The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (36 page)

Chapter 34

A
unt Marie and Mr Ayres now lived in a small but adequate guesthouse in La Glorieta’s ample grounds. Mr Ayres had arrived shortly before the wedding and had surprised everyone with the announcement that he would be staying indefinitely. Ayres and Partners had been left in capable hands, he’d added, and he had no plans to take back the reins in the foreseeable future.

Most days, Marie found time to paint, while Mr Ayres passed his hours in lively conversation with Don Miguel. The latter had mellowed somewhat, was less grumpy, and for the first time in years, he had taken an interest in life around him. When he insisted on dining together every night, Mr Ayres ensured that mealtimes became occasions for debate and energetic discussions on topics from art to politics. Don Miguel, in return, remarked to Ernesto that maybe life wasn’t too bad after all.

Marie and Marta fussed over Celia, who at times despaired at their persistent and unwanted attention. She was not allowed to tax herself in any way, thanks to her aunt Marie, who had informed everyone that Dr Sutton’s warning about the risks involved with another pregnancy were to be taken seriously.

“We must be very careful. It’s a miracle that she’s even carrying another child; she’s not strong,” she told the family on a daily basis.

As time went on, Celia herself admitted that she was suffering with an aching back and permanent tiredness, and she succumbed to the idea that, for a while anyway, her active life would have to be curtailed. She was not allowed to ride, travel to Valencia on the ladies’ shopping trips, and was even refused the pleasure of weekly picnics with her husband, yet she’d never been happier.

On 28 June, Mr Ayres returned from Valencia just in time for dinner, and after joining the rest of the family in the dining room, he imparted news that would change their lives forever.

“Have you heard?” he asked them with a slight tremor in his voice.

“Heard what?” Ernesto asked, placing his wine glass on the table.

“Oh dear, so you haven’t heard, then…”

“Simon, for goodness’ sake, tell us!” Marie interrupted in her usual fashion.

“I’ve just heard some extraordinary news. It would appear that Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife have been assassinated in Sarajevo!”

No one spoke. Expressions of shock and disbelief spread across the faces at the table, and gasps of outrage filled the air. Don Miguel, Ernesto, and Marie immediately wanted to know who had been responsible, but Mr Ayres told them that details of the murders were sketchy at best, and that he didn’t know any more at that point.

“Where is Sarajevo?” Marta asked, distracting Simon.

“It’s in Serbia, Mother,” Ernesto told her patiently.

“And where is Serbia, dear?”

“It’s in the Balkans, Marta,” Marie told her with less patience.

“But who would do such a terrible thing?” Celia asked.

“Well, in the absence of a suspect, I can only believe that it’s the Serbian government or an agent of the Serbs,” Ernesto told her.

“Nonsense!” Don Miguel said with indignation. “Why would they do such a despicable thing to Austria? Why, there’s no motive at all.”

“There’s always a motive, Father. Ever since the war between the Balkan League of Serbia, Greece, and Bulgaria against Turkey, we’ve heard nothing but reports of infighting within the league for the spoils of Turkish territories. Look at Hungry and Austria, who invested heavily in Serbia and then insisted that an independent Albanian state be formed and that Serbia be excluded from the Adriatic coast. Why, that alone almost caused a war, what with Russia threatening to join forces with Serbia against them. These last couple of years have been like a game of chess, with Serbia taking Macedonia, a territory earmarked for the Bulgarians, who were no match for the Serbian and Greek forces. Don’t you see what’s happened, Father? Serbia has become strong and powerful because of that Balkan war, and its victory for nationalism has been a disaster for the Hapsburg monarchy. It was clear last year that Hungary and Austria could not afford another retreat.”

“Yes, but I still don’t see…”

“Father, do you remember the words of the kaiser in nineteen twelve?”

Simon, “Yes. I seem to remember him saying something about not getting involved.

Ernesto nodded. “I’ll keep out of it. Let them get on with their war undisturbed. Well, after the war, he was the one who urged Austria and Hungary to take a firm stance against Serbia over Albanian independence. He assured them of Germany’s unswerving support after it was made clear that his country was having a major reconsideration of her military position and of her relationship with Austria and Hungary.”

“That’s right. The kaiser must have made some kind of deal, if you ask me,” Simon said.

“Would anyone like to eat?” Marta interjected. “The food is getting cold. All this talk about murders and assassinations… It’s all so far away. We have enough problems in our own country without worrying about some other place. Now eat!”

Ernesto nodded patiently to his mother before speaking again to Simon. “Do you remember that the nineteen twelve report clearly said that the kaiser was quoted—
quoted
, mind you—as saying that he would stand behind Austria and Hungary and would draw his sword?”

“Yes, I see where you’re going now,” Don Miguel said.

“My God, how awful. This is serious. The death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand has probably removed one of the strongest influences for peace at court,” Marie said with her head in her hands. “So what will happen now?”

“God only knows,” Ernesto said to the group.

That night, long after the ladies had retired, the men of the house argued their own beliefs as to not who had killed the archduke and his wife but what the repercussions of the murder would mean to the rest of Europe.

In the following weeks, there was talk of little else, and the growing suspicion that Serbia had been responsible for the double murder left Ernesto in little doubt that the rest of Europe must accept the consequences of a possible general war. The newspapers reporting on the responses of the other European heads of state were convinced that the death of the archduke had opened a gateway to destruction that would undoubtedly involve all the other European alliances, and Ernesto prepared his family for the inevitable announcement.

On 3 July, Ernesto’s fears were confirmed when Austria and Hungary sent an ultimatum to Serbia, reading as follows:
Her
government
was
required
to
suppress
any
and
all
anti-Austrian
organisations
and
propaganda,
and
they
must
dismiss
any
officials
to
whom
the
Vienna
government
might
object
to
. It was framed in such extreme terms that it was almost impossible for Serbia to accept, and Europe held its breath.

Within a week, Europe was at war after Serbia’s reaction was conciliatory but did not meet Austria and Hungary’s demands. While the men of the house debated over what the effects of the crisis would mean for Spain, the women sat in their salon, sewing feverishly and in silence, afraid to utter the terrifying words of war, which could mean the end of life as they knew it.

Marie was sure that Britain would not enter the conflict and said as much to the men one night at dinner. However, while she impressed Don Miguel with her argument for neutrality, Mr Ayres and Ernesto were both of the opinion that Britain would find it hard to remain outside the conflict with her allies, such as Belgium being invaded by Germany.

In the middle of July, the family left La Glorieta and travelled in convoy to the sea. Their summer house was situated on the shores of the Mediterranean, on the outskirts of a small fishing village called Dénia. The villa on the Dénia beach was not as large as the house at La Glorieta. It was intimate, with no separate salon for the men and women of the house. This secretly pleased Marie, who sometimes despaired at not being allowed to take part in discussions, which the men believed should be conducted out of earshot of the delicate ears of women. She tired of hearing ‘We mustn’t frighten the ladies’ and similar comments. But Marie was well aware of the politics and strategies of the European countries, and she had a lot to say about the whole thing. She would be damned if she’d let them keep her out of the conversation, she told Simon one evening.

Towards the end of July, John Stein and his family, Ernesto’s sisters, their children, and even their husbands joined them by the sea. Marta insisted on the whole family attending, with no excuses. This, according to her, was just in case Spain was thrown into chaos. On 3 August, Britain declared that she would stand by her treaty with Belgium and entered the war. John left for England, taking his family with him, and Marie finally gave way to tears.

Celia, still not sure why all this was happening, admired her husband’s intelligent arguments and was grateful that her aunt had not returned to England, but she had to admit that she felt happier when she was with the children and could at least forget about the whole thing, for a while anyway. She wrote in her journal:

4
August
1914

Life
has
remained
untouched
in
this
small
fishing
town.
Old
women
dressed
in
black
herd
their
brood
of
grandchildren
around
their
feet
and
sit
outside
their
white-walled
houses
on
chairs
made
from
straw.
They
seem
oblivious
of
the
events
taking
place
in
the
world,
and
I
can
understand
why,
for
the
fear,
uncertainty,
and
even
the
spiral
of
madness
in
the
rest
of
Europe
has
so
far
left
them
untouched.
Death
and
destruction
is
nowhere
in
sight
in
this
sleepy
haven.
The
hysteria
at
the
villa,
however,
has
left
me
thinking
constantly
about
this
distant
and
invisible
war
raging,
and
I
pray
that
it
never
reaches
these
shores.

Most
mornings
we
take
the
short
walk
to
the
village.
Its
residential
area,
called
El
Raset,
is
centred
round
an
impressive
castle
and
nestles
at
the
water’s
edge.
The
harbour,
crowded
with
fishing
boats,
is
a
hive
of
activity
throughout
the
day,
for
when
the
boats
are
not
at
sea,
scores
of
men
converge
to
participate
in
the
tedious
tasks
that
keep
the
fleet
afloat.
The
reparations
of
nets,
boat
hulls,
and
sails
are
never
ending.
Rocks
used
to
build
walls,
halting
the
sea
from
swallowing
the
village,
are
dug
out
from
the
white
granite
mountains
nearby
and
arrive
in
a
never-ending
stream
on
carts
pulled
by
skinny,
exhausted
donkeys
and
mules.