Web of Discord (12 page)

He smiled at her, and rather disconcertingly waited for her to make some kind of reply.

‘Look and listen? You mean—’

‘I mean you’re to do nothing on your own initiative. No detective work. Just look, make a mental note of all you see, and listen. Try to remember what people say. There will be guests there. Watch them, listen to them. Engage them in conversation, if you like. But no snooping, no eavesdropping, no loitering about in odd corners trying to catch conversations. I’m very insistent on that point. Is all that understood, Miss Drake?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘As soon as she makes contact with you, and if you agree to whatever she suggests, come and see me, and tell me what she said to you, so that I can take certain steps. Our friend in Coleman Street will be able to tell you where you can find me. When the time comes for the baroness to dispense with your services, say thank you, and come home.’

‘And report directly to you, sir?’

‘Yes, report directly to me, and tell me what you saw, and what you heard. There may be danger, and for that reason I will take certain measures to see that you come to no harm. In return, you must do as I tell you. No snooping, no taking foolish risks. For reasons that I must keep secret, this venture is one being undertaken by you and me alone. Other agencies will
not be informed. I’ll leave you now, missy. I’ve got a parade to inspect at Horse Guards. Goodbye. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

On the morning of Friday, 24 March, Vanessa Drake looked up from her work as Mr Edwards, one of the managers at Watts & Company, came into the firm’s sewing-room. He was
accompanied
by a very handsome middle-aged lady dressed in the height of fashion, a woman who spoke courteously enough, but with an air of restrained command.

‘Miss Drake,’ said the manager, ‘I have the honour of
introducing
you to Baroness Felssen, who wishes to speak to you. Baroness Felssen has seen specimens of your work, and tells me she is profoundly impressed by it.’

Vanessa had felt compelled to rise in the presence of a titled lady, but the baroness hastily put out a restraining hand. Her rather forbidding face was suddenly transformed by a bewitching smile.

‘Please don’t get up, my dear,’ she said, in perfect English, though with a slight foreign accent. ‘I like to see you there, subduing all that damask, and all those brilliants, to your will!’ She turned to the manager, and said, in a more distant tone, ‘That is all, I think, Mr Edwards. You may leave Miss Drake and me alone.’

The manager bowed, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Baroness Felssen sat down at the table, and subjected the girl to a silent but obvious appraisal, at the same time carefully removing her lilac gloves, and depositing them on the table. I hope you like what you see, Baroness, thought Vanessa. Meanwhile, a cat may look at a queen. This stately aristocrat is the kind of woman who’ll be all smiles as long as you do what she wants. It would, though, be dangerous to cross her. What gorgeous clothes she had! That olive-green suit looks as though it was cut in Paris. And that necklace – surely those diamonds are real? They made her glass brilliants look tawdry!

What a pity that Colonel Kershaw had told her nothing at all about this woman, apart from the thrilling suggestion that she
was dangerous. Her brief was simply to look, and listen. Perhaps she’d be able to do more than that, if the opportunity arose.

‘Well, Miss Drake,’ said the baroness, with a touch of
amusement
in her tone, ‘we’ve sized each other up, and no doubt you’ve drawn a few conclusions about me. No, I won’t ask you what they are, in case they’re not very complimentary. And I’ll not tell you my estimate of
you
, for similar reasons. Instead, I’ll get down to business.’

‘Business, madam?’

‘Yes. I must tell you that I live at a place called Stonewick, on the Northumberland coast, some miles south of Her Majesty’s Town of Berwick upon Tweed. My house is called Stonewick Hall, a fine, modern stone mansion built on the cliff top, with splendid views of the North Sea. I love that part of England – windswept, exhilarating, so different from this choking capital of yours!’

‘You speak of London as though it’s not
your
capital, too, madam.’

Vanessa’s visitor laughed. It was a pleasant, good-humoured sound.

‘That’s a very nice way, my dear, of asking me to tell you my antecedents! Well, I’ll interrupt my story for a while to tell you. My name is Baroness Felssen, and I am a Prussian noblewoman. My late husband was Keeper of the Armouries to the Emperor Friedrich, and I have a romantic, rambling estate in the eastern provinces of the German Empire. I have always loved England, and some years ago, after my husband’s death, I purchased Stonewick Hall. I spend much of the autumn and winter there, and it was in late February of this year that I visited Durham Cathedral for the first time—’

‘Ah!’

‘Yes, my dear, now you’ll see where my rambling tale is leading. I was shown over the cathedral by the dean, and in one of the many chapels there I saw a beautiful set of altar
furnishings
, rendered in costly cloth of gold, with scenes from the New Testament finely embroidered in many coloured silks, and
dotted with brilliants. I made enquiries, and found that the whole set was entirely your work.’

‘Oh, yes, madam, I was very proud of that commission. So was Mr Watts, I’m glad to say.’

‘And so he should be! Anyway, the dean, at my request, showed me the matching seasonal sets that you had made – the purple one, the glowing green, and the blazing red. And at once I said to myself, “Amalie, you must get this girl to refurbish Stonewick Chapel”.’

Baroness Felssen opened her reticule, and took a small
photograph
from it. She handed the picture to Vanessa, who noted the many costly rings on the baroness’s fingers. More diamonds. Really, on an Englishwoman they would seem vulgar, but not on this commanding Prussian aristocrat.

‘That’s Stonewick Chapel. It’s actually the private chapel of the house, but for many years it’s been used as a parish church. The previous owners of the house badly neglected the chapel, and I’m about to start a programme of restoration, with the assistance of Sir Giles Gilbert Scott. But I want you, Miss Drake, to recreate the set of frontals and other altar appointments, which will be my personal gift to the parish. Will you come up to Northumberland as my guest? Stay as long as you like. I’ve already spoken to Mr Watts, and he’s very willing to let you go.’

Vanessa was silent for a while, thoughtfully turning over some of the rich materials laid out on the wide cutting-table. Northumberland…. It would be an adventure, something to banish the fatal dullness that was beginning to overwhelm her. Why not go with this impressive woman, and live in a mansion at the edge of the sea, at her expense? It was what the colonel wanted her to do, and, who knows, something very interesting might come of it….

‘I hope that you’re not dissuaded by my being German, my dear,’ said Baroness Felssen, breaking in upon Vanessa’s thoughts. ‘I know that we are not popular here in England, just now, but one day, I hope, you will realize just how
misunderstood
we Prussians are. Come to Northumberland. I keep a full staff, and have one or two other guests staying with me, so
you’ll not lack for company.’

Vanessa had made up her mind before the older woman had begun speaking.

‘Of course I’ll come, Baroness Felssen,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to know the kind of style and material that you want—’

‘Of course, Miss Drake. We can discuss that later in the week. Or perhaps you can make your own choice, in consultation with Mr Watts? I want everything new, my dear. When you’re ready, come to see me at the Savoy. Then we can travel up to Northumberland together. It will be a fresh young face to lighten up the house, and a welcome change for you from all this grime and gloom!’

Later that afternoon, Vanessa Drake climbed the four worn steps up into the churchyard of St Edward’s, Coleman Street. The faded old man with the campaign medal, who was sweeping the path with an old-fashioned besom, stopped beside her, but still looked intently at the ground.

‘What do you want?’ he asked curtly.

‘I want to see him.’

The old man sighed, and shook his head. These girls! What did the colonel want to be bothered with them for? Security was men’s work. Well, it was none of his business. He leaned for a while on the handle of his besom, then treated Vanessa to an amused, toothless smile.

‘All right. East Lodge at the Crystal Palace. This afternoon, at three.’

The old man moved slowly away towards the church, and Vanessa Drake made her way thoughtfully down the steps into Coleman Street.

‘Hold quite still, Herr Bleibner. I’ve nearly finished.’

Sir David Blaine, an elegant man with a neatly trimmed beard, piercing grey eyes, and a tailor who knew how to flatter a middle-aged man’s figure, concentrated his eagle gaze through the hand-lens, observing the area of his patient’s left cheek, where it met the crease of the nose. He could see the tough, fish-like scales on the surface of the skin, but was interested to note that in this case the epidermis was not muddy brown, but of an almost leprous whiteness. Interesting! Here was yet another variant form of congenital hypertrophy.

‘Well, Herr Bleibner,’ he said, ‘I’m happy to tell you that it’s
not
leprosy. That was what you feared, wasn’t it? It’s a
condition
that we call ichthyosis, and it tends to be inherited. It’s unsightly, but it’s not contagious, and it can be treated to some extent. At present, though, there is no cure.’

He returned the lens to his travelling instrument case, sat back in his chair, and looked at his patient.

‘I suppose you were out in Africa?’ he asked. ‘That often gives sufferers from this complaint the fear that they’ve contracted leprosy.’

‘Yes, I was out in German East Africa for a year or two. I was a civil servant attached to the prison system. I came back home with this condition ripening, if that’s the word. I wasn’t worried
about the unsightliness. I’m not a vain man. But leprosy – well, you can imagine how I felt!’

Sir David stood up, and walked over to the drawing-room window. He looked out across the cheerful lawns towards the sea.

‘It’s a lovely morning, Herr Bleibner,’ he said. ‘Would you care for a stroll and a cigar before luncheon? The grounds are very well tended here, and I’ve never seen such a fine display of daffodils.’

‘Baroness Felssen is very fond of gardens,’ Bleibner replied. ‘She brings our Germanic thoroughness to the subject, you see! Regimented ranks and files of flowerbeds; thoroughly drilled lawns…. I’ve other friends who prefer something a little wilder! But come, by all means let us stroll in the grounds.’

Sir David Blaine admired Stonewick Hall. It was a splendid modern mansion with spacious, airy rooms, and marvellous views from its cliff-top situation across the North Sea. It was a healthy house, in one of the healthiest parts of Northumberland, and it had been very civil of Baroness Felssen to invite him to stay. He could have travelled down from Edinburgh for the day in order to examine Herr Bleibner, but he’d no intention of declining an offer to dine and sleep.

The house party had assembled over the weekend – himself, a charming young lady vestment maker from London, and Herr Bleibner. A local couple, Major and Mrs Hotchkiss, had stayed until Monday morning. It was now Tuesday, the twenty-eighth.

The two men left the drawing-room through a wide French window, and strolled along the front terrace of the house. There was an invigorating sea breeze blowing, and the sun shone brightly in the open Northumbrian sky. They had lit their cigars, which were drawing nicely. Sir David felt inclined to gossip with his rather taciturn patient.

‘Baroness Felssen strikes me as an intensely civilized lady,’ he ventured. ‘Until she invited me down here, I’d not had the
pleasure
of meeting her.’

‘The baroness, Sir David, is only one example of the noble and
soignée
ladies who do so much to heighten the tone of
German society. She is a renowned benefactor of deserving causes, a connoisseur of music, and a beautiful contralto singer. I sometimes think—’

The German stopped, evidently in some confusion.

‘Think what, Herr Bleibner? Out with it, man!’ Sir David Blaine was feeling very charitable towards his German patient. He was hoping that today’s luncheon would be as satisfying as yesterday’s. Decidedly, Baroness Felssen was an excellent hostess.

‘Come down this path between the beeches, Sir David,’ said Bleibner. ‘It leads to the family chapel, a most interesting bijou Gothic church. Our fellow-guest, Miss Drake, is working in there on the new altar furnishings.’

They turned off from the main drive and on to the path leading to the chapel.

‘What I was going to say, Sir David, was that I sometimes think that Britain’s being an island works against her. Oh, I know that she’s surrounded by a great moat, to keep us foreigners out – but, you know, insularity has its disadvantages.’

‘And what are they?’

‘Well, insularity prevents you from arriving at a true picture of the other countries and their inhabitants. I’ll be quite frank, Sir David. What do you really know about Germans? Only what you read in the papers. Only what some of your more hidebound politicians choose to let you know. But there are thousands of Baroness Felssens. There are thousands of
liberal-minded
, talented German men in high positions of authority, who are quite unknown in this country. The only German popular with Englishmen was murdered by fanatics in January. Insularity….’

‘You’re referring to the late Dr Otto Seligmann, aren’t you? He was blown to pieces by a factionalist’s bomb at his house in Chelsea. But everyone knows that his murder had nothing to do with the vast body of the German nation. I take your point about insularity, Herr Bleibner. And just recently, I’ve been thinking how responsibly Germany has behaved over these Russian outrages. The sinking of the
Berlin
Star
horrified
the whole country, but the Kaiser has made no move of revenge—’

‘The Kaiser is a man of peace! He is horrified at the thought of a coming European conflict. Russia, Sir David, is waking up from the sleep of centuries. It has cast its envious eye on your Indian Empire, it has threatened the integrity of Canada. We know that it is contemplating an armed incursion down the Baltic coast and into Eastern Germany – it’s all in the German papers! But then, you English can’t read German, so you cannot grasp the magnitude of the Russian menace, which threatens both our countries. But there, I have said enough. You are, no doubt, offended.’

For the last ten minutes they had been standing in the porch of the little chapel, the door of which stood open. Sir David Blaine wondered whether the young lady guest from London had heard their rather unusual conversation.

‘I’m not in the least offended, Mr Bleibner. In fact, I’m very interested in what you’re saying. I’m dining with our Member of Parliament next week. I think I’ll ask him what steps the government is going to take in order to check this Russian menace. Perhaps this country is showing too much hostility to Germany—’

‘It’s true. And we Germans are confused and bewildered. Surely, there are strong bonds of kinship between our two nations? Or, if you deny that, surely there are strong bonds of self-interest?’

Herr Bleibner lowered his voice, and glanced along the path, as though to make certain that there was no one who could possibly overhear what he was about to say. He still remained apparently rooted to the spot where he had stopped on their walk, immediately in front of the open door of Stonewick Chapel.

‘I have friends in Berlin, Sir David, who have entrée to the German Foreign Office. These friends very much fear that a monstrous Russian attack on an English coastal town is contemplated, prior to open invasion of Germany, in the region of the Brandenburg Marshes. A number of cable messages to
that effect have recently been intercepted by the Prussian State Telegraph Office.’

‘But that’s abominable, my dear Bleibner! Surely Her Majesty’s Government—’

‘The British Government, Sir David, will exercise its usual caution, fearful of offending the great British public by telling it unpalatable truths. Meanwhile, the Russian aggression grows unchecked. People die. Ships are sunk. Sovereign territories are threatened…. But what is that to us? Come, I have said too much. You and I are mere pawns in a great game. Let us change the subject. Isn’t that the luncheon gong being sounded? Let us go back to the house.’

In the quiet interior of the chapel, Vanessa Drake sat at a long trestle table set up near the altar. She had brought a rich
selection
of materials and embellishments from Watts & Company, and for the last three days she had worked on the replacement of the fading vestments and altar furnishings.

Her stay at Stonewick had been very pleasant. Her hostess had sparkled in conversation, and had shown great skill in drawing others out by sympathetic questions. The Scots surgeon, Sir David Blaine, had waxed lyrical about the various foul diseases that fascinated him, and it had been amusing for Vanessa to watch his unconvincing attempts at modesty.

The local couple – she had not been able to remember their name – had been decidedly down-to-earth and uncomplicated. Poor Mr Bleibner had been rather shy, because of his alarming complexion. He really did look like most people’s idea of a ghost. They had lunched and dined well, and spent the evenings in conversation and reminiscence. She, too, had fallen for Baroness Felssen’s charm, and had given the assembled company a little lecture on the arts of church embroidery.

Yes, everything had been natural and normal. But she
remembered
what Colonel Kershaw had said to her when she had visited him just before setting off for Northumberland. ‘They will strive to make everything seem quite ordinary and
harmless
, Miss Drake. Let me assure you that you are venturing into the lion’s den. If anyone there claims to be a friend, treat him
as you would a phial of deadly poison!’

And now, the ghostly-pale Herr Bleibner had revealed yet another dastardly Russian plot, bellowing it through the chapel door for her to hear, and carry back to Colonel Kershaw! Did that man think she was stupid and gullible, simply because she was so very young?

Sir David Blaine left for Edinburgh soon after luncheon. The afternoon was uneventful. Baroness Felssen came out with Vanessa to the chapel for a while, and was genuinely
appreciative
of the work that she had done. She sat in one of the pews, talking about her life in England.

‘One can never entirely leave one’s native country behind, my dear,’ she said. ‘That is why I have been so pleased to receive poor Herr Bleibner here when Sir David Blaine offered to look at his skin condition. Hans Bleibner trained as a surgeon in his youth, but abandoned that for a career in the German Colonial Service. He’s all but retired now, and lives on a modest
government
pension.’

‘Does he live here, Baroness? He seems very familiar with the house and grounds.’

‘Live here? Oh, no. He visits often, at my invitation, partly because he knew my late husband so well. They were both at Heidelberg. He’ll be returning to Germany next week.’

At dinner that night Herr Bleibner seemed more at ease. He spoke passionately of the treasures of German science, and the need for co-operation between England and Germany. The baroness agreed, and gently encouraged Vanessa to ask questions.

‘What do you think of these dreadful Russian threats, Herr Bleibner?’ she asked, hoping that her wide blue eyes conveyed a sufficiently convincing air of innocence.

‘My dear young lady, what am I to say? A poor old German’s no longer listened to in England! We’re the bogey-men, used to affright your children when they are naughty. Russia takes advantage of that groundless prejudice. Always, you English revert to 1870, nearly a quarter of a century ago, when there was a different Kaiser and another government. Why not go
back further than that, to Waterloo? Who was it who assisted Wellington to achieve his great victory over the tyrant Napoleon?’

‘Well,’ said Vanessa, glancing desperately around the room as though it would furnish a clue to the right answer, ‘I suppose he was helped by … by—’

‘By the Prussian Marshal Blücher, as you should have been told at school. Why are you not taught these things? Why—?’

‘My dear Herr Bleibner,’ said the baroness soothingly, ‘Miss Drake cannot be expected to know the answer to your
questions
. But I’m sure she’ll take your point, as I do. Britain must discover anew where her true friends lie. Together, Britain and Germany would be invincible.’

‘True, true,’ said Bleibner, nodding a vigorous agreement. ‘An alliance between England and Prussia, Miss Drake, would mean that the Russian threat would vanish overnight.’

‘And that,’ declared Baroness Felssen with a smile, ‘is enough of politics for one evening. Let us go into the music-room. It’s a beautiful moonlit night, and we shall leave the curtains open. At this time of year, the moon hangs over the North Sea like a great lantern, shining across the water.’

A fine Bechstein grand piano stood on a Chinese carpet in the wide bow window. Coffee had been set out on a long, low table, and for a while the three of them sat in armchairs facing the window. The grounds of the house were in darkness, but the sea beyond glimmered in the strong silver light of the moon.

After coffee, Baroness Felssen seated herself at the piano, and sang a number of rather sad but sweet German songs. The music was unfamiliar to Vanessa, but she enjoyed its pleasant harmonies, and was delighted at the baroness’s contralto voice. When Baroness Felssen stopped singing, Vanessa clapped
appreciatively
. Baroness Felssen smiled.

‘Those songs were by Robert Schumann, and were written for the soprano voice. I had to transpose them to a lower key, but I’m glad you liked them. Do you sing or play, Miss Drake?’

Vanessa bit her lip in vexation. She had never got the hang of the pianoforte, and her attempts at singing usually made people
wince. It wouldn’t be very ladylike to tell the baroness that she was quite good at whistling, but that tennis and cycling were more to her taste.

‘I’m afraid not, Baroness.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter, my dear. Your skills are in your fingers, and your cunning needle. That golden frontal you are working on is one of the finest things I’ve seen! Come now, Herr Bleibner. See! The moon is beckoning to you – she expects a tribute in sound. What will it be? Schumann’s
Mondnacht
?’