When the Baron could not be found, Big Karl would take charge of the affair and, no doubt, decree that the prisoners should be held until his master reappeared. By afternoon the infuriated von Haugwitz should again be in a position to give orders. One way or another he would contrive that they spelt death for Roger and Georgina.
Spurring his horse forward, Roger called to the coachman to pull up. With a look of surprise, the man obeyed. Roger then said, ‘Now turn about.’
Instead of doing so, the coachman replied, ‘We are going to Frankfurt, mein Herr.’
‘No. I have changed my mind. We are going to Coblenz.’
The man scowled at him and protested sharply. ‘I am driving this coach to Frankfurt. Those are the Herr Baron’s orders.’
Roger felt certain then that the coachman was in the plot, and knew about the hold-up that was to take place further along the road; perhaps even only a few hundred yards ahead. He gave a quick glance in that direction, but could see no movement among the trees and bushes which covered the slope up from the roadside. Pulling a pistol from his holster, he pointed it at the coachman, and cried:
‘Do as I say. Turn the coach about, or I’ll put a bullet into you, then drive it myself.’
Muttering an oath, the man turned the vehicle round. As he did so, a young footman who had been perched on the boot, jumped down and ran off into the bushes.
Cursing his own negligence in having forgotten both the ambush and that, according to custom, a footman would ride on the back of the coach, Roger roared at the coachman, ‘Now put your horses into a gallop, or I’ll blow your head off.’
Cowed by the threat, the man whipped up his horses, and the coach rattled along the stony road at full speed. But now Roger was really worried. The footman would report to Big Karl what had happened. They would search for the Baron in vain. It was quite possible that the steward was fully aware of his master’s intentions. In any case, he knew that it had been planned to ambush the coach; so the odds were that he would take it on himself to send mounted men after it.
Inside the coach, poor Georgina was bounced from side to side. She had caught only Roger’s last shouted order to the coachman. Clutching the window-frame, she thrust her head out and called to him, ‘What has happened? Whither are we going, and why at such a pace?’
‘To Coblenz,’ he shouted back. ‘This rogue on the box would have driven us into the ambush had I not thought to make him turn about in time. But Coblenz is thirty miles or more downstream. I fear we’ll be pursued, and there alone lies safety, so we must make all possible speed.’
As the coach passed below the Schloss, the horses were still going at a gallop; but after a mile, their pace began to slacken. Few men knew more about the staying power of horses than Roger; and he grimly admitted to himself that, if they were to complete the journey, the most that could be expected of them was a fast trot, eased every mile or two by dropping into a walk.
Having ordered the coachman to slow down, Roger began to assess their chances of getting away. For the footman who had bolted to get back to the height on which the Schloss stood, then trudge up the road to it should take a good three-quarters of an hour. Another half-hour might be spent in unavailingly searching for von Haugwitz in the vineyards, then a final quarter of an hour for Big Karl to decide to act on his own and have his men saddle up.
That meant that the coach would have at least an hour and a half’s start. But it could not travel at much more than ten miles an hour, whereas mounted men could do twenty. By the time they started, the coach should be about half-way to Coblenz, but after that the gap would swiftly close. If the pursuers rode hard, they might overtake the coach at any spot on the last ten miles to Coblenz.
‘What then?’ wondered Roger. As the Confederation of the Rhine was a part of Napoleon’s empire, he had gone to Langenstein in uniform. Once in Coblenz, where there was a French garrison, no-one would dare lay a hand on him; although, now that he had ditched Lisala, it was certain that she would betray him, so he must disappear before he could be caught and hauled back to face a firing squad at the order of the Emperor. It followed that his chances of getting away would be better if no-one in Coblenz could report that he had passed through that city.
But speculation about the future was, for the moment, beyond the point; since the odds were that von Haugwitz’s men would overtake the coach before it reached Coblenz. Would they dare detain a French Colonel? Since they owed allegiance only to the Baron, he feared they would; for it was he, not they who would have to account for the act. And von Haugwitz could justify it by the fact that Roger was making off with his wife.
The slow descent from the Schloss, their setting out towards Frankfurt and turning the coach round had delayed their taking the road to Coblenz by a good half-hour; but they had covered fifteen miles by ten o’clock—roughly the hour that Roger judged Big Karl might send his men in pursuit of them. With the horses trotting and walking alternately, they progressed another five miles. Then disaster overtook them.
For the first hour, Roger had ridden alongside the coachman, keeping a sharp eye on him. Then, assuming that the man had become resigned to driving them in to Coblenz, he had, now and then, dropped a little behind, to talk to Georgina. He was doing so and the coach was moving at a smart trot, when it suddenly swerved and hit with its near forewheel a large boulder at the side of the road. As a result of the impact, the front axle snapped and, tilting sideways, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.
Convinced that the coachman had caused the accident deliberately Roger, swearing like a trooper, rode up alongside him, lifted his riding switch and slashed the man with it again and again across the head, shoulders and face. Screaming with pain the man fell into the road from the far side of the box. But this ferocious chastisement could not mend the axle.
A village could be seen in the distance; and, for a moment, Roger thought of galloping into it to fetch a wheelwright. Then he dismissed the idea as useless, for it would have taken several hours’ work to repair the damage to the coach. Another possibility was to mount Georgina behind him, ride into the village and take the ferry across the river to the far bank. But to do so would be to court great danger. In theory, the other side of the river was French territory, but French writ did not run there. Napoleon’s garrisons were stationed only in towns many miles apart. Between the rivers Rhine and Moselle lay the Hunsruck mountains. Bands of deserters of all nations roamed their forest heights; robbing, looting, murdering at will. He could not possibly take Georgina across the many miles of almost trackless territory inhabited by outlaws.
Georgina had scrambled from the lurching coach. With a courage that had all Roger’s admiration, she said quietly, ‘This is most unfortunate. What would be best for us to do now?’
By then, Roger had come to a decision, and replied, ‘There’s only one thing for it, m’dear. Well take the horses from the coach, and you must ride.’
Kicking the recumbent coachman in the ribs, he said, ‘Get up, you filth. Help me unharness the horses. You’re lucky that I have not thrown you in the river to drown. And I will yet if you give me the least trouble.’
Mopping his bleeding face, the man staggered to his feet and, with trembling fingers, set about unbuckling the harness. Handing the reins of his charger to Georgina, Roger adjusted the stirrups and mounted her upon it. Then, as soon as one of the coach horses had been freed, he strapped on its back the coach rug, folded into a thick pad to serve as a makeshift saddle for himself. The other horse he intended to use as a lead horse, and lashed to its back the two valises containing Georgina’s most precious possessions. Finally, he turned to the coachman and snapped:
‘Take off your coat. I want it.’
For a moment the man stared at him in surprise; then, feeling that it was a cheap price to pay for escaping with his life from this terrible Frenchman, he wriggled out of the garment and handed it over. He was a tall man; the coat a long one, coming down nearly to his ankles, and it had a
wide, triple collar. It had occurred to Roger that it would completely cover his uniform, and thus enable him to pass any French troops they might encounter in Coblenz, without being saluted and, possibly, remembered. Picking up the coachman’s hat for good measure, he hauled himself up on to his makeshift saddle and, with Georgina beside him, rode away from the wrecked coach.
But now it was more than ever uncertain if they would reach Coblenz without being caught. The breakdown of the coach had cost them a good twenty minutes, and it was close on eleven o’clock. If mounted men had been sent after them by this time they could not be far behind; and there was still a third of the way to go. Yet, as sometimes happens, good comes out of seeming ill-fortune; since, without the heavy coach to pull, the horses were capable of greater speed.
With Roger now and then glancing apprehensively over his shoulder, they passed through two more villages and made another five miles. Then, as they were coming to the end of a long, straight stretch of road, he looked back and saw that five horsemen had just entered the stretch at a fast trot.
‘They are after us,’ he called to Georgina. ‘But their horses must be near as tired as ours. Get all the speed you can out of yours.’
Spurring their mounts, they rounded the bend at a canter, with Georgina, who had always been a splendid horsewoman, leading. A quarter of a mile further on, Roger shouted to her to ease up. He had seen, as he had hoped he might, a track leading off the road up through the vineyards. Turning into it, they rode on for a couple of hundred yards, then dismounted and led the horses in among the vines. Unlike the low-growing vines in most countries, those on the Rhine and Moselle are trained up six-foot-tall poles; so anyone hiding among them could not be seen from the road.
Ten minutes later, they caught the sound of hoof beats. Roger went on tiptoe to steal a glance through the vine tops at their pursuers. Then he began to laugh. The horsemen were not von Haugwitz’s people, but a little troop of Hessian Hussars.
For a few minutes they stood there, then Roger suddenly had an idea. ‘Quick!’ he exclaimed. ‘We must mount again and go after them.’
Puzzled, but without questioning him, Georgina swung herself into the saddle and followed him down the track. Their horses having had a breather, were capable of cantering again, so they were soon only fifty yards behind the Hussars. Hearing them come up, the leader of the troop, a Corporal, turned in his saddle. Roger had not yet put on the coachman’s coat and hat, but had them tied to the lead horse. Seeing his resplendent uniform, the Corporal called his men to attention, and saluted. Roger returned the salute, and gave him a friendly greeting. Then he said in a low voice to Georgina:
‘Ease your pace. I don’t want to have to talk to them, only remain near enough to them for it to appear that we are with them.’
Two miles further on, the spires of Coblenz were in sight. But a minute later hoofbeats sounded on the road behind. They had just rounded another bend of the river, and Roger turned to see four horsemen flogging their steeds into a gallop. Their leader was Big Karl.
As they approached, Roger said to Georgina, ‘Ride on, and leave this to me.’ Then he reined in his horse, and turned it to face von Haugwitz’s men. When Big Karl pulled up in front of him, Roger asked with a smile:
‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’
Karl’s eyes glinted angrily, as he replied, ‘We have come to take you and my master’s wife back to Schloss Langenstein.’
‘Have you indeed?’ Roger said quietly. ‘Then I fear you will have had your ride for nothing. You will observe that the Gnädigefrau Baronin and I have an escort. Dare to lay a hand on us and, as a French Colonel, I will call on those soldiers of a country allied to France to seize you; then, in Coblenz, I’ll charge you and your men with attempting to carry us off with intent to rob us.’
With a contemptuous smile, he turned his horse about, and cantered off to join Georgina. For a few minutes Big Karl and his men remained where they were, arguing heatedly. Then they too turned their horses about, and rode slowly away.
A mile further on, they entered the last village before Coblenz. Checking Georgina, Roger said a word of farewell to the Hussars who, quite unconsciously, had served them so well; then turned off down a side street. Beyond the last house there were again vineyards. Dismounting among the vines, he donned the coachman’s coat and hat. Then they rode back to the main road and into the city. The bells of the churches were chiming midday as they walked their tired horses over the bridge of boats to the safety of French territory.
They had been up for most of the previous night, and the strain endured during their thirty-mile journey had been severe; so, at an inn on the outskirts of the city, they pulled up to rest themselves and their horses. After spending an hour drinking a bottle of wine and eating a platter of brödchen, they rode on again, as Roger was anxious to get away from Coblenz where, despite his thin disguise, he might be recognised by an officer of the garrison.
Their way now lay along the beautiful, winding valley of the Moselle. On one bank there were lush green meadows with cattle grazing in them, and orchards of apple, cherry and plum; on the other steep gradients clothed with tall vines. Soon after they left the city, Roger took off the coachman’s coat and hat as, wherever they stayed the night, he would have to reveal his uniform; but he removed his decorations and the insignia that showed him to be a Staff Colonel.
Some eight miles from Coblenz, they came to the village of Winningen. The inn there, with its vine-covered terrace, looked a pleasant place; so, deciding they had gone far enough, Roger took a room for them there in the name of Captain and Madame Bonthon.
Now, very, very tired, but marvellously content to be alone together, they ate an early supper, then went to bed and slept the clock round.
Next day they spent lounging on the terrace in the September sunshine. They spoke little, but smiled at each other frequently. It was not until the evening that Roger said:
‘My love, we have to make a plan. When Lisala gets back to Vienna, she will cook my goose with Napoleon once and for all. She knows too much of the truth about me not to be believed. My career as M. le Colonel Baron de Breuc is finished.’
Georgina stretched out a hand, grasped his, pressed it and said softly, ‘And you have sacrificed it in order to save me.’
He smiled. ‘Dear heart, I am happy to have done so. It could well have ended on a battlefield, and that could have done no-one any good. In due course, I will make my way back to England; but the trouble is that did I attempt to go now it would be exceeding difficult to take you with me.’
‘Then let us remain in these parts,’ she suggested. ‘I brought my jewels with me in one of the valises. Their value far exceeds the sum needed to purchase a small property. We could give out that we are refugees from some part of the country that has been devastated, and fade into a rustic background until the war is over.’
Sadly he shook his head. ‘No. There is nothing I would love more; but it is not practical. If one has to hide, it is easier to do so in a city than in the country. Villagers are inveterate gossips. The arrival of two well-born strangers such as you and me would incite their curiosity to the utmost. Our elopement from Schloss Langenstein and my having turned out to be a British spy will be talked of far and wide. Sooner or later, someone will recognise a description of one of us and our bliss would end in tragedy. I would be hauled up to be shot and you would be left without anyone to protect you. And, as an Englishwoman among your country’s enemies, a protector you must have.’
‘Roger, you know well that there is no-one whom I can rely on as a protector, except you.’
‘Yes, my love; there is … the Archduke John.’
‘Oh, John. Yes, but …’
With a wave of his hand, he cut her short. ‘All today I have been thinking of this matter. Having your best interests at heart, I feel that the right thing to do is to take you to Pressburg, or wherever his headquarters may now be, and hand you over to him. He will, I am sure,
see to it that no trouble befalls you; and, as soon as it is possible, he will be able to send you back to England under diplomatic protection.’
After a moment’s thought, she said, ‘Much as I was taken with John, I have never lived openly as any man’s mistress, and am not prepared to do so, even for an Archduke. But you are right, that he could get me back to England. And I do wish that. I long to be with Charles during his teenage years that can do so much to form the character of a man. But what of you?’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry your sweet head about me. Old campaigners never die. I’ll procure civilian clothes and go into hiding for a while. But, sooner or later, I’ll turn up on your doorstep at Stillwaters.’
So it was agreed that next day they should start to make their way to Upper Austria.
When morning came, they went down to breakfast in the little coffee room. The waiter handed Roger a news-sheet printed in Coblenz the previous afternoon. For a moment he glanced indifferently at the headlines. Then he exclaimed:
‘God alive! Georgina, listen to this.’
‘MOST MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY OF THE CENTURY.
‘It is reported that the Herr Baron Ulrich von Haugwitz, and a French lady, the Baronne de Breuc, were found dead yesterday in the most extraordinary circumstances. The questioning of the servants at the Herr Baron’s Schloss Langenstein leads to the belief that the two were lovers. For some utterly inexplicable reason, they elected to consummate their passion for each other in a wine press. Presumably they fell asleep there, and failed to wake when, in the late afternoon, vintagers tipped hods of grapes into the press upon them. Or it may be that they were swiftly suffocated.
‘Their presence at the bottom of the vat remained undiscovered until the must running from the press took on an unusual pinkish colour. The Kellermeister ordered the press to be emptied. Only then, when a ton of crushed grapes had been removed, there was revealed, to the amazement and horror, of those present, the naked, flattened corpses of the Herr Baron and the French Baronne.’
Evil in a Mask Page 54