Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (18 page)

From the Stefanskirche
the Duke made his way back along the Kerntner Strasse to The Ring, and entering
the Kaisergarten caf
é
ordered that beverage inseparable from life in Vienna—morning coffee. The cafés
there were not few and far between and patronized only by occasional customers
who felt like a drink: they were legion, and each was filled from early morning
till late at night by relays of regular patrons who used them as clubs.
Billiards, chess, dominoes and cards were provided for the amusement of
customers: many people took a light breakfast in them, others spent hours there
writing their letters; business men used them for meetings, the girls of the
town for picking up casual lovers; and thousands of idlers sat in them most of
the day, discussing with their neighbours every topic under the sun.

In them, almost everyone
understood German, as it was the
lingua franca
of
the city; but they carried on their voluble conversations in many tongues, as
the Dual Monarchy numbered among its subjects millions of Hungarians, Czechs,
Croats, Slovenes, Poles, Rumanians, Slovaks, Italians, and Ruthenians. It was
this extraordinary mixture of races, the upper strata of which had
inter-married for several generations, that gave the Viennese women a greater
variety of beauty than was to be found in any other capital; and the smartness
of their toilettes, mingled with the brightly-coloured uniforms of the Austrian
officers, provided a scene in real life which could have been rivalled for
gaiety only on a musical comedy stage.

On the marble-topped
tables were scattered newspapers and journals of every type, including many
English, American, French, Italian and German publications, as the Viennese
prided themselves on being true cosmopolitans who took a tolerant interest in
events—particularly when they were of an artistic or scientific nature—in every
part of the world. That was perhaps because, since the rise of Prussia under
Frederick the Great, nearly two centuries earlier, the martial power of the
Holy Roman Empire had greatly declined. It seemed that since its armies had
lost the secret of winning great victories, its people had formed the habit of
consoling themselves by achieving intellectual triumphs. They had no colonies,
and did not desire any, but they considered themselves second to none in
advancing the progress of medicine and social well-being, and as the world’s
leading connoisseurs in the realms of music, letters and the art of living
gracefully.

De Richleau sent for a
few of the leading Viennese papers and began to study them. It was the Austrian
political news with which he wished to bring himself up to date, but to find it
he had to search for half-columns on the less important sheets of the papers,
as the Viennese took little interest in politics, either domestic or
international. The front pages were almost always devoted to long masterfully-written
criticisms of performances at the opera, theatres, and concerts, or any
outstanding event which had occurred in the lives of their leading prima
donnas, ballerinas, actors, actresses, composers and musicians. For the average
citizen, accounts of these matters were the only news which held any real
interest, and the careers of such celebrities were followed with an eagerness
displayed in no other country. The great artistes of stage and orchestra were
known by sight to every schoolboy, and their appearance on any street was
immediately greeted with a murmur of enthusiasm. The nobility enjoyed a respect
engendered by generations of tradition, but the aristocracy of art was honoured
in a hundred ways, granted special privileges by the State, and regarded as the
true heroes of this cultured nation.

For lunch, the Duke moved
on to Meissl and Schardan’s restaurant; then he collected his visiting-cards,
secured a taxi, and made a round of calls. At the Aulendorfs and Count Gr
ü
nne’s
he left a note explaining that he had decided to break his journey for a short
stay in Vienna, and that when there he used his Austrian title. With his old
friends this was unnecessary.

That evening he enjoyed
an excellent comedy at the Burgtheater then, instead of taking a cab back to
his hotel, he strolled across the Volksgarten to the Hofburg, and right round
it. The buildings of all shapes and ages, of which the Imperial Palace
consisted, covered many acres, and, exclusive of its twenty-two interior
courts, its frontages were well over a mile in length. As De Richleau gazed up
at the seemingly endless rows of windows he wondered, like any love-struck
youth, behind which of them was hidden his beautiful Ilona. But he knew that
even this closely-knit town of great mansions, built at the caprices of a long
line of Caesars, might not hold its loveliest daughter. She might equally well
have taken up her residence at the slightly smaller, but more beautiful,
Schwarzenberg Palace on the outer side of The Ring, or at Sch
ön
brunn,
the Versailles of Vienna, which lay only three miles away in the suburbs.

Next day his calls began
to bring results. Invitations came in from the Laxenburgs, Batthyanzs,
Metternichs and Bukovicks for luncheons, a dinner and a dance. Captain Count
Adam Gr
ü
nne
called in person— although the Duke missed him as he happened to be out—and,
besides his own card, left an invitation to a musical party at the Aulendorfs
for the following night.

On receiving the last, De
Richleau’s heart missed a beat, as it seemed highly probable that Ilona would
be there, and he had not expected to see her again so soon. But in that he was
disappointed. The gathering was a small one of only thirty-odd people: the
occasion to give a try-out to a young pianist of promise. Nevertheless the Duke
did not consider his evening by any means wasted, as it enabled him to
consolidate his pleasant relations with his host and hostess, and ask them to
be present at a luncheon party he was making up when he could settle on a date
mutually convenient to them and some of his other friends.

Moreover, it chanced that
Count Leopold von Berchtold, the Emperor’s Foreign Minister, was present, and
he was one of the people whom De Richleau particularly wished to meet. He was a
highly-cultured German-Austrian aristocrat with a broad forehead, heavily
lidded eyes and a long, sharp nose. His demeanour was very correct and a little
haughty, even when, as on this occasion, among his equals: so, much as the Duke
would have liked to draw him into a political discussion he decided that it
would be wiser to refrain and remain content at this first meeting with merely
having made his acquaintance.

Another matter which
brought De Richleau some consolation for Ilona’s absence was Count Gr
ü
nne’s
presence at the party, and an invitation from him to occupy a seat in the
Imperial box at the Horse Show on the coming Friday. He apologized that it
should be for the penultimate day of the Show, rather than for the finals, but
on the Saturday the Heir Apparent, the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, was to take
the salute, and for that all seats had already been allotted. De Richleau
accepted with pleasure all the same, both because he liked the dark,
broad-shouldered Count and knew that the occasion would afford him an
opportunity to meet further people connected with the Court.

Two afternoons later, the
Duke, clad in a black frock-coat, a waistcoat with a narrow band of white
showing above it, striped trousers, patent leather boots, grey spats and
gleaming topper, made his way to the Hofburg, as under one of its many lofty
roofs lay the Spanish Riding School, which was still famous throughout Europe
as the home of Haute
École
.
As the Viennese were great horse-lovers its galleries were packed with an
enthusiastic crowd, and he found more than half the seats in the Imperial Box,
which held about two dozen people, already taken. But Count Gr
ü
nne
had had a seat reserved for him in the second row, and, with a polite bow to
his neighbours, he settled down to enjoy the graceful spectacle.

The majority of the
competitors were officers in the brilliant uniforms of the Dual Monarchy, but
among them were a few civilians, and some visiting officers from foreign
countries who were somewhat less spectacularly dressed. The horses were superb,
the riding excellent, and for a quarter of an hour De Richleau watched them,
entirely occupied with their well-timed evolutions. But suddenly the band
ceased playing in the middle of a tune, the competitors all entered the arena
together and formed up into four lines, like a squadron of cavalry, facing the
Imperial box. There was a rustle in the crowd, a trumpet call rang out,
everyone rose, and the band struck up the national anthem. The privileged few
in the spacious box drew aside in two groups, leaving its centre empty, the
curtains at its back were drawn apart and, escorted by a grey-faced man in
General’s uniform, there entered
Ihr Kaiserlich und
Koniglich Hoheit, die Erzherzogin Ilona Theresa.

De
Richleau
knew that it was
customary for some person of importance to take the parade every day at a show
of such national interest, but somehow it had never occurred to him that Ilona
might do so; and her appearance was now so unlike what it had been at their previous
meetings that, for a second, he failed to recognize her.

As the function was
almost entirely a military one, she was wearing the uniform of Colonel-in-Chief
of her own regiment of Hussars. It was sky-blue with silver facings. The train
of her habit was looped up over her left arm, showing a glimpse of Hessian
riding boots beneath its skirt; a half-cloak trimmed with grey astrakhan swung
gallantly from her erect shoulders, and from the centre of her flat-topped
busby a white plume, eighteen inches high, nodded gaily. The Duke thought that
she looked ravishing, and caught his breath in admiration as she advanced to
the front of the box, looking neither to right nor left. There, instead of
acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd with a bow, she stood stiffly to
attention and brought her hand up in a smart salute; then she sat down in a
gilt arm-chair, and the show went on.

It was not until the
interval that she saw De Richleau. When it arrived, she withdrew into a
reception room behind the box and everyone in it followed her. As her glance
fell upon him the faint pink deepened in her cheeks, but after only a second’s
hesitation she beckoned him to her, and said graciously:

“I did not know that you
intended to honour Vienna with a visit so soon, Duke. I hope that you are
enjoying yourself in our lovely city.”

He bowed over her hand. “As
there are no wars at the moment, your Imperial Highness, a soldier of fortune
like myself is forced to take a little leisure; and nowhere in the world holds
such attraction for me as Vienna.”

She flushed again and
quickly introduced him to the elderly General who was her official escort. He
was a small man with a flowing grey moustache that seemed too big for his
withered, wrinkled face; but a pair of keen, bright eyes showed that his brain
was not as atrophied as his countenance. His name was Franz, Freiherr Conrad
von H
ö
tzendorf,
and it was then little known outside his own country; but De Richleau knew it,
for it had been given to him by Major Hankey as that of the man who had, eight
years previously, been entrusted by the Archduke Franz Ferdinand with the
reorganisation of the Imperial armies. He was their present Chief, and, it was
expected, would lead them in the event of war.

Ilona had turned to
receive some of the competitors, whom she had desired should be presented to
her during the interval, but von H
ö
tzendorf
addressed De Richleau with quick interest:

“So you are a soldier of
fortune, Duke. In which wars have you fought?”

De Richleau mentioned his
South American campaigns, then that the Turks had given him the command of a
ramshackle Army Corps in their war with the Balkan Federation.

“Ramshackle or not, to
have commanded an Army Corps in active warfare is a thing of which not many men
can boast,” commented the General swiftly, “and particularly at your age. My
profession is a passion with me, and I am interested in every aspect of it. I
should much like to hear of your experiences while with the Turks. Will you
lunch with me one day at the Arsenal?”

“I should be very happy
to do so, General,” replied the Duke, striving to keep out of his voice the
real elation he felt at receiving such an invitation.

Von H
ö
tzendorf
produced a little book with neat, angular writing in it, cast an eye over his
engagements and suggested the following Tuesday, the 12th of May. For the Duke
that meant putting off a lunch party at the Metternichs but, nevertheless, he
promptly accepted.