Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (34 page)

By Friday night
he reckoned that at a rough estimate he had committed himself for well over,
£2,000 to pay for forty hours of entertainment, out of which he would be lucky
if he could get Ilona to himself for forty minutes. But he was now madly in
love with her, so did not grudge a penny of it.

On Saturday
morning he met her with Sárolta and Adam Grünne half-way along the
Hauptallee.
As soon as they were well away from it, among the
trees of the park, she beckoned him up to her and sent Sárolta back to ride
with Adam. Further than that, she dared not go. Even in the less frequented
parts of the Prater there were always a few people about, and everyone knew her
by sight; so had she ridden off with De Richleau to any distance from the
others, it might have been thought that she was riding alone with him, and
started a scandal. But she gave him her most dazzling smile and lowered her
voice to ask: “How is my true knight this morning?”

“My sword arm is
near to dropping off from the ache in it to kill dragons for you, Princess,” he
smiled back.

“Alas!” she
laughed. “My dragons are all nice old ladies, like the
Grafin
Aulendorf; or old gentlemen who escort me to state functions.”

“There will be
no state functions when you come to Königstein, and somehow we will get rid of
your female dragons for a while, I promise.”

She frowned. “My
secretary has not yet said a word to me about your party. In fact, I had to
tell him only last night to refuse an engagement which was proposed for me for
the 11th. When did you submit your list?”

“I posted it
from Königstein on Wednesday evening. I could not do so before as I had to find
out which of my neighbours were in residence and could put up guests. But it
should have reached the Duchess first thing on Thursday morning.”

“Oh well, she
may have been too busy to deal with it these past two days. No doubt she will
ask this week-end if I wish to go. But do tell me about the lovely time you are
preparing for us. I can hardly wait to get there, and I think of it not as her
party but as ours.”

“And so it is.
Princess,” he assured her with a tender smile. Then he went on to speak of the
water-picnic, the fireworks, and the dance that he was planning for her
delight. But all too soon the ride was over and when they parted, as he had to
return to Königstein that night, it was with the knowledge that they would have
no further opportunity of meeting until they did so there on the following
Wednesday.

That day he
completed his final preparations in Vienna, and in the late afternoon set out
for the castle. A number of letters were awaiting him, and among them a big
envelope bearing the Imperial arms. On opening it he saw that it was from the
Comptroller of the Archduke’s Household. Then the blow fell. His list of guests
was approved, except that General von Hötzendorf had begged to be excused on
the plea of duty, and that the names of Ilona and her suite had been struck
out.

Slowly he went
white with rage. Then he tore the letter violently across and damned Sophie von
Hohenberg to all eternity. The one thing which had occurred neither to Ilona
nor himself was that the Chotek might for once allow jealousy to get the better
of her tactfulness. It was true that Ilona, being of the Imperial blood, took
precedence over her; but at a private party such as this, and one announced as
in her special honour, there could be no question of her being relegated to the
background. Yet jealousy seemed the only reason which could be attributed to
the act; and it was one of extreme rudeness. If she felt so strongly about the
matter, she could at least have done her host the courtesy of having a private
word with him on it, but to have simply struck out Ilona’s name was not only
discourteous to him, it implied that she, of all people, was not the type of
woman who could be received in polite society.

De Richleau
could only suppose that the Duchess was counting on Ilona never getting to hear
of the flagrant insult that had been done her. He smiled grimly at the thought
that here was a case of heredity coming out, and that, though she could not
know it, through her ill-breeding the Chotek had made an enemy for life. But
that was no consolation whatever to him.

Seething with
anger and disgust, he made a moody tour of inspection round the castle. Much
had been done in his three days’ absence, but innumerable things still remained
to be done if the place was to be in apple-pie order by Wednesday. The thought
of the money he had wasted aggravated his fury, but even that was a bagatelle
compared with the bitter, searing disappointment which tore his heart at the
realization that he was not, after all, to have his beautiful Ilona under his
own roof for two days and nights.

He spent a long
time in the bedroom that was being made ready for her. The hangings he had
bought for it were nearly finished: they were of blue satin to match her eyes,
and had gold cupids and true lover’s-knots embroidered on them. The mattress of
the bed he had chosen and tested himself as the softest in the castle. The
sheets were of the finest lawn, and the pillows of finest swansdown. With his
slim fingers he caressed them for a moment, and tears dimmed his bright grey
eyes. Turning hastily away, he caught sight of his reflection in the long gilt
cheval glass. She would have gazed into that, perhaps to put a last chestnut
curl into place and admire her own perfection, before coming down to dine at
his side. Then his glance fell upon a shallow alcove, in which stood a
high-backed elbow chair. Behind it a panel, painted the same colour as the rest
of the wall, could be slid back to reveal a low oak door. Beyond the door was a
little stone balcony, from one side of which a narrow spiral of steps led down
to the main terrace twenty feet below. The previous Sunday night he had oiled
the lock, bolts and hinges of the door, so that it could be opened without a
sound. After the dance, when everyone had gone to bed, he had hoped— Shutting
his eyes, he clenched his teeth, and stood rigid in an agony of frustration. At
length his breath escaped in a gasp and, wheeling round, he flung himself out
of the room.

Eventually he
went to bed, but proper sleep refused to come to him, and when he fell into a
doze he was beset by horrid visions of Ilona in tears and the Chotek leering at
him. At five o’clock he got up and, after a bath, into which he poured a
quarter of a bottle of Lubin’s fragrant essence, he felt a little more
rational-minded, though no less bitter.

At six, he
summoned his head servants and gave them fresh instructions as, although the
thought of the party was now as ashes in his mouth, there could be no question
of cancelling it, and the preparations must go on. Then, after toying with his
breakfast, in spite of the fact that he was now needed there to supervise many
arrangements in person, he left for Vienna.

De Richleau was
not the man to ‘say die’ lightly, and he had determined to see the Duchess on
the chance that he could persuade her to alter her mind. But when he arrived at
the Belvedere Palace he found, to his renewed fury, that his luck had
completely deserted him. The Chotek had gone away the previous morning for the
week-end, and was not expected back until Monday afternoon.

He had eaten
little and drunk next to nothing for the past twenty-four hours, yet he felt as
sick and ill as if he had been participating in a drunken orgy for a week.
Instinctively he walked back across The Ring to Sacher’s. There he went up to
his room, sat on his bed for a while, then rang for the waiter and ordered a
double Absinthe. When it arrived, he added sugar and water and slowly drank the
opal fluid. It had no more perceptible kick in it than lime juice, or a diluted
paregoric cough mixture which it resembled in flavour, but he knew it held
hidden properties which would act like a drug in clearing and accelerating his
brain.

A quarter of an
hour later, he moved over to the window table and began to write a letter to
the Chotek. It was no more than a last hope, for he dared not even hint in it,
as he could have done to her personally, his own desire that Ilona should be
asked to Königstein: moreover, he dare not presume too far on the idea that the
Duchess regarded him as her adviser. But after three drafts, he produced the
following:

Your Highness,

I trust you will pardon
my temerity, but I note with some disquiet that you have thought fit to delete
the name of H. I. H. the Archduchess Ilona Theresa from the list of guests for
your Highness’ party at Königstein.

Your reasons for so doing
are beyond my knowledge and, no doubt, most excellent. But, after much
hesitation, I bring myself to point out to your Highness that the Archduchess’
presence at your party could redound only to your own prestige—particularly
with Count Tisza, who is to be among your guests.

I was fortunate enough to
have a long and very friendly conversation with the Count after making my
adieus to your Highness on Friday, the 29th, and it was mainly on account of my
earlier talk with you that I included both him and H. I. H. in the proposed
list.

I must add that my
uneasiness is made the greater from having chanced to meet H. I. H. in the
Prater while riding there on Saturday morning and, I pray that you will forgive
me, as I was indiscreet enough to mention the fête to her; upon which she was
so gracious as to say that she hoped to hear further from your Highness
regarding it.

I need hardly add that I
would not presume to offer these points for your consideration were I not
emboldened to do so by a heartfelt desire to further your Highness’ interests.

I have the honour to be,
etc. etc.”

Having concluded
with this flat lie, he damned the woman to perdition again, sealed up the
envelope, and took it across to the Belvedere himself. Then he returned to
Königstein.

Monday and
Tuesday the endless bustle at the castle continued. A stream of vans and wagons
arrived from the surrounding district and from Vienna. Endless boxes and
hampers were unpacked. Innumerable people did innumerable jobs above and below
stairs, in the stables, on the river front, and in the grounds. Through this
human ants’ nest the Duke moved ceaselessly, like an uneasy but all-seeing
ghost. He had no idea what the Chotek’s reactions would be to his letter. In
any case she could not have had it till Monday afternoon and by then, even if
she changed her mind, Ilona might have become committed to other engagements.
He knew that she would keep herself free till the last possible moment if she
could, but it would not be easy for anyone in her position to refuse all duties
for two days without any suitable excuse to offer.

On Tuesday
evening the Countess Prava arrived with her two daughters. At dinner that night
the Duke endeavoured to be a cheerful host, but excused himself soon afterwards
on the plea that he still had things to see to.

On Wednesday at
mid-day, accompanied by the Countess, he made a final inspection. The
pandemonium of the preceding days had subsided as though it had never occurred.
Except for the powdered and breeched footmen on duty in the hall, not a servant
was to be seen. The June sunshine shone through the open mullioned windows on
speckless rooms, kept at a comfortable temperature by small log fires, and gay
with flowers. Afterwards, they went out on to the terrace. It ran along the
south wall of the castle, which had been rebuilt late in the eighteenth century
and contained rooms of fine proportions. From it, there was a splendid view
along the Danube, which flowed a hundred feet below them. Anchored near the far
shores of the river were the boats and barges from which the display of
fireworks was to be given that night. It seemed that nothing had been left
unthought of, and the Duke sent for his principal servants to thank them for
their labours. Now, it only remained to be seen if the lady of his heart, for
whom all this had been done, would ever set eyes upon it.

At four o’clock
the guests began to arrive, and for the next hour or two De Richleau was kept
busy with their reception. By six they were all mustered in the great hall,
awaiting the appearance of the Imperial party. Punctually, almost to the
moment, the line of cars rolled into the courtyard and disgorged their
occupants in front of the great double doors. Outside them stood the Duke,
holding a blue velvet cushion on which reposed the keys of the castle. In
accordance with ancient custom, he offered them to Franz Ferdinand, who touched
them lightly, then, with a friendly smile, bade him keep them.

Swiftly De
Richleau’s glance took in the dozen people who had arrived with the Archduke. He
suppressed a sigh that was like a pain piercing his middle. The absence of the
lovely face of Ilona Theresa among them made the sun go dim for him. Up to the
very last minute he had been hoping against hope that she would arrive with her
cousin, although reason had told him plainly that had she been coming at ail he
would have been notified of it officially, at latest by that morning. Only now
that his last hope was gone did he taste to the full the bitterness of his
disappointment and realize how desperately he loved her.

Yet with him it
was one of the principles of a lifetime that a host should not mar the
enjoyment of his guests by allowing them even to suspect that he was a prey to
personal troubles, and years of self-discipline now stood him in good stead. As
though he had not a care in the world, he smilingly welcomed the rest of the
Imperial party, and ushered them in to partake of the refreshments set out in
the great hall.