‘It is inconceivable that old Heister won’t fall over himself to let you in to see her,’ Dillon had said. ‘Even the remotest chance that Louis might be prepared to step in with a solution to this mess will be grasped with alacrity, or I’m a Dutchman!’
The only problem had been that when James’ presence in Innsbruck had been detected, Old Heister had indeed more than fallen over himself when informed. He’d ordered that James, as a cornet of horse in the Chevau-Légers de la Garde, be rushed immediately to the inn where Clementina was quartered, without even the chance to change his linen, or the diversion of an interview with himself first.
And now, here he was, in the princess’ suite, and not a clue what to say. The two Austrian officers stood resolutely behind him, as he introduced himself.
‘You have a private message for me, sir?’ said the girl.
‘Yes, er, um, your, um, Princess Clementina,’ stumbled James.
‘Sie können uns jetzt verlassen, Meine Herren,’ she said to the Austrian officers. A pause, then – with emphasis – ‘Es ist eine private Botschaft.’
As the officers bowed and withdrew, she smiled at James and repeated in French, ‘I said, “You can leave us now. It is a private message.” Please step with me.’
With that, she drew aside one of the drapes and opened a huge shutter. When James stepped through it, he was in the night air, two stories up, overlooking the edge of an imposing square of tall, sober, five storey, white-plastered buildings, each one topped at their corners with little onion turrets. They were standing in part of a wooden balcony rising over three storeys of the inn. He’d noticed the structure above him as he’d been first ushered through the front doors. It was all balustrades and carvings and looked like a miniature house itself, grafted onto the stone.
‘Now, tell me, you are not French, are you?’ she said. ‘Although you wear a French uniform. So, are you really from the French king as Uncle Siggy says?’
You might as well jump right in, James instructed himself. But it seemed such a great leap. He prevaricated a moment. ‘Uncle Siggy, princess?’
She rolled her eyes, a very mature gesture for one so young, thought James.
‘Sigbert’, she said. ‘Sigbert Graf Heister, the feldmarschall, who is my host at present, and who was my grandfather’s friend and comrade in arms. He sent to tell me I was to receive a visitor, likely carrying a message. I take it that is you?’
‘Ah …’ said James.
‘And you refer to me as, “your royal highness”, on first address, and then “milady” thereafter,’ she added, with a helpful nod. Still seeing confusion on James’ face, she added, ‘I’m sure nobody has their ear to my door, but they have all these listening tubes, and other such silliness … spy holes in the walls and ceilings. And floors. As if I’ve ever had anything to say or hear that’s worth eavesdropping on. It’s most tiresome. But I assure you, whatever we say out here will not be heard. Unless of course, you insist on shouting. I take it you do have something to tell me that is worth eavesdropping on?’
James, now much charmed by so much poise and confidence in a girl so young and pretty, drew himself up to his full height. ‘I do bring a message, milady. And it is from a king,’ he said. ‘But the king is not Louis of France.’
And then he told her everything he knew. And that he was here to effect her escape.
‘La! How romantic! How dashing!’ she said, contemplating him coolly. ‘Shall you now call on me to lean out and let fall my hair, like Persinette, so you can climb down to the street and catch me when I leap? Then whistle for your horse so we might ride off into the night?’
*
It wasn’t until the morning of the second day that Cornet of Horse Lindsay managed to present himself to Herr Domogala, having finally found him as he breakfasted at his coaching inn in the city centre.
On hearing of James’ first encounter with the Princess Clementina, Herr Domogala, or as James knew him, Mr Teviot, didn’t look so much at a loss for words as reluctant to use the ones he wanted to, lest he sour their relations before they’d even begun.
Eventually, through gritted teeth, Mr Teviot said, ‘Persinette is a French fairy tale of the last age. It is about a virgin trapped in a tower, whose prince comes to save her, repeatedly, by climbing up and down her long hair.’
‘Is there a lesson for us, Mr Teviot?’ James asked. ‘Is the princess trying to communicate something I have missed?’
‘Well, the fairy who’d been protecting Persinette took a dim view of all the saving that had been going on, and blinded the saviour. So what do you think?’
It was James’ turn to sit mute, rebuked; while Mr Teviot called for another pot of chocolate and drummed his fingers, thinking.
‘How did you leave it with the Austrians?’ he asked. Had he met Uncle Siggy? And was he likely to?
There had been no talk of meeting Uncle Siggy, said James.
‘No,’ said Mr Teviot, ‘I suppose not. Feldmarschalls don’t normally have conversations with mere cornets.
However, James went on, relating how the senior Austrian officer had said a room had been taken for him at the
