The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead (12 page)

“Fräulein?” The heavy–set Oberst stood over her.

“Kroll?”

“A good man has died for you today,” said the big man. “I suspect he will not be your last.”

Miss Georgina

In the morning, they dressed and saw to their ablutions. None of them suggested breakfast, and for that Georgina was glad, as the smell of death had gathered like dark clouds within the college. They trudged away through the snow down the road towards the distant village.

It was a long walk.

Georgina glanced from side to side, trying to catch sight of a dark blue coat, pleased to have not seen one, but on edge because they had discovered nothing about the fate of her sisters. There was only Earnestine’s flashlight. Georgina found herself touching it to make sure it was real.

The sun was squintingly bright.

By the time they reached the village, the snow was turning to slush in places and clear bright water trickled into rivulets.

“Quiet,” said McKendry.

Georgina caught up with the others and took in the picture postcard beauty of the alpine community. It was a like a painting, motionless and still. There was no smoke from any chimney, no–one stirring, the curtains were drawn everywhere and none tweaked to allow an occupant to spy on the four travellers.

“Perhaps they’re still in bed?” Georgina regretted speaking immediately; it was such a stupid, facetious thing to say.

“Merry, stay with…” Caruthers ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Best foot forward.”

Caruthers and McKendry set off, and when they were a good twenty yards in front, Merryweather and Georgina followed.

Caruthers and McKendry stopped to confer and then McKendry went to the left and Caruthers moved towards the inn. The tall man went up the wooden steps and reached the door. When he opened it, it came off its hinges and crashed to the ground. The clatter brought McKendry running.

Caruthers stepped inside and jerked back suddenly.

He took a handkerchief out and covered his mouth and nose before re–entering the dark interior. McKendry adjusted his scarf and followed. The inn seemed to be getting smaller before Georgina realised that Merryweather had put his hand under her elbow to guide her away. For a moment, she resented being treated like a child, but she was glad he was protecting her.

“M– Miss Georgina?”

“Yes.”

A few conflicting expressions seemed to register on Merryweather’s features in a fleeting manner, then he seemed inordinately interested in the distant mountain peaks.

Finally: “Tell me about your sisters.” He wanted to talk about something else, Georgina inferred, but what?

“The eldest is Earnestine. She’s tall, dark red hair,” Georgina began waving her gloved hand to indicate hair from her head to her shoulder. “She’s very intelligent and beautiful, statuesque. Very attractive.”

Merryweather raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m told, but she is.”

“And then?”

“There’s me and finally little Lottie. She’s blonde, very pretty, although she can be… well, you know what little girls can be like.”

“Not entirely,” Merryweather admitted: “And how do you fit into the Deering–Dolittle family?”

“I’m the middle one, neither one thing or the other, and a little dumpy.”

“I don’t think you’re d– d– dumpy.”

Georgina had to turn away such was the heat she felt in her burning face.

The two of them stood quietly for a long time. Georgina didn’t know what to say. This was all very strange. Was this… but it couldn’t be, because that sort of thing, whatever that sort of thing was, happened at dances or dinner parties when some friend of the family introduced you to some dependable chap who came from a good background. Georgina didn’t know anything about this ‘Merry’. There was so much that a young lady ought to be informed about: his school, for example.

Caruthers and McKendry returned and shook their heads to Merryweather’s questioning gaze.

“Perhaps we should…” Caruthers suggested indicating to one side.

“It can’t be worse than the school,” Georgina said.

Caruthers nodded: “It’s the same. They’re all dead. It looks like there was a fight, the inn has been barricaded in places, some gunfire, blood… I’m sorry.”

“Go on,” Georgina said.

“Blood stains and the like,” Caruthers finished. “The strange thing is that all the bodies have been piled up in the yard behind the tavern.”

“My sisters?”

“They’re all villagers, we’ve no doubt about that, but only the women. There aren’t any men.”

“It’s strange,” McKendry added.

“What do we do now?” Merryweather asked.

Georgina put her hand out and gripped the toggle of his duffle coat, wanting his support because she felt faint. He put his hand over hers, and she was confused for a moment until she realised that he’d taken off his glove to do so.

“We can’t inform the Bürgermeister if he isn’t here,” Caruthers said.

“There are tracks?” McKendry added.

“Where do they go?” Merryweather asked.

“A lot of tracks go north, the ground is really churned up, like an army passed through, but there are some tracks that go south: four people.”

“And?”

McKendry paused; Georgina could feel him looking at her: “Four, three men and a woman.”

“One of my sisters!”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t get our hopes up, but…” McKendry said.

“But?”

“They aren’t village shoes, they’re heeled like… yours.”

Everyone glanced down at Georgina’s dolly boots.

“What were your sisters’ names again?” Caruthers asked.

“Earnestine and Charlotte.”

He nodded, then led them all down into the village and out again following the tracks south. Georgina glanced over her shoulder, she couldn’t help herself, and saw the pretty town with the college visible in the distance framed by the majestic mountains. It was all so beautiful and she wondered if the whole world had been struck down by the horror here. Perhaps everywhere there were now piles of dead women and missing men.

Miss Charlotte

Charlotte had a lovely lie-in snuggled between Egyptian cotton sheets. When she woke, there was a bowl of water for washing, which was actually warm, and set of clothes had been put out for her. After a moment’s pique, when she realised that it wasn’t going to be an airship flying day full of uniform and trousers, she dressed. A maid, who either spoke no English or didn’t speak at all, helped her with her corset. Charlotte found some pearls that complemented the fine blue dress. The finished result made her look just as Earnestine and Georgina always tried to make her appear.

Finally, she was whisked along the corridors to another suite. Whereas her bedroom was lovingly furnished, these rooms were decidedly spartan. The maid did not come in with her.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Charlotte became aware of a presence. The figure in the shadows spoke in German, a cracked voice of old age, but nonetheless strong and certain.

“I’m sorry I don’t understand German,” said Charlotte.

“It is not necessary to understand our language, so long as you understand your duties,” the woman said, articulating each syllable carefully.

“And who might you be, may I ask?”

“I am the dowager Gräfin.”

Charlotte did a tiny curtsey. She wasn’t entirely sure of the etiquette. She was a Princess and the woman was only a Gräfin; however, it seemed wise to keep on the right side of this tall, imposing figure. She was aquiline in all her features, a sharp nose accentuated by fine, angled brows, and her hair was pulled back. Her words were clear, accented, and gave the impression that her tongue could become sharp at any moment.

“Do you know what a Griffin is?” she asked.

“It’s the same as a Countess, isn’t it?”

“Griffin, Griff–
in.”

“Sorry, a Griffin is a mythical being, half lion, half eagle.”

“Ja, the English lion and the German eagle combined into the one creature,” she said. “To conjoin these two empires, you and I are to be the allies.”

“Yes, Gräfin.”

“The eagle at the head.”

“Yes.”

“Duty is everything.”

“That is what I’ve been taught.”

“Duty to your rank, duty to your new country, duty to your elders and betters.”

“Yes, Gräfin.”

“Duty to me.”

Charlotte felt the Gräfin’s gaze. “Of course,” she said.

“I will die one day.”

“Surely not,” said Charlotte.

“Ach, I will… one day, and then all this will be yours.”

“The castle and the land?”

“Nein, that yes, but more, much more: the endeavour.”

The Gräfin came over to her and despite stepping back Charlotte was seized in a vice–like grip, almost lifted from the granite floor.

“The English Victoria reigns over an empire, but she is German, the puppet of the Saxe–Coburg. Through her their progeny have infected the royal houses of most of Europe. The Saxe–Coburg, where they lost in battle, they win in the boudoir.”

“The bedroom?”

“The battlefield of the feminine,” said the Gräfin, putting Charlotte back on her feet and flattening the creases with a flick of her fingers. “Women are limited by men. In the German lands even a woman of royal blood cannot inherit a throne. Queen Victoria was entitled to the throne of Hanover, but Salic Law prevents a woman from inheriting that title, so she had to make do with the British Empire.”

“The British Empire is quite big.”

“The men wish to fight wars, a great war is planned, one that will encompass the whole globe.”

“You’re talking about soldiers in uniforms.”

“Ja, but their plans mean nothing if a ruler cannot be found to occupy all the thrones of Europe. That is our task, the Great Plan.”

The Great Plan: it sounded jolly exciting and important to Charlotte. She smiled and tried to look attentive.

“It is my legacy to the world, to you,” the Gräfin continued. “We must marry and breed, and then marry our progeny to the advantage.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Royal houses marry royal houses, the seed is concentrated, the inheritances combined: soon, very soon, an heir to every throne of Europe will be born. If this king dies first, perhaps with a little push, and that marriage produces children of the right sex, and so on. If our King– Ach, Crown Prince lives a few more years and we can marry him wisely, then we – you, my little flower – will inherit Europe and whoever controls the thrones of Europe will control the world.”

She seemed mad: surely the British Empire, which already covered three quarters of the globe would simply and inexorably expand as more of the world was civilised by all those handsome officers in their smart, red uniforms, but, as the brave lads used their Lee–Enfield rifles against the savages, this cunning woman was subverting everything that was right and proper. Were those of royal blood simply pawns to be played with, Charlotte thought, and then she realised that she too was a piece in the game.

“It’s a game,” she said.

“Exactly!”

“And my part?”

“You will marry my nephew, Prince Pieter. He will be pleased you have grown to be pretty, you are a brat in the picture we have. With him, you will produce a son, then a daughter and then a son. They will marry, and marry well, and then your grandson will rule all. Think of it, a plan that has been enacted for thirty eight generations. Does it not give you a thrill to know that we are only two generations away from complete success?”

“Spiffing.”

“Your generation and your children’s. And then, when all the blood lines have intersected, you and I will sit at your son’s shoulder and direct his thinking.”

There seemed only one correct answer: “Yes, Gräfin.”

“Reports have reached us: your Prince comes here tonight.”

“Is he handsome?”

The Gräfin considered this novel question: “Ja, he is handsome, kind and intelligent, but more importantly, he has the right blood.”

“Does he wear a uniform?”

“Here everyone wears a uniform.”

“I don’t.”

“That dress is very becoming.”

“I like… you know, in their uniforms,” Charlotte said. “If he is as nice as your say, then I think I might like very much to be engaged.”

“That is good.” The Gräfin swept out, but just before she left, she added: “Although your like and dislike will have nothing to do with it.”

Chapter VII

Miss Deering-Dolittle

Prince Pieter flicked at his smart, although ostentatious, uniform to remove more non-existent fluff. It was the third time he had done so in the last two minutes at least.

“Yes?” Earnestine asked.

Pieter’s eyes looked very blue.

“Fräulein Earnestine.”

“Yes?”

“You will have to be my maid.”

“Maid?”

“If they discover you came from the school then… things may not go well.”

“I’m not a maid.”

“Those that cause offence tend to be thrown off the battlements.”

“How utterly barbaric.”

“And you’re too young to be a governess.”

“Nonsense.”

“I cannot have a governess who is younger than I am,” Pieter said, not unreasonably. “Beside no–one will question your presence as a maid.”

“I’m not being a domestic of any kind.”

“Look–”

The carriage rattled suddenly, throwing them from side to side. The noise of the wheels changed abruptly from hard stone to an echoing wooden noise, and metal jangling on either side. Through the windows, Earnestine saw heavy chains hanging loosely. Upwards, briefly, there was an imposing view of granite walls complete with jutting gargoyles before they were through the outer wall and into the castle itself. The chains juttered as they were cranked back and the heavy drawbridge hoicked upwards in jolts until it blotted out the bright daylight.

There was more mechanical activity before the carriage jerked forward and turned before stopping. Boys in uniform sprinted forward, one opened the door and two others quickly positioned a small set of steps. Pieter disembarked first, causing the boys to snap to attention. The Prince accepted their salutes and then held his hand out for Earnestine. She took his hand and descended into the circular courtyard that seemed very like the bottom of a well, such was the height of the surrounding walls.