He saw no humor in it, no understanding of irony.
“To forgive Gisela would mean to allow her to return,” Eugen answered, finishing his soup and breaking a little bread on his plate. “That is impossible! If you knew Ulrike, you would have understood that from the beginning.”
A solitary manservant removed the soup plates and brought in roasted venison and boiled vegetables.
“Why are you prepared to help a foreigner inquire into what can only be a most distressing and unseemly affair?” Monk asked, accepting a generous serving.
Eugen did not hesitate. A shadow crossed his face, and his china-blue eyes flickered with what might have been amusement.
“A percipient question, sir. Because I can best serve my country and her interests if I know the truth.”
Monk had a sudden chill rack him, as if the food he had swallowed had been iced. Eugen might just as well have added “That is not to say I will allow it to be repeated!” The meaning was there, for an instant, in his face.
“I see,” Monk said slowly. “And what will serve your country? Accidental death? Assassination by a hired man, preferably unknown, or murder by his wife for her own personal motives?”
Eugen smiled coldly, but there was appreciation in his eyes.
“That is an opinion, sir, and mine you do not need to know, nor would it be in my interests that you should. Felzburg is dangerous at the moment. Feelings run very high. We stand at the crossroads of half a millennium of history, perhaps even at the end of it. Germany as a nation, rather than a language and a culture, may be at the beginning of hers.”
Monk waited, not wishing to interrupt when he sensed Eugen had more to say. His host’s eyes were bright, and there was an eagerness in him which he could not mask.
“Ever since the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire under Napoleon,” Eugen went on, his food now forgotten, “we have been only scores of separate little entities, speaking the same tongue, having the same culture and hoping one day to bring to pass the same dreams, but each in its own way.” He was staring at Monk intently. “Some are liberal, some chaotic, some dictatorial and repressive. Some long for freedom of the press, while both Austria and Prussia, the two greatest powers, believe censorship is as necessary to survival and defense as is an army.”
Monk felt a faint stirring of memory. News of rebellions all over Europe one spring; men and women at the barricades, troops in the streets, proclamations, petitions, cavalry charging at civilians, shots into the crowd. For a brief spell there had been wild hope. Then despair had closed in as one by one the uprisings had been crushed and a subtler, deeper oppression had returned. But how long ago was it? Was that 1848?
He kept his eyes on Eugen’s and listened.
“We had parliaments, briefly,” Eugen went on. “Great nationalists arose with liberal ideas, freedom and equality for the vast mass of people. They too were crushed, or failed through their own ineptitude and inexperience.”
“Here as well?” Monk asked. He loathed exposing his ignorance, but he had to know.
Eugen helped them both to an excellent Burgundy.
“Yes, but it was brief,” he replied. “There was little violence. The king had already granted certain reforms and legislated far better conditions for workers and a measure of freedom for the press.” A flicker of a smile crossed Eugen’s lean face. It looked to Monk like admiration. “I think that was Ulrike’s doing. Some people thought she was against it. She would have an absolute monarchy, if she could. She could rule like your Queen Elizabeth, give orders and chop the heads off those who defied her. But she is three hundred years too late for that, and she is far too clever a woman to overshoot the mark. Better to give them a little and remove the spur of rebellion. You cannot rule a people who hate you, except for a very short time. She has a long vision. She sees generations on the throne, stretching into the future.”
“But there are no heirs,” Monk pointed out.
“Which brings us to the crux of the matter,” Eugen replied. “If Friedrich had returned without Gisela, if he had set her aside and married again, then there would have been.” He leaned forward, his face fierce in its intensity. “No man of the Queen’s party would ever have killed Friedrich. That is absolute! If he was murdered, then look for someone who is for unification, who does not mind being swallowed by Prussia, Hannover, Bavaria, or any of a score of others strong enough. Or one who had been promised office or possessions by any faction he believes can succeed. There was an attempt in ’48 to make one of the Austrian archdukes king of all Germany. It failed, thank God. But that does not mean they could not try again.”
Monk’s head swam.
“The possibilities are endless.”
“No—but they are large.” Eugen began to eat hungrily, and Monk copied him. He was surprised how much he enjoyed the food.
“What about Prince Waldo?” Monk asked with his mouth full.
“I will take you to meet him,” Eugen promised. “Tomorrow.”
Eugen kept his word. His valet had pressed Monk’s clothes. His evening suit hung in the wardrobe. His shirts were all laundered and gleaming white. His studs and cuff links were laid out on the tallboy, as were his brushes and toiletries. He spared a moment to be glad he had had the vanity and extravagance to purchase things of excellent quality at some time in that past he could not remember.
He had got as far as choosing cuff links, agate set in gold, when without warning he remembered vividly doing exactly the same, with these same links, before going to a dinner party in London. He had been accompanying the man who had taught him, sponsored him and sheltered him. He had had forbearance with Monk’s ignorance and lack of polish, his impetuosity and occasional rudeness. With immeasurable patience, he had schooled him not only in the profession of investment banking, but in the arts of being a gentleman. He had taught him how to dress well without being ostentatious; how to tell a good cut, a good art; how to choose a pair of boots, a shirt; even how to treat one’s tailor. He had taught him which knife and fork to use, how to hold them elegantly, which wine to select, when and how to speak and when to keep silent, when it was appropriate to laugh. Over a period of years he had made the provincial Northumbrian youth into a gentleman, sure of himself, with that unconscious air of confidence that marks the well-bred from the ordinary.
