A Scandalous Adventure (12 page)

Max looked down at him, unsmiling, and neither of them moved. Finally he lifted the blade and thrust it into the scabbard. The three women stood around him, watching with more interest than fear. What did it take to frighten them, he wondered. He hoped he never found out.

The general started to speak, then glanced at Lady Augusta and changed his mind. He turned to Max. “We will need to question him elsewhere. Staufer, have you more men available?”

At least Bergen had that much concern for the women. Max nodded and asked Josef, “Where are the others?”

“Bedded down in the stable loft,” the old man said. “They didn't want to leave the horses unattended.”

Max nodded. “Good. Can you get this one there by yourself? I'll meet you there shortly.”

Josef waved a sort of salute and dragged the prisoner to the staircase behind the paneling.

They could hear the thumps as he bounced down the steps. Olivia winced, but Lady Augusta was examining the dagger. “I do not find myself troubled with much sympathy for the fellow,” she said.

Susannah, meanwhile, picked up the bottle of chloroform and ether and tucked it into a drawer. One never knew when such an item might prove useful.

London

Lady Penworth looked up from supervising the packing and regarded the itinerary with horror. “We have to change trains
how
many times?”

“Six in all,” said her husband. “And I believe we will need to stay overnight at least twice, in Metz and in Stuttgart.”

“That is preposterous. It will take us three days to get there? When Lady Woodhouse's son went to join the embassy in Berlin, he was there the next day.” She scowled at the offending pile of papers. “And we need all those documents?”

Lord Penworth regarded his wife sympathetically. “I know you are worried about Susannah, but I'm afraid Nymburg is not the most accessible city on the Continent. All those little German states mean there are numerous borders to cross, and each one has its own rail system that doesn't always coordinate its schedules with others.”

“They are all utterly ridiculous,” she snapped. “It almost makes me sympathize with Herr Bismarck's ambitions to unify the whole thing.”

In an effort to be soothing, her husband said, “It's still faster than when we went to Rome and had to make almost the entire journey by carriage.”

“But that was ten years ago, and I was ten years younger!”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Tell me why Augusta decided she had to go to Baden rather than Vichy, for example. No, never mind. It's fashionable now, and she wanted a bit of excitement. But a spa should not be dangerous or even exciting. If she has led the girls into danger…”

Lady Penworth stopped and stiffened her shoulders. “Enough of that.” Turning to the maid who was continuing to pack, she said, “Put together a small valise for me to take on the train—the trains, that is. Lord Penworth and I will be traveling as quickly as possible. You will have to follow with the trunks.”

“Your Highness…Sire…I do not think… Are you sure this is a good idea?” Olivia felt even more flustered than she sounded. She watched the prince stride back and forth in his study, a pleased look on his face.

The problem was that it had been her idea in the first place. It had seemed like a clever notion when she was waltzing with the prince and, it must be admitted, after she had drunk several glasses of champagne. Just how many she could not recall.

Now she was afraid that the plan was not just foolish but dangerous. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to stop him. She was not good at stopping people. People always stopped her when she got carried away, but the prince hadn't done that. He had listened to her.

Where was Susannah? She would know what to do. Olivia looked at the door, but no one magically appeared. She looked back at Conrad. “Have you discussed this with anyone?”

He frowned. “With my uncle, Count Herzlos, you mean? Certainly not. He would attempt to forbid it, even though he is no longer the regent. He would talk of nothing but the danger.”

“Are you certain he would be wrong?” Olivia had begun to think of Sigmaringen as a very dangerous place indeed. Villains literally coming out of the woodwork did not inspire a feeling of security.

The prince shook his head dismissively. “My uncle sees danger everywhere. Fifteen years ago, when my parents were killed by the revolutionaries and there were riots everywhere—yes, there was danger then. But now? There have been no reports of unrest.”

“No reports, perhaps.” Olivia pounced on that. “But there might be dangers you do not know of.” There were indeed dangers he did not know of. Should she tell him? But that would put Captain Staufer and the general in a dreadful position. Perhaps it would even put the real princess in more danger. She had no idea what to do.

“That is precisely the point—I do not know. You were the one who said that a prince ought to know what his people think, what they want, what they need.”

“But I only meant that perhaps you should hear from their representatives.” Why on earth had he paid attention to what she said? No one paid attention to what she said. She often didn't pay attention to it herself.

With a sigh and a sad smile, he took her hands. “Ah, Mila, no one tells the truth to the prince. You must have learned that at your father's court.”

Olivia had a moment of confusion. She did wish the prince would stop calling her Mila. Everyone else called her Princess or Highness, which made it much easier to remember that this was a masquerade, that she was just playing a part. Calling her Mila made it all seem too personal. And why did he have to talk about people not telling him the truth? “But, Sire…”

“Conrad. You must call me Conrad. No one else does, not since I was a child. It is as if I no longer have a name. I am not a person, I am only a title. But at least when we are in private, my princess will be able to call me by my name. You have no idea how I long to have someone call me Conrad once more.” He took her hands and pulled her toward him.

Much too personal. But he smiled so sweetly that she was sorely tempted. She started to return his smile and let herself be drawn closer, but then she remembered herself and pulled back. “There must be people you can ask, people you trust.”
Not people like me. You must not trust me.

He shook his head. “My advisors are all my uncle's men. They tell me what he thinks I should hear. But if I am to do my duty by my people, I must know them. So I thought about what you said, and then I remembered Haroun Al-Rashid.”

“What is that?”

“Not what. Who. Haroun Al-Rashid.”

She sighed. “
Who
is that?”

“Do you not know the story? He was an ancient prince off in the East somewhere. He used to disguise himself and wander around the city to hear what his people were saying.”

“You are going to wander around Nymburg in disguise because of a
story
?
A fairy tale
?” Olivia could not believe her ears. He was a prince, for goodness' sake. How could he be such a noddy? Yes, he needed to know what his people were thinking, but a prince could not go around in masquerade. A twinge of guilt pierced her. That was precisely what she was doing. But she wasn't a princess. She was just trying to help one.

He smiled again, that sweet smile. Why did he have to be so sweet? “You are very good, you know, and you are right to remind me. It is my duty that should concern me. And I cannot do my duty if I do not know my people.” Growing serious, he reached out and touched her cheek, sliding his fingers gently across. “You are good for me, my princess.”

Olivia turned away, a flush of embarrassment flooding her face. “You must not speak to me so,” she said.

“Why not? Shall I call you my bride?” He smiled again. “You will be so soon enough…”

* * *

The door to the study opened and Max led Lady Susannah in, both of them looking a bit distracted. Olivia turned to them, half alarmed and half questioning, but Max shook his head a fraction. The intruder had not provided any helpful information. At least not yet. They still had no idea where the princess was being held.

“Ah, there you are Staufer. Good,” Conrad said. “I want you and Lady Susannah to accompany us.”

“Of course, Sire,” said Max automatically. Then he paused. “Er, accompany you where?”

“This was really Princess Mila's suggestion.” The prince took Olivia's hand and smiled at her. “I wasn't sure how to go about it, but then I thought of a way.”

Max and Lady Susannah stood there, waiting for an explanation, while Olivia looked down at the hand clasping hers.

“We are going to go for a walk through the marketplace down in the town.”

Max waited, but Conrad was smiling as if that was all the explanation anyone could need. It wasn't. “Do you wish to go in procession, Sire?”

“No, no. We will go in disguise.”

“In disguise?” Max was confused. What on earth was the prince thinking?

“Yes, in disguise. We shall look like ordinary peasants.” Conrad sounded perfectly assured.

“But…but why?”

“Princess Mila has pointed out to me that I do not really know what my people think because all I ever hear are reports from officials who are more concerned with their own positions than anything else. Today is a market day. There will be people from the countryside as well as the town, and I can hear for myself what they have to say.”

The prince was breaking out of the cocoon Count Herzlos had wrapped around him. This was what Max had been hoping for. It had been bound to happen sooner or later, but now? Now, when danger was all around, when they had no idea where Hugo might strike next? Why did Conrad have to choose this moment to assert himself? He looked down at Lady Susannah, who seemed equally appalled.

She sent a quick glare in Olivia's direction, the likely origin of this notion, but Olivia shook her head helplessly. With a sigh, Lady Susannah turned politely to the prince. “But Your Highness, how can you possibly disguise yourself? Surely people will recognize you.”

“No, they will not.” He looked delighted with himself as he picked up a green hooded cloak of boiled wool, like the ones half the population of Sigmaringen wore. “No one will recognize any of us. We will wear these cloaks, and people will think we are just some of the peasants come to town for the weekly market.”

The others looked at him, then at each other. There were so many problems with this that Max did not know where to start. He threw a helpless glance at Lady Susannah. She gave him a tiny nod before she spoke to the prince. “Boots. Look at your boots. No one would believe a peasant has boots like that.”

Conrad looked at his boots. Their black leather, polished to a mirror shine, covered him from toe to knee. Not a scar, not a scuff, not a fingerprint marred their gleaming surface. He frowned slightly. “Perhaps I should wear my hunting boots.”

“Sire,” said Max gently, “you do not own anything that a peasant might wear. Not a shoe, not a shirt, not a glove.”

“And you do not stand or walk or sound like a peasant,” put in Lady Susannah.

Conrad drew himself up, offended. “I can speak Schwäbisch,” he said, switching to that dialect. “Tell them, Staufer.”

“Yes, but you speak the Schwäbisch of an educated man, not the Schwäbisch of a peasant,” replied Staufer in the same dialect.

Conrad scowled and paced over to the window to stare down into the courtyard. The wind played with the spray from the central fountain, blowing it first one way and then another. Servants and officials hurrying on one errand or another gave it a wide berth. One fellow, a clerk by the look of him, was caught unaware and cuffed a boy who was foolish enough to laugh.

The prince turned, smiling again. “There is no need for us to be peasants. People from the castle frequently go down to the town. And the market will be full of townspeople as well. We will wear the capes and mingle.”

“But Sire,” Max protested, “people know you. They know what you look like.”

“People see me standing on a balcony or riding in the state carriage. No one would ever expect to see me on foot in the marketplace, so they will not recognize me. At worst, they will say that I look like the prince.”

Max wanted to protest, but he couldn't deny that the prince was right. People saw what they expected to see, and no one would expect to see Prince Conrad walking around the city in ordinary clothes.

Perhaps that would be enough to keep him safe.

All their arguments proved futile. Lady Susannah tried to send an appeal to Lady Augusta, but she had disappeared again, off for a carriage ride with the general. So the four of them found themselves riding down the road from the castle in an ancient barouche driven by Josef. He had found the dusty vehicle in a distant corner of the royal carriage house, and a pair of nondescript horses to pull it. The hood over the rear seats sufficed to hide both the prince and Lady Olivia.

Once down in the town, Josef stood, stiff with disapproval, at the door of the inn's stable where the prince and Staufer were divesting themselves of uniform tunics while Susannah and Olivia replaced their hats with bonnets, the old-fashioned kind with deep, concealing brims. All four stepped out into the sunshine of the inn courtyard wrapped in green cloaks.

The prince looked around happily and clapped a broad-brimmed hat on his head. One side was pinned up rakishly with a feathered brooch. He had the air of a schoolboy on holiday.

Josef, his eyes darting about the courtyard, muttered to Staufer, “No one seems to have taken any notice.” The captain nodded an unsmiling acknowledgment.

“I think we should speak only proper German,” said Conrad. “If people think we do not understand them, they will speak more freely to each other.” With a gallant gesture, he held an arm out for Olivia.

Max grimaced and took hold of Susannah to follow.

They strolled among the stalls and carts to not much effect. There was an awkward moment when Conrad sought to present a bunch of violets to Olivia and realized that he had no coin to pay for them. Fortunately Max, not being a prince, was accustomed to carrying money and tossed a few groschen to the flower girl. He also bought some violets for Susannah to hold under her nose. Market day was full of odors, and they were about to pass a butcher's stall.

After an hour or so, they paused at a shop where a pretty girl was standing at the window, directing her sister in arranging the display of laces. “Well?” asked Max softly.

Conrad grimaced, but spoke equally softly. “There is not much to hear, is there? People seem to worry more about how bad the winter will be than they do about the prince.”

“That is probably as it should be. People have their own lives to worry about.”

A young boy dashed up and called into the shop, “Black Star soldiers are coming!”

An older man hurried out. “Have they been drinking?” When the boy nodded, he shooed the girl into the shop. “Anna, Josie, into the back, quickly.” He looked at the party from the castle and spoke in hesitating German. “Good sirs, the ladies might perhaps want to join my daughters inside?”

“Because soldiers are coming?” Conrad looked startled.

“
Drunken
soldiers,” said the shopkeeper, watching the square nervously.

Max swore under his breath and started to usher Susannah and Olivia into the shop.

Before they could move, a trio of officers—a lieutenant and two cornets, all wearing red tunics with black stars on the shoulders—swaggered into the square just as a young woman stepped out of a shop. She was looking over her shoulder, laughing and saying something to the young man following her, and stepped right in front of the lieutenant leading the group.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” The lieutenant swung an arm around her to pull her against him. “What a pretty little piece it is. Ah, we shall have a pleasant time of it today after all, won't we, cornets?”

The girl gave a shriek of fright and tried to push free. The young man behind her rushed forward and tried to pull the lieutenant away from her, but the lieutenant shook him off with sneer. When the young man threw himself at the lieutenant once more, shouting in Schwäbisch, one of the cornets held him back and tried to hush him.

“You are insolent,” snapped the lieutenant. Turning to the remaining cornet, he pushed the girl to him. “Hold on to her while I teach this clod a lesson.”

The young cornet took her arm but looked worried. “Lieutenant Gruber, this is not right. She is not a whore.”

“She's a peasant. They are all whores. This fellow can have her back when I am finished, and should be grateful for what I'll teach her.”

The cornet who had pulled the young man away was having difficulty holding him and did not look happy with the situation either. The young man was struggling and shouting almost incoherently. The cornet glanced around. No one was interfering, but the faces watching from doorways looked far from friendly. “Lieutenant, we are attracting too much attention. Let's just go on to the tavern.”

“No,” Gruber snapped. “He laid hands on an officer. He needs to be taught a lesson. Now let him go.”

Gruber took up the stance of a boxer and got in several hard blows when the young man flew at him, sending him sprawling on the ground. The lieutenant laughed as his opponent looked up warily from the ground. “Had enough, peasant?”

But the young man did not seem ready to surrender. He rose to his feet cautiously, keeping his eyes on Gruber. The lieutenant relaxed too soon. The young man tackled him, landing them both on the ground with Gruber on the bottom, and he set in to pummel the lieutenant.

By the time the cornets pulled the young man off, Gruber had a bloody nose, a loose tooth, and was shaking with fury. While the cornets waited nervously, he stood up and brushed himself off, too angry to speak at first.

Finally he burst out, “You have attacked an officer of the Sigmaringen army. You will hang for this.”

“Lieutenant,” one of his friends protested, but Gruber turned on him.

“Did he not strike me?”

“Yes, but the girl…”

They looked around, but the girl had disappeared.

“Bring him to the prison.” Gruber marched off, and the others followed, perhaps unhappy but unwilling to disobey.

* * *

The girl had not gone far. Looking for help, she ran straight to Max, by far the largest man around, and began babbling a plea for assistance. At least that was what Susannah thought she was saying—she couldn't entirely understand the dialect. That had been sensible of her. Susannah couldn't suppress a small smile of pride. Any girl in her right mind would run to Max for help, immediately recognizing that he would give it.

Max made reassuring noises, patted the girl on the back, and handed her to Susannah. He then tossed back his cloak and, with a grin on his face, started to head toward Lieutenant Gruber.

“No.” The prince held up a hand.

“No?” Max stumbled and turned to look at the prince. “
No?
” he repeated in outrage.

“You can't mean that, Sire,” protested Susannah.

Even Olivia made a protesting sound.

But the prince frowned them into silence.

When Gruber began to lead his party to the prison, the prince nodded to himself and told Max to follow him, leaving the women behind.

Susannah snatched hold of Max's sleeve. “What's going on? He can't mean to let Lieutenant Gruber take that poor young man to prison.”

“I don't know.” Max looked furious. “But do not worry. All will be well. I will make it so.” He pressed her hand. “You will take care of the girl?”

“Of course.”

“Yes. That's my Suse.” He smiled and bent down to give her a quick, fierce kiss before he hurried after the prince.

She believed him—he would make it well—though she was appalled by Conrad's behavior.
This
was the prince they had all been trying to protect? This coward? He could at least have allowed Max to take care of the beastly Gruber and not just run away. Now she was left here in the shop with the peasant girl sobbing on her shoulder and Olivia looking stricken. What was she supposed to do? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would have to do what she always did—keep the others safe and make sure they did not do anything too foolish.