Tempting Fate (49 page)

“Yes, I see,” she responded listlessly. Her eyes ached and she felt half-drowned, but it was not appropriate for her to receive guests, no matter how unwelcome, in that manner, so she touched her hat to be certain it was in place and pulled on her black gloves. “Do you recognize the automobile?”

“No. It looks new.” He frowned at the unknown vehicle and added as he noticed the emblem, “It’s French.”

Gudrun was mildly surprised. She got out of the Lancia before Otto could come and hold the door for her. She held her purse in her left hand, thinking that she would have to be prepared to greet whoever had arrived. At the door of her own home she paused and thought that perhaps she should knock, but after a moment she found the courage to open the door.

“A French Citroën,” Otto whispered as he came up behind her. “It’s one of those new ones, the B2. What do the French want with us?”

“I will ask,” Gudrun said, trying to think where her visitors might be. She was standing undecided when Frau Bürste hurried out of the smaller drawing room, a look of consternation on her wide face. “Frau Bürste? What is it?”

“French inspectors,” she said in an undervoice. “Two of them.”

“French inspectors? What do they want here, and today?” Her puzzlement was oddly welcome to her, giving her something to deal with other than her husband’s death. “They’re in the little drawing room?”

“Yes. I’ve offered them wine, which they’ve refused. I don’t know…” The worried sound of her words was most unlike her and she made a visible effort to control herself. “I will provide whatever refreshment you wish, Frau Ostneige. Cold meats, pickles, and three kinds of bread would be the easiest to prepare.”

“Do that then, and I will expect you to serve it in … fifteen minutes?” She heard another automobile drive up as she spoke and recognized the rattle of Walther’s Opel. Quickly she added, “Walther is here. It might be best if he does not deal with the French. His sentiments are extreme where they are concerned.”

“I’ll take care of that, Frau Ostneige,” Frau Bürste assured her as she went toward the side door Walther habitually used.

There was no reason to procrastinate further, Gudrun told herself firmly. She breathed deeply and licked her lips once; it was a nervous habit she had had since childhood. With measured steps she went to the smaller drawing room.

The two men rose as she entered the room, and the older of them bowed slightly. “Frau Ostneige?” he inquired in his French-softened German. “I am sorry we must disturb you at this terrible time. We would not do it if it were not of the utmost importance.”

“I am afraid you have the advantage of me, Captain,” she said, glancing at his uniform. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“I am Blaisot Juenecouer. My companion is Lieutenant Odon Simault. You cannot know how sad it makes us to have to come to you at this tragic time, but sadly, it is not our place to defy our orders.” He gave her a curious stare, as if attempting to see her face through her veil. “You understand this, I hope.”

“You are both officers,” she responded, “and in Deutschland, this would indicate that you are gentlemen as well. My husband was a military man, as you undoubtedly know, and he was an honorable man.” She crossed the room to one of the three small settees in the room and sank down upon it. “It has been quite a difficult day for me, gentlemen, and I would appreciate knowing what brings you here. From what you imply it is urgent.”

“Yes,” Lieutenant Simault said in a voice startlingly deep. “We would have called later if it were not the case.”

“That’s kind,” Gudrun said automatically, finding the words meaningless. She watched the two men shuffle their feet slightly and avoid looking at her. Finally she asked, “Will you tell me why this was so urgent?”

“Naturally. It is difficult to know just where to begin,” Juenecouer declared, and steeled himself for his explanation. “You are aware that by the terms of the Treaty of Versailles the possession of arms is forbidden here? We have right of inspection, so that there can be no abuses of this provision.”

“Yes, I know of the terms of the Treaty of Versailles,” she said quietly. “The insane inflation of last year was in part the result of that Treaty. With reparation payments what they were, and the economy exhausted … But you are not here to discuss the monetary situation. You’re worried about arms.”

“With good cause,” Simault muttered, but Juenecouer shook his head.

“We have tried to be diligent, and for that we have made ourselves odious. But the Treaty must be upheld, Madame. You know that it must. And for that reason, we are investigating reports that there are those with a cache of weapons here, men who practice military maneuvers with their hoarded weapons, men who, while not in the army itself, nevertheless are aided by men in the army, who have the support of Bavarian regiments.” His words came breathlessly as he spoke, as if he anticipated these armed men to swarm down out of the mountains while he talked.

“And you think to find the weapons here?” Gudrun stifled a quick explosion of laughter. “My good officers, you may feel free to search anywhere you like at Wolkighügel if it will relieve your minds. I will admit that there is an illegal rifle in the stable. We have kept it for dealing with animal pests, and last year, when bushel baskets of currency were needed to buy a pound of butter, one of my servants shot two deer so that there would be meat in the larder. That was illegal, as well as having the rifle. If that proves me to be dangerous, well…” She lifted her hands and dropped them into her lap.

Simault glared at her suspiciously, but Juenecouer sighed expressively. “Madame Ostneige, your candor is much appreciated, and lamentably rare. It is not our intention to deprive you of the rifle you have, although we must report its existence for a determination if it is permissible for you to keep it. That is out of our hands. The rest…” He began to pace the room now, and a little of his sympathetic manner deserted him. “We will not tolerate abuses of the Treaty. There are those who wish to make war again, and we know that they train here in these mountains. Our aeroplanes have occasionally seen squads of men in fields being trained for war, men not in the uniform of your army, in places where there has been no authorization for such activities. Many of those locations are near you. It may be that in the last year you have seen such activity?”

So that was the actual thrust of the inquiry, Gudrun realized. She responded at once. “You may have heard that my husband was an invalid. I did not get about much while he was bedridden. If there are such groups, I have not seen them.”

“Or heard of them?” Simault put in quickly.

This time Gudrun paused, trying to remember a fleeting comment she had heard Maximillian make several months ago. “I am not certain, but I think I heard mention of troops of some sort, but I recall nothing definite.”

“Have you ever heard mention of Kurt Lüdecke? Or the Sturmalteilung?” Now the question was rapped out, without the pretense of courtesy.

“I don’t think so. The Sturmalteilung are the troops you mentioned?” The name was not one she knew, but there was an association in her mind. “I recall that one of my neighbors discussed the SA with my brother last year. I paid very little attention, and my brother did not mention it to me. If these are the same troops, that is the extent of my knowledge of them.” She felt uneasy answering the question and volunteering this information, but she was too worn to question or resist them. If she told them what she knew, they would go away and she would have time to herself at last.

“Have you ever met General von Lossow?” Simault demanded of her.

“My husband was not of his rank,” Gudrun replied softly. “I am afraid that the Commander-in-Chief of the Army in Bayern is a more exalted person than those he knew. My father knew von Lossow slightly, but that was years ago, before the Great War.”

“And what of your brother?” Juenecouer asked. He did not press her as Simault did, but both men were implacable in their insistence.

“I don’t know all my brother’s friends, but he has never been much taken up with soldiers of any rank. Military life does not appeal to him.” Her voice faded to little more than a whisper.

“That’s a rarity in a German,” Juenecouer said to Simault in French, and neither man noticed that Gudrun understood them.

At that moment there was a rap on the door and then Frau Bürste entered carrying a large tray of cold meats and pickles. “I will bring the bread and butter in a moment, Frau Ostneige,” she said as she bustled over to the side table and set down her burden. “Also, if the gentlemen will tell me what they prefer to drink. We haven’t got coffee, with the price still as high as it is, but there is wine and beer, and I have some English tea.”

Both Frenchmen stared at Frau Bürste, and then Juenecouer spoke to Gudrun. “This is not necessary, Madame.”

“It certainly is. I was taught as a child that any visitor was entitled to proper hospitality. If you will tell Frau Bürste what you prefer to drink, she will bring it to you at once.”

The men exchanged glances. “The beer would be best,” Juenecouer said for both of them. “It is not entirely correct of us to accept this, but if it is as you say, and you believe that you must…” He stared at the thin-sliced meats on the tray. There was smoked ham and chicken breast, two kinds of cold würst, roast beef, and pickled fish, as well as four small cold chops of venison. Sour cherries and vegetable pickles were set in small dishes around the meats, and a pot of mustard completed the spread.

Frau Bürste bustled out of the room, trying to smile at Gudrun as she went.

“You do not appear to have done badly for yourself of late, Frau Ostaeige,” Simault said with a meaningful smile.

“I have recently reduced my household yet again,” Gudrun said tightly, “and for that reason, I have been able to practice a degree of economy. It means that those who work here must be more devoted and industrious, and so far they have been willing to accommodate me.” This was not strictly true; with the best will in the world, Otto was feeling his age and could no longer keep up the tasks he had willingly undertaken. She caught her lower lip with her teeth. “If there is inflation again, then I may well have to give up my home.” To her amazement, her voice caught and she had to breathe deeply to keep from crying.

“But you survived the inflation of last year. You have just said so.” Simault folded his arms, regarding her closely.

“I sold most of my jewels to do so,” she said quietly, “and three of my household were willing to stay and work merely for the roof over their heads and meals. We dug up half of the flowers and grew vegetables, and we sold all but one of the horses to the butcher.” She had not considered how horrifying it had been: at the time, her concern was to get through it with as much of her world intact as possible. Now, speaking to the officious Frenchmen, she was aghast that she had been willing to part with her Jewels and horses, had dug in the ground like a peasant to find the new potatoes.

“In France, during the war, women ground the limbs of trees to make bread for their families. They didn’t have jewels or horses to sell because the Boche took them away. And often there was no roof over their heads.” Simault lashed out at her and his face dared her to attempt to justify herself.

“I am sorry for that. I am sorry for all those who suffered in the war. I have been reminded of its brutality every day since they brought my husband back to me, his body wasted and his mind unreachable. His torment ended the day before yesterday, gentlemen, and I have not yet accustomed myself to his absence.” She remembered that Walther had come into the house shortly after she did, and tried to put him out of her mind. What would she do with that man, now that Jürgen was no longer alive? She did not want him here at Wolkighügel any longer, but she could not bring herself to dismiss the man who had cared so vigilantly for her husband. She gave the Frenchmen a distracted look and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear your last comment. My mind was wandering.”

“A convenient excuse,” Simault said. “I was telling you that I was not in the Great War, being too young then to serve, but I stayed at home and watched my mother starve to death to keep three children alive.”

Gudrun shook her head, unable to comment. She was grateful to Frau Bürste for returning then with a basket of assorted breads and rolls and a dish of butter curls in one hand, and two large steins foaming with beer clasped in the other. As she put these down beside the tray, she looked from one man to the other. “Will there be anything else?”

“I’m sure this is sufficient,” Juenecouer said eagerly as he reached for one of the plump rolls and pulled it open with his large square hands.

Simault picked up one of the steins and tasted the contents. “You have no sense of wines here, but I will allow that your beer is quite good.” He drank once, then set the stein down so that he could help himself to the cold meats.

“Frau Ostneige,” her housekeeper-and-cook said with all the authority she possessed, “when you have a moment, I must speak to you in the kitchen.” With this announcement, she bobbed a little curtsy to the men and left the room.

Juenecouer had taken a large mouthful of the sandwich he had made for himself, and so could not speak at once. “Madame Ostneige, when do you expect your brother to return?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I told him I wanted some time to myself, and so he is apt to stay away for most of the evening, or the entire night, if he finds himself in congenial company. I’m afraid he did not tell me where he was going.” She was fairly certain he would be with Helmut Rauch and Konrad Natter, but she chose not to mention this; she felt she must hold something back from these men.

“And I suppose you wish we had not come today,” Simault suggested.

“Yes. I wish you had not come at all.” She rose from the settee and went to the door. “I will be back shortly. I have not washed my hands or been to the toilet since the funeral, and I should do these things.”

“Of course,” Juenecouer said emphatically. “We will not be long with this meal, and then we’ll continue our conversation. You haven’t a telephone here, have you?”