The Swan King

by Nina Clare

  ‘I have the knowing gift too,’ Alexi said. ‘Just a bit. Elsa’s gift is different.’

  ‘We don’t usually talk about it,’ Elsa said, giving her brother a pointed look.

  ‘It’s alright to talk about it to Hansi,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I know things, remember? Tell Hansi what Mama said about you.’

  Elisabeth was reluctant, but to please Alexi she repeated the old childhood story. ‘Mama liked to say that when she first held me, she knew I would one day live in a castle and marry a prince.’

  Hansi paused in his work to make a playful bow. ‘Your Highness,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘It’s just a story.’

  ‘You said it was true,’ said Alexis. There was reproach in his voice.

  ‘Mama said it was true,’ she admitted. ‘But Papa doesn’t believe it.’

  ‘I believe it,’ said Alexis. ‘So long as I get to live in your castle.’

  ‘As if I would be happy, even in a castle, without you.’

  ‘And If your fine castle needs carpentry or carving, I’m your man,’ added Hansi with another droll bow.

  Chapter 6

  The King

  Almost six weeks had passed since the baron left. The dining room was nearing completion, but the baronin kept finding new jobs for the workmen: the bricklayers built walls for new storerooms, the carpenters replaced shelves in the pantries; the general labourers widened the carriage road, and the stonemason carved ornamental coronets into the gateposts.

  Hansi was now commissioned to carve decorative panels for the drawing room.

  ‘I’m glad Hansi isn’t leaving yet,’ said Alexis. He and Elisabeth sat together in the hour before his bedtime. ‘And he’s glad about the extra work. He’ll have more money to take home. He’s going to build a chicken house and a new room, so his sister can keep hens and have her own bedroom’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘He’s a kind brother.’ She was on the window seat, watching the small, white moon climb the evening sky. Alexis chattered, but she was only half attending to him. Her thoughts were of her father, and other related matters.

  ‘I would let you have all my money,’ said Alexis.

  The following pause roused her to look at him. His eyes were too big in his pinched face, making him look younger than his ten years.

  ‘I know you would.’

  ‘But you’ll be living in a castle when you marry, remember? With your true love.’ He pulled a face. ‘So you won’t need me to build you a cottage room.’ She didn’t reply. ‘Do you think it’s true?’ he pressed. He asked her this a lot of late. She wondered why it was so important to him.

  She shrugged. ‘Who knows? I always believed it when I was younger. Perhaps it’s just a fairy tale Mama liked to tell me.’

  She turned back to the window. The moon seemed cold and indifferent that night. Usually she thought of it as a friendly light.

  ‘There are lots of fairy tales about ordinary people who become princes and princesses and live in castles and are happy,’ said Alexis slowly. ‘They’ve just got to be brave enough to go on an adventure. Even if they’re scared. It’s only the ones who stay at home who are the ordinary ones.’

  ‘You’re right. And as we both have to stay at home, I suppose we will only ever be ordinary.’

  She felt a sudden pang as she spoke. The feeling must have shown in her expression, because Alexis asked, ‘You don’t want an ordinary life, do you?’

  She brushed the question off with a little laugh.

  ‘I think what Mama said was true,’ said Alexis. ‘But I wish you didn’t have to go away.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, Alexis. I’m staying right here with you. If any adventures come knocking, I’ll tell them to go away. I have a brother to take care of. And besides him, I would miss my father. And my horse.’

  She got the smile she was trying to elicit.

  ‘I wish I didn’t sometimes know things that are going to happen,’ he said. His smile faded.

  Elisabeth felt a prickle of fear.

  ‘I know you’ll have to go away, Elsa. Like in my dream.’

  ‘Enough of that, Alexis. Dreams are not real, they’re just stories we tell ourselves when we’re asleep. I’m not going anywhere.’ She was trying to convince herself as much as him.

  ‘Something bad is going to happen, Elsa.’ Alexis leaned forward, his big eyes wider than ever, his voice low and urgent.

  Goosebumps broke out on her arms. It was all she could do to keep from shivering. There was a sudden feeling of foreboding in the room. Then she realised that the foreboding had been there before Alexi spoke.

  ‘I’m scared,’ he whispered.

  She moved from her side of the window seat to his and put her arms round him. ‘Don’t be scared, Lexi. Nothing bad is going to happen. I won’t let it.’

  The next day was Tuesday. She remembered this on waking. So why were the church bells tolling so early in the morning when it was not a Sunday?

  The bedroom door opened and Ziller’s flushed face appeared.

  ‘Ziller,’ she murmured. ‘What is it? Are you allowed to wait on me this morning?’

  Ziller shook her head. Only her face and one arm were showing; the rest of her remained behind the door. ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’ She glanced behind her. ‘I wanted to tell you the news.’

  ‘What news?’ She would have scrambled out of her sheets, but it was cold outside of the covers. ‘Come in.’

  ‘I can’t. Brunn made me promise not to step one foot inside your room. And I’ve not, have I?’ She lifted a foot up to show it was still behind the bedroom door.

  ‘What news? Is it my father?’ A moment of panic seized her, and she sat up, although reason told her that the tolling of the church bells could not be related to her father.

  Ziller shook her head again. ‘It’s the king. He’s dead—that’s what the bells are for!’

  And then she fled.

  The king was dead. That was news to cause dismay, for the king was not an old man. No one had thought of him dying for many years yet. She dressed quickly, wanting to get downstairs to hear everything.

  The kitchen was full of talk. Cook was weeping into her apron, for she loved the royal family, and kept a faded print of them on the top dresser-shelf; the head-housemaid was doing her best to comfort her. The footmen were talking of the crown prince, and what a lucky fellow he was to become king at his age. They imagined what they would do with such wealth and power. The scullery maids were sighing over the crown prince’s famous good looks, his tall, athletic figure, his skin like smooth marble, his piercing blue eyes, his lovely, wavy hair. Then the housekeeper came in and ordered the maids back to work, and the butler came in to see what the footmen were about. Everyone dispersed to their duties. Cook wiped her eyes and began making the morning’s bread.

  Elisabeth could get no real news from the servants; they knew nothing beyond the fact that the king was dead, which they’d heard from the dairyman when he dropped off the milk that morning. She went to seek Hansi in the workroom by the stables; the workmen had lodgings in town, so would be sure to know something more. But Hansi was not yet there; it was too early. She thought of running back to the house and changing into her riding gown and going into town. The baronin would not approve of her leaving without permission, but how often did it happen that one’s king died? She would go and learn the news.

  The town felt different that morning. Early though it was, it seemed that everyone was on the streets, talking over the news. Some shops had already hung black drapes in their windows, and people wore black ribbons on their hats, or round their arms.

  She walked her horse through Hohenloe Park where she usually met with family acquaintances. Frau von Bülow and her daughter, Margarita, sat in their open carriage talking to a young man on horseback.

  ‘Baroness Elisabeth!’ called Margarita, catching sight of her. Elisabeth returned her wave and dir
ected her horse to the side of their carriage.

  ‘What dreadful news,’ said Margarita. ‘Our poor king! Mama almost met him several times. She is quite distressed, are you not, Mama?’

  ‘Dreadfully distressed,’ said Frau von Bülow. She wore black ribbons on her hat and had pinned a miniature of the late king to her cloak. ‘Who could have dreamed it? He was so young, so dashing.’

  ‘And now we have a boy for a king,’ said the gentleman on horseback. ‘What will become of the kingdom?’

  ‘He is hardly a boy,’ replied Margarita. ‘He is nineteen, and well educated for his position, I am sure.’

  ‘Eighteen,’ corrected her mother. ‘But I am sure he will do very well, for he is his father’s son.’

  The gentleman on horseback pulled a face to show that he did not agree, and bid the ladies good morning.

  ‘How did the king die?’ Elisabeth asked. ‘It is such a shock. We had not heard he was unwell.’

  ‘Oh, but he has been dreadfully unwell,’ said Frau von Bülow. ‘They hushed it up, but those of us acquainted with his circle knew. Rheumatic fever. Dreadfully painful. So very brave. His doctor urged him to go to a warmer clime, but our poor, dear king, so committed to his people, so diligent in his duty, he left Italy against his doctor’s orders, and returned home to sort out this dreadful Schleswig-Holstein business.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a large, black-bordered handkerchief. ‘So dutiful,’ she murmured. ‘And of course, it has been so cold this winter. München has been covered in snow until the end of February. He should not have come back until spring, but he felt it was his duty, and now he is dead!’

  Margarita patted her mother on the shoulder. ‘There, there, Mama.’

  ‘The poor queen,’ Elisabeth said. ‘And the crown prince. They must be distraught.’

  ‘They say the crown prince was at the opera the night his father died,’ said Frau von Bülow accusingly. ‘Why was he not at his father’s bedside? He was watching Lohengrin while his father lay dying.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, the prince must have believed his father was in no danger or he would not have gone,’ said Margarita. ‘The king’s death was most unexpected even to his physicians. We heard he was making a good recovery from his fever, did we not?’

  ‘I see Countess Fugger von Glott’s carriage coming into the park,’ said Frau von Bülow. ‘She has dined at the palace, and once she danced with our beloved king at a ball. She will be glad to commiserate with me.’

  Elisabeth bid the two ladies good morning and rode on.

  She met other acquaintances as she rode through the park. She learnt from elderly Herr Klein that the crown prince had turned white when a pageboy first addressed him as “Your Majesty” and almost fainted. ‘Worrisome business,’ declared Herr Klein. ‘Here we are, pulled between that grasping Bismarck on one side, and Österreich and Preußen on the other, and we have a boy-king to lead us. We need a leader. A man!’

  Young Fräulein Paulina Voelk had heard that the crown prince had been wonderfully dignified on learning he was now king, and had looked so handsome when he appeared in his regimentals to address his government. ‘He will be as good to us as his father was,’ she assured Elisabeth. ‘Dear King Max was so good to his people; he loved us, did he not? Surely his son will be just as good. We shall go to München to pay our respects on the day of the funeral, shall your father take you to München to see it?’

  Elisabeth could not say. It was unlikely, and Papa was away on business, though expected back any day now.

  After speaking to a few other people, she decided she ought to return home. Hopefully the baronin had ordered her breakfast to be served in her bedroom, as she often did when the baron was away, and Elisabeth had not been missed. But as she rode up the entrance path, she saw a figure at the window of the morning room, watching the pathway. The baronin was watching for her return.

  She dismounted and gave the reins to Gerling who had attended her on her ride. She shook out her skirts, squared her shoulders, and entered the house, ready to face the consequences of her impulsive ride into town.

  She was startled out of her composure by the presence of another person.

  The count stood by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked the baronin. Her voice was even, but she looked peculiar.

  Elisabeth curtsied to acknowledge the count. ‘I rode early into town to learn of the news.’

  ‘The news?’ her stepmother repeated. ‘How could you learn of it there? The count has only just related it to me.’

  ‘Allow me to offer my deepest condolences, my lady,’ said the count, bowing his well-groomed head.

  ‘Thank you,’ Elisabeth said. ‘It is very sad news.’

  ‘How can you speak so lightly, you hard-hearted child?’ said the baronin.

  Elisabeth blinked in astonishment. ‘I do not speak lightly of it, I assure you. I am very sorry for his death. It was most unexpected. Everyone is sorry. The whole town mourns for him.’

  ‘I think you refer to the king, my lady,’ said the count. He crossed the room and took Elisabeth’s hands before she could resist. He leaned over her, his eyes boring into hers as she looked up at him in surprise.

  ‘My poor young lady, the death we refer to is that of your father’s.’

  Chapter 7

  Strangers

  The house was as still as a tomb. For the first week all the curtains were drawn, every mirror shrouded with black crêpe, and all the clocks silenced. The workmen were sent away, told to return in one month to finish their work and receive their wages. The servants tiptoed about the house, their voices low, and taking especial care to close the doors soundlessly behind them.

  To add to Elisabeth’s sorrows, her brother’s health was failing again. Even now, more than a fortnight after the news of the baron’s death it did not seem real to Elisabeth. She haunted the windows overlooking the entrance to the house, watching the road, willing her father to be riding along it. She almost convinced herself that she saw him walking up the path, his grey greatcoat mantled about his shoulders, his black travelling cap on his head.

  A train crash, the count had said. Close to München. Many bodies still missing. The carriages tumbled down a hillside, breaking up and flinging passengers out into the undergrowth or into a lake. There were some survivors, but the baron had not been found.

  Elisabeth forced away every image of her father being thrown from a train. She would not allow him to be rolling down a hillside, with cruel rocks and briers tearing at him—and certainly he was not to be flung into the lake, to have his final breath cut off by the wintry waters. It could not be. It would not be. It must not be true.

  The days merged, long and grey. Visitors came, bringing condolences. A stranger carrying leather folders full of documents frequently called. He was shown into the study, where the baronin ordered that no one disturb them. Elisabeth watched the closed doors of her father’s room jealously. The baronin was notably terse after these visits. The servants spoke of such days as a “black suit day” and kept out of the mistress’s way.

  After the sixth “black suit” visit, Elisabeth determined to search for evidence as to the man’s identity. She slipped into her father’s study, hunting for some clue. A card was on the desk, partly hidden by a small sheaf of documents: Herr Schack. Lawyer. 61 Grubenstraße, München, read the card. She glanced through the documents, but they were old papers of Papa’s. There was a second card underneath the last document: Herr Dollinger. Pawnbroker. 102 Kaufinger Straße, München.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said a sharp voice.

  She started, knocking the cards to the floor. The baronin’s face looked pale, the black ribbons from her cap and at the neckline of her gown intensifying her pallid skin and her dark eyes.

  ‘Are you snooping?’ She crossed the room swiftly and bent to pick up the fallen cards. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He is a lawyer. Even a sheltered girl as you must know that when a man of p
roperty dies there are many legalities to work through.’

  ‘But we do not know if Papa is dead,’ Elisabeth countered. ‘There has been no body.’

  ‘Of course he is dead. No one could have survived by now. That is why my lawyer is working to get a death certificate issued.’

  Elisabeth did not trust herself to say what she thought about that. She clenched her fists and pressed her lips together, looking away from the baronin, who seemed like a grim figure in black, standing there urging the finality of death upon her father.

  ‘Will there be a funeral?’ she asked in a tight voice.

  ‘No. Not without a body. Perhaps a memorial service of some kind. I cannot think about it now, there’s too much else to consider. There is no family beyond this house to attend any service.’

  ‘There is Tante Emmeline,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘I don’t know of any Tante Emmeline.’

  ‘My mother’s sister. She is reclusive. But she always writes to me on my birthday.’

  ‘She has never written to me, or shown me the courtesy of acknowledging me on my marriage into this family,’ said the baronin. ‘I owe her nothing. Write and tell her of your father yourself.’

  ‘I will,’ said Elisabeth stoutly, suddenly feeling defensive of her sole remaining relative apart from her brother.

  ‘Life must go on, Elisabeth,’ said the baronin in a flat voice. ‘Do you think it gives me any satisfaction to have to force my way through all these legalities and difficulties? Did I marry only to be left as I am, with this uncertainty and ruin hanging over me?’

  ‘There must be people who can help us?’ Elisabeth said. ‘Papa had friends.’

  ‘Friends whom he owed money to,’ said the baronin. ‘He let everyone down. He must be certified as dead. Only then can I begin to untangle the mess he has left behind him.’