And all the time she sobbed and gasped, brokenly: "A plot - I learnt of it only now - my husband - I cannot bear the shame - Your Majesty is safe? You haven't tasted anything? God be praised - oh, this is too much to bear -"
Becky hurried to the door and turned the key. Then she helped the Countess, now crying freely, to the sofa.
"My husband - I didn't realize - he was doing something wrong - but not this! He did not do this! It was Godel - they never meant you to succeed - they thought you'd crumble, you'd break and fail - but you didn't do what they expected, you succeeded - and now the talks, the treaty - they're never going to let you sign it!"
"But the Count?" said Becky. "He's not behind this poison business?"
"He confessed to me this morning that he had arranged for the treaty to be postponed for six months - but never this! He discovered that Godel was up to something much worse - but he, I, we didn't learn of it till just now, I swear it -"
Adelaide's hand was automatically stroking the dead kitten. As the Countess explained, her expression gradually darkened until she was finally looking thunderous. Then she lifted the little creature and laid its body on the bedside table before swinging her legs down and standing barefoot on the floor. Her dark eyes blazed out of her flushed face as she confronted the Countess.
"They were going to poison me? The Queen? So that's what the Leopold plot was all about?"
"Leopold?" The Countess was bewildered; it was plain she hadn't heard all of it.
Becky explained quickly. The Countess put her head in her hands.
"Where is the Count now?" said Adelaide.
"He is ill. He was explaining to me, and his heart - I don't know - he collapsed. I came straight here..."
"And you. You're on my side?"
"Ja! Ja, naturlich! Auf alle Zeiten!"
And she curtsied clumsily, that big, cold-mannered, warm-hearted woman, before hastily draping the dressing-gown around Adelaide.
"I'll get dressed at once," Adelaide said. "Never mind a bath, I'm clean enough. Becky! Put out the white silk. I'm not in mourning today, I'm in a temper, that's what I am. And a hurry. Where the hell's Jim? Why isn't he back yet?"
Since Becky couldn't answer that, she didn't, and in any case Adelaide was already in the bathroom brushing her teeth. Becky found the white silk dress - ordered before Rudolf's death, but never worn - and laid it on the bed, together with clean stockings and underclothing.
Ten minutes later, Adelaide was dressed, and the Countess was trying to arrange her hair. Becky was running from dressing-table to armoire, bringing now the jewel-case, now the atomizer of scent, now the rouge, and then Adelaide started as if she'd remembered something, and said: "Becky - listen - in the bottom drawer of the bureau - there's a velvet purse there. Fetch it out, there's a pal."
Becky found it: a heavy velvet bag no bigger than her palm, embroidered in gold thread, with a gold clasp and lock. She gave it to Adelaide, who tucked it away in her bosom just as a knock sounded loudly at the door.
All three of them looked at one another. Adelaide stood up.
"How's me hair?"
"Tidyish. Shall I open the door?"
"Yeah, go on. Stand here, Countess. Guard of honour, that's the style."
Becky unlocked the door and stood back.
The Baron von Godel stood there, with a Captain and a squad of soldiers. The Chamberlain was breathing fast; a pulse in his neck was beating like a little fist against the high starched white collar. His eyes flicked around the room, looking for something, and Becky realized it was the breakfast tray. Perhaps they should have hidden it as evidence; but it was too late now.
Before anyone could speak, the Countess stepped forward angrily.
"Baron Godel! What is your explanation for this - this despicable act of treason and attempted murder?"
Without looking at her, the Baron turned and spoke to the Captain. "Take the Countess to her husband," he said. "He is ill. She is not needed here."
The Countess drew herself up and said with powerful clarity, "I am staying by the side of the Queen. That is my duty, that is my choice. I shall not move."
The Baron, still avoiding her eyes, gestured to the young Captain, who said unhappily, "I have the power to compel you, Your Grace."
"And no doubt you would. Well, you will have to do so, young man. I'm not going to make it easy for you."
She lifted her chin and glared. Adelaide, following their words, clapped her hands, and both the Captain and the Baron started guiltily.
"You had better not lay hands on anyone," she said, eyeing them with cold anger. "Countess, I don't wish to see you hurt. I am very grateful to you. Your loyalty is very precious. But please go with the Captain without arguing. Go and look after your husband, who needs you. No doubt we'll see each other soon when this nonsense is over. In the meantime, you can tell anyone who cares to listen that I'm Queen and I will never surrender."
She spoke in careful, clear German, and although the Countess looked like rebelling, she curtsied low. On an impulse, Adelaide leaned forward and kissed her. Tears came to the woman's eyes, and her hands reached forward involuntarily to clasp and squeeze Adelaide's; and Becky marvelled at the change, from that marmoreal monster of disdain who'd first taken Princess Adelaide's training in hand.
The Captain clicked his heels as the Countess came out of the room, and detailed two soldiers to escort her away. Godel turned back, and at that moment Becky saw something that nearly made her heart stop: it was the pistol Jim had given her, in plain view on the blue silk sofa. She stepped across as if to stand beside Adelaide, but in fact to hide it from view. Perhaps she could pick it up unseen...
Godel said to the Captain, "Place them under close guard. Both of them. Take them to the Castle."
Adelaide saw what Becky was intending, and spoke to distract him.
"Perhaps you're surprised to see me up and about, Baron, after the poisoned breakfast you sent in. It was you, wasn't it?"
Becky, pretending to fold Adelaide's nightdress, picked up the pistol and hid it inside her dressing-gown, turning around in time to see Godel's haggard expression as he tried to find a reply.
Finally he snapped, "Hurry up, Captain!"
The young officer saluted and stepped forward.
"I must ask you to accompany me to the carriage downstairs. If you resist, I shall be obliged to order my men to take you by force."
His voice shook: Adelaide was still the Queen to him.
In other circumstances, she'd have given him one of her looks and he'd have been her slave for life, but some shame was preventing him from looking at her. Instead, his eyes fixed on the middle distance, he stood with drawn pistol, waiting unhappily.
"I am not stupid, Captain, and I hope you're not discourteous," she said. "You must give Fraulein Winter time to get dressed before we leave; you're surely not going to take her across the city in her dressing-gown."
The Captain actually blushed.
Godel said impatiently, "Escort her to her bedroom and wait outside while she dresses. Then bring her to the carriage. You have five minutes, Fraulein."
Becky left, clutching the dressing-gown tightly around her. She didn't look at the soldier beside her, and she slammed the door loudly once she was in the room.
She washed her face and brushed her teeth quickly, and flung on some comfortable clothes: no need to look smart if she was going to prison, but plenty of need to keep warm, she guessed. She hastily threw some spare things into Mama's old carpet-bag, and tucked the pistol into her waist.
In a very short time, she opened the door and went out, cloaked and bonneted. The soldier gestured for her to follow, and together they marched stiffly through the strangely deserted corridors towards the East Door, a side entrance hidden behind the Orangery, where a closed carriage was waiting with a mounted escort.
Godel stood beside it. "Give me that," he said, and took the carpet-bag from her. She watched indignantly as he fumbled through the stocki
ngs, the underwear, the nightgown she'd thrown into it, and then he gave it back. She snatched it from his hands, and glared contemptuously.
A soldier opened the door. She climbed in, and the carriage began to move away at once, so that she swayed and fell on to the seat. The only light in the interior came around the edges of the blinds, and she said, "Who's in here? I can't see -"
"Just me," said Adelaide. "Stop bouncing around. You're making me feel ill."
Becky stood up carefully and felt inside the waist of her skirt. She drew out the revolver with a sight of relief.
"At least it won't perforate me if it goes off," she said, putting it in the carpet-bag. "There's only six bullets in it. We'll have to make them all count."
She sat down beside Adelaide, who - she saw dimly - was looking murderous. The carriage swayed as they went through the gate of the Palace grounds, and then gathered speed as they swung away towards the Castle.
Shortly after that, messengers arrived at the German and the Austro-Hungarian Embassies. Profound regrets - Her Majesty taken suddenly ill - unable to perform signing ceremony as planned - have to postpone it for three days at least, on doctor's orders - final session of Talks to be held in abeyance until her recovery, which of course was most earnestly wished for, etc., etc.
A similar message, more tersely worded, was handed to the representatives of the Press in the offices which had been placed at their disposal. Twenty or so correspondents were gathered there, two-thirds of them from abroad, including a gentleman from The Times and three reporters from the popular press of London, eager for news of the Cockney Queen, as they called her.
The correspondent of the Wiener Beobachter read aloud the message the official had handed him. At once his colleagues began to question the official, who had to hold up his hands and say helplessly, "Forgive me, gentlemen, but I can tell you no more than I know, which is that Her Majesty was taken ill in the early hours of the morning - that her doctor was summoned at once - that a full bulletin will be issued at midday - that in the meantime, the talks are suspended - more news at midday - midday, gentlemen. Excuse me. Midday!"
He left, and the reporters and foreign correspondents began to scribble at once. Some of the quicker-witted, who could do two things at the same time, gathered their hats and coats and ran to be sure of a cab, composing the first sentences in their heads.
The clerks and scriveners, including our acquaintance Herr Bangemann, received the news with loyal concern, and in the absence of any work to do, occupied themselves with speculation, or cards, or the composition of light verse. One of Herr Bangemann's colleagues showed him how to fold a Chinese mandarin out of a square of paper, and Herr Bangemann at once set about making five of the little fellows, in decreasing order of size.
Jim had had no idea, not the faintest far-off dawning of a glimmer of suspicion, of how much he would loathe being a prisoner. It was entirely and profoundly hateful. You were as helpless as a baby, as much in the dark as that poor Leopold had been. Jim felt his eyes fill with hot tears when he thought back to the scene by the trapdoor in the copse; he'd seen the Prince cling desperately to Anton, sobbing like a little child as the soldiers tore him loose. Or had he imagined it after his second bang on the head?
Nor could he clear from his mind the picture of Carmen Ruiz reaching back helplessly from the boat as it floated more and more swiftly away and into the dark. He had no idea whether it flowed on to join the river or indeed whether it ever reached daylight again, and that was horrible to think about.
Jim brushed his face angrily and tried to turn his mind to Adelaide instead, but that made him nearly roar with frustration. It was no good; he got up off the plank bed, tore it from the rusty brackets holding it to the wall, and belaboured the door with a chunk of wood till a voice shouted: "Stop that row! Any more of it and we'll come in and beat you senseless!"
Jim replied with an even louder volley of blows, and a paragraph or so of Billingsgate invective, which made the voice change its mind about coming in and go and ask for orders.
Tiring of the exercise, Jim clambered over the ruins of the bed and tried to jump up high enough to reach the bars of the little window above his head. He could touch the stone embrasure, but it sloped so much that he couldn't get a grip. He spent ten minutes constructing a step with the bits of broken bed, but as soon as he put his weight on it, it collapsed. He yelled with fury and kicked it across the cell.
The light coming in was grey and dismal, and from the amount of time he thought had passed, he guessed it was about ten o'clock in the morning. As for where he was, it might be the Castle, but that idea was only suggested by the stone walls; and any prison might have had those.
After another hefty kick at the door, he cleared a space and sat down.
"Work it out," he said aloud. "Use your head."
If he couldn't reach the window or the ceiling, and he couldn't scrape a hole in the walls, and the floor was made of stone, it only left the door. They'd opened it once, after all, to put him in, and they'd have to open it again sometime.
He got up to examine it more closely. It was made of ancient, heavy oak, and there was neither keyhole nor handle on the inside. At eye-level there was a rectangular peep-hole or Judas window about as broad as Jim's hand, with stout wire mesh over the inside and a sliding wooden cover over the outside - which was about three inches away; and that was a lot of oak, Jim thought.
The cover was closed. He couldn't reach it with a finger, but a few minutes' twisting and snapping produced a long splinter from the broken plank of the bed.
Poking it through the mesh, Jim managed to move the cover sideways a fraction by stroking the splinter along its surface. Once there was a gap, he slid the end into it and levered carefully.
After five minutes, he had the cover open. The view was hardly spectacular: a dismal corridor of stone, lit by the grey light coming through a high barred window at the far end. It was empty of furniture, empty of guards, but there were other doors into other cells, and they were open.
He was the only prisoner, then. Perhaps that was worth knowing. He looked hard at the locks on the other doors: hefty black iron things, secured to the outside of the doors by staples. Medieval rubbish, he thought scornfully; if his lock was like those, he'd have it open in seconds with a bit of wire, if only he could reach it. And if he had a bit of wire. He slid the cover back across the Judas window, so as not to reveal that he could undo it: the least advantage was worth holding on to; and then he tapped his teeth with the splinter of wood and looked around the cell: was there anything he'd overlooked?
Well, his pockets, to start with. Empty, but for a handkerchief; they'd pinched his clasp knife and the skeleton keys, naturally. No help from there, then. What was he wearing? Shoes, trousers, belt, shirt, jacket, jersey...
Sally's knitting! And there was an idea. He couldn't help grinning; the work she'd put into it...
Whistling softly between his teeth, he took off the heavy dark-blue jersey and sat down to unpick it.
The door of the Governor's Chambers closed behind Becky and Adelaide, and a key turned in the lock.
"Well," said Becky. "Prisoners. And it's cold in here. Vexing, I call it. D'you know, my father was a prisoner here - I've just remembered. He died -"
Suddenly and without any warning she found herself sobbing: not for herself, but for that father she'd hardly known, dying of typhoid in this very building. She would have been able to take up the cause of democracy and carry on his work, but now everything was coming apart, and it was unjust, it was cruel...
Adelaide, scowling, paced up and down the threadbare rug in front of the cold and dirty fireplace. The Castle had had no Governor for a hundred years, ever since the Palace was built, and this room had probably been empty all that time. Adelaide took no notice whatever of Becky's tears, and after a minute or so Becky calmed down and mopped her eyes and sniffed hard.
"All right," she said. "Tears over. I won't do it again. I wonder if
they'd bring us some breakfast? Shall I ring the bell?"
For there was a bell-pull by the mantelpiece, a shabby old rope of faded velvet. Adelaide seized it herself and jerked it savagely, and the whole thing came down in a shower of plaster and dust; but a satisfactory jangling resounded in the corridor.
"Useful," said Adelaide, looking at the rope. "We can take turns to hang ourselves. Me first. You're so fat you'd break it."
The door opened, and there was the Captain.
"Captain, are you aware that someone tried to poison us this morning?"
The man blinked and gulped, and shook his head, and shrugged.
"And that we have had nothing to eat or drink as a result?"
"I - I shall arrange for something to be sent up."
"Do so at once."
He began to bow, caught himself, changed it to a polite nod, clicked his heels anyway, and left. The key turned again.
"Huh," said Adelaide, and sat down on the edge of a mouldering armchair, having whisked away the dust. "I suppose, if they've gone as far as arresting us, Jim's plan can't've worked. I hope he's all right."
Becky felt a cold bolt of fear in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't realized how much of her own confidence depended on knowing that Jim was free.
"Course he's all right," she said shakily.
"And poor little Saucepan... I wonder what it'll be next? Something quick, I hope. I wouldn't mind a bullet. I don't fancy having me head cut off..."
"Stop it," said Becky. "Stop being silly. Wouldn't mind a bullet - you bloody well should mind a bullet. Don't you dare get resigned. They've got no right to do this. What we have to do is work out what they're doing, and how to stop it."
Adelaide's eyes flashed dangerously. She'd been Queen just long enough to have forgotten what it was like to be spoken to like that; but she nodded.
"All right. Well, they can't do anything without some kind of ruler. They got to have someone to sign papers and ratify laws and... To carry the flag. To be the Adlertrager. That's where the authority comes from, innit?"
Becky, watching her, nodded. "So you think they'll take it down and get Leopold to carry it to the Rock - if they've got him?"
"Yeah. They were really hoping I'd guzzle that breakfast and turn me toes up, like Saucepan. Then they could have said, 'Oh, what a pity, look, the Queen's kicked the bucket,' and given me a posh funeral and everyone would've cried their eyes out. Then they'd look good, see, they'd look innocent, they could join in the mourning with everyone else. And then bring on this Leopold geezer and make him do what they wanted..."
The Tin Princess Page 18