His Majesty's Hope (32 page)

“It didn’t go with the dress,” Elise managed. Why was her mother smiling that Mona Lisa smile? Why was she here?

“Pity,” Clara murmured.

There was a knock at the compartment door. “Maestro!
Gnädige
Frau Hess!
Gnädiges
Fräulein Hess!” The conductor bowed. “I am at your service. May I bring you something to drink?”

“I would like brandy,” Clara decided.

Miles considered. “Coffee.”

“A bottle of Fanta, please,” Elise said, thinking of the three in the luggage compartment and how they must be thirsty.

When the conductor left, Clara said with a wicked smile, “You’d better watch yourself. Soda can get you in trouble.”

“What?” Elise said, startled. Was her mother reading her thoughts?

“Relax,
Mausi,
” Clara said, patting the girl’s knee and smiling. “I mean your waistline. All that sugar in soda … Don’t you think that dress is fitting a bit snugly? I think a little slimming is in order.”

Elise found she could breathe again. “Of course, Mutti.”

Trapped in the silk-lined trunk, Maggie tried to relax and breathe slowly. At Beaulieu, they’d been taught to count when they needed to calm down in a dangerous situation. And so she counted, to a hundred, to a thousand, then started over again at one. She tried not to think about her legs cramping up, or her lips getting dry. She tried not to think about the increasing pressure on her bladder.
Why did I have to drink so much water today?
She calculated pi—getting up to almost a hundred decimal places before her memory gave out, and then began to reiterate Fermat’s theorem.

The porters had been rough with the case, but she hadn’t been injured, and for that she was grateful. And although she couldn’t hear much, she could feel the train’s engines start up.
Next stop, Switzerland
, she thought.
I hope John and Ernst are all right—didn’t get too banged up in the move. Or worse
.

It was dark and close in her trunk, which felt disconcertingly like a small coffin.
Stop it, Hope. Back to Fermat for you. Let’s see, no three positive integers
—a, b,
and
c—
can satisfy the equation
a
ⁿ
+
b
ⁿ
= c
ⁿ
for any integer value of
n
greater than 2. So …

Second by second, minute by minute, the hours ticked away and the miles flew by as the train rolled on through the German countryside in the dark.

Miles had soon leaned his head back against the white lace headrest and begun snoring softly.

Clara had removed her hat and shoes and tucked her stocking-clad legs up under her, like a cat. “Try to get some sleep,
Mausi,
” she urged, closing her eyes. “Lots of shopping to do in Switzerland, after all.”

Elise obeyed but secretly stayed awake, waiting until she heard her mother’s breathing change. Then she rose silently, grabbed the bottle of Fanta and the bottle opener, and eased her way out of the compartment. She walked the train’s corridors hurriedly, holding on to the wall with one hand to keep her balance. It was late. Most of the other passengers were sleeping; the conductors paid her no mind.

Just as she was about to exit the last car before the luggage car, someone stepped in front of her. A man, dressed in a conductor’s uniform. A young man, a boy really. Scarcely old enough to shave. He was looking down at his feet, counting and practicing dance steps. She recognized the steps he’d been doing—the most basic move in swing dance.
Rock-step, step-hold, step-hold. Rock-step, step-hold, step-hold
. In his arms, he held an imaginary girl.

He looked up, his face blushing furiously at being caught. “What are you doing back here?”

“You dance well,” Elise said. “I—I’m one of the musicians. And I left something in my case.”

He turned even pinker. “You still can’t go in there. It is forbidden. Most of the musicians have their instruments with them,” he added. It was true; those with smaller instruments always carried
them by hand. The Berlin Opera even bought each of their cellists an extra ticket for a seat for his instrument.

“But, you see,” Elise said, trying her best to bat her eyelashes, “I play the harp. It’s too big to travel with me. And that’s why it’s back there.”

“And why are you carrying a soda?”

Elise wasn’t prepared for this one. She blinked. “Performing tonight’s made me very thirsty.”

The boy didn’t look convinced. “Show me your papers.”

Elise smiled. “I’ll show you how to do that step properly,” she said, putting down the bottle. She grabbed one of his hands and put it around her waist, then took her arm and encircled his back. “Five six seven eight …” she counted.

They began to dance. The boy was awkward. “Now, it’s not as hard as you’re making it out to be,” Elise said. “When you do your rock step, don’t twist out as much. There—there you go—good.”

They moved together in harmony for a few moments. “All right, now don’t drop your shoulders. That’s it—yes!” They danced together, beautifully now, to imaginary music. Finally, the boy twirled her and tried for a dip. She slipped slightly in his arms and they lost the beat.

“That’s a whole other lesson,” Elise said, laughing. “I’m assuming I can go in now?”

The boy gave her a rapturous grin. “Don’t be too long,” he said, voice cracking on the last syllable.

“Keep practicing,” Elise said, picking up her soda. “You’ll be doing lifts and backflips in no time.”

She eased open the door to the baggage car. Inside was shadowy, the gloom punctured by only a single blue fluorescent light overhead. Elise picked her way through the piled luggage until she reached her father’s trunk. She rapped on it with her knuckles, then opened the brass clasps and raised the lid.

“Oh, thank goodness it’s you,” Maggie whispered, sitting up and looking around. She rolled her neck to undo the kinks. “How are John and Ernst?”

“I’m about to get them now,” Elise replied. “Are you all right?”

Maggie stretched her arms and then rose tentatively to her feet, grimacing. “I’ll live. Let’s get the boys.”

Together they searched for the harp and the timpani cases. After a battle with the clasps, both John and Ernst were released. Like Maggie, they stretched and shook out their limbs.

“How are you?” Elise asked.

“I admit I could use some water,” John said. He looked ghostly in the shadows.

“It’s not water.” Elise pulled out the bottle of Fanta and the opener. “But it’s all I could carry here without being conspicuous.”

She opened it and handed it to Maggie, who handed it to John. “You’re the one who’s injured,” she reminded him.

“But you’re the one who’s been on the run,” he said lightly, handing it back to her.

Ernst grumbled, “Oh, why don’t you just kiss each other and get it over with,” and, grabbing the bottle, put it up to his lips and took a greedy swig.

John and Maggie drank in turn. They sat on trunks and looked at each other, smiling foolishly. They were on their way home, after all.

“How much longer?” John asked.

Elise peered at her watch. “About six more hours,” she answered. “You’re going to have to go back in the cases now, I’m afraid. But the next time I see you, we’ll all be free.” She grinned. “It’s rather like a movie, isn’t it?”

“They always edit the boring bits, the embarrassing bits, out, don’t they?” Maggie said, climbing back into her trunk.

Ernst stepped into his case. “Still, I’d rather be here, in a timpani case, en route to Zürich, than on a train bound for Buchenwald.”

That brought them all up short.

“Well, when this is a movie, and Hedy Lamarr is playing Maggie and Gene Tierney is playing me, we can make sure they only show glamorous things,” Elise said lightly. “But for now, let’s just concentrate on getting to Switzerland.”

Clara, only pretending to be asleep, knew exactly when Elise left the compartment.

She trailed her daughter, staying just far enough behind to remain out of sight. She watched Elise dance with the guard, horrified at the
verboten
swing dance moves. And she waited, in the shadows, until Elise left the luggage compartment and made her way back down the corridor. She realized what her daughter must have done—hidden the three in instrument cases. Lord knows as a child, Elise had delighted in hiding in them herself!

Clara had no time to dance with the guard. “Here,” she said, looking past his wide blue eyes, and crumpling a wad of Reichmarks into his hand. “Stay out.” He watched her in mute bewilderment as she let herself inside.

Instrument cases, everywhere.

She started at the left, opening cases, then flipping the lids shut in frustration.

From inside her case, Maggie could hear the commotion. Someone was looking through the cases. And it wasn’t Elise. It was just a matter of time until whoever it was reached her case. She had a sudden flashback to her training at Arisaig.
Keep it together, lass!
she remembered a Scottish instructor yelling.
No matter what they throw at you, keep it together! Don’t you dare fall apart!

Staying still and waiting seemed like too passive a move. Whoever was there would inevitably find her. Her only advantage was surprise. She waited until she heard the person get close. Then she banged the lid open with all her might. The searcher staggered backward and fell heavily against a pyramid of Rimowa luggage.

“Frau Hess?” Maggie whispered. “Clara?” Then, seeing Clara’s expression, “Mother?”

“Margaret Hope.” One corner of Clara’s mouth turned up in a smile. “You must have many questions. But, first, know this—I never meant to hurt you.”

“I do have a question,” Maggie said, desperately trying to still her racing mind.
She must not be allowed to find John and Ernst. Think, Maggie, think! Keep her talking
. “Why me? Why did you have a child?”

Clara shook her head. “Sektion demanded it of me. They thought it would cement my relationship with your father, in a way not even marriage could.”

“My very existence is due to Sektion?”

“It was part of my mission, yes.” Clara put one hand to her temple.”

“But you left England.”

“If I stayed, you’d always have been in danger. And I knew your father would take good care of you.”

Maggie gave a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s debatable. And the accident—how did you convince everyone you’d died?”

Clara chortled. “I bribed a morgue attendant. He falsified the paperwork, substituted another young blonde, a prostitute, with no family or friends. From there I left London, went to Grimsby, where—”

“Where a U-boat picked you up.”

“Why, yes,” Clara said.

“You planned the same route for Princess Elizabeth,” Maggie realized.

“How did you know that?”

“Because I was there with her.”

Clara raised one eyebrow, then opened her purse. There, glinting in the blue light, was the mother-of-pearl-handled gun. “I’m through with that life now. With those people.” She picked the gun up.

“You’re going to shoot me?” Maggie asked.

Clara studied her, then shook her head.

“Take me with you,” she said, handing the gun over to Maggie. “To London. I can be extremely useful.”

Mind spinning, Maggie accepted the gun. “You want to go to London?” she asked, incredulously. “They’ll hang you there.”

“No,” Clara said firmly. “I possess too much information that they want. I’ll be invaluable.”

There was a soft sound. It was the young guard. His gun drawn, he entered the car. “
Was
—
?”
He stared at the two women.

“Mein Gott,”
he whispered, clicking the safety off his Walther pistol.

“Put your gun down,” Maggie said evenly.

“Nein,”
the boy said, eyes blank with fear. He began to back out of the compartment. Maggie knew exactly what he intended to do—close the door and bolt it, then call for help. They would all be captured just hours before they reached the border.

“Stop!” she cried. “Please, stop.” She took a step forward. “I don’t want to have to shoot you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He aimed the gun at Maggie’s heart and fired. A stain, like a dark red rose, bloomed through the silk of her dress. And in that instant, she focused, aimed, and squeezed the trigger three times. As she’d been trained to do, she shot the boy once through the forehead, then twice through the heart.

He staggered from the impact of the shots. Life left his eyes. Then he fell to the floor.

Maggie’s once-white dress was now stained red—with her blood, and with his, which had sprayed her. There was so much blood. Who knew humans contained so much blood?

Elise, aware her mother was no longer in their compartment, opened the door. She stood frozen in shock.

“Brava, darling. Perhaps you are your mother’s daughter, after all,” Clara said to Maggie. “Ah, Elise, how good of you to join us.”

“You killed him,” Elise accused Maggie shrilly. “You
killed
him.” Then, to Clara, “And what are
you
doing here?”

“You didn’t know? Your friend Frieda betrayed you. She let me know of your little nest of rats in the attic.”