"Yes. Count, was Baron Godel behind the assassination of Prince Wilhelm?"
"What?"
"Was he?"
"Certainly not! The idea is absurd. He's a confounded nuisance, but he's a loyal servant of the Crown. Don't waste your time with speculation like that, for God's sake. Ten minutes - eight minutes, now. Don't be late."
Jim tapped a finger against his teeth thoughtfully, and sauntered along the garden corridor towards the Green Office, where Household business was transacted.
Precisely on time, the outer door opened and a sombre official let him in. The office was heavy with plush upholstery and deep fringes; there was an air of stuffy grandeur in the very way the lines of the desk bulged and the chair-legs swelled and narrowed.
King Rudolf sat behind the desk, wearing the uniform of what must have been the only sober-suited regiment in the country. Jim bowed. Standing to the King's right was the Count, and on his other side was Baron Godel.
"Thank you for coming, Taylor," said the new King. He looked pale and lost, and his voice was quiet, as if he could hardly summon breath.
Godel said smoothly, "Herr Taylor, His Majesty has informed me that he had it in mind to offer you a higher position on his staff. I shall be quite frank with you; I advise him against it. We know nothing of you beyond the facts that you are extremely young, you have a taste for unorthodox companions, and that you have no connection with our country. You are here, it seems to me, as a mercenary. If an enemy should offer you a higher sum to betray His Majesty, how could we trust you to resist? A Razkavian, born under the Red Eagle, we would trust without question. A foreigner..."
Rudolf shrank; it was his judgement being questioned. Count Thalgau was bristling warningly, but Jim felt his heart leap with anger.
"It's true," he said, "I'm a foreigner. I plead guilty to other faults as well: yes, I'm young. I'm not high-born. I enjoy the company of rogues and artists and vagabonds. As for the mercenary charge, I admit that when I first came across His Majesty, or His Royal Highness as he was then, I offered my services as a private detective. We shook hands, and that handshake was my guarantee of honour, because I'm not just any foreigner, I'm an Englishman, by God, and I'll thank you to remember it. I'm not bribed by treaties or bullied by threats, and I won't be bought by gold. My loyalty is freely and wholeheartedly given to the King and Queen, given for life, and God help the man or woman who doubts it."
The Count was bursting to say something, and the King looked anxious, but a smile of gratitude passed over his face for a moment. Then he flicked a nervous glance at Godel.
The Chamberlain bowed very slightly.
"Of course, I can only advise, sir," he said to Rudolf. "If it is your wish, no doubt we can arrange a post of some kind for Herr Taylor; something ceremonial, perhaps, would be suitable. Now you are King, sir, your private office and staff come under the management of the Chamberlain's Office, so Herr Taylor would be answerable directly to me like all your other servants. If you command, sir, I shall arrange something."
"Very well," said Rudolf wearily. "See to it, Baron."
Godel smiled; it was like oil spreading on a puddle of water. Jim ignored him and bowed to the King.
"My condolences on His late Majesty's death, sir," he said. "I shall serve you and Her Majesty as well as I can."
"I know you will, Taylor. Thank you."
Jim left. Outside the office he stopped and shook his head.
Damned fool, he thought. You walked right into it, you clown. Because now he'd have even less freedom than before: Godel would pin him down in some poodle-faking routine when he ought to be out hunting this Spanish mummer - if she really did exist, and if it really was her.
He snarled, and aimed a vicious kick at an imaginary football, sending it crashing through the windows with an imaginary explosion of broken glass. Then he went down to breakfast.
He spent the rest of the morning watching the various dignitaries who arrived to give their condolences to the King and Queen. The Archbishop was one of the first: a cadaverous old coot, Jim thought, with a grey skull-face under the black skull-cap. Then came the Ambassadors, the German and the Austro-Hungarian arriving at precisely the same moment and giving the Chamberlain a nice little problem in protocol: whom should he announce first? But chamberlains are paid to solve problems like that, and the two Ambassadors were talking amiably enough when they left; though that, Jim supposed, was what they were paid to do. In the visitors came, out they went, and meanwhile the work of the Palace went on: silver had to be polished, horses had to be watered and fed, the Guard had to be changed, luncheon had to be served.
At half-past two, Jim was sent for: the Queen requested his attendance. He found Her Majesty in the drawing-room overlooking the terrace where she'd walked arm-in-arm with the old King. She was in black, of course; standing by the window, fiddling with a fan, her little face pale and those great smoke-dark eyes damp with tears...
Jim collected himself and bowed just in time.
"Thank you, Countess," Adelaide said. "Please leave us for five minutes."
Countess Thalgau curtsied - she had to, now - and sailed out like an iceberg. Becky was about to go, but Adelaide shook her head, and she stayed. She was more tired than Adelaide; pale, with a hint of pink about the nose, she looked as if she were going down with a cold.
"You gotta stay," Adelaide said tonelessly. "Gawd knows what they'd say if I was left on me own with a bloke. Unless he was the Archbishop. Great mouldy skellinton he is. Where you been, Jim?"
Her voice was hoarse, her patience frayed and sore. Jim knew the signs: he'd seen them in little Harriet, Sally's child, when she had a fever and couldn't sleep.
"If Your Majesty will permit," he said, "I'll tell you. I think I know who might be behind the assassination. Has the King ever spoken to you about his elder brother Prince Leopold?"
Her eyes narrowed. But she looked bewildered, not angry, and she shook her head.
"No. I know who he was, but that's all. They don't speak about him much. Why?"
Jim told them what he'd found out.
"And now I've been a bloody fool," he finished, "and got myself under the thumb of the Chamberlain. The Baron von Gargoyle. What I need to do is get out in the city and snoop around with Karl von Gaisberg and the Richterbund. Are we going to talk normally, Your Majesty? Because if not -"
"Of course," she said, but softly. "I couldn't bear it otherwise. But only when it's the three of us. Else it'd get back to ... to them, to people like your crazy student Glatz. Then they'd have another accusation to throw at King Rudolf, see? Poor man, he's in a daze. He was never meant to be King. But I gotta help him. And that means you gotta help me, see. I can't survive this without a bit of normal gossip every so often."
She slumped into a chair. She had two different manners, Jim knew: one serene and gracious, the other coarse and lazy and affectionate. He loved them both, but especially the second one, because she kept it private. But as he thought about it now, he found it more and more difficult to hit it exactly. In the grace and charm of her Royal manner there was always a hint of a pouting challenge; and at her coarsest she could never conceal a winning tenderness... He could think about her for ever.
"I'll just have to do my detecting on the sly," he said. "I won't give it up. There's something going on underneath all this that I can't quite make out... So what's the drill from now on?"
"Funeral on Tuesday," said Adelaide. "Then there's two weeks of mourning; then the Coronation. I can manage all that. The Countess tells me what to do and where to stand and I goes and does it. But it's the politics as I can't make out..."
"Well?" he said. "Leave it to the King. It's a man's job, politics."
He said it to provoke, but it was Becky who answered. Her voice was hoarse.
"Don't be an idiot," she said. "His Majesty is relying on Adelaide, can't you see that? King Wilhelm had never let him see the State documents. He'd only been Crown Prince for a month or so, don't
forget, so he's as ignorant as any of us, and he's getting so much contradictory advice that his head's spinning. Adelaide's got to be his best adviser. He relies on her absolutely. So she's got to know what to advise. So you've got to find out, and tell her."
Her voice gave out entirely.
"See?" said Her Majesty. "It's Germany or the other lot, and if they don't get a decision soon they'll fight, and if they do get a decision there'll be a war anyway, cause the loser'll object. And in the mean time there's a flaming assassin creeping about. So what the hell am I going to do, Jim?"
He scratched his head. Then he said, "I think I'd ask Dan Goldberg, and I think I know what he'd say. He'd say get the people on your side. Get out and show yourself as often as you can. They don't know you yet, and they're not sure about Ru - about His Majesty, I mean. I'm sure they'll take to you, but you've got to give them the chance. Then, if it comes to a struggle, you'll have their goodwill, and that could tip the balance."
He stopped and looked at Becky sombrely.
"The thing I won't disguise from you," he went on, "is that it might be dangerous. But what I can promise is that the Richterbund - that's the student fraternity with the green and yellow shoulder-flashes, remember - will be nearby wherever you go. Youmight not see them, but they'll be there. So get out and meet the people, but be prepared for danger. And that's my advice, for what it's worth."
Adelaide nodded. "Thanks, Jim," she said.
He left as Becky was wearily getting out the Halma board.
Becky, writing twice-weekly to her mother, was leaving out more and more. She put in the first part of Jim's advice, but left out the second; and she filed her letters with detailed accounts of their daily life. There was plenty to write about, for she was discovering that being the closest friend of a queen was several degrees more difficult than being the language tutor and games-player-in-chief to a princess. There was much less time, for one thing; every moment of the day seemed to have been booked up in advance by a vast, anonymous planning-machine, and lessons - never mind Ludo, or chess - had to be fitted into the gaps.
Adelaide's day began at seven, when her maid brought her a tray of coffee and some sweet rolls and filled a bath for her. Then she dressed in the clothes arranged by her Mistress of the Wardrobe (a plump French lady who had turned pale when she saw what Adelaide had brought with her, and had ordered a couturier from Paris to attend forthwith, bearing more). Then a secretary would attend at half-past nine, with notes of acknowledgement to the letters of condolence for her to sign (she could manage an A, and said majestically that that was enough). Then there'd be a visitor or two: a delegation from the Ladies' Charity Committee of Andersbad, or the wives of the Chancellor and Senate of the University, come to pay their respects.
Then there was luncheon, invariably with some stuffy guest, invariably with Countess Thalgau watching closely nearby; then in the afternoon another session with the Countess: the demeanour that would be expected of the Queen during the late King's funeral; how to greet foreign Heads of State; which knife and fork to use when sturgeon was on the menu... Adelaide submitted to it all with a stubborn patience.
All this time, of course, the whole city was itching to look at her. Curiosity was immense, which was why it was worth seeing every visitor who called, and striving to be polite; so with Jim's advice in mind, Adelaide asked Countess Thalgau to arrange a number of public visits - to the Cathedral to inspect the arrangements for the late King's funeral; to the Rose Labyrinth in the Spanish Gardens by the river to unveil a statue; to the Fever Hospital to open a new wing. One or two of the papers criticized her for this; it was unseemly, they said, to move out in public so much during a period of mourning. But the criticism was outweighed by the respect Adelaide was gaining. Every time she stopped her carriage to buy some roses from an old flower-seller and thank her with a smile, every time she walked along a hospital ward and shook hands with the patients, every time she bought little presents for the children in an orphanage, she won more hearts.
More so than the King, in fact. She radiated a natural sweetness that was simple and unaffected, whereas Rudolf was stiff and self-conscious in public. Becky watched sympathetically, but the harder he tried, the more clumsy he looked.
And everywhere that Adelaide went, Becky went with her. She sat behind her at table, she sat opposite her in her carriage, she stood behind her chair when she received visitors; and every word that Adelaide heard or spoke, except those in private with her husband, came to her through Becky. Quite often, when Adelaide's tact ran thin or her patience failed, Becky was able to say what the Queen should have said, and then her Englishing of the visitors' words would include the odd extra sentence or two, such as (in the most diplomatic murmur) "Stop pouting, for God's sake" or "Mind your manners, you rude little strumpet" or "Can't you think of anything to say? Tell them what a good job they're doing."
She was never sure whether Countess Thalgau noticed, because the Countess was always there as well, quite close enough to hear, and she spoke English after a fashion; but she never showed a flicker of response.
However, one morning she found out. She was sitting as usual beside Adelaide in the Morning Room while Countess Thalgau gave her a lesson on the connections between Razkavian royalty and other European noble families. They had developed a pattern of working by this time: the Countess was cold and pedantic, Adelaide was cold and accurate, and questions and answers were conveyed from one to the other through Becky, who felt like one of the pneumatic tubes in large emporiums through which bills and receipts whooshed and thudded, for all the human contact she was bringing from one to the other.
There came a knock on the door, and the footman announced a visitor: the Chamberlain himself. He was elaborately, fulsomely apologetic for the interruption, and then he said, in English, ignoring Becky: "Tomorrow, Your Majesty, we should like to present to you your new interpreter, Dr Unger. He is a scholar of the University, a graduate of Heidelberg and the Sorbonne, and a valued consultant to the Razkavian ForeignMinistry. He will take the place of Fraulein Winter, who will be able to return to her family and her studies in London."
Becky's eyes widened: Countess Thalgau's eyes narrowed. Adelaide's blazed.
"What?" she said.
"Now that Your Majesty is the Queen rather than a princess, it would naturally be appropriate for a more highly qualified man to be at your service. In the circumstances you would of course wish to reward Fraulein Winter for her services, and no doubt a small decoration would be in order. But--"
"Whose idea is this?" said Adelaide. Her nostrils were flared; a dusky red suffused her cheeks.
"It is felt that it would be more proper. I am sure that Fraulein Winter is highly talented, but--"
"Felt? Who feels that? I don't. Are you telling me it's the King's idea?"
"His Majesty is naturally anxious to ensure that you have the very best advice and assistance. Dr Unger is a man of great--"
Adelaide stood. Becky and the Countess had to stand as well, but it wasn't their sudden getting to their feet so much as the fury and contempt that blazed from Adelaide's slender form which made the Chamberlain take a step backwards.
"I wish Dr Unger every success in his career," Adelaide said icily. "But Fraulein Winter is my interpreter. Her and no one else. And what's more I'll decide who I want advising me. Do you understand?"
"I - naturally, I--"
"Good morning to you."
"Possibly Dr Unger could work alongside Fraulein Winter, in some kind of advisory--"
Adelaide drew breath, but before she could say anything, Countess Thalgau broke in.
To Becky's utter astonishment she snapped in rapid German, "Baron Godel! I should not have to remind you that you are speaking to the Queen! You have heard her answer. How dare you persist with this impertinence? Fraulein Winter discharges her duties - and more than her duties - with the utmost skill, tact and promptness. I cannot imagine any man doing it better. Now you are taking up Her Majest
y's time; please be on your way."
Becky was silently astounded. The Chamberlain bowed smoothly and left, and a few moments later the lesson resumed as if nothing had happened. The Countess's manner was exactly the same as before: cold, formal and brusque; but Becky looked at her with a new, wary respect.
Jim saw Karl von Gaisberg and the rest of the Richterbund as often as he could manage to get away from the Palace. They usually gathered in the Cafe Florestan, a little coffee-house by the Matthias Bridge, where the proprietor was both discreet and generous with credit. A couple of days before the Coronation, Jim took Becky with him. She seldom had any time away from the formality of the Court, and she enjoyed being able to walk unnoticed down the busy streets, as if she were a normal citizen.
But once she was in the cafe, with a glass of chocolate and a slice of torte in front of her, she found herself the object of all eyes. The students of the Richterbund vied with each other in paying her compliments and then in trying not to blush, which was charming, and disconcerting, and embarrassing, in that order; and then Karl von Gaisberg arrived. Jim introduced them, and it was Becky's turn to blush. It was because he bowed over her hand and kissed it formally, and because she thought he was making fun of her but realized almost at once that he was being very serious and very polite, mastering his obvious shyness in order to do so. And she'd nearly laughed at him! No wonder she blushed.
"Any luck, boys?" Jim said.
"I've been round all the hotels," said one of the students. "Lots of journalists about. I've managed to find five women travelling alone, but three of them are over seventy and the other two are invalid sisters, in Andersbad for the cure. They've come here to see the Coronation and then they're back to the waters."
"Keep looking. What about you, Gustav?"
"I've been through the newspaper files. There isn't much about Prince Leopold's marriage there, but the Censor would have stopped them printing it anyway. I did find an account of his death, though. Apparently he was killed by a boar near the hunting lodge at Ritterwald. The only witness was the huntsman who was with him - an old family retainer called Busch. I suppose we could go and talk to him, if he's still alive."