On Her Majesty's Frightfully Secret Service

by Rhys Bowen

  I gasped in horror when a white figure loomed out of the darkness ahead of me. I pressed my hand to my mouth to prevent me from making a sound. I froze, trying to calm my racing heart. Then I realized what it was: a marble statue of a Greek warrior, arm lifted and carrying a spear. One of the guards of the terraces. I stumbled up the last few yards and disappeared into the narrow walkway between high hedges. I had to move quickly. I broke into a run. I heard my feet crunching on the soft gravel underfoot. Statues appeared in niches, each one making my heart leap again. At first I thought my footsteps were creating an echo. Then I stopped and realized the worst: someone was running behind me.

  Suddenly I had had enough. I was tired of running away. My Rannoch ancestors would not have fled from the field of battle. They stood and fought against impossible odds. I reminded myself that most of them had ended up being hacked to pieces, but that Rannoch pride still stirred in my veins. I ran until I came to the end of the terrace. Surely pursuers would expect me to run straight back to the villa. I looked around for a weapon. There was another marble figure guarding this entrance, but I was not strong enough to move a six-foot warrior. I heard the feet coming closer, moving fast now. Then I spied a small stone fountain—a basin with water bubbling up in the center and on one rim a stone frog. I tugged at the frog and felt it move. I wrenched harder and it came free, revealing that it was held on the basin with a metal spike. I felt it, heavy and satisfying, in my hands as I examined that metal spike and imagined driving it into someone’s skull. Then I shook my head in horror. I was quite prepared to knock somebody out, but not to kill. I turned the frog so that the smooth stone of its back was ready to strike. I’d only have one chance. I had to make it count. And I took up my position behind the hedge, out of sight.

  The last yards seemed to take forever. I stood holding my breath as the wind picked up again, sending the leaves above my head rustling and whispering and disguising the crunch of approaching footsteps. Then the person came into view. As I expected, he or she came to a halt, looking around and trying to find the quarry. I raised the stone frog as I stepped out behind my pursuer. As I got ready to bring the frog crashing down on a skull I froze at the last second. Gerda was about my height. And this person’s head was some six inches taller and had dark, unruly hair. He stepped into moonlight and I recognized him the second he swung around and saw me.

  “Georgie!” he exclaimed. “It is you! What’s going on? I was keeping an eye on the house and I thought I saw you go past the swimming pool and . . .”

  I put my finger to my lips. “Being followed,” I mouthed and pointed back along the narrow pathway.

  He nodded, understanding. Then he motioned me to stand on one side of the opening while he took up the other. Then he spotted the stone frog I was still holding. Put that down, he indicated with another gesture. I complied. We could hear footsteps running now, coming closer. The figure did exactly what Darcy had done: burst out of the terrace and then paused to look around. Darcy flung himself in a magnificent rugby tackle and brought the person crashing to the ground. In a second he was kneeling on top of his or her back and had twisted an arm. “Try to move and I’ll break it,” he said in a threatening voice.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Gerda’s voice came, half muffled, from the turf. “I am the contessa’s maid. I was concerned about Lady Georgiana. Let go of me.”

  “So concerned that you tried to drug me,” I said. “I have saved some of that tea for testing, by the way. And I know how you killed Count Rudolf. I found the door through the wardrobe.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. “I have done what I was sent to do.”

  Chapter 30

  THE NIGHT BETWEEN APRIL 23 AND 24

  Darcy shifted his position, keeping a knee in her back and her arm twisted up behind her. “Georgie, go for help,” he said.

  “Will you be all right with her?”

  “Yes. Just go.” His voice sounded ragged and tense.

  I ran down the lawn, along the side of the house, to the front door. A policeman was sitting on a wicker rocking chair on the marble terrace, fast asleep. He jumped up, guiltily, when I aroused him.

  “Come with me.” I motioned. “Now. Rapido.”

  Luckily he didn’t question this. I think he was still half asleep. But he staggered after me and recoiled in astonishment when he saw Darcy kneeling on a person.

  “This woman killed Count Rudolf,” Darcy said in Italian. “Do you have handcuffs?”

  He didn’t.

  “Take off your tie,” Darcy said. The policeman did and Darcy swiftly bound Gerda’s hands behind her back. None too gently either. Then he hoisted her to her feet. She gave him a look of contempt. As they left I went to follow them, then spotted something shining in the moonlight. I picked it up with care and ran to catch up as they marched her back to the house, where the butler soon roused Paolo and Camilla.

  “This man attacked me,” Gerda said angrily. “He is mad. I saw Lady Georgiana leave the house and I was concerned for her safety. So I followed her.”

  “Who are you?” Paolo demanded, glaring at Darcy.

  “I know who he is!” Camilla exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile. “You’re cousin Darcy.”

  “The very one,” Darcy said. “How are you, Camilla? I was in the area so I thought I’d drop in on my fiancée, only to find her being stalked by this woman.”

  “Who was trying to kill me,” I said. “She’d already poisoned my drink tonight, but I tipped it away.”

  “Of course I wasn’t trying to kill her.” Gerda spat out the words. “Trying to protect her.”

  “With this?” I held up a long, thin-bladed knife. “She dropped it when Darcy tackled her.”

  “Well done, Georgie,” Darcy said, giving me a smile. “I have received several telegrams from London about this woman. Not an Austrian citizen. And the home secretary, where she was employed as a maid, had expressed concern that she might be spying on him. Then his wife died, in highly suspicious circumstances, and Gerda disappeared—conveniently finding a job in Italy for her next assignment.”

  Camilla turned to face Gerda. “You pushed Monique under that bus, didn’t you? My sweet little Monique who never harmed anyone. You’re a monster.”

  Gerda merely smiled. “I am not weak like you. Like all of you. I despise weaklings. You wait until my country rules the world.”

  Soon Stratiacelli and more policemen arrived. Uncle Cosimo telephoned Milan and senior officers were on their way. Stratiacelli was told to do nothing until they arrived. Other guests were woken by the goings-on. General Spitz-Blitzen came down in a red-and-white-striped dressing gown that made him look like a child’s spinning top. He seemed genuinely horrified.

  “Of course I don’t know this woman,” he said. “Clearly she was sent by the Abwehr and, believe me, I stay well away from them.”

  “What about Klinker?” I asked. “Is it possible he was sent to help her with the assignment?”

  “Klinker? But he seemed like such a simple boy.”

  “Has he been your aide long?”

  “No, only a few months. But a good and willing worker. Go and ask him yourself. You will see.”

  A servant was sent to Klinker’s bedroom, but came running back, babbling almost incoherently in Italian. It seemed Klinker was lying in his bed with his throat cut.

  I turned on Gerda, as she sat, with a police guard on either side of her. “You killed Klinker? Why?”

  Again that look of utter derision. “He proved to be a weakling. He was supposed to take care of you for me.”

  “You wanted Klinker to kill me?” I could hardly stammer out the words.

  “He refused. He said he was not going to end the life of such a nice girl. He had fallen in love with you. A weakling.”

  I swallowed back a sob. Poor, sweet Klinker, trying to make love
from a book. I wondered how he had found himself working with the German secret service. Had he volunteered or been coerced into it? Now we’d never know.

  Darcy slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve had a hell of a night. I should put you to bed right away.”

  I smiled at him. “Any other time I’d take you up on that invitation, but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to go to bed until the next lot of policemen get here and we have all given our statements. I just feel so badly about Klinker. He came across to me as a sweet boy. He tried to make love to me, but he hadn’t a clue what to do.”

  “I hope you didn’t encourage him,” Darcy said.

  “For heaven’s sake, Darcy. I felt sorry for him.”

  “If he was working for the Abwehr, as he obviously was, then he was no sweet and innocent boy,” Darcy said. “That was how he hoped to win you over and get you to a place where he could kill you.”

  “But he didn’t,” I said. I felt a tear well up and trickle down my cheek. “He was decent in the end.”

  High-powered policemen arrived from Milan. Gerda was taken away in a black Mercedes, looking defiant and triumphant to the end. Klinker’s body was removed. When the first streaks of dawn showed in the sky the British consul arrived from Milan, to whisk away the Prince of Wales.

  The prince came over to me as servants were trying to find room for all of Mrs. Simpson’s luggage. “I say, Georgie, there is an aeroplane leaving Milan for London this morning. I’m sure we could squeeze you in, if you’d like to come with us. Not much fun going through another police investigation here and my mother would obviously be happier if I brought you safely home.”

  “It’s very kind of you, sir,” I said, “but I came here originally to be with a sick friend and I have to return to her the moment I am able.”

  He gave me a nod of understanding, then he said, “Look, we can dispense with calling me sir, except on formal occasions. We are cousins, after all. Why don’t you just call me David? Wallis does.”

  “I know,” I said. “Thank you, but behavior toward the royal family was ingrained in me at a young age. You’ll always be sirs and ma’ams to me, however fond I am of all of you. Although I do confess that I call the little princesses by their first names. That will probably stop when they get older. I rather fear that Elizabeth may be a stickler for protocol.”

  He grinned. “Righty-o, then,” he said. “If you don’t want a lift, then we should be off. Glad to get away from this place, if you want the truth. Waste of our time. Don’t know why we came here in the first place.”

  I do, I thought. Instead I said, “It was probably a valuable experience for all of us. It showed us that the Nazis can’t be trusted, didn’t it? When the time comes, we’ll know which side we should be on.”

  “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “I suppose we will. Pip-pip, then, old thing.” And he went out to join Wallis Simpson, who was loitering by the motorcar.

  As the car drove off, Camilla came to join me. “What a horrid experience this has been,” she said. “I wish I’d never had the bally house party. I can’t think why I agreed to it in the first place. None of these people are my friends.” Then she corrected herself. “Except you, Georgie. You’ve been stellar. I hope we’ll remain friends and you’ll come and stay more often. Now that you’ll be family, you’ll have no excuse not to. In fact, if you and Darcy would like to use one of our houses for your honeymoon, we’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “That would be lovely, Camilla,” I said. “But we haven’t got around to planning honeymoons yet. First we have to get our permission to marry.”

  “I’m sure there will be no problem with that,” she said. We watched the prince’s motorcar turn out of the gates. “You’ll be leaving too, will you?” I detected a wistful note in her voice.

  “I must go back to my sick friend,” I said. “She was the reason I came here, after all. And Darcy says he has to return to London.”

  “If your friend is nearby, do come over to visit,” she said. “Bring your friend if she’s able to come.”

  “I don’t think she is,” I said. “But we have unfinished business before I leave, don’t we?”

  She made a face. “Oh golly. Don’t we just. As soon as those policemen give permission my servants will be stripping Rudolf’s bed and cleaning out his room.”

  “Then we’d better get to work now while nobody is paying attention,” I said. “One last chance.”

  We headed rapidly up the stairs. Rudolf’s room had been closed up and that unpleasant metallic dried-blood smell was still heavy in the air. Camilla glanced at me and pulled a face again. “If you’re up for it, we’d better strip the bed and see if he hid anything under the pillows or mattress.”

  With utter distaste we peeled the blood-caked sheets apart. We lifted the mattress. Nothing. We went through the drawers and checked behind the paintings on the walls. Then, as a last resort, we went through his pockets. In the breast pocket of his dinner jacket we found Camilla’s letter, neatly folded inside his white silk handkerchief. She gave a sob of relief when she saw it.

  “I’m going to burn it straightaway,” she said. “But where can your photos be?”

  “We’ve searched this room thoroughly,” I said. My eye was drawn to the old-fashioned black leather prayer book on the bedside table. “I can’t imagine Rudi bringing a prayer book with him,” I said. I had already been through it once and knew it contained only mass cards of deceased family members, but I picked it up again.

  “I don’t think that’s his,” Camilla said. “It’s an old missal. We have some just like it in the chapel.”

  “The chapel!” I didn’t wait a moment longer. I ran down, through the long hallway and into the little door that led to the chapel. At this early hour it was almost bathed in darkness, except for two tall candles that were lit on the altar. Strange shadows flickered and danced and I wondered if there was an electric light I could turn on. It was horribly unnerving, after a night of unnerving events. But I couldn’t give up now. I searched around and found a low cupboard behind the pews, stacked with books. The first ones I removed looked more modern. I thumbed through them. Nothing. Then lower down I came upon a couple of older leather-bound volumes just like the one Rudi had borrowed. And as I thumbed through the first one a photograph fell out. It was too dark to see what the photo portrayed. I took the photo over to one of the candles and nearly dropped it in shock.

  I had a pretty good idea by now of how a man and a woman made love. Or at least, I thought I did. But this was nothing like it. A wild jumble of arms and legs and my mother’s face . . . Even though I was alone, I found myself blushing furiously. A rapid search of the other identical missal produced more photographs. Six in all. All equally shocking and disturbing. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at my mother again without blushing. I rummaged through other books and just prayed that I had located them all. I wasn’t going to wait a second longer. I lifted down one of the candles from the altar, held the offending pictures close to the stone floor and burned them, one by one, enjoying watching the treated paper curl and writhe like a snake in agony before it turned to ash.

  I had just got rid of the last one, trying not to study it too closely, and had just stood on tiptoe to replace the candle when the door at the back of the chapel opened and Father Francisco came in.

  “Buongiorno,” I said. Trying to breathe normally.

  He gave me a puzzled nod. “You come to mass?” he said in stilted English. “Not for one more hour.”

  “I was upset after last night,” I said. “I came to pray.”

  “Bene.” He nodded again. “Prayer is good. I also pray. Stay. We pray together.”

  “Oh no. I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” I said. “No, really. I must go.” As he put out a hand to restrain me, I crept past him and fled. I wondered what he would make
of the pile of missals I had left on the floor, or the little piles of ash near the altar. No matter. I was leaving. I wouldn’t have to explain them. And as I left the chapel I suddenly pictured what might have happened if Paolo’s mother had opened the wrong missal. And I had to grin.

  Chapter 31

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 24, 1935

  Finally leaving Villa Fiori. Never been so glad in my life!

  During the time I was in the chapel the sky had brightened. Now I got my first look out of the east-facing windows toward the lake and saw the sun appearing between the peaks. The lake itself looked like molten silver and the first ferry of the day left a silver trail behind it. I stood, transfixed by the beauty and peacefulness of the scene, allowing myself for the first time in ages to enjoy what I was seeing. As I stood there I heard the neat tap of high heels on the stairs. I looked up to see my mother coming down them, looking delicate and serene in pale blue.

  “Good morning, darling,” she said. “Did you manage to sleep after that horrid day yesterday?”

  I stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Have you only just woken up?” I asked.

  “Well, yes. It is only seven. That’s horribly early for little moi.”

  “Then you don’t know?” I stammered. “You didn’t hear all the commotion last night?”

  “Slept like a log, darling. So did Max. Did something happen?”

  “Only that Camilla’s maid Gerda was arrested for Rudolf’s murder,” I said. “She killed Lieutenant Klinker too and she tried to kill me.”