Tempting Fate (91 page)

“No, not precisely. The Bruderschaft has other plans, for Schloss Saint-Germain, as it happens. With the foreign owner gone, no one knows where, and with his activities under investigation, the government will doubtless grant us access to the place.” He was so assured, so complacent, that he was able to laugh once. “We’ve already discussed matters with the caretaker. These damned Swiss—you know how stiff-necked they can be.”

Gudrun closed her eyes tightly. “You have no right to do this. Not to me, and not to Ragoczy. The old nobility have certain rights left, and—”

“They are coming to an end. The Empire is over, and it is now necessary that all the Teutonic people band together to build a modern nation, not one of those imitations of Ancient Rome that have been the models for everyone. We will show the way to the world, Gudrun, and the old privilege will be gone, as it should have been gone a hundred years ago.” He got up, poured more of the hot wine, and then came across the carpet to her side. “You have the same fate to look forward to. You will discover that it is no longer enough to be hochgeborn to receive the respect you have grown so used to. No one is willing to pull their forelocks to you, and in a few years, they may well spit on you. It is not as if there is a
von
in your name, but you are known to be landed gentry, and you have long since ceased to behave in the old manner with those around you. You have not given charity to the orphans’ school in more than five years, and there was a time when your family paid for more than half of their food and clothing. Do you think they are grateful anymore?” He put his hand on her shoulder, ignoring the flinch. “We of the NSDAP, however, have been doing what we can for those who are as concerned about the fate of the Vaterland as we are. You will notice that we do require agreement with our principles, just as any sensible attorney would. It is to us that the peasants and orphans will turn, not to you, and it is they who will make this country the leader among nations that it must be.”

“And for this you need Wolkighügel?” She felt strangely tired and disspirited, as if she had wakened from a long, restless sleep.

“Let us say that I want Wolkighügel. We need other things, such as the remoteness of Schliersee, as well as the road into Osterreich. That is a part of it, and it would be stupid of me to dismiss these advantages. But that is not what I am most interested in.” His fingers grew firmer on her shoulder, holding her with a forcefulness that was neither kind nor gentle. “Your brother, I understand, tried in his suicide note to convince you that you should marry me. I gather that he hoped his brother-in-law would not demand payment of his debts, because the hochgebornen don’t behave that way to their relatives. I will admit that the idea has a great deal of appeal to me. Men in the NSDAP with well-connected wives go far, and doubtless will go further still once we have consolidated our power and gained the national attention that will make us strong enough to shape the destiny of Deutschland.”

“I have no desire to be married again,” Gudrun said, her mouth feeling very dry.

“That is because your husband was not a husband to you, and you have forgot the compensations of marriage. In this case, it is more than having another body in the same bed—I would not require you to pay your brother’s debts, at least not those to the Thule Bruderschaft itself. For the personal debts, that is another matter, although if I discuss the matter with the other members, they might be willing to forgive the largest part of them. There is a great deal of advantage in accepting my offer, you see. The Thule Gesellschaft and the Bruderschaft might feel that they must prosecute to obtain the money they are owed if you do not ally yourself with me. And the individuals would also be likely to demand settlement. With me, you get a husband, you no longer have to live here as if you were a hermit, you could wear new dresses and get another automobile, one that works well, you could have a larger staff so that the house will not go to ruin around you … you should consider it carefully, Gudrun.” He leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips.

Gudrun was able to keep from screaming, but she could not conceal the repugnance that shook her. What could her answer be, but yes. The very thought of it was disgusting. She was being forced to prostitute herself for a house and her dead brother, but what alternative did she have? Disgrace in court and penury afterward? Death and disgrace? “You are not very diplomatic, Herr Rauch.”

“You must call me Helmut. You are going to be my wife, aren’t you?” He lifted his tankard as if to toast her, his smile mocking. “You will have Otto back with you, and it will be quite pleasant to live here.”

“Otto is your spy.” She said it flatly, determined not to let him see how much she despised him and everything he said. With care, she might be able to put him off long enough to find assistance of some sort for herself. She could sell Wolkighügel, and make arrangements with the court to deposit a certain amount against the settlement of the most outrageous of Maximillian’s debts. Then she could go … somewhere else. Switzerland, or Italy, or even dreadful France. She would be beyond his reach then, and removed from her dishonor.

“Naturally he watches for me. He was not very happy when you decided to keep company with that foreigner, Ragoczy. He was worried that others would learn of your affair, and then you would be completely disgraced. I gave him my word that I would be silent, but, should appearances in court be necessary, I would have no choice but to tell what I know. I think it might make your case more awkward than it already is.” He turned his predatory smile on her. “I know that widows do … impulsive things. But Ragoczy is gone, and I am here, and I am willing to give you the benefit of my name, which he never offered you.”

“You’re offensive,” Gudrun said, feeling her fatigue deepen.

“Because I tell you the truth? I am willing to marry you, restore your house, and give you the chance to move at the top levels of society. If you would prefer to remain as you are and face poverty and disgrace, then there’s nothing I can say.” He chucked her under the chin. “You’re an attractive woman, Gudrun. There’s no reason you shouldn’t find it useful to be married to me.”

“As I would be
useful
to you?” She did not let him answer or speak. “You’ve made it impossible for me to reject your offer. Or not quite impossible, but I haven’t the strength to kill myself.”

“It’s not that bad, Gudrun. You will find out that I can be a very accommodating man when I am treated well.” He leaned over her and put his mouth against hers.

Gudrun tasted the wine and tobacco that did not surprise her. There was bile at the back of her throat and she had to force herself to keep from striking out at the man. She should never have sent Ragoczy away. She might have learned to sympathize with his grief, she might have been less unwilling to share his loss. Now there was no Ragoczy at Schloss Saint-Germain, and Helmut Rauch was kissing her in the smaller salon of her own home. It was repellent. “Herr Rauch,” she said when he broke away from her, “I will need time—”

“Oh, no. You’ll start to think of things to outwit me, and that does not suit me at all, Gudrun. I believe that we should be married in a week. Tonight I’ll return to München, but tomorrow morning, as soon as the weather is good enough, Otto will be back. And he has your best interests in mind, although you don’t believe it. I have had a number of conversations with him, and he is convinced now that the wisest course for you is to marry me and put your fortunes in my hands.” He moved away from her, a bit tipsy with hot wine and success. “I will not be too impulsive once we are married. You may have a month before I insist on my marital rights, but after that, I will expect you to be an obedient and complacent wife. Remember that.” He reached the door and pulled it open. “I know you’ll learn to appreciate me, Gudrun. Your good sense should tell you that.”

Gudrun nodded once, not trusting herself to speak or to open her mouth. As soon as the door was closed, she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away forever the impression of Helmut’s kiss. She stood still, listening for the front door to open and close, but instead she heard the salon door swing on its hinges. “What is it?”

Helmut had put on his heavy overcoat and held a long muffler in his gloved hands. “I think I should mention that if you try to leave this country, or this house, for that matter, or make any other attempt to renege on our agreement, I will see that all of Maximillian’s letters are published in newspapers all over the country. I can do that, you know. I will also publish all the reports Otto has sent to me, with the details of your affair with Ragoczy. It would make interesting reading, and with journalists what they are, I am willing to wager they would spread the information over most of Europe. It might be that your great-uncle would be moved to stop administering your trust.” He put a furlined hat on and bowed to her. “Be as realistic as you can, Gudrun. It is the best way.” With that parting comment he closed the door, and a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed.

“Oh, Mein Gott! Mein Gott!” Gudrun cried out, then clapped her hands over her mouth, fearing that Helmut could still hear her. She began to sob rather wildly, and when she tried to, walk, she shook too badly to get across the room; she held on to the back of the chair Helmut had sat in.

“What is it!” Frau Bürste demanded as she came into the salon. There was flour on her arms and a smudge of butter on her cheek. She came bustling across the room as soon as she saw how distressed Gudrun was. “There, no more tears, my dear. No, no. You must not weep. You will make me cry if you do.”

“He insists on marrying me,” Gudrun told her in one breathless gasp. “He has letters. Maximillian owed money. So much money. I could not pay it. If I marry him, he will cancel the debts. Oh, why has he done this?” She let herself be wrapped in Frau Bürste’s ample arms, her tears no longer held back.

As she sobbed, Frau Bürste stroked her hair and murmured quietly, “No, no, my dearest. Do not be frightened. Do not despair. All will be well. Yes, I promise you, my dove, my angel. All will be well. All will be well.”

Text of a letter from James Emmerson Tree to Madelaine de Montalia.

Paris

March 8, 1927

Dear Madelaine;

I’ve found him—he’s in Berlin, in the Charlottenburg district. He’s rented a modernized eighteenth-century house (meaning it has electric lights and indoor plumbing), Number 45, Glänzend Strasse, just off Knobelsdorffstrdsse. He paid a year’s rent on the place when he hired it, and stocked it with very good antique furniture and a half-dozen servants. He has not yet held a major entertainment there, but he asked a few of the musicians from the opera to join him after a performance of
Die Tote Stadt,
and they have said that they were treated splendidly. I have a friend in Berlin, working for Reuters, who was able to dig most of this up. He’s Dutch; I met him in Amsterdam several years ago, and we’ve done each other a good turn now and again. I’ll send him word you’re coming, if you like, and you can take advantage of his expertise.

You wanted to know if Roger was with Saint-Germain. I understand that he is. He’s said to have a manservant of about fifty, sandy hair, blue eyes, lean. That sounds like the man you described to me. He attends to Saint-Germain’s personal care and runs confidential errands for him. He also serves as chauffeur now and again, but Saint-Germain often does his own driving. He’s bought himself a new Delage, and occasionally goes for long jaunts in the country around Berlin, sometimes with Roger, sometimes alone.

There’s something I think you should know: my contact there warned me that Hermann Göring has been having Saint-Germain followed. Göring is high up in the NSDAP—that’s the National Socialist German Workers Party. They’re very Right-wing, promote the idea that the Germans are some kind of super race and for that reason are entitled to rule the world. A couple years ago, Göring’s interest would be nothing more than the whim of a socially-prominent crackpot, but that’s not the case anymore, and Göring is a chancy man. He comes from an upper-class family, was something of a war hero, but because of injuries he received in the Great War, he became addicted to morphine. He’s been in a hospital in Sweden for the last couple of years, and they’ve been able to get him off morphine and onto codeine. They’re going to release him soon, and he’ll be back in Germany after that. He’s been running a number of investigations from the hospital, however, and one of them is on Ragoczy. He has decided that there is something dangerous about Saint-Germain, or Graf Ragoczy, as he refers to him. My contact knows that there have been at least three and maybe more men on the case, which means that they know most of what he’s been doing in Berlin. He gave them the slip for a while, and that caused a lot of flurry with the SA types. Those are the stormtroopers they’re training.

Madelaine, look, I know you feel you have to go there and do something or other for him. I’m not jealous of that. I wish you felt so strongly about me, but I’m not jealous of him. But I am worried about you. Germany isn’t a very safe place these days, and since you’re French, you’re the enemy to them. You know how Germany felt about the war settlements, and now that they’re in the League of Nations, they’re not being very polite about it. You could get into a lot of trouble if you aren’t very careful. I don’t want to see that happen to you. Let me contact my friend there, and deliver messages to him for you. I’ll make sure he understands how delicate the matter is, and you know that he’ll do a good job. You won’t have to get exposed to anything. You said yourself that they killed his adopted kid, and she was only something like fifteen. What makes you think they’d hesitate to take a shot at you? I can’t go with you; they won’t let me into the country. I’m worried for you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, and the way some of those extremists are behaving, it could.

If I didn’t love you, it wouldn’t matter that much to me that you’re undertaking a reckless venture like this, but I do love you, and when I think of you in that lion’s mouth, my breath stops. Promise me that if you can’t get to Saint-Germain, you’ll leave Germany as quickly as possible. Don’t linger there in the hope that something may come of your persistence. You’ll attract attention to yourself, and since the NSDAP and Göring himself are after Saint-Germain, you’ll be conspicuous to them, and they’ll make an attempt to find out what you’re up to. Those men are ruthless, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being around them. You mean too much to me, and it would hurt too much to lose you, especially to those men.