“I am most grateful, Herr Doktor.” The landlady rose from the bench and dropped a half curtsy.
At that moment the sound of a hunting horn echoed through the crisp morning air. Frau Muller’s face lit up. “It’s them!” she exclaimed. “They’re coming. Hansi, Fritzi, out here right away!”
“Another party is coming to the inn?” The young doctor’s face fell. He had no wish for noisy company.
“Not to the inn—not highborn folk like that,” she said in horror, “but they have to pass by on the way to the baron’s hunting lodge, and they usually break their journey and rest the horses after the climb. You must have heard of Baron Vizkelety?”
“Of the Hungarian banking family? Of course I’ve heard of him. Fabulously wealthy and with connections throughout the civilized world.”
Frau Muller nodded as if somehow taking credit for this. “He has a chateau on Lake Geneva, as you probably know, but less well known is that his hunting lodge is in the forest five miles from here. He comes for the occasional weekend with guests who desire to be away from prying eyes. I’ll wager all of the crowned heads of Europe have been here, at one time or another. Why, I’ve even served beer to the Kaiser—our best beer, naturally.”
As they spoke the sound of jingling harness could be heard approaching up the track, and soon the first of the party came into view—two mounted outriders, dressed in hunting green livery. Behind them the first of three fine closed carriages appeared and came to a halt right beside the inn. A footman sprang down and opened the carriage door, placing a step before it. A young man of military bearing was first to jump out, turning to assist a portly bearded gentleman in a tweed jacket, then an elegant gray-haired woman in a magnificent fur-trimmed cape, and finally a silver-haired man of fine Slavic features and noble bearing, who stood breathing deeply and looking around him with satisfaction.
Behind them a second carriage disgorged a pale and podgy middle-aged couple, who both looked as if they had perpetual smells under their noses, then a stunningly beautiful young woman, dressed in bright silks of the latest fashion. Last of all a large, red-faced man, whose waistcoat buttons seemed about to pop across his broad paunch, appeared at the door of the second carriage.
“Why are we stopping here?” the latter demanded in clipped German. “Something wrong with the horses?”
“There is never anything wrong with my horses or equipment, I assure you, Count.” The gray-haired man walked toward the rustic outdoor tables. “It has become our tradition to break our journey here to let the horses catch their breath, while we feast our eyes on the view and our stomachs with a pint of good Swiss beer, if Frau Muller will oblige?”
The landlady had dropped a deep curtsy. “With the greatest of pleasure, Herr Baron. I’ll tell my husband to get busy pouring. And for the ladies? Some spiced wine to take off the chill of the morning, perhaps?”
“An admirable idea.” The baron smiled.
“Just coffee for me,” the beautiful young woman said in German that bore a strong American accent. “I wasn’t raised to drink wine in the mornings.”
The doctor had risen to his feet when the party arrived. He stood watching as they moved around, admiring the view. The baron noticed him standing and went over to him.
“Please don’t let us disturb your breakfast, young man.” The baron gestured for him to resume his seat. “A few minutes, and we’ll be on our way again. You are staying here?”
The doctor clicked his heels. “Jawohl, Herr Baron. Dr. Sigmund Freud, at your service. Visiting from Vienna.”
“Baron Vizkelety, as I’m sure our garrulous Frau Muller will have told you. And if I’m not mistaken, Dr. Freud, I have heard of you. Are you not the young fellow who has written those interesting articles on the diseases of the mind? I read about your work with the young girl, whose hysteria has made her forget her own language and even how to swallow. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“It was indeed, Herr Baron. And maybe you read an article that was published in the Wiener Zeitung last spring, on the hidden revelations of our dreams.”
“I believe my wife read it. Our dreams reveal our hidden thoughts? Fascinating.”
Dr. Freud bowed his head modestly. “I am only beginning to unlock the mysteries of the mind, Herr Baron.”
“You must pay us a visit while we are here. My wife would be most intrigued to speak with you. She has always tried to interpret her dreams—with mixed success, I might add.” He gave a wicked smile. “Come and shoot with us tomorrow, then stay for lunch.”
“I’m afraid I am not much of a shot, Herr Baron,” the doctor said. “There has been little opportunity for outdoor pursuits during my long years of study.”
“Then we must remedy it.”
Freud smiled. “I have to confess that I have never held a weapon. Were I to do so now, I fear I may be more of a danger than an asset to the shooting party, but I would very much like to accept your invitation to visit you at your convenience.”
“Then come tomorrow anyway. Why not? I’m sure Frau Muller can arrange transportation if you don’t wish to walk through the woods. You can keep my wife entertained while I’m out shooting, and maybe she will not notice how long we’re away. Then we’ll all have a splendid chat over lunch.” He smiled genially, and the doctor bowed his head.
“Most kind of you, Herr Baron,” he said. “I shall took forward to it.”
The landlord appeared carrying a tray laden with beer steins, while his wife came behind him with steaming glasses of mulled wine for the ladies plus one cup of coffee. A stein was passed first to the bearded, portly gentleman, then to the rest of the party. Glasses were raised in a toast. The portly gentleman and the military type strolled to the railing together to admire the view.
“I say, Vizkelety, can we get moving? My wife feels the cold, you know,” the large red-faced man said irritably.
The rest of the party turned to stare at him with a look of horror on their faces, which Dr. Freud couldn’t explain. He heard the distinguished couple muttering something about “not done” and “protocol,” before the portly man returned to the group and smiled genially at the young beauty. “Yes, of course. Mustn’t let the little lady freeze.” He took her hand to help her back into her carriage.
“It’s being so long in South America. It thins the blood,” the young military man said in English.
The crash of breaking glass made them look up. Fritzi, the inn servant, stood gaping at them, a tray of broken glasses at his feet. He began to stagger toward them when he was restrained by the innkeeper. “Get inside with you, Fritzi, and don’t go disturbing the gentry,” he said calmly. “You have to excuse him, your honors. Not quite right in the head, but harmless enough.”
The servant continued to stare. “I know you,” he shouted toward the portly gentleman who was being assisted into his carriage. “I know you. Do you know me?”
There was a titter of laughter as the carriage door closed and the party moved off.
“The fellow knows me. Isn’t that priceless?” the portly man said in English, still chuckling.
“He may have seen Your Highness’s picture in newspapers,” the young man replied.
“Yes, but he expects me to know him!”
The occupants of the carriage laughed.
“Well, don’t just stand there, Fritzi. Get this lot swept up,” Frau Muller commanded as the servant stared after the departing horses.
The next day dawned bright and clear, with a hint of frost in the air. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the fresh scent of pines as Dr. Freud prepared to set out for the baron’s hunting lodge.
“I should start early if it’s a five-mile walk,” he said to Frau Muller.
The landlady shook her head in horror. “You’ll not go that distance on foot, surely, a city man like you.”
“I assure you it’s no problem, dear lady.”
But Frau Muller shook her head even more vehemently. “It’s not right and proper that I
shouldn’t take better care of my guests. And it’s not right and proper that you should arrive among such highborn folks on foot. Fritzi will take you in the trap. We can spare him for a day, and it will give you a chance to question him at leisure.”
Frued nodded a polite bow. “Most kind of you, Frau Muller. I accept your offer and look forward to speaking with your servant.”
Fritzi appeared, obviously having been spruced up for the occasion by the landlady, his black hair parted and slicked down and wearing a jacket that was two sizes too big for him.
“You understand where you’re going, Fritzi,” Frau Muller said patiently. “Remember your place. No speaking with the gentry. You wait beside the trap until the Herr Doktor is ready to come home.”
The man nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat. Dr. Freud sat beside him.
“Now mind you’re back before it’s dark,” she said. “There’s no carriage lights on the wagon, and there’s nothing as dark as a pine forest at night.”
Behind the inn the pine forest stretched unbroken until it met the high meadows and snows of the first Alpine peaks. It was by this forest that they were now swallowed, following a dark and gloomy narrow track between tall trees. The stout pony’s hooves were muffled by the carpet of pine needles as it plodded along willingly.
“They tell me you have no memory, Fritzi,” the doctor began as the inn was left behind. “No recollection of home, family, friends?”
The servant shook his head. “None at all. Nothing. Sometimes I think I must always have been mad.”
“What comes to your mind when you hear the word ‘mother’ for instance?”
The man paused, then shook his head. “Nothing, I cannot picture my mother.”
Frued nodded. “Your conscious mind blocks your past because of a trauma. Tell me, do you have dreams?”
For a second the man’s face lit up. “Dreams? Ja—I have one dream, again and again.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I am in a village—all nice houses, well built, comfortable. There are lights on inside them, but I cannot get into any of them. No doors will open to me, and I understand that they have a very modern system of locks for each house. I have a key in my hand, but it will not work on any of them. I am alone. Outside.”
“Very interesting,” the doctor said, “and easy to interpret, in the circumstances. Because you have lost all ties with your past, you feel shut out from normal society. You desire to find your way home, but you can’t. You don’t know which of these houses is your home, correct? While I am here, I will do what I can to help you.”
“Thank you, Herr Doktor. I am very thankful.”
“I wonder if cocaine might perhaps ease your anxiety,” he said, almost to himself.
The servant reacted. “Cocaine?” he asked, his voice high and tight.
Freud looked at him with interest. “This word is familiar to you? You have heard of this substance?”
“Ja,” Fritzi said.
“Interesting, I wonder how? Tell me, what is it?”
“White,” Fritzi said quickly, then the blank expression came over his face again. “I’m sorry. I can tell you no more. It was but a fleeting impression, and now it’s gone.”
“But this is indeed a hopeful sign, Fritzi,” Dr. Freud said. “It tells me that your past is there, waiting to be unlocked. All we need to do is to find the key. I regret that I have brought no cocaine with me. Perhaps I can persuade Frau Muller to have you accompany me to my clinic in Vienna.”
“Leave this place, you mean?” the servant looked around wildly. “I don’t know.”
“You would be well taken care of, I assure you. And if your torment could be eased, how could you refuse?”
“You are right,” he said at last. “I would do anything that would ease my torment.”
The servant stared ahead of him, his eyes focused on the track, a look of bleak hopelessness in them again.
At last they reached tall wrought-iron gates, barring their way. Before the doctor could decide what to do about this, a green-liveried servant sprang out as he heard them approaching.
“Dr. Freud?” he asked. “My master expects you. Please proceed.” The gate was opened, and they passed through. A hunting lodge came into view through the trees, not at all humble in size, but built in the rustic manner of pine wood, with carved balconies and a wooden shake roof. The party was already assembled on a well-manicured lawn, the men in hunting green standing together chatting, while the women sat on wicker armchairs around a white-clothed table, dogs and gun bearers waiting patiently beside a white gate.
Before Fritzi could dismount to help Dr. Freud, a servant observed them and came running to assist the doctor.
“This way please, Herr Doktor,” he said and escorted the doctor to the group assembled on the lawn.
“Ah, there you are, Dr. Freud.” The baron broke off his conversations and came to meet him. “Your arrival is well timed. We were just about to set off, as my guests are anxious to get started. I’m glad to be able to greet you in person and make the necessary introductions before we leave. Are you sure you won’t change your mind and try your hand with a gun?”
“Thank you kindly, Baron, but I think I have to decline. I am more likely to bring down one of my fellow hunters than the quarry.”
Baron Vizkeley laughed and motioned to his wife to join him.
The gray-haired hostess put a gloved hand on her husband’s arm. “Just because you enjoy hunting does not mean that the rest of the civilized world shares your passion, Rudi. It is clear that Dr. Freud has little interest in your barbarous sport. He shall stay with me and tell me about my dreams,” she said. “You will have your chance to chat with him when you return with your trophies. I am Baroness Vizkelety, Herr Doktor, and I have read about your work. Come, let me present you to my guests” She slipped her arms through the doctor’s and led him to the company grouped around an outdoor table on which was assortment of cheeses lay on a rude board, together with local black beard, coffee, and schnapps.
“Your Royal Highness.” She approached the portly man in tweeds, “may I be permitted to present Dr. Sigmund Freud from Vienna. The doctor is earning repute as a specialist in diseases of the mind. Dr. Freud, His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.”
The doctor managed to overcome his surprise as he bowed. “An honor, sir,” he stammered.
“May I also present Dr. Freud to their highnesses Prince Ruprecht von Saxe-Coburg and the Princess Gisela.”
“Your servant, Highnesses.” The doctor bowed again before the haughty middle-aged couple, who responded with the slightest of nods.
“And the Count and Countess Von Strezl.”
The large red-faced man scowled at him. “Don’t hold with doctors myself. Never had a day’s sickness in my life. Not even when everyone came down with yellow fever.”
“The count and countess have been living in Brazil, where I’m told the count has a rubber plantation the size of Switzerland,” Baroness Vizkelety continued.
“Slight exaggeration,” the count said, “but we are a week’s canoe ride from our nearest neighbors.”
“Fascinating,” Dr. Freud muttered, eyeing the silent beauty who was not regarding him in the most friendly fashion.
“And our party is completed by Major Johnny Watling-Smythe, equerry to His Royal Highness.” The baroness rested her hand on the handsome young officer’s arm. “I believe you were also in South America at one time, weren’t you, Major?”
“I was part of the Royal Geographic expedition to the Amazon two years ago.” He spoke German fluently but with definitely English vowels. “It was most interesting.”
“And did you meet the count and countess while you were there?” the haughty Princess Gisela asked.
“They were kind enough to invite our expedition to stay with them while some of us recuperated from fever.”
“Living so far from civilization, one welcomes any visitors from the outside world,” t
he American countess said, looking up briefly from the tapestry she was embroidering.
“And did you know you were destined to meet again here, of all places?” the princess continued.
“It was a complete surprise to both parties,” the major said.
“What a small world it is,” Baroness Vizkelety said. “Rudi invited Count Strezl because he knew the count was anxious to get in some shooting while he is away from Brazil, and the major has recently become His Royal Highness’s equerry. Don’t tell me you have unknown ties to our party, Dr. Freud?”
“I’m afraid I don’t move in such exalted circles, Baroness. My time is spent among the poor and the troubled of mind.”
The Prince of Wales chuckled. “He’d probably be interested in my family, given our history.”
“Oh Highness, I’m sure …” the baroness began, but the prince cut her off.
“It’s true. My great grandfather, poor old George Three. Mad as a hatter. If I gave the good doctor a chance to examine me, he’d probably tell me I’m also quite certifiable. What we call in England bats in the belfry.” He spoke the words in English, still chuckling. “Isn’t that right, Johnny?”
“Bats in the belfry? Not you, sir,” the equerry said in English. “Sharp as a tack.”
The company laughed politely. The unnoticed manservant let go of the horse’s bridle and moved closer to the group, a look of intense concentration on his tormented face. As the doctor was offered coffee and schnapps, and the men prepared to leave for the hunt, he moved silently around the edge of the lawn area and made his way to the major, who was standing alone, staring out into the forest.
“Excuse me, sir,” he began in hesitant English, “but I think I might have spoken this language once.”
“You do speak it, and very finely too,” the major said, eyeing him with interest. “You must have had an excellent tutor or a fine ear for languages.”
“No, I meant that it might have once been my native tongue. I thought it was just the language of my nightmares that nobody else understood. What language might it be?”
Sherlock Holmes: The Hidden Years Page 14