Tempting Fate (44 page)

“Oh, very well,” Maximillian said, realizing that Helmut was right in his objections. “There’ll only be the three of us at table, and I don’t know how much of a stickler my sister will be under the circumstances. You could probably wear your slippers and leave the shoes out for Otto to clean.”

“That might be an imposition on the staff,” Helmut said, and got the information he wanted.

“That’s no trouble. There are seven servants here at Wolkighügel. In the old days there were a lot more, but there isn’t much of the family left, and no one entertains on the grand scale these days.” A petulant droop to his mouth altered his features subtly, so that they were no longer quite so fresh and appealing; there was a taint to him.

“Seven servants. With times the way they are, that is impressive,” Helmut remarked, encouraging Maximillian to talk.

“One of them’s her husband’s nurse, Walther. Then there’s Otto, who’s been here since I was a child. There’s a groundskeeper, very old now and most autocratic. He’s Hungarian and he lives next to St. Leonhard’s, at the south end of Schliersee. He would live on the island in the lake, if he could manage it. Then there’s Frau Bürste, she’s new, a cook-and-housekeeper sort. Gudrun used to have both a cook and a housekeeper, but there was no reason to have them when she couldn’t keep them employed most of the time. Lilli comes in twice a week to do cleaning and washing, and gives a hand in the kitchen when there’s to be a party. Dieter takes care of the gardens, what there are of them, and minds the horses—he had a bad wound in the war and keeps to himself. He has a daughter living in the village Schliersee, and sleeps there most nights, though there’s a groom’s room in the stable. Walther, Otto, Géza, Frau Bürste, Lilli, Dieter … who’ve I forgotten? The Czech. Miroslav, that’s the one. He does the repairs and such things. Last year he replaced most of the slates on the stable roof, and he’s painted the gamekeeper’s cottage, where I live. Most of them don’t stay here all the time, you’ll notice. Just Walther, Otto, and Frau Bürste. It used to be that there were a dozen servants, all living in, but well…” He gestured fatalistically and grinned, “Those were other times, weren’t they?”

“They were,” Helmut said as he lifted the suitcase and started toward the door. He had been far more interested in what Maximillian had told him than he had allowed himself to reveal. At first he had not understood why it was that Eckart and Rosenberg, after two meetings of the Bruderschaft here, had decided that they must find a better location. Helmut had thought that Wolkighügel was ideal, but he was aware now that it was not as isolated as he had first thought. Still, he reflected as Maximillian opened the door for him, if the economic state became much worse—and he was certain that it would—Frau Ostneige might well have to reduce her staff, and then she might be willing, for a few considerations, to give the Thule Bruderschaft the use of three rooms in the Schloss.

“Maxl, what are you doing?” demanded a cross voice behind them as Otto surged through the door. “That’s not your task, my boy.”

Maximillian set the suitcase down in the entry hall and turned toward the old man. “I thought I’d spare you the trouble. It isn’t much.”

“It may be,” Otto said condemningly, “that there are those houses where they have forgotten how guests are to be treated, but this is not one of them. I will take the Heir’s bag to his room.” He stepped up and took the case. “His is the room across the hall from yours.”

“Yes,” Maximillian agreed. “I assumed it was.”

“Then you see to introductions here and I will tend to this.” He turned toward the stairs without another word.

“There’s no use arguing with him,” Maximillian sighed. “He’ll simply remind me he dandled me on his knee, and that will end it.”

There was a light step in the hall, and a moment later Gudrun came into the entry. “Maxl! I thought you weren’t…” She cut herself short as she saw his guest.

“We’re just bringing Helmut’s bag in, Rudi. We won’t linger. You remember Herr Rauch, don’t you?”

“Yes, I believe we’ve met before,” Gudrun said rather coolly as she offered her hand to the banker.

“A pleasure, Frau Ostneige, and a kindness to permit me to stay here with your husband so ill.” He considered kissing her hand, but thought better of it and contented himself with a single squeeze of her fingers.

“My husband has been an invalid since 1917, Herr Rauch. It is nothing new to me, and I do what I can to carry on life here in spite of his condition.” She looked at her brother and smiled warmly. “You’d best hurry on your way, Maxl. It might be awkward if you leave after Gerwald and Walpurga arrive.”

“We’re halfway out the door already,” he promised her, and cocked his head to Helmut. “Come, my friend. We must be going or we’ll be trapped here, back in the 1880’s. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Fine,” Gudrun said absently. “There’s no need to change, either of you. We don’t dress en famille.” She gave Helmut a vague nod and went off toward the kitchen, wishing she knew what it was about the man that made her shiver. She chided herself for letting her imagination run wild, and decided that it was all part of her despondent state of mind. She opened the door to the kitchen and fixed her face with an expression of goodwill.

“Otto said that your brother has come early, with a guest,” said Frau Bürste as she pressed her flour-covered fist into a large bowl of rising dough.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s so,” Gudrun said. “They will not take tea with my guests, but will want dinner this evening. I haven’t a notion how long they intend to stay—you know what Maxl is—and I know this is an inconvenience, but if you will give Otto a list of the things you will need, I will send him to get them for you.”

The older woman did not speak at once; she was occupied with turning the dough and spreading the new top with butter before once again covering it with damp cheesecloth. “I’ll do that, Frau Ostneige, and I thank you for the consideration. However, I doubt it will be that easy. Food is becoming quite expensive and some of the better items are scarce.” She frowned, making her wide, blocky face pucker around her nose.

“Perhaps you’d be willing to include a few alternatives, then, and that way Otto will be able to select the best he can find.” She tried to conceal her inward shrinking. The cost of everything was becoming outrageous, and she feared what might happen to her carefully-monitored funds if this continued. Another year of such high prices and her personal reserve would be depleted.

“I’ll do that,” Frau Bürste said again as she went to the sink to wash her hands. Over the sound of the water, she said, “I don’t like to mention it, Frau Ostneige, but I’ve caught Dieter taking food again. This time it was eggs and cheese.”

Gudrun sighed. “How much?”

“Ten eggs and two rounds of cheese. That’s a fair amount. He said it was for his daughter, but I’ve heard that she sells the food he brings her to the Blau Pferd and does very well for herself. If it was just the two of them going hungry, I wouldn’t mention it, but…” She wiped her hands on her apron and turned around. “I don’t know what to suggest.”

“I’ll have to give him a warning, of course,” Gudrun said slowly. “If it happens after that, I must let him go. I don’t know if Géza would take over his duties or not. Miroslav is hopeless with the horses…” She bit her lower lip. “Tell Dieter that I wish to speak to him before he leaves, would you, Frau Bürste?”

“That I will. More’s the pity.” She went to the icebox and pulled out a plate of little sandwiches, showing them to Gudrun. “One of cold, and the hot ones are in the warming oven. I’ll make the tea when your guests have arrived.”

“Thank you, Frau Bürste.” Gudrun nodded to the stout woman, then left the kitchen, trying to think what she could say to Dieter that would convince him to stop taking food. She paused in the doorway to the main drawing room and stared out across the room, through the lacy curtains to the drive where the Mercedes was just turning away from the Schloss. The sun made Maximillian’s hair a golden halo, then they were gone. Gudrun shrugged away the worries that beset her and went across the room to the phonograph to select a few of the operetta arias that Walpurga liked so much. Otto would come in to keep the machine cranked for them. Her afternoon began to fall back into a familiar pattern.

“We got away in time,” Maximillian said with delight as the Mercedes sped down the dusty road. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend the afternoon with those two creatures.”

“Your sister might have liked us to stay, if they’re as bad as all that,” Helmut said sternly.

“Not she. This is the kind of entertaining she’s been doing for years. She probably enjoys it. We’d only be in the way.” He leaned back in the seat and stared up at the sun glancing through the trees.

“Still, at times she must wish for more excitement than this. She’s a young woman, after all, and this was not the sort of life she used to lead.” Helmut slowed the Mercedes as they rounded a curve and came within sight of Schliersee.

“That was years ago.” Maximillian shrugged, and the movement was much the same as his sister’s had been.

“And what about these neighbors? What are they like?” The automobile jolted over a pothole and Helmut cursed quietly.

“Very old. Always talking about the Kaiser and Austro-Hungary, the old days in Wien and Berlin. To hear them, everything then was Paradise and since the Great War we have lived in Hell.” He gave a discontented shake to his head.

“Not Paradise and Hell,” Helmut said as his brow flicked together. “But this Republic of ours is intolerable, Max, and you know it.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “These old people; are they sympathetic to our aims, do you think?”

“I haven’t any idea,” Maximillian answered, startled by the question. “Oh, they complain about how badly things have been handled and they are apprehensive about the Communists and the French, and they damn the Treaty of Versailles more regularly than they piss, but for the rest? Gerwald likes to think of himself as cosmopolitan, which is the greatest nonsense.”

“Cosmopolitan?” Helmut inquired.

“You know the sort—well-traveled, or so he claims, with friends, he says, everywhere and of all types—who makes a virtue of diversity. I gather he was something of a rake when he was young and used to dash off to Paris when he had the chance. Insists he knew Wagner and met Lizst; talked to Dumas. Not that he approves of the French, but men of his generation didn’t let that stop them from a good time.”

Helmut listened to the description with increasing annoyance. “I’ve met a few of them,” he muttered. “They say ‘be tolerant’ when they want to be lazy. If it weren’t for those, there would not be problems now. They were the ones who sat back and let the Jews insinuate themselves into all the positions of power, who indulged in wine, women, and song while their birthright was filched from them.” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and his voice was pitched much higher than usual, although no louder.

“They’re not quite that bad,” Maximillian protested. “For one thing, they were never highly placed.”

“It makes no difference,” Helmut insisted. “Every one of them is guilty of treason against our race. Look about you, Max, and keep your eyes open when you do. You’ve heard the Bruderschaft’s truth, and you have accepted it. Why do you make allowance for these old people simply because they take tea with your sister?” He was so intent on what Maximillian would say that he skidded as he entered the next curve and had to struggle to hold the Mercedes on the road.

Maximillian quickly recognized his error and hastened to correct it. “Oh, I don’t suppose Gerwald likes Jews any better than the next person. He’s civil to everyone, but that’s the way they were taught forty years ago. And there’s the matter of the Schnaubels. You heard about that, didn’t you? The mother and infant were murdered and one of the other children has screaming fits now. No one wanted them living here, of course, but the killings, that struck most of us as going too far. A mother and her youngest child! It’s one thing to get rid of the Jews, which we must do, naturally, but killing is something else again.”

“They are killing us,” Helmut said very quietly. “Every hour of every day, they are destroying us. What does it matter that a woman died, or an infant, when our whole race is being consumed and subverted by them?” A muscle in his cheek started to jump as he went on. “How can you speak in this way, Max? You’re one of those Initiated, and you have seen the danger in which we all stand, and yet you say that the death of two Jews is going too far. Our Vaterland is in ruins, and the jackals of France and Britain tear at it while the Jews urge them on, but you quail at the death of two Jews!” He pulled to the side of the road. “Do you understand what is at stake here? Have you forgotten all you have learned? Well?”

“But…” Maximillian faltered, turning pale. “Yes, I know what they have done to us. Mein Gott, Helmut, I have seen for myself the destruction of most of my family fortunes”—he had long since convinced himself that his own profligacy had little to do with it—“and I know how dire our predicament is. I wholly sympathize with the plans to remove all Jews from Deutschland. Obviously this must be done, and quickly. But we are not barbarians, Helmut. We are people of honor, and when a woman and a child are butchered by those who invade their home, that is not the conduct that is appropriate for one of us. We must set an example for the world to follow, and do all with purpose and order. By all means,” he said, gaining confidence as he saw Helmut’s expression change from condemning rage to something less formidable, “let us be rid of the Jews, but not by slaughter, which only shows how much they have corrupted us by their wiles and cunning. We must not succumb to that degradation. To applaud the death of the Schnaubel woman and her child contradicts all that we strive for as members of the Thule Bruderschaft. If we are to master the world, then it must be made plain that we are deserving of that state, or there will be nothing but disorder around us. Eckart has said the same thing. You have heard him. We condemn the Jews as worse than scum, but we mimic their behavior, which is more abhorrent in us than in them, for they were never bred to be masters.” He stopped quite suddenly, his face showing two hectic spots in the cheeks, as if he burned with fever.