Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (35 page)

Soon after seven
the two dozen people who now made up the house-party went to their rooms to
change. At eight-thirty they assembled in the hall again, and at a quarter to
nine went in to dinner. According to the custom of the day, on such occasions,
the meal was a long one: fifteen courses were served and a different wine with
each, so it was half past ten before they rose from the table. Other guests who
were staying in the neighbourhood now began to arrive, and at eleven o’clock
they all went out on to the terrace to see the fireworks.

The night was
fine; the display brilliant and unmarred by accidents. Between intervals of
darkness Greek fire lit a long stretch of the Danube,
turning
it to red, green and blue; big
Catherine
wheels spun upon the barges
moored in the river; rockets sent showers of stars higher than the topmost
turrets of the castle; and the finale was a set-piece consisting of an outline
portrait of the Duchess, having underneath it the words ‘Long live the future
Queen of Hungary’.

The Chotek was
enchanted, and as the last sparks spluttered out she thanked her host
effusively. Then, rising from her chair, she laid her plump hand on his arm and
led him a little apart from the others towards the end of the terrace. When
they were out of earshot she said:

“This is the
first chance I have had for a word with you alone, Duke, and I have been
wanting to talk to you about your letter.”

He could
cheerfully have picked her up and thrown her over the battlements, but his
smile lost none of its urbanity as he murmured, “I beg you not to give it
another thought. It was an impertinence on my part to even question your
judgment on such a matter.”

“On the contrary,”
she replied quickly. “You were quite right, and I was a fool not to see in the
first place that Ilona Theresa’s presence here would strengthen my position
with Count Tisza. It was stupid of me to allow the slights which the Imperial
family have put upon me to influence me in a case like this.”

De Richleau
looked down at her in surprise. “May I ask, then, why you did not take the
advice contained in my letter?”

“I did, and
covered my
faux pas
in a note that I wrote her on Monday night. In it I said
I had only just learned that my secretary had been guilty of mislaying the
original notification of the party, which should have reached her the previous
week. But on the Tuesday I received a reply to the effect that she is committed
to appear to-night at a charity ball, and to-morrow at a public luncheon; and
that, much as she would have liked to come with us to Königstein, it was now
too late to alter her arrangements.”

Silently but
fluently the Duke cursed in seven languages, both the woman beside him and
Ilona’s ingrained sense of duty. Then his heart gave such a jump that it seemed
to hit him under the throat; for, after a little pause, the Duchess added: “However,
she is going to join us here in time for the dance, and that is better than
nothing.”

Her last words
could not have better expressed De Richleau’s feelings. An evil fate had denied
him the joy of having Ilona there for much the greater part of what was
secretly to have been their own party, but at least he had been reprieved to
the extent that she would be present at its finale, and by comparison with ‘nothing’
that now-seemed ‘everything’. His step was no more buoyant, but his heart was
high as he led the Chotek back through the french windows into the
drawing-room.

As some of the
guests had driven a considerable distance, a buffet supper was now being
served, and for an hour or more the Duke moved about, having a few words with
everyone in turn. Then Franz Ferdinand went up to bed and the party gradually
broke up.

Next morning De
Richleau woke to find to his annoyance that it was raining. The change in the
weather threatened to spoil his water-party, and might make it impossible for
couples to stroll on the terrace, or in the grounds, during the dance. But the
knowledge that, wet or fine, he would see Ilona that evening did far more than
console him for this minor worry.

In those days
breakfast was taken in bed only by women and invalids, so all the men of the
party assembled downstairs for it fully dressed. Normally they would have gone
shooting, fishing or riding, according to the season; but as the weather was
inclement they decided to stay indoors. Four made up a table for bridge, two
sat down to write letters, and the rest—Franz Ferdinand, Count Hoyos and the
Duke among them—congregated in the library.

The Archduke
took the opportunity of asking De Richleau his opinion of the Turkish Army, and
after they had talked of it for some time the conversation turned to the
amazing war machine that Germany had built up during the reign of Wilhelm II.
It was clear to the Duke that the Austrians greatly envied their powerful
neighbour the possession of this mighty weapon with which, had they controlled
it, they obviously believed that they could have settled their long-standing
differences with Russia, Italy, Serbia and Rumania at one stroke. It emerged
that in the coming week Franz Ferdinand was going to his country estate of
Konopischt, where he would be entertaining the Kaiser for a three-days’ visit,
and Count Hoyos took occasion to remark on the high hopes his chief, von
Berchtold, held that this meeting would further strengthen the Austro-German
alliance.

About eleven the
rain stopped and the ladies began to appear, so several small parties drifted
off for a walk in the grounds. As the Duchess had not come down, and Franz
Ferdinand intimated that he wished to have a private talk with his
aide-de-camp, Count Harrach, De Richleau found himself free to show his books
to Count Tisza; who, up till then, had been writing letters. The Duke’s library
was very fine, having been mainly inherited through many generations of
ancestors and removed from France after his exile from that country; but in
individual items having historical associations with famous people it did not
rival that of the Count. Nevertheless, they spent a happy hour there and
cemented their strong liking for one another.

On her belated
appearance the Duchess found them poring over a rare hand-coloured sixteenth-century
Atlas together, and once more both men had to admire her tact. Instead of
turning the conversation to other matters, she at once displayed an intelligent
interest in old books and asked to be shown some more of De Richleau’s rare
editions. Bitter as he had secretly felt towards her on the preceding day, now
that he was in a more normal frame of mind, he freely admitted to himself that
her disruption of his plans had been in no way deliberate, and that she was
really a kind and charming woman. So he no longer harboured any malice towards
her, and the three of them remained talking together happily until it was time
to go in for luncheon.

After the meal
they all walked down through the terraced garden leading to the river and
boarded a small flag-bedecked steamer that was waiting there. Turning
up-stream, the steamer carried them to the nearest village, where the
population for some miles around, which was lining the banks, gave the Imperial
party a rousing reception. De Richleau had arranged an aquatic carnival, and
during the afternoon they watched a variety of events—swimming, diving,
life-saving, boat races, wrestling on rafts and climbing a greasy pole for a
live sucking pig. After a tea with strawberries and cream, the Duchess gave
away the prizes which De Richleau had provided, and ‘Father Danube’ came aboard
attended by twelve Danube Maidens who laid at her feet a large copy of St.
Stephen’s crown with the leaning cross of Hungary, which had been woven in
basket-work and covered with flowers.

When, to a
thunder of renewed cheers, the steamer turned downstream on her way back to the
castle landing stage, De Richleau was happy to think that he had given his
tenants and their neighbours, as well as his guests, a happy afternoon. All the
same, he wished that it had been possible to terminate the water-party earlier,
as it was now a quarter to six, and he feared that Ilona would arrive before he
could get back to welcome her.

As a precaution
against such a possibility the Countess Prava had remained behind to do the
honours of the castle, and when they got back the Duke learned that Ilona was
already upstairs in her suite; so he did not see her until the party assembled
to go in to dinner.

But, before
that, he had more than verbal assurance of her presence. On going up to change
he found a large wooden box on his dressing-table. When he opened it he saw at
once that the size of the package was designed only to deceive whoever had
placed it there about its contents, as buried in a mass of tissue paper it held
a single white gardenia for his buttonhole.

On this night
Ilona wore white chiffon spangled with gold stars. From her tightly corseted
waist it curved outward in layer after layer of filmy material like a ballet
dancer’s skirts which had been lengthened to sweep the floor. For jewels she
wore only white diamonds so her sole colouring lay in her eyes, skin and hair.
De Richleau caught his breath when he saw her. She looked light as a fairy from
the top of a Christmas tree, yet pulsing with warm life.

The inevitable
formal courtesies were exchanged, then her cousin took her into dinner: De
Richleau followed with the Chotek, but at table had Ilona on his other side.
Without ever allowing their eyes to meet they exchanged inconsequent small talk
while the long procession of courses was served to them. At length Ilona caught
the Duchess’s eye; they rose together and the ladies left the table. Soon
after, the Duke excused himself to receive his guests who were driving over
from houses in the neighbourhood. At half past ten the band struck up and the
dance began.

Franz Ferdinand
opened it with Ilona, then De Richleau led out the Duchess, and the rest joined
in. By right of his position as host the Duke had the next dance with Ilona,
and he had arranged for it to be the ‘Blue Danube’ waltz.

As she melted
into his arms and they whirled gracefully away, he whispered. “At last! At
last! Until I heard last night that you were coming after all, I near died of
misery.”

“And I,” she
whispered back. “Just think what it meant, having to perform public duties
yesterday and to-day instead of being here for our party. I could kill that
woman.”

“Forget her,” he
smiled. “You are here now, and that is all that matters. For the flower you
sent me, I kiss your hands; and when it is dead I mean to keep it in a jewelled
casket as long as I live.”

The high notes
of the waltz seemed to lift them with every turn, as though they were revolving
above a sea of fleecy clouds. Now that he held her again, he was so intoxicated
by her nearness that he could think of nothing more to say. She, too, remained
silent, her eyes wide and brilliant as she swayed to the lilt of the music. In
perfect accord they spun as though one being in circle after circle round the
floor; and it was only at the end of the dance that he got back his wits
sufficiently to mutter:

“May I,
to-night, dance with you again?”

“Yes,” she
breathed. “As my host, you may.”

“And now,” he
said quickly, “can we go out on to the terrace, or must we remain here?”

“You may take me
out for a minute—just for a breath of air.”

With her hand on
his arm he led her to the open french windows, but there they halted in dismay:
it had begun to rain again and was coming down quite heavily.

For five minutes
they stood there, but other couples were so near them that they could only
exchange platitudes. Then, when the band struck up again, she gave him a
pathetic little smile and beckoned to Adam Grünne to come and dance with her.

De Richleau took
advantage of his position to dance twice more with the Chotek, so that comment
should not be aroused when he danced with Ilona a second time. But it was after
supper before she asked him to have the band play the ‘Count of Luxembourg’
waltz and dance it with her.

This time he had
all his wits about him. When they were well out on the floor he told her about
the alcove in her bedroom, and how to slide the partition back so that the door
it concealed would be revealed and could be opened.

She stiffened in
his arms and turned her blue eyes up to his in a frightened glance.

“You do not
mean—” she whispered. “You—you cannot mean
—”

He smiled down
at her. “Princess, I am De Richleau, Duke and Hereditary Peer of France,
Lieutenant-General, Count von K
ö
nigstein, and Knight
of the Golden Fleece. Unless tradition lies, it would not be the first time
that one of my line has been received by a beautiful Habsburg in her bedroom.
But you are unmarried, and I love you too much to ask more than that you should
leave your room to meet me for a few minutes on the balcony that lies outside
the hidden door.”

Ilona closed her
eyes and her breath came in a little gasp as she murmured: “I am feeling faint.
Take me somewhere where I can sit down.”

Obediently he
led her out of the ballroom, to the almost deserted buffet and, having settled
her in an elbow chair, brought her a glass of champagne.