Muffled Drum (10 page)

There was no way to know now, and Frau von Ratzlaff was unlikely to elucidate on the mysterious methods of Rudolph’s twisted, complicated life.

As he swung down from Danzig’s back, a uniformed man strode around from the stable side of the house and took the reins from him.

“Is Frau von Ratzlaff at home?” he asked the man.

The servant did not reply but merely nodded at the steps to the house, where an imposing butler stood, before leading Danzig away. Summoning his courage, Mathias trotted up the steps and asked the same question of the butler and gave the man his name.

“I shall ascertain, sir,” the man said, as a footman divested Mathias of his outdoor clothing. “If you would like to follow me?”

He led the way into a high-ceilinged entrance, almost startlingly pale, with statuary and a white marbled floor. Plants stood around the edge, softening the usual wooded look, and light from a glass dome in the roof poured sunshine into the hall where Mathias stood.

“I will be but a moment,” he said, leaving Mathias to his own devices.

He was true to his word, which surprised Mathias greatly. He returned in a very few minutes and led Mathias across the hallway to huge white doors, which opened at a touch into a sun-filled room where a dark-haired woman sat near large bow windows.

“Herr Hofmann,” she said with a small inclination of her head. She did not rise but merely offered her hand, which Mathias bent over, giving her the proper respect. Her voice was beautifully modulated and, in keeping with her poise, she wore an elegant coiffure that would not disgrace any Berlin ballroom, although Mathias knew she lived almost entirely in the country.

Rudolph had said living in Grunewald was her own choice, but what did Mathias know now? For all he knew, Rudolph might have forbidden her to leave the
schloss.
He might have five wives and twenty lovers.

“How may I help you?” She sat and gestured to a delicate little couch, which Mathias hoped was sturdier than it looked, but he seated himself as gently as possible. “I assume that you are the Oberleutnant Hofmann my husband has told me so much about.”

If she’d said she assumed he was a hippopotamus, Mathias could hardly have been more astonished. “Thank you, yes. It’s good of you to see me with no notice, no introduction. I had the honor to serve beside your husband in the Fifth.” As soon as he’d finished the sentence he realized he’d said the wrong thing, for her face drained of color and the welcoming expression left her face.

“You mean…”

Mathias bowed his head in his confusion. “Forgive me, Frau von Ratzlaff. No! He’s well. Alive and well. Did he not write?”

“Yes, yes, he did. But when…” She smiled and took a breath. “Let’s begin again.”

“He told you then, of his injury.”

“He did, but only briefly. That he’s lost some of his memories, and that was the reason he’d been demobilized and sent back to Berlin. I realized that if he’d written to me, he must know me, and he sent his love to the children, which was in itself a reassurance, but…”

She looked like a Dresden shepherdess, with skin too pale and a face full of such fear it seemed she might faint away.

Mathias rushed to soothe her. “Truly, he’s as well as can be expected. And I came here to fill in some of the details I knew you wouldn’t have.”

“How kind of you,” she said.

Mathias felt himself coloring, a reaction women often elicited from him. He took a deep breath. “As far as the field medic could tell, he’s only lost the memories of the last two years of his life. You may know my name, and he may have told you much about me, but I’m afraid he has no memory of me other than our more recent acquaintance. But he allowed me to accompany him from Gitschin.”

Frau von Ratzlaff nodded. “He said you were going to. But he didn’t explain that he didn’t know you. That must be difficult for you, and I’m sorry.”

Mathias gave a nod, feeling hugely guilty. Her words seemed entirely heartfelt, so he took from this that the woman had no suspicion of the true nature of Rudolph’s sexual entanglements. It seemed surprising that even out here, where she would entertain some of the Prussian elite, no whisper of Rudolph’s relationship with Ernst had reached her. Or perhaps she was simply able to rise above that and live a separate life. Or perhaps she didn’t care that much for Rudolph, although from her reaction that he might have died, Mathias would have wagered a month’s salary that was not so.

“The reason I came—” he started.

“Does Rudolph know you’re here?”

“No. I was thinking about telling him, but he would have insisted on coming with me. I came because, until you hear from the Berlin doctor, I wanted to pass on what the field medic told me. He said that Rudolph—Rittmeister von Ratzlaff—”

“Please. You’ve known him a long time, I’m sure his first name is suitable between us.”

“He said that Rudolph may not remember what he’d been told long enough to pass it on.”

“Oh.” She looked more concerned. “Does he then have trouble remembering recent events?”

“He seems to. I can tell him something one day which is forgotten the next, but then perhaps he’ll remember it on the third—luckily he has no knowledge that he loses information. The medic admitted that although he’s seen this amnesia before, he’s no expert. I promised him and myself that I would do this—come here. Out of respect for our past friendship, even if now it is lost.”

“It may not be, Herr Hofmann,” she said with a small smile. “I suspect you may be an easy man to like.” She rang a bell on the table beside her. Almost immediately, a footman wearing green-and-gold livery entered and placed tea and cakes next to both of them.

Mathias told her everything else he could remember that the doctor had told him, stressing several times that the memories could come back at any time. “The Berlin doctor will, I’m sure, have more experience. And I believe Rudolph was planning to see more than one.”

“Two years,” she said. “And he was here, not three months since. He’ll remember the children only as toddlers, and children that young had little interest for him. He won’t recall that he bought Theodore a pony, and that he’s so looking forward to his father coming home.”

Mathias gritted his teeth, unable to find anything to say. It had been a terrible mistake coming here, for to know this woman was an honor, and to have her look so kindly on him when he’d done the things with Rudolph that he had—knowing all the time that Rudolph had been married and not caring, putting it out of his mind—was torturing him. If she’d been cold, knowing or guessing of his relationship with her husband, had refused him entry to the house, that would have been more bearable. But not this gentle good breeding and kindness.

“I must go,” he said. “I have taken enough of your time. It was kind of you to see me.”

“What are you planning to do now, Herr Hofmann?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said, being honest.

“You are not in uniform.”

“No.” He tried to think of an excuse and found none.

“Let us say that you resigned your commission to accompany Rudolph home,” she said, and her look made him go cold inside, then her smile, warm as sunshine, was directed at him again. “That much is obvious. He may not remember you, but he will again, I’m sure of it. Just as he will remember us, and the years he’s lost. Don’t leave him.”

She offered him her hand. Mathias had to bite the inside of his cheek to stay in the room, for he felt like a startled colt, ready to run at the first sign of danger. “That’s odd,” he said. “That’s what my batman said. He told me to stay close and look after him.”

“Then I’m not the only one to think it.”

Mathias took her hand and bent over it with a respectful bow.

“He’s had some friends—or he did, some years ago—who were not as true to him as you’ve been. I wouldn’t like to see him again targeted by those people. Berlin can be very ruthless.” She rang the bell again, and the butler appeared in the opened doors. She smiled once more at Mathias, but this time she allowed the smallest of sadnesses to creep over her face. “Goodbye, Herr Hofmann, I hope we meet again, I really do.”

Mathias gave her his smartest of bows and turned to leave, feeling as if Danzig had trampled him into the dust on the road.

His horse was not awaiting him, so he walked around to the back of the house and made his way across the courtyard to the stable blocks. The stables were sumptuous, a quadrangle of covered stalls with an exercise yard within. Mathias still could see no sign of his horse, so he leaned against a rail on the edge of the exercise area where a beautiful animal was being lunged in a graceful circle. She was a pale gray mare, her coat the color of fresh milk and with a mane and tail that had clearly never been trimmed, which sailed out behind her as she cantered around her handler.

Watching her slender, straight legs and classical lines, Mathias could tell she was something rather special. He wasn’t surprised. Rudolph was passionate not only about the quality of his horses, but also about their temperament. His warhorses were notoriously difficult rides, it was true, but only in terms of spirit and enthusiasm. They weren’t the vicious brutes you saw many other officers ride. A warhorse had to be violent, but only when it counted—on the battlefield. You had to be able to rely on your horse to do everything it could do—bite, kick, buck—all to keep another horse and its rider at a distance. Rudolph made sure that, when in a stable—in situations when the animals might be tended by lads no older than twelve—his animals were gentle.

This creamy creature was obviously a woman’s horse. She was too small for Rudolph, and too large for his children. This was confirmed by the handler himself after he handed the mare to a stable boy and walked across to join Mathias.

“She’s very beautiful.” Mathias smiled in greeting.

They watched the mare pick her way across the yard, her tail swishing at the flies. She nudged the stable boy affectionately, which made the boy laugh and reach up to pull at her ears.

“That she is,” the hostler said. “And it’s a crying shame the nearest thing to exercise she gets these days is cantering in this yard.”

“She’s Frau von Ratzlaff’s horse? And she doesn’t ride her? It does seem a pity.”

“No. Not been well enough to do so for a good while.” All of a sudden the hostler seemed to realize he was speaking to a stranger and became more businesslike and less confiding. “Well, I’m going to put her to foal next month, if I can persuade the mistress. But she won’t have anyone for the mare except that great brute of the master’s. Pity. Your stallion would suit her just as well. Not the size of Blücher, and with prettier manners by the look of him.”

Mathias gave a short laugh. “Yes, Blücher’s a handful, all right. But he’s got the right master in Rudolph.”

“Oh, you know the master? Bred that beast himself.” The hostler spat onto the grass. “Beautiful bloodline, I’ll say that.” He started walking back toward the stables, and as he went he discussed the merits of Blücher’s bloodline and the family tree of the horse, which went back at least, to Mathias’s guess, about a hundred years.

As Mathias swung into Danzig’s saddle, the hostler said, “You might mention to the master about Blücher siring the foal, if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

Mathias nodded and rode away, wishing he’d got the man’s name. There was no getting away with not returning to Berlin now. He had two obligations—three if he counted his own hopes and desires.

Back at his hotel in Berlin, he found a message from Rudolph inviting him for dinner
on whatever night you return, just send a note.
He was a little taken aback to receive it. After that blasted catamite’s attention to Rudolph on the night of the ball, and the length of time Rudolph had been separated from his…companion, Mathias wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d not heard from Rudolph for quite some time. He’d been quite sure that Rudolph would have spent an entire week in bed with the little tart.

As much as he didn’t want to meet Ernst again—ever—he did want to see Rudolph, and he was in no doubt what Frau von Ratzlaff had meant by unsuitable connections. She meant Ernst, as clear as glass. Mathias very much doubted he’d have any luck severing that association. He knew a limpet when he saw one.

Thinking about Rudolph in bed with the limpet had rather tipped Rudolph off the proverbial pedestal. What he had to decide now was whether, after Rudolph had been playing him false all this time, he wanted to fight for him or cut his losses and leave it all behind him.

Mathias had been missing for several days. After Dr. Ludeke’s sedative—
mild sedative, my arse
—Rudolph had slept through the night and into the afternoon, and had awoken to be informed that Mathias had indeed followed through on his promise and taken his horses away. Lying there, with the inside of his mouth tasting worse than any morning-after hangover, Ludeke’s words came back to him.
How can you be sure you and this man haven’t been lovers?

Rudolph lay still, closed his eyes and did exactly what everyone had been telling him not to do—tried to bring back what was missing. He concentrated on Mathias: his hair, his lips, his hands. Anything that might trigger those flashes of what Ludeke said might be memory, but might be imagination. After an hour, he’d discovered nothing, could remember nothing other than what he’d imagined when in bed with Ernst, and had achieved precisely nothing other than to reactivate his damned headache.

When Hiller brought in the tray, he passed Rudolph a note addressed in Fritz Ludeke’s hand.
Rudolph, I trust you slept the night and will forgive me for doping you like a wild animal. You needed the rest, and as your doctor you’ll take my word on that. I’ll be with you today, and every morning this week at eleven. Fritz.

“Damned horse doctor,” Rudolph said with some feeling and not a little affection. “Hiller, has there been any further word from Herr Hofmann?”

“No, sir.”

“And from Herr Fetter?”

“Sir?” Hiller almost sounded startled.

“Never mind.” All too late, Rudolph remembered how Hiller had threatened to quit his service after having to wait on Rudolph and Ernst at dinner. The butler had been so discomposed by something Ernst had said—although Ernst denied having said anything, and Hiller refused to admit anything
had
been said—Rudolph had made the decision never to let Ernst back into the townhouse, and that had been best for all concerned. He changed the subject, hurriedly. “Is Goertz back?”

“Yes, sir, he came with the horses, yesterday.”

“Of course.” Another thing forgotten.

“Did you wish to see him, sir?”

“Not right now.” Something was knocking on his befuddled mind, something like a signal, a muffled drum from a regiment on the edge of hearing, but he couldn’t fathom out what it was signaling, no matter how he tried. Something to do with Goertz, though, he knew that much. He ate his breakfast instead of letting himself dwell on it, and had just finished dressing when the doctor arrived.

He and Fritz spent the next few mornings just talking. Fritz was adamant that they should talk about structured subjects and that Rudolph was not to go trying to force recalling the so-called hallucinations until Fritz thought he was ready. They talked about the war, to see if Rudolph could remember anything about it, to no avail. He couldn’t for the life of him remember coming back to Berlin only a few months before, and the thought that his children were a whole two years older than he remembered was something almost inconceivable. When the children were mentioned, though, that muffled drum—as he now liked to call it—sounded again in his mind.

“What is it?” Dr. Ludeke said. “You’ve remembered something?”

“No, not really. Nothing new—I think.” He went to his wardrobe and pulled out his uniform, now nicely cleaned by Goertz, and reached into the inner pocket. As he did, he had the terrible feeling he didn’t know quite what was going to come out—his wife, a picture of Ernst—or something else? A will-o’-the-wisp he couldn’t touch or see. It was dizzying, like leaning over the high river bridge, as he and Fritz had done as boys, looking into the dark and imagining something winged and terrifying flying out of the abyss—a dragon, or a Polish hussar sporting huge white wings and wrapped in leopard skin.

His hand closed around a scrap of cardboard and he pulled it out, looked on the image of Augusta and the children as he last recalled them. “I don’t keep a picture of my wife in my uniform,” he said, and he felt as if it were someone else saying that. He put it down on the table.

Dr. Ludeke looked at it, then at Rudolph. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Last I saw you had a picture of that vile—what was his name—Fanner, Freiter…”

“Fetter,” Rudolph said, automatically, still staring at the picture while his temple beat a painful rhythm.

“Thank God you broke with him. He would have been the ruin of you, Rudolph.” When Rudolph continued to stand, looking into the wardrobe and seeing nothing, Dr. Ludeke stood and took his arm. “Rudolph? You’re white as a sheet, man. Sit down and that’s a damn order. Tell me what you’re thinking, right now. Don’t stop to think about it.”

“I don’t keep a picture of my wife in my uniform.” Rudolph felt numb, and he couldn’t seem to control his fingers as he reached for the picture on the table. “What did you just say?”

“Tell me what—”

“No, not that.”

“About the vile Fetter? I said he’d have been the ruin of you.”

“I broke with him.” Rudolph turned the words over in his mind. It wasn’t a question to Fritz, nor a statement. Simply something he was saying, to see if he believed himself. “I broke…with…Ernst.”

“Oh, God,” Fritz muttered to himself. He leaned over Rudolph, examined his eyes swiftly and pinched the back of his hand. “I’m stupid—I should have spoken about what you
did
remember rather than what you didn’t. Yes, Rudolph, you broke with him after the incident—an incident which embarrassed you publicly. Nearly two years ago. I didn’t think for one minute you were talking about Ernst Fetter. You’ve been seeing him since your return to Berlin?”

“We met at a ball, the night I returned.”

“And he latched onto you. Well, that’s to be expected.”

“No. It was rather the other way around.” Rudolph managed to get the daguerreotype into his hand, then stood to put it away in his desk. “I was rather pleased to see him, and he me.”

“Knowing what I know about that young man’s activities in the last two years, I’m not surprised he was,” Fritz said darkly. “You should have telegraphed me. I could have met you at the station. I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight had I realized you thought you were still with that…” he paused and seemed to notice the distress Rudolph was feeling, “…young man,” he finished.

Confusion swept through Rudolph’s mind. He sat down and was silent for a moment or two. He found the picture was still in his hand, although he thought he’d put it away. He couldn’t show his confusion. He was keenly aware of Fritz’s attention, watching him like a hawk for any deterioration or weakness. If Fritz truly thought he was losing his mind, friend or no, he had the power to put Rudolph in an asylum for his own protection, and that of his family. That thought had haunted his sessions with Fritz.

“Where is Fetter now?” Fritz asked. “Tell me you haven’t given him another house?”

“No. No. At least…” Rudolph cleared his throat before speaking again, glad he had his voice under control, at least. “Would you mind telling me—as my friend, or even as my doctor—what happened? I’m beginning to think that if more people had been honest with me, I wouldn’t feel that my feet were on shifting sands.”

Fritz sat back in his chair but didn’t take his eyes from Rudolph. “I don’t know the whole story, as you and I had a rather unpleasant argument about Fetter, so much so that you stopped seeing me altogether.” He touched Rudolph’s elbow. “I was surprised and pleased to hear from you this week.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course, and I didn’t know that you—well, we could go around in circles like that and drive each other mad. Fetter. All right. Well, he was your…you’d been his—oh, I don’t know what the polite word is for it these days—for many months, despite everyone rational being against it.”

“I remember that. I don’t remember you and I arguing, though. You’ve got to realize, Fritz, that my feelings for Ernst—”

Fritz made a disgusted noise.

“Yes, my
feelings
for him—I thought they were the same to me right now as they were two years ago.”
But they aren’t
, Rudolph thought, and in his mind he saw Mathias smiling at him, but in a strange fixed manner.

“Understandable,” Fritz said, “but even then you were aware of his bad points. We’d discussed them many times.”

Rudolph nodded slowly, letting the memories he
did
have slide into his mind. Ernst’s hypocritical jealousy, his profligacy, which resulted in his inability to hold money in his possession for much more than a day. “He is—he
was
expensive,” he said carefully. He looked up at Fritz. “It’s hard to think of him in the past. It’s not my damned past. It’s yesterday to me. What did he do?”

“You gave him some token or other, something damned expensive. I can’t remember what it was for the life of me—we’d quarreled by then, but I heard the story third-hand. And he gave it to someone else, some pretty-boy with a brand new uniform and ambitions as large as Fetter’s own. This boy started boasting around his regiment about his new trinket—and where he got it—and word got back to you. You broke with Fetter immediately. You didn’t want any more gossip to reach your wife.”

“God. No. If Augusta hears of this—if she thinks I’m back with him…”

“Don’t get concerned. There’s no need to think that she’ll hear, and she’s weathered worse shocks without harm. I suggest you go home at the first available opportunity and explain matters to her, face-to-face.”

Rudolph said nothing but continued to stare at the picture of Augusta and the children.

“Perhaps you’d like me to come with you?” Fritz asked, when Rudolph didn’t reply.

“No. That won’t be necessary. But thank you. It looks like there’s a lot I need to address. Starting with Ernst.”

“You shouldn’t see him again, Rudolph,” Fritz said. “As your doctor I don’t advise it. That young man has a quite unhealthy hold over you, and if your feelings are the same—”

“They aren’t.” Rudolph shook his head. “That much I do know. It was an illusion.” He turned the photo of his wife over. “This is what I don’t understand. This picture.”

“You keep saying that. What do you mean?”

“I don’t quite know.” Rudolph frowned. “But I mean to find out.” He turned a smile on Fritz that he didn’t feel. “Fritz, could we leave it for today?”

“But you’ll not see Fetter? You owe him nothing.”

“No. I won’t see him.” He rang the bell for Hiller and asked the butler to return after he’d seen Dr. Ludeke from the house. “Hiller, please tell Goertz I wish to see him.”

When his batman entered the study, Rudolph looked him full in the face. “Goertz, how did this picture of Frau von Ratzlaff get into my jacket?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t play me for time while you think of some lie. This picture was in my belongings, but has never, ever been in my jacket.”

“Sir, with the greatest of respect, I don’t know if you can rightly say anything with that much assertion, giving your state of mind.”

“I’ve lost memories, not my senses!” Rudolph let his temper loose at last. “I carried a certain picture with me for a good while—and I damned well remember
that.
You know most if not all of my indiscretions, man, and you’re paid well enough to be as forgetful about them as I am now. Where the devil is that picture?”

“I don’t—”

Rudolph roared at the man, becoming his commanding officer for a moment. “I said don’t lie to me! If that picture was not where it should be, only one person—other than me—took it out. So—did you?”

“No, sir.”

Rudolph took a sigh of relief. He was right. Damn it, he was right. “I did. Two years ago. Oh, God.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So where is the picture that
should
have been in there? And don’t bother to lie to me, I’ve worked it out, even if I don’t bloody remember it. You put Augusta’s picture there to fool me, didn’t you?”

“I only meant it for the best—truly—the doctor said no shocks and you’d forgotten about him. And I weren’t going to put that Fetter’s picture back in there.”

A sense of release washed over him, together with the not-terribly-amusing thought that really, no one liked Ernst. Not even Goertz whom so many others disliked.
I know how to pick them, don’t I?

There was no point in saying it, but Rudolph did so anyway, just to make it a reality. “So where is Herr Hofmann’s picture now?” With all his heart, Rudolph wished he could remember that picture—and how he wished the bastard field medic had kept his mouth shut and let him take his own shocks and deal with them as he may.

“I don’t know, sir, and that’s the honest truth. I did take it out…” Goertz gave an expression of disgust. “I have to say, sir—”

“Think very carefully if you’re going to say anything that might affect your employment with this household,” Rudolph said, bearing down with every inch of his superiority both as Goertz’s superior officer and an aristocrat. “I’m quite willing at the present moment in time to cut you loose with no character, long and faithful service or no.”

Goertz paused, then swallowed, as if swallowing the words he’d been about to speak. “As I say sir, I don’t know where that picture went to. I’m sorry that I took it. I thought, if you saw the mistress and the childr—”

“I’m warning you, Goertz…” Rudolph growled.

“I only assume that the oberleutnant—Herr Hofmann, that is—took it off me,” Goertz said hurriedly. “Prob’ly for the best, seeing as how he was in it, if you get my meaning.”

Yes.
Yes
.
There it is
. Rudolph closed his eyes and the naked body came back to him, swimming out of the fog of his clouded mind, the only real thing he’d recovered in the morass of the past weeks. His heart began to race and he kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the image in his mind—Mathias naked, smiling and coyly draped over a velvet chaise. Mathias. Nothing else came back to him, but this was a start, it was enough.

Recovering his composure, he opened his eyes again and leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “In that case,” he thundered, his anger taking hold of him, “you’d better hope to God that he
did
take it from you, because if anything comes of this to Hofmann’s detriment, I won’t be answerable for my actions. Now get out of my sight.”