imagine one more terrifying, even in a
nightmare.”

“It was, indeed, just
like a nightmare while it lasted, and I was very lucky to get away alive. But
your Imperial Highness asked me a moment ago to relate, not my most terrifying,
but my most frightful experience; and that is a very different story.”

“I don’t quite follow,
Duke. But please go on.”

“It was at a time when my
rifle went off unexpectedly. Long use of firearms has formed in me the habit of
being very careful with them. But on this particular evening I forgot that I
had told my servant to keep a loaded rifle handy in the camp all day, in case a
big black panther which had been prowling around on the previous night made its
appearance. I had among my weapons a pair of rifles that were of exactly the
same pattern, and had used one of them that morning. By mistake, I picked up the
wrong one of the pair and was just about to see if it had been cleaned
properly. To a hunter like myself, you will appreciate that every moving thing
is a mark upon which to practise swift sighting, even with an unloaded weapon.
At that moment the most beautiful thing I have ever seen came into my view. It
was a big butterfly the colour of roses and cream, with lustrous brown edges to
its wings, and on each it had a circle of rich dark blue—the very colour, if I
may say so, of your Imperial Highness’ eyes. For quite a time I watched it,
fascinated by its beauty. Then, as it drew away from me I took a practice sight
on it with my rifle and squeezed the trigger.”

“Oh, dear! Did you kill
it?”

“No. It was distant and
high above me; but it staggered for a moment in its flight, so my bullet must
have touched it, however lightly, and proved a rude, unnerving shock. I only
pray that my rash and thoughtless act may not have done it any permanent
injury, and made it afraid of men in future.”

“Aren’t you being a bit squeamish
about a butterfly?” laughed Count Gr
ünn
e.

“This one was an
aristocrat of its species,” replied the Duke seriously. “She had all the
exquisite loveliness of a young princess. She was, perhaps, on her first
flight. I had her quite close to me for a moment, and the colour of her wings
had not been smudged by rough contact of any kind. My brutality was
unintentional, but, even so, I count it a frightful thing to have deprived so
wonderful a creature of even a fraction of her bloom.”

They had been talking for
over an hour and the ship was now pitching and rolling with considerable
violence. Dark, angry clouds hung low in the sky from horizon to horizon. Big
spots of rain began to splash upon the deck. Count Gr
ü
nne
unwrapped himself from his rug, stood up, and said:

“Would not your Highness
prefer to take shelter? It’s going to pour in torrents in a few minutes.”

“Don’t be silly, Adam,” she
reproved him. “You know there is nothing I enjoy more than to feel the rain
lashing my cheeks. Get under cover if you want to: but give me my ulster first.”

He obediently put the
rainproof cloak round her shoulders, but sat down again with a smothered sigh
of resignation.

De Richleau smiled at
her. “It seems, Princess, that you inherit your grandmother’s love of foul weather.
I have heard it said that at times the Empress Elizabeth went to the length of
ordering herself to be lashed to the mast so that she might enjoy the beauty of
a tempest.”

“That is true. People say
that I have a lot of other things in common with my grandmother Elizabeth, too.
Her love of horses and travel; even my face is said to resemble hers.”

They sat silent for a
time, while the rain came down in earnest, and the Duke recalled what he knew
of the strange woman of whom they had just spoken. She had been the second
daughter of Max, Duke
in
Bavaria, the curious title having been given to him as the head of a younger
branch of the family, to distinguish him from the king of that name. Back in
the ’fifties a marriage had been planned between his eldest daughter and the
young Franz-Joseph, Emperor of Austria. But the Emperor had chanced to see the
younger daughter and, captivated by her dark beauty, he had insisted on
marrying her instead. His love for her had endured until her tragic
assassination in 1898. but she had not made him a good Empress, mainly on
account of her acute shyness, which amounted almost to a mental aberration. She
abhorred public functions and even being looked at by strangers, and had seized
upon her delicate health as an excuse to leave the court, often for many months
at a stretch, whenever she could possibly do so. Her travels had taken her as
far as Madeira, and to England and Ireland, where she had hunted with great
recklessness. To secure solitude had been a mania with her, and in the latter
part of her life she had had built for herself a beautiful little retreat,
after the pattern of an ancient Greek palace, on the island of Corfu. She had,
from her first arrival in Vienna, developed a passionate admiration for
everything Hungarian, and the one service that this gifted but morbid lady had
rendered to her country was the binding of the Dual Monarchy together, at a
time when Hungarian discontent had risen to a pitch that everyone else believed
the two kingdoms must inevitably split apart.

The ship plunged, rolled
and staggered in a horrid corkscrew motion. The force of the rain made it
rebound in a thousand little fountains from the deck. Thunder rolled and
lightning forked from the black sky above. But Ilona sat on entranced, exclaiming
with delight at every flash.

The roaring of the storm
would have drowned any attempt at conversation, so they sat there in silence
while the rain streamed in rivulets from their hats and shoulders. It was not
until nearly four o’clock that the downpour eased a little, and by then they
were due to sight Ostend harbour, ahead through the murk, at any moment.

Having glanced at his
watch, Adam Gr
ü
nne
pushed the sopping rug from off his knees, and stood up. “We are due in at
four-fifteen,” he announced. “So, with your Highness’ permission, I will go
below, find one of my bags, and get into some dry clothes.”

“Of course, Adam,” she
smiled. “It was thoughtless of me to have kept you here during the downpour,
but I did suggest that you should take shelter just as it was starting.” She
turned then to the Duke.

“Perhaps you would also
like to put on dry things before we land. If so, please have no scruples about
leaving me here alone.”

He made her a little bow.
“I thank your Imperial Highness for your consideration; but I have often been
soaked to the skin while on my campaigns and taken no harm from it.”

As Count Gr
ü
nne
left them, the rain declined to a gusty splutter, and a break in the clouds
showed to the east. But the sea continued to hiss angrily, occasionally
slapping hard against the side of the ship.

A few minutes later Ilona
disentangled herself from her coverings and rose to her feet. “I want,” she
said, “to see the last of these lovely waves before we get in. “And she started
to walk towards the rail.

De Richleau had risen
with her, and as soon as they reached the ship’s side, by looking round the
canvas screen, they could see the piers of Ostend harbour. Both knew that the
voyage was nearly over, and neither had so far made any direct reference to
their previous meeting. As they leaned side by side on the rail, she suddenly
turned to him and asked:

“Did you invent that
story about the butterfly as a symbol for myself, and really feel like that
about me?”

“Of course, Princess,” he
replied gravely. “I swear to you that nothing in the world could have caused me
more distress than the thought that I had wantonly taken advantage of your
innocence and shattered the serenity of your mind.”

“It...
it
was a shock... a very grave one; because nothing like that has ever happened to
me before. But it had to happen sometime, and it has changed me quite a lot.”

“Not for the worse, I
hope.”

“No. It caused me to
realise that, because I had not been brought up like other girls, there is no
reason why I should not act like them, providing that I always bear in mind the
responsibilities of my position.”

“May I take it that I am
forgiven, then?”

“Do you give me your word
that you really had no idea who I was?’

“I swear it. I knew only
that chance had thrown into my path the most lovely person I have seen in a
lifetime.”

She turned to look at him
again, and her eyes were kind. “You said something about being on your way to
Belgrade, did you not? That is only a night’s journey from Vienna. If you
really want my forgiveness, come and ask for it there. I promise nothing; but
you may even find that the mentors of a poor, imprisoned princess have not yet
quite succeeded in turning her heart into stone.”

Two
special coaches had been attached to the Orient Express to accommodate the
Archduchess’ party; but De Richleau did not take advantage of his temporary
acceptance as one of her entourage to travel in one. He took formal leave of
her and her companions immediately they landed, with the excuse that, as he was
passing through Ostend, he had arranged to meet a man in the station restaurant
for a brief business conference: and she did not suggest that he should rejoin
them later.

He was glad of that, as
on the train they would have had no further opportunity to be alone together,
and he felt reluctant to blur the memory of that moment when they had leaned
side by side on the rail of the ship. Moreover, he wanted to be alone. His mind
was in a turmoil, and as soon as he had made himself comfortable in his sleeper
he settled down to think matters out.

It was now clear that by
kissing Ilona Theresa he had done much more to her than was usually conveyed by
that quite ordinary act. He had changed her from a docile girl to a rebellious
woman overnight. The Countess Aulendorf’s remarks at luncheon had been ample
evidence of that. Moreover, she had as good as invited him to Vienna, on what
could be only a pretext to cover the fact that she wanted to see him again. But
why? Could it really be because Her Imperial Highness was now thinking of him
as her gallant—in fact, as ready to play the part he had offered to assume
while still unaware of her identity. He wondered for a moment if he was
flattering himself unduly, but there seemed to be no other explanation. Her
last words had been a pathetic cry for just such a friendship—perhaps even for
a lover.

Staring straight ahead,
as the train roared through a tunnel, the Duke shifted on his seat. Nobody knew
better than he the implications of such a role. If he occupied it, the affair
might end for both of them in tragedy. In any case he would court the gravest
danger. There was no blinking the fact that she was over-ripe for a first love,
so a spring having been touched that had released her long pent-up emotions she
might soon prove capable of any rashness. Should she become so, and any man be
caught making love to her in her own country, it would certainly go hard with
him. Initial detection in a ballroom flirtation would result in no more than an
order to quit Vienna forthwith: but if the affair went further, and love
letters to her were discovered, or she was surprised while keeping a secret
rendezvous, however innocent, her gallant would find himself cooling his heels
in a fortress. So it was certainly not the sort of amorous adventure to be
undertaken lightly.