Freddie stared down at the child in the red livery coat for some moments. When his mouth reengaged all he could come out with was: ‘What are you?’
The boy’s eyes sparkled. ‘“What”, not “who”?’ he said. ‘There may be hope for you, Frederick Winslow. I am a “what”. It’s true. Tell me what you see when you look at me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No. Go on. Do it.’
Freddie went along with the apparition. ‘Er ... a boy, age of ten or thereabouts. In a red livery coat, waistcoat and stockings of my grandparents’ days. Dark hair. Very blue eyes.’
The boy seemed pleased. ‘Very good. I mean very good. That was without my making any effort at all. You have something of the clear sight already. Excellent.’
‘Look, Master Jonas, whatever or whoever you are. What is it you want of me?’
The boy giggled. ‘A lot, Mister Frederick.’ It occurred to Freddie that the child spoke English like a native, though there was no way he was one. The boy looked around him and, as if reading Freddie’s mind, said ‘So this is England. I’ve heard quite a bit about it, but never been here, at least in this form. I am not a real human child, obviously. But you see beyond that, don’t you.’
‘Apparently.’
‘Very dry. You remind me of someone I once knew. He was not at all like you in most ways. Still, in some ways he was. He loved another man, just like you do. He too had something of the clear sight. And he too ended up with a memory which had been ... altered.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean,’ said the boy, ‘is that I can’t talk to you the way you are now. But when you wake up tomorrow, it’ll be different. Go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
The boy snapped his fingers and was no longer there, an abrupt vanishing that in the circumstances barely seemed unusual. Freddie, suddenly confused, forgot waiting for his father, and stumbled home along the road to the rectory. And by the time the butler opened the door for him, he had no idea how he had got there.
***
Freddie’s sleep that Christmas night was unusually disordered. It could not have been the excess of food and wine at the festive table that was entirely to blame. Nor was it the bemused state of his mind after his encounter with the boy calling himself Jonas. His dreams that night were brief but exceptionally vivid. Yet when he woke, as he did several times before dawn, he could barely retain a grasp on the huge events and brilliant landscapes he had seemed to see and act in.
One vision only he retained. He was high on a grassy hill and below him was the blue and ruffled surface of a great lake surrounded by bluffs and peopled with wooded islands, on the tallest of which was a white tower. Nothing happened, but he seemed to stand for ages watching amazed as a flock of winged horses soared and chased each other between him and the island peaks. For some reason it seemed all very familiar to him.
As the case clock in the hall rang seven o’clock and the sound of the servants beginning to get the house in order reached the bedroom he was temporarily sharing with Charlie, Freddie snapped fully awake.
His brother had endured no such disturbed night. At fifteen he was getting too long for the truckle bed he still occupied but, as his age dictated, he was out for the count and would usually remain deep in an adolescent semi-coma until forcibly brought back to consciousness at midday. But this being Sunday, Charlie’s slumber would be interrupted rather earlier than that. As Freddie emptied himself in the porcelain bowl placed by his bedside, his mind seemed briefly to whirl in disorder and then settle. The lost memories of his interview with Princess Osra Madeleine rushed back to the forefront of his consciousness.
Preoccupied, he put on breeches and a fresh shirt and stumbled down the backstairs to the chilly washroom in the rear offices, where he found basins of steaming water the servants had left out. He plunged his head into one in hopes of clearing his mind, and grabbed a towel. It was when he finally finished chafing his wet hair and put the towel down that he found he was no longer alone. Jonas was sitting on top of a table cross-legged, his face split by a very wide grin. This time the being was naked and could be seen to be a perfect boy in all respects, though perhaps a little too perfect, as Freddie’s mind objected. What was not in the least normal were the small and sharp blue horns on either side of his forehead.
For a being of vast and mysterious power, the boy seemed to take amusement from quite small things, as would a real child. One of Freddie’s restored memories prodded at him. ‘Why do you take the name Jonas?’ he asked.
The child shrugged in a very human way. Indeed he seemed to have mastered many of the gestures and tics of a real boy. Remembering yesterday’s encounter, Freddie recalled that Jonas sought out the company of human children as fellow spirits. He had made friends with a few of them even in the couple of hours he was at Burlesdon church.
‘People give me names,’ he said. ‘Jonas is my favourite. It was given me by great friends in the Strelsau of eighty years ago. Jonas Niemand the Elf, they called me.’
‘Jonas Nobody ... but an elf?’ That sparked a memory from Freddie’s research into the history and legends of the city of Strelsau: the tale of a supernatural sprite who haunted the city streets, playing tricks and giving out favours. ‘You’re the Strelsau Elf?’
‘Really? You’ve heard of me? Was it the horns gave it away?’ he beamed.
‘It seems you’re still a legend there. But Princess Osra told me that you have many other names, and your powers are far greater than just those of a spirit of mischief.’
‘That’s as may be. So you remember what the princess stole from you now?’
‘I do, and my mind’s clearing at last. You had four great friends in those days, I was told. Karl Wollherz, Andreas Wittig, Boromeo von Tarlenheim and last but not least, Wilchin Antonin.’
A soft smile was playing now about Jonas’s mouth. ‘The best friends ever,’ he said. ‘There never was such a gang as the Conduit boys. We had an oath we swore. The fun we had, and the stories I could tell you. Now you could say that I gave Wilchin his name. He’d been on the streets so long he couldn’t remember what the name was by which his mother had called him. But I knew he was Willem Antonin, and I restored it to him.’
‘He had other names I understand, not least the Count of St-Germain.’
‘That was one of his best tricks. Look, I expect you want your breakfast and the servants are taking up the towels and water. We have a lot to talk about, and we can’t do it here. There’s a place I can take you, though I’m not supposed to go there. But maybe you’d like to meet the sixth member of our gang.’
A flash of brilliant light took Freddie quite by surprise.
***
When he opened his eyes Freddie could do nothing but gasp. He was standing on a very green lawn beneath an exceptionally blue sky, which was loud with birdsong. A broad and clear stream was flowing past him and Jonas was sitting cross-legged on a rock next to the bank.
‘Where on earth are we?’ was all he could say.
‘We’re not on earth at all, or on any world as such,’ the child laughed. ‘Y’know, you’re the first adult human I’ve brought here. Which doesn’t mean you’re the first to come here. It didn’t end too well for him. I could show you what’s left of him, but it wouldn’t be a journey you’d likely survive.’
‘So this place is dangerous?’
‘My Conduit gang decided to call it Fäerie, though it has lots of other names. But Fäerie’s not a bad name for it, because in the stories you people tell Fäerie isn’t a safe place. It’s not made for mortals. I don’t think you should drink from that stream, for instance. I’ve discovered its effects on mortals can be a bit unpredictable.’
‘Bastian and Bessie have been here! They played in that stream. They told me.’
‘Oh! You know about that? How odd. But then, should I be surprised? It’s to be expected.’ The magical boy frowned.
‘What’s to be expected?’ Freddie asked, but got no answer.
Jonas brightened and continued. ‘Wilchin asked me to bring the little twins here, and I did. He wanted them exposed to its light and bathed in its waters. I didn’t quite realise why at the time. I thought he just wanted for them to play and to gain this land’s protection. Oh yes, and also to meet the sixth member of our gang, who still lives here.’
Jonas stood up on his boulder and put fingers to his mouth. He looked up to the sky and let out a loud and piercing whistle. He grinned down at Freddie. ‘Karl Wollherz taught me how to do that! Isn’t it great?’
The boy’s eyes looked up again and Freddie followed his gaze. Soon he became aware of a dark spot in the sky which rapidly became a great chestnut mare, its huge wings flexing as it beat towards them, to alight in a mighty buffeting of air on the lawn. The wings folded away with economy, and the pegasus walked towards Jonas, who hopped down from his rock and ran to the beast, hugging her round the neck as she snuffled and gently whinnied over him.
The boy looked over at Freddie and announced ‘This is Brunhild! I gave her wings. Karl Wollherz brought her here with her family and friends many years ago, and they live in the forest beyond the river. They’ve learned how to build big nests in the treetops.’
‘The Brunhild, of the Wollherz stables!’ Freddie cried. ‘She’s one of the most famous horses in the Empire. So this is where she ended up. But she should have died sixty or more years ago. And Karl Wollherz brought her here?’
‘There was a lot to Karl. He became the greatest wizard there has ever been amongst humans, but unlike Wilchin he rarely used his magic. Mostly he was happy talking with his friends, the horses.’
‘Can people talk to horses?’
‘Karl could. Come over and say hello to Brunhild. She’s very friendly for an empress. In her day, she ruled over all the herds of her people on the earth. She would have lived ever so long in your world, much longer than her people usually do. So Karl brought her here when she reached the usual time for horses to die. She continues on here, and she may do for ever for all I know. But Karl did prophesy that one day her race of pegasuses will leave here and return to your world, and Karl was good at prophecies. She and her family do make a mess of the grass though. They will rip it up and chew at it. But then they spit it out.’
Freddie walked over to the queen of the pegasuses and, unsure of the etiquette, favoured her with a deep bow. As he straightened he caught her eyes, and got the clear impression that she was rather amused by him.
‘She likes you,’ Jonas commented. ‘Anyway, what was I saying? Yes. Wilchin wanted the twins to come here, and I didn’t realise that his plan was to endow them with magic, because in the end he wanted one of them to inherit his own powers.’
‘But that wasn’t your plan?’
The boy shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t. Wilchin was a special friend, and in many ways he was my chief agent on earth, working for me in your world. I needed him to help me explore the changes happening there, because your race is changing faster and faster, so fast I can’t keep up with it at times. I feel responsible for you humans, you see. I needed to know more about your minds. The bodies are easy enough to understand, but what goes on in your heads is so much more complicated. But when his time eventually came, Wilchin had to pass the Final Sea as you all do and join the Dead. And now he’s with them and has taken his knowledge and my messages to them, as I planned he should. That was his last task.’
Freddie was startled. ‘Humans who’ve died are a people, living in an empire outside our world?’
‘Yes, they are. And of late they too have been causing me problems. They used to stay quiet and mysterious in their own world beyond time and beyond the limits of mortality. But they’ve noticed what I have, and they’re casting their gaze back to the world they’ve left. I’ve caught them meddling more than once. But what goes on in the living world is my province. Wilchin was supposed to warn them off when he joined them. But it seems he didn’t entirely agree with my plans, and developed some of his own. So he’s selected the girl twin to carry on one plan we’d discussed and which he became enthusiastic about, but without asking me first, because he knew I’d disagree.’ The magical boy sighed, before adding ‘I wonder if Wilchin had been talking to the Dead behind my back. They did like him. It would have been in character. It worries me.’
‘And what would that plan be, master elf?’ Freddie asked, deeply intrigued.
***
Freddie Winslow returned to Strelsau on the fourth day of January 1774. On his arrival at the Palais du Bâtard he found his travels were not over, and he had to put off for a while his reunion with Bastian. Messages had been left instructing him to join Prince Henry at the Casimirhof, where the court of Glottenburg was in residence for the season of Epiphany. He was to bring a mourning suit and cloak, for the funeral of John Casimir II was to occur on the octave of Epiphany, the thirteenth of the month. Prince Henry was in Glottenburg to represent his father the king at the ceremonies.
Three days later, Freddie found the prince pacing the formal gardens of the Casimirhof, which spread south of the grand façade of the palace. He was wearing black, as were all the gentlemen he encountered.
‘Ahah! Freddie!’ he hailed him. ‘I was just thinking how ironic it is that the legacy of a despot like my cousin, the late duke, can be such beauty. These gardens and buildings have a nobility that the man himself never did. When he’s forgotten, they’ll still be here and still be works of beauty,’
‘There is the burden of the heavy cost of maintenance, your royal highness. People will still have a reason to curse the man’s name.’
‘A very English thing to say, if I may so remark, Freddie. But there’s some point to it. The regency is economising on the arrangements for his funeral. When his father was buried, they hung the interior of the cathedral of St Boniface in black cloth and erected a vast hearse over the catafalque which reached to the vaults and was lit with 10,000 candles. I was nervous the entire place would burn down, I remember. John Casimir the younger is laid out on a bed in one of the state rooms here, which has black hangings, but life otherwise goes on here in the palace. The plan is to reuse his father’s hearse for the funeral mass in the cathedral, without quite so many candles, and there’ll be no state procession from the Casimirhof to Glottenburg. The coffin will be escorted to its rest under the cathedral by a regiment of infantry in case there are public demonstrations in the city against honouring the deceased duke. Come on into the house.’
Prince Henry led Freddie through a loggia into the central building and a remarkable painted hall, with great flights of stairs leading upwards lined with huge portrait canvases. The prince turned to the right, where a party of tall and moustachioed grenadiers wearing black armbands guarded an archway. Beyond was a long gallery lit by the winter sun from windows looking south on to the gardens. More soldiers guarded a further door on the left. The room within was hung with black crêpe, lit by a dozen candelabra. A bed of state occupied the centre, black-dyed plumes surmounting its canopy.
On top of the bed was laid a great coffin, the exterior covered with black baize and lines of gold-headed nails. At its head was a hatchment painted with the arms of the duchy. On top of it was laid a life-sized effigy of the late duke dressed in half armour, a cap of state on its head and an unsheathed sword lying in its right hand, the left hand holding a golden rod. The face was executed in wax, no doubt from the late duke’s death mask, and painted rather skilfully in his likeness. It reproduced the lazy dissipation of the man’s expression, familiar to Freddie from his state portraits. Prince Henry and Freddie contemplated the solemn display of mortuary art for a while. The room was otherwise empty except for a robed friar kneeling at a prie-dieu at the foot of the bed, reading a psalter.
After some minutes of silent contemplation, the prince tapped Freddie’s shoulder and they walked back out into the gallery. ‘So there’s the end of all the man’s luxury and arrogance,’ the prince mused. ‘Such a wasted life. And now we’ve taken the proper moral lesson from all that, Freddie, let’s get on to what my investigations uncovered in Ludwigsburg.’
They found seats in an empty withdrawing room further along the gallery. Before commencing, the prince took a pinch of snuff from a box he occasionally used. ‘So I reached Ludwigsburg and paid court to Duke Karl Eugen,’ he began, ‘who seemed genuinely affected by the sudden death of his former pupil. He’s not a man I ordinarily have much sympathy with, but I’ll give him that much credit. He was quite willing to let me have full access to the scene of the death, which he had ordered closed and sealed, though I think largely for reasons of superstition.
‘The marshal of his court had been told not to embalm and coffin the corpse, so it had been stored in one of the palace’s ice cellars. Since Württemberg is a Protestant land the dead duke did not need to be at the centre of vigils and masses, which were not on offer in any case. The body was inoffensive and quite flexible. There was no decay.
‘I had the assistance of a good friend, Professor Abels of Tübingen University, who tutored me in anatomy in my times as a student there. Despite the initial reports, we did find a wound. A remarkably thin and strong blade had penetrated the duke’s chest, transfixing the lung and pulmonary aorta with great precision. The lungs had flooded and the blood around the corpse was the gouts he had choked up in his last agony. Little escaped though the actual wound.’
Freddie collected himself, and with an apologetic cough asked ‘So sir, there was nothing supernatural in his death?’
‘It was an uncommon way to go perhaps,’ said Prince Henry, ‘but there was nothing unnatural about it. The good professor suggested rather impishly that the murderer should be sought in the anatomical and surgical faculties of the great universities. The fatal stroke was either a supremely lucky one, or the product of great skill. However, I do think that the murderer hoped that his deed would be taken for an act of God or the Devil. Why else choose that particular room in which to kill John Casimir? His body was found in the precise place that Duke Karl Alexander died over thirty years ago, and in much the same condition. The coincidence has terrified the court of Württemberg. All sorts of omens and apparitions have since troubled Ludwigsburg. Duke Karl Eugen fled to the Neues Schloss of Stuttgart and had the Mirror Cabinet hung with garlic and closed up.’
‘So there is no doubt that it was a murder,’ Freddie stated.
‘None whatsoever. Though I fear it may never be known who accomplished it. John Casimir was lured by some means to that chamber no doubt, but no one saw anyone enter or leave it. So with that much resolved the professor and I prepared the body, and coffined it for burial.’
‘Why do you assume the murderer was male, sir?’
‘Did I? That was unwarranted of me. The deceased was known for his lust for women, and what brought him to the Mirror Cabinet might well have been the lure of one of the prostitutes and actresses who frequently satisfied it, I suppose. I did interview his last mistress, the English actress Mrs Levrier, who insists John Casimir had made her a baroness before he died. Duke Karl Eugen had her confined under guard once the death was known, and it’s not worked out well for her since. The Baroness Ertingen, who now rules the court of Württemberg and has the duke under her thumb, took against her. She has been trying to reform his court and morals, and Mrs Levrier was not the sort she would allow to get near Karl Eugen, who is rumoured to have sampled her charms in past days. She was shown the frontier with nothing but a single portmanteau as soon as I had my interview with her.
‘I had her quarters searched after she left, and found there a casket of jewels she had pocketed which I knew belonged to the house of Ruric, and which she had claimed as John Casimir’s gift. But when questioned she could account for her movements, and in any case she had been in public view at the Schloss Favorite at the time of the murder. Further, from what I and the professor discovered I’m still convinced the fatal blow could only have been delivered by a man. So I’ve made my report to the regency, and my aunt is very troubled.’
***
Freddie knew that before they left Glottenburg his attendance on his master would bring him back into close contact with the princess regent and Sebastienne Wollherz. It eventually occurred in the state reception the day after the interment of the late duke in the vaults under the cathedral, which had happened at night and by the light of torches. John Casimir’s coffin had been sealed within a leaden sarcophagus identical to his father’s in a crypt where the majority of his ancestors slept in lines of similar boxes. His name and date of death were stamped on a plaque and a ducal coronet and cap in lead distinguished its lid.
The ancient Voyvodeske Hrad was no longer a ducal residence and a new city palace had not as yet been commissioned by the regency, so the reception was held in the Olmusch Palace adjacent to the cathedral, which had escaped the great fire. The court was in deepest mourning, and the only colour in the appearance of Princess Osra Madeleine was the red hair that could be seen escaping from under her widow’s bonnet. In that sombre setting her pale face was almost mystical in its beauty. Freddie noticed with a pang the death’s head on her breast, gleaming amongst the black silk. After his encounter with Jonas, he once more remembered what she had told him of it, and he knew now why it seemed to shine with its own light.
Though Freddie was nervous on meeting the princess again, and half feared her powers might reveal to her that his mind had been liberated from the chains in which she had placed it, the meeting went off without incident. She greeted him with her usual calm friendliness as he made his bow before her throne. Little Duke Willem Stanislas was leaning against her leg, dressed also in black but otherwise his cheerful self. Without much consciousness of the reason for the assembly, he hallooed his greeting to Freddie and covertly showed him the toy soldier he had smuggled with him under his coat. Freddie winked back at the boy.
Freddie had more to fear from his encounter with Sebastienne Wollherz. It happened as he circulated round the room with Prince Henry. She was among a group of older men, though not at the centre of it. That was a striking figure in a bright white wig and the uniform of a general, the red and yellow silk ribbon of the Order of the Red Rose across his breast and the star of the Dragon on his dark blue coat. Freddie did not have to guess that he was meeting Crown Prince Ferdinand of Ruritania, the elder brother of Prince Henry. The man seemed bored and aloof, but Freddie noticed his expression became more animated when he saw his brother approach, so it seemed that the two really were attached to each other, for all their differences in age, lifestyle and interests.
‘Well my dear Heinz!’ he declared in a parade ground voice, ‘I’ve read your morbid screed on the last hours of John Casimir. And you embalmed the ghastly man with your own hand? What strange habits all that surplus education’s given you. I do hope you didn’t add any of his internal organs to the jars in that collection in your study.’
‘No Ferdy. They’re all in the leaden urn at the foot of his sarcophagus. You can go check if you like.’ Apparently there was little ceremony between the pair.
‘And did you find a brain in his skull? Always had my doubts about that particular organ,’ was the riposte.
Freddie was introduced and made his bow. He was favoured with a nod and a bored glance but no words of greeting, as the crown prince went back to chaffing his brother. Freddie withdrew to the side and found himself next to Sebastienne on the edge of the group.
‘Welcome back to Glottenburg, Freddie,’ she said, choosing to converse in English. ‘I’m glad to say it’s a different place to when you were last here. You’ll have to update the manuscript of your Travels in the Rothenian Lands. How is it going?’
‘As you say, Bessie. It needs revising in the light of current events. But I’m confident it’ll be ready for the press in the new year. The manuscript of Travels in High Germany and Ruritania by a Graduate of Cambridge University is already with the printers.’
‘Really? Now that’s exciting. I’m pleased for you, though the title is a bit of a mouthful.’
‘How about you, Bessie? A chamberlain of the court of Glottenburg and privy councillor to the Princess Regent: that’s something of a mouthful too.’
‘Well, I shall not make the indecent pun you clearly expect me to. Hasn’t it been a long time since we first met? Father sold the Munich house before Christmas. Isn’t that a shame? We still have the villa out at Neuhausen though. Sadly, it seems that I’m losing touch with my youth.’
‘Bessie, you’re barely twenty. This is new for you, angling for sympathy. What have you been up to since I last saw you? When was it? Riding off to the Malbisse Schloss. You weren’t at Bielstadt when I brought that letter to the princess, the one that was outdated before I even got there.’
Freddie made the last remarks with a certain deliberation. Jonas the elf had not just unveiled for him his lost memories, but also identified for him the substitute ones Princess Osra had implanted in his mind. ‘You need to know them, Mr Englishman,’ Jonas had said, ‘otherwise they’ll catch on to what I’ve done, and we don’t want that.’
With a certain relief, Freddie saw a fleeting look of satisfaction pass across Bessie’s face as she marked his repetition of his fictionalised memories. Then she replied ‘Mostly I’ve been at the side of Princess Osra, Freddie. I’m indispensable. I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
‘Of course, Bessie. It’s just that I find it hard to imagine you sitting at a green baize table surrounded by old men who treat you as a child, and a girl child at that.’
Freddie was deliberately provoking this woman, who he had reason to know was dangerous. But he had to learn what he could. The gleam in her eye and curl of her lip confirmed her irritation. ‘They never do that more than once,’ she snarled. The tigress had bared her teeth momentarily.
‘I don’t imagine they do,’ Freddie carried on equably. ‘And I bet they’re not enthusiastic about the regency. Princess Osra began her rule with a gesture that will have annoyed some of them: the foundation of a Rothenian language university.’
Bessie shook her head in irritation. ‘It’s no gesture, Freddie. It’s a long overdue move to consolidate the Rothenian identity of Glottenburg. It’s time for it to rise again. You could hardly expect the kingdom of Ruritania to pursue the cause. It’s far too much corrupted by German and French culture.’
‘Then it’s a good thing that it’s an Elphberg princess who’s leading the way, isn’t it?’ Freddie observed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Change has to come from the top, doesn’t it? If an Elphberg is pushing for it, it may confuse those in Glottenburg who expect the Elphbergs to maintain the status quo. While those looking on from Ruritania may see it as a straw in the wind.’
Bessie tossed her head. ‘This is change that has been waiting for a century, Freddie. And it’s been waiting for so long because the Elphbergs till now have been indifferent to the voice of Rothenia. So what if King Rudolf says a few Rothenian words at the end of a party, and he can talk in Rothenian to his servants? It takes more than that to rouse the spirit of the people.’
‘The spirit of the people? What on earth is that?’
Bessie gave a small grin, before declaiming. “There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune”. Recognise that?’
‘Shakespeare, obviously.’
‘Julius Caesar, Act 4 Scene 3. The point is that the Ancients recognised that there are forces behind History. The common people called it the Gods. Their philosophers called it the “World Soul”. I call it Destiny, and there are have been peoples in this world whose destiny is greatness, like the Romans in their day.’
Noting the intensity of her gaze, Freddie responded lightly ‘Many of my fellow Englishmen certainly believe theirs is a manifest one.’
Bessie tossed her head. ‘What! Asserting a sordid right to loot the world and rob its peoples for its own profit is the Destiny of the English? Not a noble destiny for a people, unless you think piracy can be called a philosophy.’
‘I doubt they’d put it that way. So what is the Destiny of the Rothenian people?’
‘To be united, to begin with,’ Bessie snapped.
‘And how’s that to be done?’
Bessie sniffed. ‘It’s more about “happening” than “doing”. We shall see, won’t we.’
The conversation turned to other matters, rather abruptly. Bessie clearly wanted to close down the very interesting avenue her thoughts had revealed. So Freddie had to tell the story of his Christmas in England, and the impending marriage of Lord Burlesdon. Bessie was characteristically waspish about Christina von Ortenburg, whom she knew from her time at the electoral court. ‘I don’t quite see the mutual attraction,’ she said, ‘especially with the religious difference.’
Freddie had his turn to sniff. ‘If I’ve learned anything the past two years it’s that religious differences are less important than Walsham Grammar School and Cambridge University led me to believe. And when they get in the way of the public careers of men like Lord Burlesdon then they’re an evil. It’s good that he’s found a lady who thinks that way too.’
‘Listen to you, Freddie Winslow! Might it not just be that an ageing Bavarian beauty has decided to settle for the legendary wealth of a reasonable looking English milord, who also happens to have the blood of the Elphbergs in his veins? A win on all counts.’
‘So young yet so cynical about your sex, Bessie. Really you’re more of a lady than you like to reveal. What, is it not the great Bard who says: “Two women placed together makes cold weather”?’.
‘And you are ever so male in your patronising attitude to women, Freddie Winslow.’
‘I’m hurt. Am I about to find that “though she be but little, she is fierce”?’.
Bessie abruptly laughed. ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 3, Scene 2. Confess Freddie, you sat down and memorised the Shakespeare quotes you could use against me, just for a moment like this.’
‘And if I did?’
‘Then you’d be more of a military man than you appear. That’s an ambush. You’re picking up strategy from my brother.’
Freddie reflected that she might rather have called him out for a flank attack. He had a feeling he had just deflected a major frontal assault on his understanding of the world by a woman who had the power to plant and fix her ideas in his brain if she chose.
The Marshal of the Court rapped his staff on the floor as Princess Osra rose. Hand-in-hand with the little duke, and with her nephews Princes Ferdinand and Henry behind her, she left the reception. Bessie hurried to join the group processing out after them. Freddie took his time, pondering what he had learned and wondering how he was to communicate it to Jonas Niemand, for it seemed the elf had been correct in his suspicions about the plan of Willem Antonin.