Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07

by The Second Seal

  Twice more they danced round the room together, both highly conscious of the horrid silence that now hung like an invisible barrier between them, but neither made any attempt to break it. Then the band stopped. After their last pirouette, he continued to hold for a second the youthful form, shimmering with rubies and diamonds, while he looked straight down into the lovely face so near his own. But she kept her glance averted, so, with a frigid bow, he led her back to the dais.

  As they drew near it he noticed, almost subconsciously, that the Duchess of Hohenberg had her dark eyes fixed upon him, and when Ilona resumed her chair the Duchess spoke. By natural law she should have been the first lady in the land, but as matters stood she remained in rank far the inferior of her beautiful young cousin-by-marriage, so she addressed her with a familiarity that was tempered with deference.

  “Your Highness excelled yourself in the last dance. You seem to have found a perfect partner. Will you not present him to us?”

  Ilona had recovered her sang-froid and, with the social smile that habit had already accustomed her to assume spontaneously, she performed the introduction. Franz-Ferdinand gave the Duke a cold appraising look. He was a morbidly suspicious man, and had once remarked to his Chief of Staff, ‘You expect that every man will prove an angel. For my part, I always assume that anyone I see for the first time is a scoundrel, and later on, if possible, I revise my opinion’. Nevertheless, the mouth below his dark moustache, which curled up at its ends, parted in a polite smile, and he offered the Duke his hand. With a much more friendly smile, the Duchess extended hers and De Richleau kissed it with the same low obeisance he would have made had she actually been a royal personage.

  The Archduke inquired if he knew Vienna well, and was enjoying his visit. He made a suitable answer, and was then asked if he travelled much. He replied by speaking of his big game-hunting expeditions and the wars in which he had been involved. Franz-Ferdinand’s heavy face immediately brightened, and once again the Duke had cause to bless the fact that his experience as a general in the Turkish army seemed a sure passport to arousing the curiosity of Austria’s military chiefs; for the Archduke said:

  “This interests me very much. I should like to hear your views on the possible performance of the Turkish army now that it has had a breathing space to recover. Be pleased to make yourself known to one of my aides-de-camp, and ask him to arrange a time when we can have a talk together.”

  “I shall be most happy to place myself at Your Imperial Highness’ disposal,” replied the Duke. Then, as the band began a two-step, the plump, well-corseted Duchess leaned towards him and said:

  “If you fight as well as you dance, Duke, you must be a great general. But in Vienna we count dancing more important, and I should like to have you for my partner in this one.”

  Obediently he led her out, and they had been dancing scarcely a minute before she looked down at his shirt-front and asked, “How did you earn such a highly-prized decoration?”

  He was wearing the Order of the Golden Fleece, to which very few people, apart from royalty, were entitled. He was a Knight of several Orders of Chivalry, but had decided to wear this most illustrious one to-night because such a distinction might make it less remarkable that Ilona should single him out for a partner. Now he was quick to realize that the ambitious Duchess had noticed it at once, and was far less interested in his dancing than in his potentialities as a man who, by his possession of that Order, had the right to address kings as ‘cousin’.

  “I make no claim to merit it,” he said modestly, “but His Majesty of Spain presented me with it in recognition of a somewhat unusual service that I was fortunate enough to render him a few years ago.”

  “You know him well, then?”

  “Fairly intimately. I have, too, a great admiration for King Alfonso. He is one of the few monarchs who today still embody the charm, broad-mindedness, courage and intelligence, which the best kings of the past displayed. I mean, in the days when kingship was no mere matter of inheritance, but an art that demanded great personality to win adherents and keep a throne.”

  She gave him a quick look. “How I agree! The stupidity and narrow-mindedness of some of the present crowned heads of Europe positively maddens me. But let us change the subject before I begin to talk treason.”

  He laughed. “Your Highness has good cause. And I assure you your secrets would be safe with me, for I believe a constitutional monarchy to be the best of all forms of government, but that many of those in Europe are doomed unless fresh, healthy blood can be introduced into the effete stock of some of the ruling families.”

  The Duchess Sophie did not accept his invitation to confide in him, nor had he expected her to do so, but a pleasant conspiratorial feeling had been engendered between them, and for the rest of the dance they got on excellently, so that when it ended she made him promise to call upon her.

  Shortly afterwards he decided to go home, as he was in no mood for further dancing. His presentation to Franz-Ferdinand and his wife had been a piece of real good fortune, but that did not make up for his disappointment over Ilona. He thought that perhaps while abroad she had been like a person on a long sea voyage, which makes people peculiarly susceptible to new outlooks and emotions that are swiftly counteracted by the habits of a lifetime on their return home. Or it might be that he had flattered himself unduly, and allowed his imagination to read more into her last words to him on the boat than she had intended. But, whatever the reason, it was clear that she had no intention of entering on even a flirtation, much less a love affair, with him.

  He tried to console himself with the thought that he was probably well out of trouble, and that an affair with her might have seriously hampered him in his mission. But neither idea carried conviction. He had risked his life too often to be seriously concerned at incurring the displeasure of her family, and knew that, once he was free to do so. he would willingly have gambled a term of imprisonment against the chance to feel her lips against his again. As for his mission, had it not been for her the odds were all against his having yet got to know Franz-Ferdinand and his wife, Conrad von Hötzendorf, Count Berchtold, the Aulendorfs, Adam Grünne, and a dozen other important people, through whom he now had an excellent chance of forming a sound appreciation of Austria’s attitude in the event of trouble with Serbia.

  His eight days in Vienna had been far from wasted, but as he went to bed he decided that better results might come from the leads he had secured if he did not appear eager to follow them up too quickly, and that in any case a change of scene would help him to banish Ilona’s image from his mind: so the coming evening he would take the train to Belgrade and begin his investigations in the Serbian capital.

  He had already received a note from General von Hötzendorf, confirming their luncheon date and asking him to be at the Arsenal by twelve o’clock, in order that they could have a talk before the meal: so on the following morning he set out in good time for his appointment. A taxi carried him swiftly along The Ring as far as the Schwarzenberg Palace, then south-westward for over a mile along the wall of its garden and through the Schwarzer Park to his destination.

  It was the first time he had visited the Arsenal, and he was much impressed by its size. The area it covered was considerably greater than that of the Hofburg and it contained as many buildings, but all set out in accordance with a geometrical plan. The whole formed a rectangle enclosed by a colossal wall of over a mile and a half in length which, with its corner and flanking towers, was castellated in imitation of the battlements of an ancient fortress, although it was obvious that it had been built in comparatively recent times. It housed not only an armaments foundry, but also, like the Invalides in Paris, a big military museum, as well as the headquarters of the General Staff.

  Von Hötzendorf received the Duke with a brisk business-like air, and led him at once to a room in which a great map of the Balkans had already been pinned up on the wall. Without preamble, he asked his visitor to give him a résumé of the cam
paign and his reasons for the defeats the Turkish armies had sustained. For the best part of an hour De Richleau obliged, answered a score of shrewd questions, and pointed out various instances in which, although the Turks were outnumbered, better tactics might have enabled them to stave off defeat.

  The little dark, wizened-faced General was obviously impressed, not only with De Richleau’s military knowledge, but also with his grasp of the ambitions and pressures which animated the Balkan States. And as they went in to lunch he turned the conversation to international affairs.

  Von Hötzendorf was by nature an ascetic. For years he had worked like a demon and denied himself every comfort in order that, by subordinating all personal pleasures to duty, he might set an example to the officers under him. So the lunch was meagre and the wine poor; but, connoisseur as the Duke was, he never gave that a thought. It soon became apparent to him that his host was as much a master of foreign affairs as he was of military matters. His mind seemed to be crammed with particulars of treaties, conventions, pacts, minorities and their ambitions, personalities of courts and cabinets, and the extent of their influence on their governments. Moreover, he made no secret of the fact that he considered it part of his task to so manipulate his country’s diplomacy that, should the Austrian army ever be called upon to strike, it should not be hampered in its operations by uncertainty of the intentions of other neighbouring states.

  Clearly, De Richleau’s Austrian title caused von Hötzendorf to regard his guest as half-Austrian, and the Duke having fought for the Turks against Austria’s traditional enemies, the Serbs, led further to the belief that his sympathies were wholly so. In consequence, as they ate their cheese and biscuits, the General spoke with blunt frankness on Austria’s situation as he saw it.

  He said that for half a lifetime he had watched with acute anxiety the increasing peril of the Empire. The spread of education had resulted in an enormous growth of the separatist movements among her subject peoples. Influential bodies of Hungarians, Czechs, Rumanians, Yugoslavs, Italians and Croats were constantly agitating for powers of self-government which, if granted, could only lead eventually to their complete break-away from the old Imperial system. Worse, Austria was surrounded by greedy enemies who secretly encouraged these minorities, not for the sake of the people in them, but for the territories they occupied. Rumania wanted Transylvania; Serbia, Bosnia; Russia, Galicia; and Italy, the Trientino and Trieste. Therefore, unless Austrian diplomacy could at all times secure the goodwill of a majority of these potential enemies, all of them together might one day fall upon her and rend her to pieces.

  De Richleau nodded his agreement and asked: “What then, General, is your solution to this menacing state of affairs?”

  The reply came promptly. “An old but, I believe, sound one. We are faced with the problem of the bundle of sticks which is too strong to be broken in one movement; but if taken one by one, each stick can be broken separately. Austria does not seek war, but a war would reunite her peoples as nothing else could do, and I am a strong believer in the offensive. If any of our enemies gives us cause, we should not hesitate, but attack and smash her before the rest have time to think up pretexts for going to her assistance and combining against us.”

  Again the Duke nodded, and his voice was steady as he inquired: “Say, for example, that Serbia gave fresh cause for umbrage over Bosnia, would you advise your government to commence hostilities against her?”

  Again the reply came without a second’s hesitation. “Yes, and they would take my advice, for Count Berchtold sees eye to eye with me in this. Given sixteen days to mobilize, I would take the field with an army large enough to crush Serbia utterly, and within three weeks blot her for ever from the map.”

  A cold hand seemed to clutch at De Richleau’s heart. As far as Austria was concerned he now had his answer. She would make no concessions, as he had hoped. There would be no chance for arbitration by a council of nations in an endeavour to keep the peace. Unless Dimitriyevitch and the Black Hand could be muzzled, there would be war.

  CHAPTER IX - RURITANIA WITHOUT THE ROMANCE

  Before leaving Vienna De Richleau was given cause to make a slight modification in his plans. On his return from his revealing and highly perturbing luncheon with von Hötzendorf, he was informed by the desk clerk at his hotel that Frau Sacher would like to see him, so he went at once to her sitting-room.

  He found the old lady enjoying her after-lunch coffee and cigar and, having had an extremely frugal meal himself, he readily accepted an invitation to join her. As soon as he was seated, she said:

  “The office informed me only an hour ago that you are leaving us to-night, Count, and I am sorry about that as I had just succeeded in arranging for you to meet Frau Schratt. I had hoped to have done so before, but she has been unwell. This morning was the first time she has come to see me for over a week, but I remembered your wish and she agreed to lunch here on Monday next, the eighteenth.”

  De Richleau’s brain worked very quickly. Von Hötzendorf was Franz-Ferdinand’s right-hand man, so evidently spoke for him, and had said himself that he and Count Berchtold were of one mind on future policy. That meant that, given a casus belli by Serbia, all the odds were on Austria going to war. But there still remained one slender chance that these apostles of the sword might find their hands tied when the time came. They could not act without the Emperor’s sanction. The old man would have to be consulted and he might prove unwilling to let them have their heads, particularly if he was pressed to do so by the heir whom he disliked and despised. If anyone knew what attitude he was likely to adopt in such a crisis, it was Frau Schratt. She might refuse to discuss it, but that was another matter. This opportunity to endeavour to obtain her views was too precious to be neglected.

  He had intended to spend at least a week, or possibly a fortnight, in Belgrade, but if things went well he might get through his business more quickly. In any case, by leaving Vienna that night and returning by the night train on Sunday, he could get in five days there and, if necessary, after the luncheon on Monday another night journey would get him back to the Serbian capital by Tuesday morning.

  After barely a second’s hesitation, he replied: “I am most grateful to you for arranging a meeting, and anyway, I had intended to return to Vienna shortly. I will invite half a dozen people for next Monday, and leave it, if I may, in your most capable hands to order the dishes that you think Frau Schratt would like best for our luncheon.”

  She shook her head. “Frau Schratt is of a most retiring disposition, and I am sure she would much prefer it if just the three of us lunched in my private dining-room. If you have no objection, I will arrange it so.”

  “Please do, by all means,” agreed the Duke. “And I thank you again, dear Frau Sacher, for taking so much trouble on my account.”

  All that evening thoughts of Ilona plagued him, but at length the time came for him to catch his train, and he found that he was sharing a sleeping compartment with a talkative French impresario in search of Balkan talent, so the amusing experiences of this voluble person took his mind off his abortive love affair until it was time to turn in. The following morning he reached Belgrade.

  It was a pocket capital and, apart from being a seat of government, could hardly have claimed the dignity of the term ‘city’. Its population was a mere 120,000, so it was actually no larger than Southampton, and its few good buildings were concentrated in quite a small area, beyond which spread a higgledy-piggledy collection of mostly ramshackle structures, nearly all of which had been erected a generation or less ago.

  Situated on rising ground, it overlooked the confluence of the Danube and the Save, but its proximity to the former mighty river was the only thing it had in common with the splendid city that De Richleau had left the night before.

  In fact, few contrasts could have been greater. In Vienna, there were endless miles of shops containing every variety of article that the ingenuity of man had devised to make life easy, elegant and pleasan
t. Here, there were only a few streets in which a modest selection of imported goods could be obtained. All but an infinitesimal proportion of the people in the Austrian capital were well-housed, well-fed and well-clothed; whereas the majority of those in the Serbian metropolis lived in near-squalor, ate only the coarsest foods, and were clad in home-made garments. The Viennese bourgeoisie had achieved the highest culture of any middle-class in the world: in Belgrade culture was almost non-existent, and the greater part of its inhabitants could not yet even read.

  Up to eighty years earlier, the Serbs had been an entirely peasant people and, apart from cottage industries, their manufactures were still negligible. For centuries, previous to 1830, Serbia had been a Turkish province, and the Sultans had seen to it that no feudal system ever developed there, so the Serbs had no nobility. When, at last, they had thrown off the Turkish yoke, it had been through a series of revolts instigated by courageous peasant leaders. The most successful of these had been Black George—or, to use his native appellation, Karageorge— a pig-dealer who had served in the Austrian army, and Milosh Obrenovitch, who invented for himself the title Prince of the Serbs. And between the descendants of these two had ensued a long and bitter feud for the domination of the country.

  Milosh’s son, Michael, had reigned till 1842, then been expelled by Alexander Karageorgevitch. In 1859 Michael’s partisans had regained the throne for him, and his descendants had occupied it until 1903 when, after the revoltingly brutal assassination of the unprincipled King Alexander and his ex-demi-mondaine wife, Queen Draga, by the founders of the Black Hand, the present King, Peter Karageorgevitch, has assumed the reins of power. Thus, there had been no more than a few generations of Serbian independence to form even a small middle-class of professional men and officers.