Thomas Ochiltree (21 page)

“But sir, that’s…”

“A circle. I know.”

The cabby shrugged his shoulders and clicked his tongue to the horse, which started forward.

As the cab rolled along the street, von Falkenburg peered out the little window in the back, noting the vehicles behind him. If any of them followed him around the circular route he had indicated, that would mean for certain that someone was tailing him.

As it was, there was another cab behind him that went along the whole semicircle of the Ring and turned right after him onto the Franz-Joseph-Kai, the embankment that ran along the Danube Canal. Just as von Falkenburg was wondering what to do next, however, it turned left across one of the bridges.

Von Falkenburg’s cab turned back onto the Ring as he had ordered, and passed the Stadtpark.

“Another circuit sir?” the cabby asked.

“No. Back to the Ronacher.”

The cabby shrugged again.

“Stop in front of the stage door. Go ask for
Fräulein
d’Églantine.”

“How’s that?”

“É-glan-tine.”

Then inspiration came to von Falkenburg.

“And tell the doorman to say if anyone asks, that she left with Captain von Falkenburg,” he said.

When a frantic Colonel von Lauderstein made inquiries, that answer would just throw him into greater desperation.

At last, he was hitting back, and hitting back hard. Whether he won or lost, just hitting back was satisfying in itself. And he was beginning to think that he had a glimmer of a chance of winning.

Hanna appeared and climbed into the cab.

“Another circuit sir?” the cabby asked, not without a hint of insolence.

“No.” Von Falkenburg gave him an address. It was the address of Helena’s mansion.

The sight of the Princess’s lover showing up at her mansion with another young woman was enough to cause even Alphonse’s impassivity to waver; for just a split second the faintest shadow of what in another man would have been astonishment passed over the butler’s face.

Von Falkenburg certainly was not going to waste time explaining things on the doorstep. He simply ushered Hanna past Alphonse as if the house belonged to him.

Once the door had closed behind them, he said, “Alphonse, the Princess is in very considerable danger.”

“Yes sir,” Alphonse replied. And then, in spite of years of self-imposed stoicism, he could not help adding, “danger, sir?”

That hardly surprised von Falkenburg. Since he loved Helena, it seemed perfectly natural to him for others to do so too – and certainly only some kind of love-from-afar could have made Alphonse pass up the opportunity to show his perfect training by replying to von Falkenburg’s astonishing revelation with a simple, unruffled, “yes sir.”

“This young lady has a very important role to play in helping your mistress, Alphonse.”

“Very good, sir.”

If Alphonse was so receptive to his orders, it was only in part, von Falkenburg realized, because Alphonse knew that he was Helena’s lover. Alphonse prided himself on being the perfect butler in the same way that others pride themselves on being perfect sergeants: unless they receive orders, they cannot play their role.

“Now, Hanna,” von Falkenburg said, “follow me.”

He led her into the little writing room where he had read the note Helena had left him at the time of her abduction.

“You’re good at making von Lauderstein do what you want. Now sit down and write….”

Hanna bit her lip.

“Write that you’re frightened because a strange man has captured you….”

She looked even more doubtful.

“You
can
write, can’t you?” he asked.

“Of course I can write. But I’m not good at composing a letter,” she replied.

“For God’s sake, girl, you’re not taking a test at school. Just say in your own words that you’ve been captured, and you’re frightened, and you want him to help you.”

It was interesting, von Falkenburg decided, that Hanna, who had developed twisting men around her little finger into a high art, had never thought of doing so in writing. But it was also perfectly exasperating. He knew that he could never in a thousand years compose a letter that sounded as if it came from her.

Hanna sucked on a pen for quite a while, then applied herself to the task. She got ink on her fingers and cried out in vexation, while von Falkenburg pretended to examine the books in a bookshelf so that she would feel under less pressure.

“
Nyah,
it’s not very good,” she said finally.

He took the blotted sheet from her, and read:

“My Big Treasure!

“I’m very scared because I am I don’t know where and he says ‘he’s going to hurt me.’ He means it I know. I’m so sorry I was unkind to you, this is my punishment from God, I know it is. I know I’m a bad ungrateful girl but I’m very truly sorry and frightened too, he says, ‘he’ll stop at nothing.’ I love you so much my treasure, and I know you’ll want to help me, and if you do I’ll never be bad again. I’ll be yours forever and ever,

“Your little turtle dove,

“Hanna”

“Perfect!” von Falkenburg thought on reading the letter. Clearly Hanna had talents she never suspected. Then a terrible doubt came to him.

“Have you written to von Lauderstein before?” he asked.

“Notes to say I can’t see him,” she replied.

“Often?”

“Five or six times.”

“So he’s seen your handwriting?”

“Yes, but I don’t like him to, because I’m not educated. He’s so conceited.”

Since von Lauderstein had seen her handwriting, von Falkenburg felt that he would have no doubt in his mind as to the letter’s authenticity. All that was needed was one final touch. He picked up a little pair of scissors from the desk.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

“I just want a lock of your hair.”

“You’ll spoil it!”

In his exasperation, von Falkenburg was not far from cutting a lock off anyway. But then he had a better idea.

“Are you wearing anything he gave you?” he asked, having in mind something like one of her rings.

She smiled coyly and raised her skirt so that he could see the lace fringe of her petticoat. It seemed a strange sort of gift, but doubtless von Lauderstein worshipped the hem of that petticoat with his lips every time she deigned to let him.

“Perfect!” he thought once again.

He knelt in front of her, scissors at the ready.

“My petticoat!”

“The Princess will buy you ten nicer ones if you will shut up and hold still!” he said between clenched teeth.

“The Princess. I forgot,” Hanna replied. She held herself perfectly stiff, like a soldier in front of a firing squad determined to show that he can die game.

Snip! It really was first class material, von Falkenburg observed. That, rather than the fact that it came from her lover, was doubtless what made Hanna so attached to it.

Now there remained only one more thing to do. He sat down at the little writing desk where he had felt such despair and where he now felt such determination.

“Von Lauderstein! [he wrote]

“Enclosed are a letter and a token of its authenticity which may be of interest to you. If you wish an exchange of prisoners – and let me add that I strongly advise you not to discuss this matter with Putzi – come to the Wien at 3:00 A.M. with Princess von Rauffenstein. I will be waiting for you with Hanna down by the water under the Stubenbrücke.

“E.v.F”

It was with considerable satisfaction that he sealed the envelope. Von Lauderstein would be at home, there could be no doubt about that, for Hanna had hinted that she might give him an advance on the forgiveness he was going to purchase tomorrow. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, he would receive this missive: a letter from the one person in the world (next to himself) who meant as much to him as the gaming tables did, accompanied by a desecrated token of his love for her, and a letter from von Falkenburg showing that he was hitting back, and had taken his enemy on the flank.

On the flank. That was everything, von Falkenburg decided. The mere mention of the name “Putzi,” with the revelation it implied would throw von Lauderstein into a panic.

The only question was the form that panic would take.

Some of the possibilities might not do Helena any good, von Falkenburg reflected uncomfortably. But by and large, he did not think that von Lauderstein would dare harm her, for fear of what von Falkenburg (in von Lauderstein’s mind) might do to Hanna.

In reality, of course, he would do nothing to Hanna. But for once, the psychological difference between him and his enemies was working to his advantage. Up to now, he had always been hampered by his inability to fully imagine what it was like to be totally selfish and ruthless like they were. But in a mirror-like fashion, someone like von Lauderstein would not be able to imagine anyone who was
not
that way, anyone who was
not
willing to harm an innocent young woman so as to get what he wanted. As for the risk to Helena, von Falkenburg had already concluded that there was no way his enemies would let this witness live anyway, so he was not putting her in additional danger.

The main question was whether or not von Lauderstein would show the letter to Putzi. It was a toss-up, von Falkenburg decided. What he knew of von Lauderstein’s personality suggested weakness, which in turn could imply an unwillingness to take responsibility.

But von Lauderstein was also a man obsessed; obsessed with his love for Hanna. And he was thus bound to be afraid that if he went to Putzi for instructions, Putzi might order him to sacrifice his mistress for the cause they were working for.

Putzi, von Falkenburg had always suspected, was three times the man von Lauderstein was. And from that point of view, it would be best for von Falkenburg if Putzi stayed out of the picture for the time being. But whether von Lauderstein brought him into it or not, one thing was certain: Helena would
not
be offered back in exchange for Hanna. That was a step von Lauderstein would not dare take on his own initiative, and which Putzi would simply forbid.

The mantelpiece clock showed almost midnight. Hanna gave him von Lauderstein’s address, and he wrote it on the envelope. Then he rang for Alphonse.

“Alphonse, I need you to find a public messenger. I know it is not easy at this time of night, but the Princess’s life depends on it. The messenger is to deliver the letter, get a receipt from the butler, and give you the receipt before being paid.”

“Yes sir,” Alphonse replied. Then he added, “I could deliver the message myself, sir.”

“I’m afraid not, Alphonse. The recipient’s butler might recognize you.”

“Very good sir.” Von Falkenburg realized that Alphonse would be willing to do a great deal more than just deliver a letter in order to help save his mistress.

Alphonse disappeared, and von Falkenburg led Hanna into the drawing room. Since she had been waiting for her mistress to come home – knowing nothing of the abduction – the downstairs maid had not yet gone to bed. Von Falkenburg asked her to bring some tea and pastries to Hanna.

“Mmm, good,” Hanna said, stuffing her mouth with pastry with a complete lack of self-consciousness.

He poured himself a brandy and waited impatiently for the time to pass.

“You love her a lot don’t you?” Hanna asked, her mouth full of pastry.

“Hmm?” he asked, looking up from his brandy snifter and pretending not to understand.

“I said, you love her a lot – the Princess,” Hanna persisted.

“What makes you say that?”

“Mmm, hard to say. The way you’re sitting. You’re trying to look all calm and collected as you sit there sipping your cognac. But there’s something about you…. Finally, you men aren’t hard to read!”

And she laughed, nearly choked on her pastry, and then laughed some more.

So much for his pose of gentlemanly indifference, von Falkenburg told himself. It had never occurred to him that girls like Hanna could see through him. But maybe she possessed a special clairvoyance: an extra dose of female intuition dished out on the same unaccountable basis that extra intelligence and beauty were given to women like Helena.

“Can you tell me what you’re going to do to get the Princess back?” Hanna asked.

“Hanna, I’ve found that it’s healthiest for my friends not to have too clear an idea of what I’m up to.”

He thought she would pout at receiving an evasive answer like that, but instead she replied, “von Lauderstein’s such a bully, I suppose one can’t be too careful.”

He asked her if she wanted to get some sleep, as there was no need for her to stay up. But she said she was far too excited to go to bed.

Both out of curiosity, and in order to pass the time, von Falkenburg tried to find out some more from her about von Lauderstein. But it soon became apparent that for all his obsessive passion, her lover trusted her with no details whatever of his activities.

And as long as von Lauderstein’s generosity continued, Hanna had been content to ask few questions.

“Where did he meet you?” von Falkenburg asked. “At the Kamiski-Palais-Theater?”

“That’s right. He told me he fell head over heels in love with me from Row R.”

Von Falkenburg suspected that she was proud of being able to project her sensuality that far.

Alphonse entered.

“I got the message delivered, sir.”

“Have any trouble finding an errand-runner?”

“No, sir. At this hour they are all in the beer halls.”

Von Falkenburg knew that in entering a beer hall of the kind frequented by public messengers, Alphonse had made a real sacrifice of his precious dignity.

Well, von Falkenburg told himself, now there was nothing for it but to wait. He was glad Hanna did not feel like going to bed. Her chatter – silly but amusing – helped keep him from fretting to pieces waiting.

The mantelpiece clock showed two-thirty. He rose from his chair. He wanted to be about five or ten minutes late for the appointment he had proposed, and to which he was sure von Lauderstein would send someone.

“It’s time?” Hanna asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you be back soon?”