Читать книгу No Way Home - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 7

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"The Englishman has gone early?" asked Martin. Herr Kugler replied that this was so, adding: "He would not take a servant. It is dangerous to travel alone."

"Where was he going?"

"To Stuttgart. He seemed sure that the person, or persons, he was looking for are in Wurtemberg. He has the help of the police, he declares."

"Ah, there are many strange guests in Europe now," remarked the valet-de-place. "Perhaps that of my mistress, seeking sanctuary, the strangest of all. I have had letters to-day," he showed a packet in his hand, "I believe we have found the house." And he mentioned a small schloss, or hunting box, situated in one of the loneliest parts of the Forest, known as Wilhelmsruhe and long abandoned.

"What a dismal habitation for a high-born lady!" exclaimed Herr Kugler.

"It is what she seeks, and what the Dukes suggest."

The innkeeper was silent before these august names. Martin proceeded upstairs with the letters that the post had brought that morning addressed to Madame Daun, at the Drei Mohren. Adriana passed him and came down, carrying on a gilt tray the Dresden china service used for her mistress's morning chocolate. As she gave this to a maid passing along the passage, she spoke to the innkeeper in their native tongue.

"I want you to help me about this Madame Daun—in bed as usual."

Herr Kugler raised a silencing hand and motioned her to the little room at the back of the public parlour that he used as an office.

"I was about to ask your help," he said, in some dismay. "I do not wish this interesting traveller to remain here."

"She does not wish to do so. Martin has told me—and so has she—that they intend to establish themselves in a lonely hunting lodge where she will live in utter seclusion. I am asked to share this retreat."

He glanced at her quickly. She shrugged and replied to the look: "Ah, you think that I am one to whom the world offers little! All the same, to shut oneself up like that—"

"The question is," put in Herr Kugler, "who is she?"

"You do not know?"

"Not precisely. I have heard the same stories as you have. There is really no reason to doubt them, save common-sense," sighed the innkeeper. "I confess that at first I was fascinated, baffled, overborne. Then the letter from the Duke—"

"Neither you nor I, my dear sir, is in a position to question His Highness about that letter. Are we simple folk being deceived?"

"For what end? Madame Daun is not a criminal. She has money, jewels, an excellent servant. She receives no one—she makes no attempt to turn her attractions to advantage."

"She is a well-bred lady, of course," agreed Adriana. "And the likeness is remarkable. Then there are also the souvenirs. Yet—" she paused and shrugged her shoulders.

"What are your suspicions?"

"I could hardly say—they are foreigners."

"They—but Martin is a servant."

"More a steward, at least. He knows all her affairs."

"Yes, yes, that is explained by his family's loyalty to her family. Besides, she speaks to me of friends who help her secretly, but who respect her wish for secrecy. After all," added Herr Kugler, as if endeavouring to convince himself, "considering her most horrible experiences, her dread of a loveless marriage to a man she dislikes—it is possible—"

"You do know more than I do," interrupted Adriana sharply. "She has never even hinted more than that she is a survivor of the terror in Paris where her family was murdered, and has some connection with royalty."

"She has told you more. I know it. Why did you refer to souvenirs and the likeness?" Herr Kugler spoke firmly, but kept his voice very low. "Let us be plain," he added. "This lady leads us to believe—without saying so in as many words—that she is that Princess known as 'The Orphan of the Temple,' daughter of your Austrian Queen, whose forthcoming marriage to her cousin was recently in the Gazette."

"Well, yes, she allowed me to think that, now you insist on putting it so plainly."

"Not so plainly—yet it is obvious that she claims royal blood—"

"—And a desire to die in hiding," interrupted Adriana. "I don't know what to do. I feel a devotion, a loyalty. She is easy to please, there is plenty of money."

"Who would supply that? The Bourbons are bankrupt, exiled in Switzerland."

"Some rich friends are helping her—perhaps English, she speaks English, she and Martin. I do not like his mask."

"You are fanciful. I've often known those marred by the small-pox wear them, like blind people wear a bandage over the eyes. I'm used to that. Yet I do feel there is a mystery, and I shall be pleased when they have left my house."

"She admits they search for her, her family that would be, they want this marriage."

"Who is left of her family?" asked Herr Kugler courteously. "I never concerned myself about these exiles, though I pity them. Yes, pity! It is impossible not to feel pity for this young lady."

The man and woman looked at one another doubtfully.

"A royal princess would be missed. I put that to her, she said that a friend had taken her place in the Swiss convent from which she escaped."

"It is fantastic!"

"Yes, there is certainly something fantastic about this lady. Whatever it may be, the Duke protects her, yet she is afraid of spies, of the police. Are you sure that Englishman was not looking for her?"

"I don't know, he has only gone as far as Stuttgart. From there he could watch her or have her watched."