On the Night of the Seventh Moon

  “I am not concerned with faults. I merely tell you that it cannot be.”

  “But if it is . . . ?”

  “It may be now but it must not be tomorrow. What did you think of the wine? We are proud of it in Klarenbock.”

  She was looking at me steadily and a horrible possibility dawned on me.

  “Yes,” she said, “the wine was drugged. Don’t think we have poisoned you. Not at all. You are just sleepy, nothing more. When you are so far gone that you know nothing at all, you will be carried out to the Cats’ Tower and gently dropped down into the valley.”

  I cried: “This is madness.”

  “It would be madness to let you live, Miss Trant.”

  I could not stop staring at her although my greatest impulse was to run as fast as I could down the spiral stair and out to Prinzstein and the waiting carriage.

  “It will be the old story,” she said quietly. “The deceived woman, the plunge to death. It is becoming so usual. Even innkeepers’ daughters do it now.”

  She laughed in an odd way. Then she looked up at me and went on; “The wine is taking care of you.”

  “I scarcely touched it,” I replied.

  “A little would suffice. You will feel nothing. It is an easy way out. Easier than it would have been because this time you will know nothing. They should have managed better. It was a simple thing. Frieda is quite stupid.”

  “You mean that Frieda was aware . . .”

  “People are aware sometimes, Miss Trant. Why don’t you sit down. You must be feeling very strange.” She passed her hand over her eyes and murmured: “The fools. They should have managed better. Where are you going, Miss Trant?” I was at the door and about to leave her when she added: “It is no use. Prinzstein will not let you go. He failed in the Klocksburg room. He will not fail in this one.”

  “Prinzstein,” I stammered. “He is a good servant.”

  “A good servant to me. He has served me well and would have done so last night but for that stupid wife of his.”

  My hand was on the door handle, I tried to turn it but could not. The horrible thought struck me that I was locked in. But I was wrong. The reason the door would not open was because someone was holding it, trying to turn it and come in.

  “Who is there?” I called.

  The door opened and Ilse walked in.

  “Ilse!” She hobbled toward me with the aid of a stick. I stared at her in astonishment for I could not believe in the first seconds that it was really Ilse.

  “Yes,” she said. “It is Ilse. You are right, Helena.”

  “What are you doing here? I have so much to say to you.”

  “Yes, of course, Helena. You see I have grown infirm since we last met, I cannot walk very easily.”

  She sat down in the chair I had vacated.

  “I have so wanted to find you,” I cried.

  She looked at the Duchess who was staring into space in an extraordinary manner. She smiled at her fondly but the Duchess did not appear to see her. “She is my sister,” said Ilse, “my half sister. I was the result of one of those light love affairs which are so prevalent in high places. I was brought up in the shadow of the palace, but never being part of it. I always loved my little sister, though. She is fifteen years younger than I.”

  “I think the Duchess is ill,” I told Ilse.

  “She is heavily drugged. She has taken the draught that was meant for you. It should be you who would be sitting there, Helena. That was the plan. You were to be unconscious, in a stupor and then we were going to take you out to the tower and let you fall over. Prinzstein was to have done it in the turret room at Klocksburg. It would have been so much more appropriate there. But they bungled it. Her Grace was furious with them.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Have you brought me here to murder me?”

  “You have guessed aright, Helena. You were brought here to be disposed of. But I am not a murderess. They would say it was a weakness in me.”

  “You are talking in riddles,” I said. “Explain to me. She wants me dead because I am Maximilian’s wife—that’s true, I know. She brought me here to kill me.”

  “You must not judge her harshly. She does not regard it as murder. It is a state of affairs that cannot be allowed to continue. She, the Duke’s mistress! It is impossible. His having a wife already cannot be tolerated. It is statescraft, she would say. Sometimes people have to die for it and in strange circumstances. She plans that when you are dead she and the Duke will be secretly married and few will be the wiser as to what has gone before. I have been brought up more rigidly. I see the deliberate killing of one person by another as murder. So I am here to look after you both. I looked after you once before, you don’t realize what I did for you. I could so easily have . . . disposed of you then. But I didn’t. I looked after you, I made everything easy for you.”

  “Easy! That . . . easy! Listen. Ilse, I want to know exactly what happened, right from the beginning.”

  “I’ll tell you. A husband was found for me. Ernst—ambassador from Rochenstein. I married him and persuaded him to work for my country Klarenbock. This sometimes meant working against Rochenstein. Ernst was a friend of Prince Maximilian before he came to Klarenbock and when he went back to Rochenstein with me as his wife, he had a post in the Prince’s entourage. He learned of Maximilian’s meeting with you and his obsession. Ernst had to go to London to see a heart specialist and he offered to bring you back.”

  “So you posed as my cousin.”

  “The fact that your mother was a native of these parts made that easy. We brought you back and arranged that you and Maximilian should meet on the Night of the Seventh Moon. There was the marriage. We believed it would be a mock marriage with a pseudo priest, and when we discovered that Maximilian was so besotted that he had gone through a genuine ceremony we could see that this was disaster to the treaty which was being made between Rochenstein and Klarenbock. I was working for my native country and I realized that I had to act quickly. The Prince went away after the brief honeymoon because a rebellion was brewing and he had to be with his father. I should have left you in the lodge to be blown up, but I couldn’t do it. My sister says that was the greatest mistake I ever made. From her point of view, I daresay it was, but I had come to look upon you as my little cousin. I was fond of you. I thought I would get you back to England and no one would be the wiser. So I destroyed the evidence of the marriage—your lines and ring; and with the help of the doctor who was working with us we tried to convince you that you had lost six days of your life when you lost your virtue. I don’t know how we did it.”

  “You never did,” I said. “You never convinced me.”

  “I feared not. And then you discovered you were going to have a child—a child who would be the legitimate heir to the dukedom! Ernst said I was a fool. I should first have kept you in the lodge when we blew it up for after all it was blown up that we might convince Maximilian that you were dead. You should have been dead in truth, Ernst said. But I couldn’t do it. I preferred to take a chance in building up that fabric of lies as you call it. But when the child was coming and all the terrible complications with it, even I began to waver. But I saved you, Helena. It would not have been difficult to get rid of you at that time. But I couldn’t do it, and because we had people placed strategically over the country who could be used in any situation to work for Klarenbock I believed I could delude you and so save your life.”

  “You were good to me, Ilse.”

  “I don’t think you realize even now how good. My sister will never forgive me. I saved your life and then I allowed her to marry—or go through a form of marriage—knowing of your existence. I am not going to let her kill you now. Maximilian and you must proclaim the truth without delay whatever the consequences. For the sake of you and the boy . . .”

  “The boy?”

  “Your son.”

  “My son. I have no son. My daughter, they told me, died.”

  “You know no
w that was untrue. You went to Dr. Kleine. He reported to me at once and I could see that things were reaching a climax. My sister discovered what had happened. Frederic knows. You and the boy are in acute danger. I have saved you today. Good luck has saved you both before. Neither can go on doing so.”

  “My son . . .” I repeated.

  “Fritz.”

  “Fritz . . . my son. My child was a girl. She would not be as old as Fritz.”

  “He is your child. We had to make it appear that he was older so that he was not connected with what happened at Dr. Kleine’s clinic. Oh, if you had stayed in England this would never have happened. My sister’s son would have inherited; the marriage in the lodge would have been of no importance. But because I am a sentimental woman who grew fond of you, because—spy that I am—I have never killed and cannot kill—I have ruined my sister’s life.”

  “What will happen now?” I asked.

  “You will take the greatest care if you are wise. You will guard your life as you never guarded anything before. And you will watch over your son because he is in even greater danger.”

  “There have been attempts on Fritz’s life.”

  “They will not always fail. My sister was determined to remove you. But there is a more powerful force which seeks to remove your son.”

  I could only stare at her in speechless horror.

  “Count Frederic!” she said. “He has learned the truth. He has discovered the priest who performed the ceremony. He has spies everywhere, even as we have. He has been suspicious for some time. He will now try to discredit Maximilian with the help perhaps of my father. I don’t know whether he will succeed in that. My father is an honorable man but the thought of what has happened to his daughter will incense him. But Frederic will think that it is useless to depose Maximilian while he has a son to follow him. Frederic wants the dukedom for himself. He has always wanted it, as his father did; and it is very likely that in view of the scandal which this is inevitably going to bring about, the people of Rochenstein will reject Maximilian. But the Duke will then be Fritz because he is the direct heir. The boy is too young to rule and his father might well be appointed Regent. That would not suit Frederic. If Fritz did not stand in his way when Maximilian was deposed the dukedom would almost certainly fall to Frederic. You must realize the importance of these politics, because you are involved in them—your child is involved in them. For God’s sake watch over him. He is in imminent danger from the most ruthless man in Rochenstein.”

  “I must go back to Klocksburg,” I said. “I shall tell Fritz I am his mother. I shall care for him. And I shall never let him out of my sight.”

  She nodded.

  “I will tell Prinzstein to drive you back immediately.”

  I looked at the Duchess. “I shall care for her,” said Ilse, her face softening. “Oh, Helena, what a lot of trouble would have been avoided if you had not got lost in the mist that day when you went out on the school picnic.”

  She called Prinzstein. He looked astonished. Doubtless he was surprised to be ordered to drive me home instead of to assist in throwing me down to death from the Tower of the Screaming Cats.

  . . .

  As the carriage clattered into the courtyard, Frau Graben came running out.

  “It’s you. Where have you been? He’s back.”

  My heart leaped with joy. I could have forgotten everything in that moment but that Maximilian was back and that he would be here under this roof with me and our son.

  “Where is he?” I cried.

  “Come along in,” replied Frau Graben, “and calm yourself. He’s back, I said. Back in Rochenstein. I didn’t say he was here in Klocksburg. He was here. He’s gone looking for you.”

  “Where has he gone?”

  “Now, now, be calm I said. It’s not like you, Miss Trant, to be otherwise. Maxi came here shortly after you’d gone. He’s just home and the first thing he did was come to you.”

  “But where is he now?”

  “It was Dagobert. He said he’d heard Prinzstein say you were going to the Landhaus Schloss to see the Duchess. My goodness! He was in a fret then. He was as bad as you. He wouldn’t stop a minute. He was off.”

  “He would have been too late if . . .”

  She looked at me oddly. “Here, you’d better come and sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

  “Not now. I couldn’t drink it.” I had to talk to someone. I had to tell the news that I had a son and he was alive and that I already loved him dearly. I wanted to tell Maximilian, but Frau Graben would have to do.

  I blurted out: “I have just heard that Fritz is my son.”

  “There,” she said beaming. “I guessed that. It all fits, doesn’t it? I knew a good deal, but there were things I wasn’t sure of. You sit still for a minute. You’re shocked or dazed or something. What happened up at the Landhaus? She sent for you. I was worried and by the looks of him, so was Maxi. He wouldn’t stop a minute. He was off and no explanations either. Yes, I guessed about Fritzi. Hildegarde put two and two together. She knew it was a true marriage, I suspect, and she thought it best that you were spirited away to England and forgotten. That was what she would think was best for Maxi and what was best for Maxi was what she wanted.”

  I was scarcely listening. I was thinking of Maximilian’s arriving at the Landhaus. He would find his wife drugged and helpless . . . and Ilse. She would explain to him and send him back. So there was nothing to do but wait until he came. But I must see Fritz. I must tell him that he had a mother after all. Perhaps Maximilian and I ought to tell him together. We could all three share the wonderful moment.

  Frau Graben went on talking. “Hildegarde took Fritz when he was born. She knew who he was and loved him dearly. She connived at the gunpowder affair and she confessed a good deal to me when she was dying. That was when I took over Fritzi. Then of course I began to learn things. What a situation!” She chuckled. How she loved to interfere in people’s lives, to bring about dramatic situations and watch people’s reactions to them. “You were for Maxi, there was no doubt about that. He changed after he lost you. One night he was ill, feverish, rambling. It was all about you—your name—that bookshop and the town where you lived. I got it all by degrees and I thought: My Maxi will never be the same without her and so I brought you here to him—my gift to Maxi on the Night of the Seventh Moon. Of course I planned for you to be happy in some little Schloss. No one would have known what it was all about, except me. You would have been his true love. Princes lead their state lives with their state wives and have their loves in secret. Why not Maxi?”

  “Oh, Frau Graben how you have meddled in our lives!” I cried.

  “But what have I brought you but good, eh? And now what will happen? This could be trouble with Klarenbock. They’ll say we’ve insulted their Princess. Maxi never wanted her though. Cold as an icicle. She was no wife for him. I thought we’d all be happy together and there’d be the babies, and no one know the truth but me and what a chuckle I’d have over that. And up at the big Schloss there’d be the Duchess and her son who’d be the heir and none the wiser. That was how I’d planned it. And then things started to happen. There was the arrow in Fritzi’s hat and the bandits who took Dagobert by mistake, and there was that silly affair in the turret room that gave them away. They put a sedative in Fritzi’s milk and he only drank a little which didn’t put him to sleep properly. Dagobert took the rest and went off altogether. Then Fritz went on about the horse and the man with a crown. I know that it’s in their room. It’s a carving Prinzstein made himself and polished and is very proud of. It was Prinzstein who was waiting for you up there when Frieda took you up, but the silly creature by good luck dropped the candle and the matches caught fire. If you’d turned and seen Prinzstein the game would have been up. So he fled. He was hiding behind the door as I came up and slipped down the stairs after me. But I knew what had happened. I’d suspected he was working for Klarenbock and that silly little Frieda would do as he said.”
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  “They were going to kill me,” I told her, “and she was going to do it this afternoon. I wish Maximilian would come.”

  “He’ll come straight back here when he finds you left the Landhaus.”

  “I must see Fritz. I can’t wait to tell him. This is going to make him so happy.”

  “He loves you. I’ll swear if he could choose a mother she would be you. Talk about dreams coming true! You took to him from the start, didn’t you? I wonder if it’s true that mothers would know their own no matter what had separated them.”

  “I was drawn to him and he to me. I must find him. I’m going to him now.”

  I left but she followed me out to the Randhausburg, into the fortress. I went up to Fritz’s room. He was not there. He was nowhere in the fortress.

  As we came down the stairs and out to the courtyard I saw Dagobert. “Have you seen Fritz?” I called.

  “Yes, he’s gone off. It’s not fair.”

  “Not fair? What’s not fair?”

  “My father took us into the forest riding and then sent me back.”

  I felt as though my blood had turned cold.

  “Sent you back,” I repeated.

  “Yes, and Fritz was to go alone to the Island of Graves, to the empty grave with the planks across.”

  “Why?” I stammered.

  “Because he’s a coward and he’s got to learn not to be. He’s got to row over there by himself and wait there and stay till it’s dark.”

  I didn’t wait for any more. I ran to the stable.

  Frau Graben was behind me. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “I’m going to the Island of Graves. Tell Maximilian, there’s not a moment to lose. Fritz may be in danger.”

  I rode through the forest seeing only Fritz, my son, a forlorn figure alone on the Island of Graves with a man who was determined to kill him. I myself had faced death twice in a very short time; who knew, I was probably coming face to face with it again. I did not care. All I thought of was my son.

  “On the Island of Graves . . . alone!” I kept hearing those words.