‘The money is neither here nor there,’ said Professor Julius. ‘You can stay with us. It shouldn’t be for long.’
‘I suppose I could sleep in the hut if it’s only for a few days,’ Zed had suggested.
But nobody thought this a good idea. The hut was private property; and if he took Rocco it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered.
‘Could he have Annika’s attic?’ Ellie asked, and it showed how completely she trusted Zed that she suggested this.
But Zed shook his head. ‘It’s hers. I wouldn’t want to – it wouldn’t be right.’
In the end it was Pauline who decided where Zed should sleep.
‘He can come to the bookshop. There’s a storeroom at the back – we can put a camp bed in there – and he can come round by the back lane to see to Rocco. Grandfather won’t mind. He probably won’t even notice.’
Pauline had been convinced that Zed spoke the truth the moment she saw him. ‘I always knew no good would come of Annika turning into a “von”,’ she said, and she did her best to make Zed comfortable. Some hostesses do this by bringing their guests breakfast in bed or putting flowers in their room. Pauline did it by piling the books she thought would interest him on the upturned packing case that served as his bedside table.
She brought him a book called The Heavenly Horses of the Emperor Wu-Ti, who believed that his horses would carry people’s souls to heaven when they died. She brought him a book by the Duke of Newcastle on how to train horses for dressage.
And she brought him one of her grandfather’s most prized volumes, On the Art of Horsemanship, written by the famous Greek general Xenophon more than 2,000 years ago.
Zed had seen it in the Master’s hands at Spittal. Now he picked it up reverently. There was a picture on the cover of Xenophon astride a black stallion on the shores of the Black Sea. His hands were thrown up as he gave thanks to the gods after a 2,400-kilometre march with his soldiers – and he rode without stirrups!
Zed opened the book.
On horses such as these even gods and heroes will appear, and men who know how to work well with them will look magnificent!
He was still reading by the light of the paraffin lamp, long after Pauline and her grandfather slept.
But when it came to looking after Rocco and admiring him, Pauline made it clear that real horses made her nervous.
‘Rocco’s just a person who happens to be a horse,’ said Zed – but Pauline was not convinced.
To the little Bodek boys on the other hand, Rocco was a miracle of which they never tired. They burst out of their house as soon as they woke and went to the stable clutching carrots and pieces of apple which they begged from Ellie and which even Hansi only rarely ate himself. The baby, who had just learned to walk, threw up his hands and said, ‘Up, up!’ whenever he saw Rocco, and when Zed put him on his back he sat with his blue eyes wide with awe, and screamed horribly when he had to get down. Georg woke in the night, worrying in case Rocco, who liked to drink in the fountain, should swallow a goldfish.
Fortunately Stefan could control his younger brothers, but he did more than that. He took Zed to see his uncle, and the blacksmith shod Rocco and wouldn’t take payment. When there were odd jobs to be done, Stefan shared them with Zed and divided the money he earned.
Zed had told him that Rocco did not really belong to him, and Stefan, who was usually so placid, became quite cross.
‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Anyone can see he’s your horse. You might as well say Annika doesn’t belong to Ellie because Ellie isn’t her mother. People belong to the people who care for them.’
For Zed, who had fended for himself ever since the Master died, the kindness he was receiving was overwhelming. Sigrid tore up two of the professors’ old shirts and made him a new one. The lady in the paper shop gave him a rug for Rocco. Josef in the cafe saved the straw from his crates for Rocco’s bedding.
And Ellie cooked him noodle soup, and schnitzels so big that they covered the plate, and sat over him while he ate.
‘You’re too thin,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to build you up.’
Zed mostly exercised Rocco at night, trotting down the long Prater Strasse to get to the park where the emperors of Austria had ridden for centuries, and he could let the horse go in a gallop.
But he did not always go so far as the Prater. Sometimes he rode quietly through the streets and squares of the Inner City and learned the history of Vienna from its buildings.
Here was the house where Mozart wrote The Magic Flute and there the lodging where the deaf Beethoven had thumped his landlady’s piano to death. Outside the university were monuments to great philosophers and famous scientists and explorers . . . and everywhere there were men on horseback carved in stone.
There was the famous statue of Prince Eugene in the Heldenplatz, the weight of his horse resting on a single hoof. The Archduke Charles, on a great charger, rode nearby, and Field Marshal Radetzky guarded the streets behind the town hall.
And often now Zed saw the real horses descended from the fabulous steeds these warriors rode. In the open-air compound beside the Hofburg Palace he saw the Lipizzaners being exercised – not dancing now, walking quietly with a groom leading one horse and riding another. Once at sunset, he met a procession of white stallions, blanketed in red and gold, returning to the Stallburg after a rehearsal in the riding school.
Rocco, when he saw them, always whinnied a greeting, but Zed would take him to task.
‘Don’t get ideas above your station, Rocco,’ he told his horse. ‘We’re bound for a very different life.’
He was growing anxious. Each day he stayed in Vienna would make it harder to leave. Then, just a week after Zed came, the professors received a telegram from Emil.
The only Herr Grotius in Zurich is a shoemaker living on the north shore of the lake, who has definitely not died. No other Grotius, dead or alive, exists in the city.
‘Well, that’s half the evidence,’ said Professor Julius. ‘It seems that Frau Edeltraut was definitely lying.’
And then two days later, he walked into yet another jeweller’s shop and was shown into the owner’s office, where Herr Brett told him that he had indeed been to the conference in Bad Haxenfeld, and was happy to confirm that the story that the Baron had overheard was true.
None of the children could understand why the professors did not go straight to the police.
‘If she invented her dead godfather and the jewels are real, she’s obviously guilty,’ said Pauline, who thought that Frau Edeltraut should be thrown into a dungeon straight away.
But Professor Julius said that the evidence so far was only circumstantial and Annika’s mother had to be given a chance to explain, before she – and therefore Annika – was dragged through the courts.
‘After all, inventing a godfather is not a crime, and though it certainly seems that the jeweller’s story is true, we don’t yet have absolute proof.’
So he and his brother Emil made a brave decision. They decided that they would travel to Spittal and talk to Frau Edeltraut themselves, and it was clear that they hoped she would somehow be able to clear her name. They would go at once because the university term began the following week and they would leave Professor Gertrude behind in case there was any unpleasantness.
So Sigrid packed two overnight bags for the professors in case they missed the night train back from Spittal and Ellie prepared ham rolls and bottles of lemonade because the food in the dining car disagreed with Emil.
And nearly two hours before it was necessary, because they liked to be early, the professors got into a hansom cab and were driven to the station.
They had only been gone a few minutes when Zed, who had been cleaning Rocco’s tack in the scullery, went upstairs to find Sigrid.
‘Ellie’s upset. She’s crying into her pancake batter.’
Sigrid hurried downstairs. Ellie was not crying into her batter – she wouldn’t have done a thing like that – but she was
certainly crying.
‘What is it, Ellie? What’s the matter?’
Ellie lifted her head. ‘I don’t know . . . it’s Annika. I don’t feel right about her. If I could just see her for a few minutes to know that she’s all right. I wouldn’t even have to speak to her, just to see her – then I’d know.’
Sigrid looked at the clock. ‘Well, why don’t you go along too? The professors wouldn’t mind.’
Ellie stared at her. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Yes, you could. Of course, you’d have to use some of your savings for the fare.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing. I’d use my savings a hundred times over if—’
‘Well, that’s all right then. Come on, I’ll help you.’
Ellie’s savings were not in the bank. Ellie did not trust banks. They were in a jam jar, which lived inside a tin with a picture of the emperor on it. The tin lived inside a hat-box and the hatbox lived on top of the wardrobe in her bedroom.
Because Ellie was not herself a natural climber, it was generally Sigrid who got the money down.
‘There’s plenty here,’ Sigrid said.
‘Are you sure you can manage on your own?’ said Ellie in a worried voice.
‘Of course I can manage. Zed’ll help me, won’t you?’
Zed nodded. ‘Annika will be so pleased to see you, Ellie.’
And while Ellie was bundled into her coat, he ran into the Keller Strasse to fetch a cab.
The professors were travelling second class. First-class train compartments with their pink-shaded lights and starched seat covers were for special occasions – weddings and funerals.
Ellie on the other hand, like all the working people in the empire, travelled third class, which meant sitting on wooden seats and often sharing the journey with crates of chickens or baskets of rabbits on their way to market.
The third-class carriages were at the back of the train, and it was not till they reached Bad Haxenfeld that the professors caught sight of Ellie climbing down on to the platform – and then they were angry.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming – travelling all by yourself like that? It was quite unnecessary!’
Outside the station they found a cab willing to take them to Spittal.
Professor Julius found the countryside interesting: the drainage ditches, the use of hedges as windbreaks, the rows of sugar beet – but Ellie looked round her with dismay. She had never seen such a bleak landscape.
But when they were put down by the courtyard gate, the size and grandeur of the house made them fall silent. Annika had not told them of the fortified windows, the battlements on the roof, the great iron gates, which they had to push open before they could walk across the cobbles to the front door.
Beside the door was a massive bellrope. Professor Julius pulled it and they heard the sound of the bell echo in the corridors of stone.
No one came.
The professor pulled the rope again. Still no answer. Then at an upstairs window they saw the face of a girl looking down at them before it vanished.
‘There she is,’ said Professor Julius.
‘No,’ said Ellie quietly. ‘That wasn’t Annika.’
They waited. Then, after the third tug at the rope, they heard footsteps and a woman in a grey linen cap and apron slowly opened the door.
‘We have come to see Frau von Tannenberg,’ said Professor Julius. ‘She should be expecting us; we sent a telegram.’
He extracted a card from his waistcoat pocket, but the maid made no attempt to take it.
‘She isn’t here,’ she said. ‘She’s gone away.’
‘Well, perhaps we could wait till she comes back?’
The woman shook her head.
‘She’s gone on a visit; she won’t be back for a week or more. She’s away on business.’
‘Do you know where she’s gone?’
The maid looked down at her feet. ‘Switzerland,’ she said at last. ‘And Herr Oswald too.’
‘What about Annika?’ asked Professor Emil. ‘Could we see Annika? We’re old friends from Vienna.’
Another slow shake of the head.
‘Did she go to Switzerland too?’
The maid sighed. ‘No. I don’t know where Annika went. We weren’t told. There’s only me and my daughter here.’
She made no attempt to show them into the house. Short of knocking her over there was no way they could see Annika’s home.
‘What about Annika’s cousin, Gudrun. Can we see her? We’d like to give her a message for Annika.’
Ellie had spoken for the first time, and the maid curled her lip at the Viennese accent.
‘Fräulein von Seltzer and her mother are at their home.’
‘And where is that?’ asked Professor Julius.
‘It’s called Felsenheim.’
And the door was shut in their faces.
They made their way back to the road and stopped a farmer in his cart, who not only told them where Felsenheim was but gave them a lift as far as the turning into the forest.
Mathilde and Gudrun were both at home, and when she saw a group of people coming up the path, Mathilde was pleased. She was lonely and she was bored and she was very annoyed with her sister, who had taken Oswald to Switzerland yet had refused to take her. But when the professors introduced themselves, standing among the antlers and stuffed heads in the hall, she drew back. Clearly, like the maid at Spittal, she had been told to say nothing.
But now Ellie was in a relentless mood.
‘Could I speak to Gudrun, please?’ she said. ‘We’d like to give her a message for Annika. I know they were good friends.’
Mathilde hesitated – but at that moment Gudrun came into the room. She was wearing a red scarf that Ellie instantly recognized. Ellie’s heart began to pound. Had they killed Annika and buried her in the forest and taken her clothes? Nothing seemed impossible in this strange place.
Gudrun was looking pale and sad again. The supply of beautiful clothes seemed to have dried up, her mother and her aunt had quarrelled, and she was lonely. She had written three times to Hermann and not had a single line in reply.
And she was jealous of Annika.
‘They’ve sent her to a palace,’ she told Ellie. ‘I wanted to go too, but they wouldn’t let me.’
‘A palace?’ asked Emil. ‘What sort of a palace?’
‘Gudrun, be quiet,’ said Mathilde urgently.
But Gudrun took no notice. ‘It’s called Grossenfluss. It’s near Potsdam and it’s very grand.’
‘That’s enough, Gudrun,’ said Mathilda, and, taking her daughter by the arm, she bundled her out of the door.
At Bad Haxenfeld the professors found they had half an hour to wait before the night train back to Vienna. It had been a most unsatisfactory visit, but there was nothing more to be done for the time being.
But it now seemed that Ellie had gone mad.
‘I’m not coming back to Vienna,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go and see for myself.’
‘See what for yourself?’
‘This Grossenfluss place. This palace. What’s Annika doing in a palace?’
‘Ellie, for goodness’ sake! What on earth could you do? If Annika’s in a palace she can’t be having a bad time.’
But Ellie was beyond reason. ‘I just have to go and see . . . I’ll make up the time – I’ll work all my Sundays next month. There’s a train to Potsdam in the morning. I’ll sleep in the waiting room.’
‘Ellie, you can’t stay here all night.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ve got plenty of money.’
But she did not look fine. Julius and Emil turned to each other. They could see how this was going to end – and they were very much displeased. They were extremely fond of Ellie, but one did not take orders from one’s cook.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE PALACE OF GROSSENFLUSS
Gudrun had not been lying. Grossenfluss was a palace. It was a very large and very grand palace, perha
ps the largest and grandest palace in East Prussia. Built in 1723 by Prince Mettenburg, the front facade measured 400 metres in length. The roof was guarded by 100 lead warriors with drawn bows; the niches and ledges were crammed with warlike carvings: the heads of captured Turks, spiked helmets, crossed swords and cavalry horses with fiery nostrils. On either side of the front door stood two stone heroes, each crushing a wriggling traitor under his foot.
Inside there were vaulted stone corridors, fortified windows and a vast staircase of marble surrounding a stairwell three floors deep.
But this palace, which looked as though it had been built for ogres or giants, was not used now for parties and pomp. It had become a school.
Not, however, an ordinary school. A school for Daughters of the Nobility and a very select and special place, as Frau Edeltraut had explained to Annika when at last she had revealed the surprise she had prepared for her.
‘It’s such wonderful news!’ Frau Edeltraut had said, taking Annika’s hand as they sat side by side on the sofa in her boudoir. ‘They have accepted you!’
‘Who?’ Annika was bewildered. ‘Who has accepted me?’
‘The ladies of Grossenfluss! The committee! And you can start next week.’
Annika was still totally at sea. ‘But what is . . . Grossenfluss?’
‘Oh, Annika,’ her mother laughed merrily, ‘I always forget where you were brought up. Grossenfluss is one of the most famous schools in Germany. It only accepts daughters of the nobility and it trains them to become worthy women of the Fatherland, able to take their place anywhere in society. The principal, Fräulein von Donner, has the Order of the Closed Fist, one of the highest awards which the emperor gives, and it is very rarely awarded to a woman. I was so worried that they would not let you come because of . . . well, your father. I could not swear to the purity of his birth. But when I told them what a dear good girl you were, they relented. I cannot tell you how pleased I am for you. Your future is assured. Girls who have been to Grossenfluss can become ladies-in-waiting, or companions to high-born widows. Nothing is impossible for them.’