On Her Majesty's Frightfully Secret Service

by Rhys Bowen

I kissed his cheek. “I’ll miss you. I wish you were coming with me to Italy.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’ll be all right on your own? I don’t like the thought of you traveling to foreign parts all by yourself.”

  “It’s only one train journey. I’ll be fine,” I said.

  He nodded. “And I look forward to coming to your wedding. It will be lucky I have to get a new suit for mine, won’t it?”

  He hugged me then and I hugged him back. I sensed him watching me as I walked down the hill. It was only when I was halfway down that I remembered something awful. When they married I’d actually be related to Queenie!

  Chapter 6

  MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1935

  On a train, heading to Italy, alone. Trying not to worry about this.

  I left for Italy days later. I had considered writing to Belinda to tell her I was coming, but then I thought it might be a nice surprise for her to open her door and find me on her doorstep (better than Mrs. Huggins in her curlers, anyway!). I borrowed Fig’s maid to clean and press my clothes. Fig was remarkably accommodating as I suspect she was anxious to get rid of me. I wrote to Darcy’s father, letting him know where I’d be for the next few weeks, in case Darcy returned home. I went to Eaton Square to see if there was any news on Princess Zamanska, but there wasn’t. Her haughty French maid said that there had been no news recently and pointed out that it took a good while to fly around the world. I was tempted to ask her if she’d like to come to Italy with me until her mistress returned, but then I thought of that face looking at my clothes with horror and decided against it.

  So I set off alone, with one suitcase and one train case in a taxi to Victoria Station on a blustery afternoon in April. Now that I was actually undertaking this journey I wasn’t quite as confident. When I had traveled before at least I had Queenie to take care of my luggage. I supposed there would be porters everywhere, but it did seem a little daunting. The first part of the journey went smoothly enough. A porter found my compartment and loaded my cases onto the rack. The Golden Arrow pulled out of Victoria at 10:30. I was sharing my first-class compartment for this leg of the journey with a French couple who were far too chummy for British taste, gazing at each other, whispering and exchanging kisses. The other occupant was a Church of England vicar, who stared at them in horrified fascination. Luckily I had bought a copy of The Lady in the station and occupied myself by reading until we were passing through the Kent countryside, now awash in apple blossom. It took an hour and a half to reach Dover. I found a porter to carry my luggage onto the ferry across the Channel and the matching Fleche d’Or was waiting at the platform in Calais. Such a civilized way to travel. Before five we had pulled into the Gare du Nord.

  From there I had to take a taxi to the Gare de Lyon, from which station I was to travel to Milan. So far so good, I thought. I was feeling rather pleased with myself as I went down the corridor to the dining car as the train left the city behind and night fell over the French countryside. I was a seasoned world traveler. A sophisticated woman at last. At the entrance to the dining car I ran into my first hitch.

  “You have no reservation? I regret all the tables are occupied, madame,” the maître d’ said. “Perhaps you should return later?”

  I hadn’t realized one needed reservations.

  “Could some food be delivered to my berth?” I asked.

  He looked horrified. “But no, madame. This is a dining car, for dining. The sleeping car, it is for sleeping.”

  I was about to turn away when I saw a man waving to catch the attention of the maître d’.

  “The young lady is welcome to share my table,” he said.

  He was rather an attractive man, with aristocratic bearing, blond hair and a neat little blond mustache. He rose to his feet. “If the Fräulein would care to join me it would be an honor. I dislike eating alone and enjoy good company.”

  “That is most kind of you, Count,” the maître d’ said. He turned to me. “May I escort you to the count’s table?”

  I could hardly say no at this stage; besides, I was jolly hungry. And he had a pleasant smile. And he was a count. “Thank you. Most kind of you,” I said and followed the maître d’ up the aisle.

  The blond man gave a little Germanic nodding bow. “Rudolf von Rosskopf at your service, Fräulein. Or is it gnädige Frau?”

  “Actually I’m Lady Georgiana, sister of the Duke of Rannoch.”

  Did I detect a sparkle of amusement in those blue eyes? “An English milady,” he said, now reverting from the French we had been using. “How delightful. I took you for a countrywoman with your light hair and upright bearing. But you are English. Splendid. I like the English.”

  I smiled back as I took a seat opposite him. “Actually I’m only half English. The other half is Scottish and originally German.”

  “You have German ancestors too? You see, I knew this. A true Aryan. What were they called, these German ancestors?”

  “Queen Victoria and Prince Albert,” I said and was delighted to see his reaction.

  “So? You are related to royalty. All the better.” He snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared instantly at his side. “A bottle of your best champagne. A Dom Pérignon, perhaps?”

  “Certainly, Count,” the waiter said.

  Rudolf von Rosskopf gave me a delighted smile as if he was a magician and had just produced a rabbit from a hat. “We shall have a jolly evening,” he said. “Do you speak German?”

  “A little, but your English is very good.”

  “I have many English friends,” he said. “I like the English. We understand each other.”

  The champagne arrived and was poured. “So tell me.” He leaned across the table to me. “What takes you to Milan? You go shopping for clothes? Almost as good as Paris, I understand.”

  “No, I’m going to visit a sick friend,” I said.

  “How very dutiful of you.” He glanced down at my hand, looking for a ring, and saw my diamond. “Your young man, he doesn’t mind you traveling alone across the Continent?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “He travels a great deal himself.”

  “I like modern women,” he said. “So adventurous. So brave. So free.”

  I didn’t think of myself as any of the above, but I smiled back as I sipped my champagne.

  “Are you married?” I asked him.

  “Me? I am footloose and fancy-free, as the Americans say. I enjoy the company of beautiful women. One day I suppose I must settle down and produce an heir or the title will die out, but for the moment I enjoy life tremendously.” He drained his glass, then snapped his fingers for the waiter to refill. “Have you been to Berlin? It is the most exciting city in Europe. So civilized. So lively.”

  “No, I haven’t been there yet, but my mother lives there at the moment. She seems to enjoy it.”

  “Your mother has good taste. You must come to visit soon and I can show you all the delights that Berlin has to offer.”

  “So what will you be doing in Milan?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Just visiting friends. I was in Paris and London on business and now I go to relax and enjoy good Italian food. I have to confess this one thing—Berlin is best in everything but food. In this aspect France and Italy surpass it. Ah . . .” He looked up as plates were placed in front of us. “You see what I mean?”

  The first course was a rich seafood soup, with crab, shrimp and mussels floating in it. Actually it was hard to eat daintily and I concentrated on not dropping saffron-tinted liquid down my front. My table companion enjoyed it immensely, wiping his bowl clean with bread. Next came duck breast in an orange glaze, so tender that one could cut it with a spoon. Rudolf ordered a good claret to accompany it. And to finish, a meringue cake layered with fresh cream and chestnut puree. By the time the coffee was served, accompanied by tiny macaroons and chocolates, I was feeling qui
te mellow. We sat chatting while he smoked a thin cigar and sipped a cognac. I declined both, feeling already a little woozy. He told me about his childhood, his strict Prussian father who had sent him to military academy at the age of eight. How that father had been killed in the Great War. “Such a stupid war, a stupid waste,” he said, shaking his head. “Supposed to achieve what? The destruction of millions of lives. None of the men wanted to fight—neither Germans nor English—but we were trapped into it by stubborn politicians. I only thank the good Lord that I was too young to be called up.”

  “Do you think there will ever be another war like that?” I asked. “Your Mr. Hitler seems to be militarizing the country.”

  He smiled. “There is no reason for Britain and Germany to go to war. Are we not the same people? Look at you—German grandparents and British. And you see what a delightful combination that makes.”

  I found myself blushing and was annoyed. “I should be going back to my berth,” I said. I took out my purse to pay for my meal, but he chuckled, put his hand on mine and forced the purse back into my handbag. “Please put it away. The pleasure was all mine.” The way he said the word “pleasure” and the way he looked into my eyes with a challenging stare made me feel uneasy. I stood up, cautiously, because I wasn’t sure if my legs would hold me. They did. “I should be going,” I said. “Thank you for a lovely meal. It was most kind of you.”

  He too rose to his feet. “Allow me to escort you to your sleeping quarters,” he said, taking my elbow and steering me out of the dining car.

  Oh golly. I’d heard about men like him, preying on innocent women on trains. Even the queen had warned me. But I could hardly refuse him after he had treated me to a lovely dinner, and risk making a scene in a first-class dining car where probably half the diners knew him. I comforted myself that there was a concierge at the end of my car. I made a point of addressing him in his little cubby as we went past. “Good night, Pierre,” I said.

  “Good night, my lady. Your bed is made up and ready.”

  “This gentleman is kindly escorting me to my berth,” I said.

  We reached my destination and Rudolf opened the door for me. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Was it really bad form to scream for help in the first-class section of trains? Was it even more bad form to give him a kick? I turned and gave Rudolf a radiant smile. “Thank you so much again, Count. You are very kind to take pity on a young lady traveling alone.” And I held out my hand to him. He took the hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving my face for a moment.

  “No, thank you for the delightful evening,” he said. “And now I wish you pleasant dreams and hope we might meet again.”

  Then he clicked his heels, gave that jerky little bow and walked away. I was still quite shaky as I closed the door firmly behind me. I gave a sigh of relief as I collapsed onto the bed. Then I undressed with some difficulty as the train was swaying around quite a bit, made sure my door was locked, then climbed in between the cold sheets, curled up into a ball and tried to sleep. Suddenly I felt very alone and far from friends and longed for Darcy to be with me. “Soon,” I whispered to myself. Soon I would no longer be sleeping alone.

  • • •

  I MUST HAVE drifted into sleep because I was awakened by the smallest of sounds. The click of a door latch. It can’t be my door, I thought. I remember locking it. Then a strip of light began to show as the door was slid open and a dark silhouette appeared, filling the doorway. I sat up, now fully awake. Perhaps it was only the porter coming to check on me. But it was too big for the porter and I smelled the lingering scents of cigar smoke and a certain cologne.

  “What are you doing here, Count von Rosskopf?” I demanded indignantly. He was sliding the door closed again.

  He chuckled. “I should have thought that was obvious.” He sat on the bed beside me.

  “Absolutely not. And how did you get in? I locked the door.”

  He was still chuckling. “Do you not know how easy it is to bribe a train concierge, especially if one is a regular customer and generous with tips? I merely asked him to turn the other way while I borrowed the passkey.”

  “Then please leave again immediately or I will have to scream for help. Or have you bribed the concierge to be deaf as well?”

  “You are quite delightful, do you know that?” He had inched closer to me now and reached out, stroking my cheek.

  “Do you make a point of forcing your way into ladies’ cabins?” I demanded, hoping that my Queen Victoria imitation might be enough to dissuade him.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “Often. It is such a fun sport, is it not? And among our class quite an accepted one. I could name plenty of names of those society women who have welcomed me to their beds. Names you would personally recognize, I assure you.”

  “Well, I’m not one of them,” I said. “I don’t know what gave you the idea that I might welcome a visit from you. I certainly did nothing to encourage you!”

  “Oh, but you did, mein Liebling. When I kissed your hand and looked into your eyes you neither averted your gaze nor attempted to pull your hand away. You gazed back at me, which I took as a sign that my hand kiss was a pleasant experience and that you would like to take this to the next step. More kisses in many more places. Believe me, I’m awfully good at it, so I’m told. You would not regret the experience.”

  “But I just told you I’m engaged to be married,” I said indignantly.

  “What has that to do with it?” He laughed now. “I can assure you that your fiancé at this moment is opening the door to another lady’s bedroom. It is an accepted sport. You have to face it.”

  “I certainly do not intend to face it. Now please leave immediately. And if my fiancé found out then it would be the worse for you.”

  He laughed again. “He’ll challenge me to a duel? How delightful. I am also rather good at duels. I have wounded several men, because, you see, I am an honorable sort of fellow. I could shoot or stab to kill, but I don’t. What’s more, I am discreet. No one need ever know.” His hand now left my shoulder where it had lingered and traced its way downward. I grabbed it and pushed him away.

  “Can you not get it into your head that I am simply not interested? However famous you are as a lovemaker, I’m afraid I am going to reject your irresistible charms. Now please leave before I scream the place down.”

  To my relief he stood up. “Never let it be said that I forced myself onto a woman who did not want me. As I told you before, I am a man of honor. I shall leave you, Lady Georgiana, but I suspect you will regret this for the rest of your life. When you lie in the arms of your husband you will wonder what you might have missed.”

  He actually clicked his heels before he opened the door and disappeared down the hall.

  Chapter 7

  TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1935

  On a train, heading for Italy. Narrowly averted rape! Golly.

  I sat perfectly still for a long while. I was shaking and wished I had brought a flask of brandy with me. If he had not taken no for an answer, if he had forced himself on me, would I have been able to fight him off? And the fact that he took this kind of behavior for granted, and worse still, assumed that Darcy was behaving in a similar manner, was doubly unsettling. Surely Darcy wasn’t, was he? But the nagging doubt lingered. I knew that Darcy had made love to a good many women before he met me. Might he not be tempted by a raven-haired beauty in the Argentine when he was far enough away from home that nobody would find out?

  I lay down, staring at the ceiling swaying above me, but sleep would not come. When the first glimmer of light appeared through the blinds I opened them and saw we were passing through the mountains. There was snow beside the track. We crossed over rushing torrents. So we were either in Switzerland or already in Italy. I couldn’t wait for the journey to end and to be safely in Belinda’s little villa. I could imagine her laughing when I told her about the amorous
count. She had also taken such behavior for granted and been free with her affections, and look where it had landed her—with a baby she neither wanted nor could take care of. I wondered if she’d made any plans yet for its future.

  As I was thinking, the train plunged into a tunnel. After the upsetting events of the previous night I found my heart thumping as the carriage was only lit with an anemic emergency lamp. I sat staring at the door, alert and ready in case someone tried to enter. The tunnel seemed to go on forever and just when I couldn’t stand it any longer we emerged to find the sun had risen over the mountains and was now shining on a more southern landscape. We were descending from the mountains. The farmhouses were painted in warm yellows and oranges, with tiled roofs and bright green shutters. A line of poplar trees ran beside a road, and there was new green in the fields. Then there were houses and streets, and shortly before seven we pulled into Milan’s Central Station. I was grateful not to see Rudolf von Rosskopf as I found a porter to take my luggage from the train. As I looked around, wondering where I would find the train to my final destination, I realized that I was starving and instead found a place to change money and then had coffee and a roll at a station bar.

  Soon I was heading northward to Stresa, in a less grand sort of train, and the track followed the shore of a lovely lake. Flowering shrubs were spilling over walls. Trees were in full blossom. The lake sparkled in the early sunshine. It looked quite delightful and my spirits rose. At last I’d be with Belinda and we were going to have a lovely time together.

  We came to a halt at a small station. I read the sign, saw it was Stresa and put my head out of the window to hail a porter. There was no sign of one and I had to wrestle my own bags down a flight of steps, under the tracks and up again. I stood outside the station and saw that we were above the center of a small town. The lake, now ringed with mountains and dotted with small green islands, still sparkled, down below. I smiled as I took in the breathtaking scenery and smelled the scent of jasmine and mimosa in the air. I was going to have such a delightful time with Belinda . . . if I could just survive the few days of that house party. I looked around for a taxi but couldn’t see one. I went back into the booking office and inquired in English, with much hand waving. The booking clerk clearly couldn’t understand me, but a gentleman standing nearby came to my rescue.