Chapter 31
31
Inga felt like an imposter as Benedict escorted her up the grand staircase leading into the Staatsoper Unter den Linden. The three-foot train of amethyst silk trailing after her was a constant distraction as she tried to avoid tripping over it. Benedict wore a formal black coat with tails and an elaborate white tie. The only men not wearing formal attire were the generals and members of the German high command, whose daunting uniforms glittered with sashes, swords, and medals.
How different this was from New York, where the vaudeville opera theaters were fun , not stuffy. If this was a foretaste of what it would mean to be Benedict’s wife for real, she wasn’t sure she was up for the job. The imposing lobby featured white walls that soared upward to a beautifully painted ceiling. The floor gleamed with white, gold, and black mosaic tiles. Dozens of columns surrounded the hall, topped with elaborate gold acanthus leaves. All she had to do was survive the next five hours without embarrassing Benedict; then she could flee back to the wonderfully shabby comfort of Alton House.
Benedict filled her head with instructions during the carriage ride over. Don’t eat while wearing opera gloves, but she could drink. Don’t initiate a conversation with any members of the royal family or officers of the military. She might encounter ladies she was friendly with from the other neutral embassies, but she must address them by their formal titles instead of their first names.
“There’s Fr?ulein Zinnia von Eschenbach,” Benedict said, nodding toward the pretty young woman with the spray of freckles across her nose. “I shall introduce you to her and a few other ladies before joining the men.”
She gave a terse nod. Of course, Benedict couldn’t babysit her. He needed to use the time before the opera to mingle with the German ministers, leaving Inga on her own. She could make conversation with these people. She could . The weather was always a safe topic, wasn’t it? And at intermission she could talk about the performance.
So many people! She lay her hand atop Benedict’s wrist as he led her toward Zinnia. “Fr?ulein, may I introduce my wife, Mrs. Inga Kincaid.”
“How wonderful,” the woman replied, and it looked as though she actually meant it. “Mrs. Kincaid, we should have tea at the Kurfürstendamm. And perhaps a little shopping afterward?”
Another notch of anxiety fell away. “I would like that.”
Then, miracle of miracles, Inga recognized Mrs. Jeppesen from the Danish Embassy. Mrs. Jeppesen joined them and had polite comments about the yacht race the Gerards hosted last spring.
By the time Benedict excused himself, Inga was starting to feel more at ease. This was fine. She was fine. She actually didn’t need to say much, as the other women carried the conversation while she smiled and nodded.
Across the gallery, Benedict joined a group of important-looking gentlemen, one of whom sent a chill through her. She’d recognize that ruthlessly groomed mustache anywhere. The last time she had seen him was right after the Lusitania went down, when he made crafty allusions to her German citizenship. Since then, Arthur Zimmermann had been promoted and was now the foreign minister of Germany. He intimidated her down to the marrow of her bones, but Benedict had protected her then, just as he continued to protect her today. There was nothing Zimmermann could do to hurt her now. She was an American citizen. She had a husband who protected her and, amazingly, seemed to genuinely care for her.
“Father, come meet Mr. Kincaid’s wife,” Fr?ulein Zinnia said, beckoning a tall man with the same cheerful freckles as his daughter.
“Dear Mrs. Kincaid,” the baron murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. “I shall be eternally grateful for your husband’s efforts to attain my release. No man can truly appreciate freedom until it has been taken away.”
The sentiment appeared to be sincere, though his accent was as clipped and cultured as a British aristocrat.
“You speak English beautifully,” Inga said.
He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I grew up in England,” he said. “I’ve spent more than half my life over there. I can’t wait for the war to be over so I can go to the races at Ascot again.”
“Father, look, there’s Prince Oskar,” Fr?ulein Zinnia said in an awed whisper. Inga followed her gaze and spotted a young man in uniform standing beside Benedict, chatting with the chancellor. Prince Oskar was slim, intense-looking, and wore a colonel’s uniform with plenty of medals, including two iron crosses.
“Isn’t he handsome?” Fr?ulein Zinnia whispered.
“Brave too,” the baron said. “The kaiser has six sons, but the empress has managed to keep most of them far behind the battle lines. People were beginning to talk. Prince Oskar took himself into actual battles and has surely caused his mother many sleepless nights.”
Inga took a sip of the fine German wine, watching as Benedict conferred with the tight cluster of men. Usually, Benedict mostly listened, but this evening he was speaking rapidly, the other men leaning in to hear him.
How proud she was of him! Some of the highest-ranking men in Germany were hanging on his every word. Everything was going exactly as she’d hoped.
Footmen wearing white wigs and stockings opened the doors to the theater. A few people began funneling in, although most continued their conversations. Inga intended to follow their lead, grateful she’d survived this long without a gaffe.
Benedict soon joined her, smiling as he folded his hand around hers. “Good news, darling. Minister Zimmermann has invited us to join him and his wife in their box.”
It didn’t sound like good news to Inga. The man scared the willies out of her, but if Benedict stayed beside her, she would be fine.
She stepped away to set her empty wineglass on a receiving tray. A few matronly women glanced her way, speaking behind their fans. The only words she caught were “shoemaker’s daughter.” Given the sour expressions, they did not mean it as a compliment.
She kept her chin high as she returned to Benedict. Everyone in this gilded hall wore shoes that had been made by some hardworking craftsman, and she wasn’t ashamed of being the daughter of such a man.
The theater was as grand as the gallery, with crimson velvet seats, a painted ceiling, and three tiers of private boxes. Only about half the seats were filled, mostly by women. It was a sad reminder of the brothers, sons, and husbands serving in the war.
Benedict led her to Foreign Minister Zimmermann’s private box and introduced her to the other wives. Mercifully, there was no need for further conversation, as the lights were lowered.
Once seated, Benedict leaned toward her, his nose tickling the hair swept up behind her ear. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
“Fine,” Inga whispered. “You?”
He squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. “Fine.”
He retreated back into his chair, but tingles flared from the spot where he’d kissed her. Never could she have imagined she would be at an event like this. Now that the opera was starting, she could relax.
The ruby-red curtains rose on ropes of gold braid, revealing an enchanted kingdom. A towering forest lit by moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated a thicket of grass and a mountainside with real water trickling down like a waterfall. A handsome prince entered the stage, chased by a monstrous dragon. Who cared if there were actors’ feet visible beneath the massive scaly costume of the dragon? She’d never seen anything like it and was spellbound as the opera unfolded with fairies and enchanted creatures.
But not so spellbound that she didn’t peer around at people in the neighboring boxes. Baron von Eschenbach chatted amiably with half a dozen people, who moved in and out of his box. The fact that the baron was here and not languishing in a prisoner camp was Benedict’s doing, and she lifted her chin a little higher.
When the lights came up for the first intermission, Benedict led her back into the gallery. “Will you be all right on your own?” he asked, and she sent him a nod before he headed off toward another group of diplomatic dignitaries.
Inga couldn’t continue to monopolize the goodwill of the Eschenbachs. She twitched her fan before her face, glancing about the gallery for someone she might know. There were at least five hundred people there tonight, yet she was still a stranger among those belonging to German high society.
At last she spotted Mrs. Torres from the Argentinian Embassy. Though Inga rarely mingled with the ambassadors’ wives, she and Mrs. Torres once played croquet together.
She approached Mrs. Torres, cautiously meeting the older woman’s gaze. With a tiara atop her upswept black hair, Mrs. Torres looked regal and imposing. There was no sign of recognition, and no one to introduce her. She managed a timid smile and asked, “Do you remember me? We played croquet together at the Danish Embassy.”
Recognition dawned, and the woman nodded. “Yes, you’re the secretary who married Benedict Kincaid.”
“That’s right,” she said, relief battling with embarrassment over having her lowly profession announced so bluntly around the other ladies.
Mercifully, Mrs. Torres provided introductions to an Austrian baroness and a German countess, whose husband served in the Imperial Marine.
“You must be very proud,” Inga said, and the countess gave a stiff nod but said nothing else. Neither did Mrs. Torres, and an awkward silence stretched.
Conversing with the Eschenbachs had been so easy, yet intruding on this group of ladies had been a blunder. What sort of secretary did that? Inga’s rustic Bavarian accent probably didn’t help matters. None of the women appeared willing to speak, and she scrambled for something to say.
“Have you seen Baron von Eschenbach?” she asked the group. “He seems to be fully recovered after his time in England.”
The German countess gave a polite nod. “Praise to the kaiser for making it happen.”
Actually, praise to Benedict and American diplomacy, but she wouldn’t push it. “I gather more prisoners might be exchanged soon,” she said. “Both sides have so many civilians trapped in internment camps, and I know the baron is trying to work with other neutral parties to release more men. Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”
Mrs. Torres grabbed Inga’s arm just above her elbow. “Come along, Mrs. Kincaid, let us find some refreshments.” The older woman propelled Inga away from the group, squeezing her arm as though Inga were a disobedient child. Had she done something wrong? Inga tried not to cringe as they reached a private area behind a row of columns.
“ Never gossip about embassy business with outsiders,” Mrs. Torres hissed into her ear. “Your husband should have instructed you about confidentiality, and yet you babble about it with highly placed women from the German side? Shame on you. I only hope Baron von Eschenbach’s efforts do not falter because of this.”
Mrs. Torres whirled away, leaving Inga alone behind the column, trying to control her panicked breathing as every scrap of confidence collapsed like a tower of ash. All those men in Ruhleben, suffering at this moment in horse stalls, and she just put their release further into jeopardy. The backs of her eyes prickled, and it was getting harder to control her breathing.
She had to get out of here before she started bawling like an infant. It meant cutting through a crush of people to get through the front doors. She kept her chin down, avoiding curious glances as she angled her way toward the doors.
“Pardon,” she mumbled when she stepped on a woman’s train, then bumped into a gentleman, causing the wine in his glass to slosh. She kept muttering apologies as she veered around people to get out. If she lifted her gaze, she might make eye contact with someone and start crying.
At last she reached the front doors, where a footman looked at her curiously.
“Please,” she whispered. “Outside.”
He opened the door for her, and she escaped onto the well-lit portico. A freezing December cold penetrated her gown instantly, triggering a round of shivers. Her cloak was somewhere inside, but she’d eat nails before going back to retrieve it.
She hugged herself as she paced the wide, vacant portico. Stupid, stupid, stupid ! Never had she felt so small. Beside her, monumental statues of great Prussian generals stood in the alcoves, the only ornamentation outside the opera house.
There were four of them, all looking grim and scary. Who were they? The writing on the pedestals was in some ancient language she couldn’t read. Benedict would probably know who they were. He knew everything.
Another shiver raced through her. Was it from the cold or the fear of walking back inside that awful place? She gazed down the wide avenue that ran toward the heart of Berlin on one end, and back toward Alton House on the other. It was tempting to walk home, but she wasn’t close enough, and Benedict would be expecting her back in that private box soon. The only way she could make this evening worse would be to flee and leave him to try to explain her absence. It was time to go back inside, join Benedict, and quit feeling sorry for herself.
Inside, the gallery was almost empty because the second act had already begun. The glare of white marble made her blink after the soothing darkness outside. Benedict was pacing about, and the look of relief when he spotted her was humbling. She glanced away.
“Where were you?” he asked, hurrying to her side. “I was beginning to fear you’d run away.”
“Not quite,” she said but still couldn’t meet his gaze. He needed to know what she’d done, even though confessing her stupidity would bring another round of humiliation. “I’m afraid I misspoke in front of some ladies. Mrs. Torres from the Argentinian Embassy let me know how atrocious it was.”
Benedict frowned. “Let’s head outside, and you can tell me what happened.”
“Are you sure? The second act has begun.”
“It doesn’t matter. I need to know what you said.”
Once again, she was back on the portico with the towering German statues frowning down at her. As was Benedict. He had that stern look that always intimidated her, but he needed to know exactly what happened in case there was something he could do to salvage the situation.
“I so enjoyed meeting Baron von Eschenbach that I got carried away with his story,” she began, then told him everything, including the way Mrs. Torres looked white with anger. “I’m sorry,” she concluded, braving a look at Benedict for the first time since she began speaking. It was impossible to read his expression in the weak illumination from the gaslights.
“Mrs. Torres is right,” Benedict said. “There needs to be a bright, inflexible line surrounding every scrap of embassy business. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job explaining that.”
It wasn’t Benedict’s fault she was such an idiot. “Is this going to hurt your odds of getting others released from Ruhleben?”
Benedict’s sigh sounded as dry and hopeless as the withered leaves scuttling along the pavement. “Probably not. Everyone knows we’re working to free the prisoners, but Mrs. Torres was right to nip it in the bud. It’s important to keep your cards close to your chest whenever we’re in public.”
It was a gentle reprimand, but she recognized it for what it was. Uncontrollable shivers raced through her, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“You’re cold. Let’s head back inside.”
Her lower lip started to wobble. Mrs. Torres had been in a neighboring box, and the prospect of seeing her again made Inga’s stomach plummet. Benedict must have noticed.
“Unless you’d rather not,” he added. “I can summon a carriage and take you home.”
She blinked. “I thought you had important business to carry out. Wouldn’t it be terribly rude to leave in the middle of the opera?”
Benedict’s smile warmed as he shook his head. “Nobody comes to the opera just for the performance. I’ve already met with everyone I needed to speak to. We can head home now if you like.”
It was the answer to a prayer. “Yes. Thank you.”
Her teeth started chattering, and all she wanted was to get home. No more pretending. No more making a fool of herself. Tension unknotted from her neck as Benedict gave instructions to a footman to summon a cab, and then he returned inside to make their excuses to the Zimmermanns.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them during the carriage ride home. If nothing else, this evening proved how supremely ill-equipped she was to become a diplomat’s wife.
Benedict didn’t like seeing Inga cowed, but yes, she’d made a bad blunder tonight. Nobody knew how urgently Baron von Eschenbach was working behind the scenes to free the British civilians, and it wouldn’t reflect well on him if news of it leaked. Many people in Germany already mistrusted the baron because of his unabashed love of England.
Inga remained silent on the ride back to Alton House. He gave her a reassuring smile as he helped her alight from the carriage. She tried to apologize again as soon as the carriage rolled away.
“Benedict, I’m sorry—”
He put a thumb on her lower lip. “Shhh. It’s okay, Inga.”
Her eyes turned a little watery before she nodded and headed inside. He needed to write up his impressions of the evening and retreated to the library to do so. It was nearing midnight before he finalized the report and was surprised to hear voices in the kitchen. One of them sounded like Inga.
He moved silently down the hallway, cocking his ear to listen. Yes, it was definitely Inga speaking, describing the events of the night. To his dismay, Inga’s humiliation was rooted in a lot more than her slip of the tongue.
“I’m afraid everyone could see right through me,” she was saying. “They knew I didn’t belong. It was as plain as day every time I opened my mouth.”
“People in Germany are elitists.” It was Larry, his voice unusually empathetic. “You need to ignore it and carry on.”
“I just feel so stupid everywhere I go,” she replied, her tone sounding vanquished with exhaustion. “This gown cost Benedict a fortune, but I’m still a peasant from Bavaria with no more than an eighth-grade education. I don’t belong here.”
Larry murmured more words of comfort, although given her noncommittal snorts in reply, none of it seemed to penetrate her wall of misery.
The sorrow in her voice tormented Benedict. Everything Inga had done since she arrived in Berlin had been selfless. She came here because Ambassador Gerard took advantage of her good nature. She helped Nellie clean the kitchen every evening. She used her free time doing relief work for the prisoners in Ruhleben.
It was high time somebody did something nice for Inga. As her husband, and the man who hoped to make their temporary alliance permanent, it was up to Benedict to solve this.