Chapter 20
20
Benedict expected the kaiser’s hunting lodge to be impressive, yet he was still surprised when the carriage rounded the bend to reveal the Gothic masterpiece nestled amid towering pine and oak trees. The lodge was like something from a Tudor fairy tale, with timbered beams, a steeply pitched roof, gables, and turrets.
All five of their delegation were exhausted after the twelve-hour train ride. Benedict, Inga, Colonel Reyes, and both Gerards had been jostling in a carriage for an additional two-hour ride through dense forestland to get here, but at last they had arrived.
He’d kept a careful watch on Inga, gauging her reaction as the carriage rolled to a stop. She looked radiant as she marveled at the view through the window. Sunlight dappled the secluded glade, and butterflies flitted above wildflowers scattered in the grass. Summer had definitely arrived, and the nearby stream gurgled as snowmelt from the Tatra Mountains flowed through the meadow. Though it looked enchanting, it was a dangerous enchantment.
He leaned forward to speak to the group quietly. “Remember, trust no one. Not the maids, the gardeners, not even any little children you see. Understood?”
For once, Ambassador Gerard took him seriously. “Understood,” he said.
Benedict exited the carriage first, his feet sinking a bit in the damp soil. He extended a hand to help Inga down.
“It smells so fresh,” she said of the green, peaty scent. It smelled cold and damp to Benedict, and despite the grandeur of the hunting lodge, he wasn’t looking forward to their stay.
A pair of stable hands walked out to greet them. The older man had ruddy cheeks and a long, drooping mustache. “ Willkommen ,” he said. “ Hatten sie eine sichere reise? ”
Benedict answered in English, “Yes, thank you. We had a safe journey.”
The ruddy-faced man looked at him blankly. Benedict repeated the phrase in German, even though he’d wager his last dollar that the stable hands were completely fluent in English. They assisted in unstrapping the trunks secured to the roof of the carriage. For a three-day visit, they had brought enough clothing any normal family would need for a month because this was no relaxed weekend in the country. It was a court visit, with all the necessary diplomatic dress, evening wear, and hunting clothes. No article of clothing would be worn twice.
“My dear?” he said, offering his arm to Inga, then escorted her into the lodge as though they were genuinely man and wife. The cobblestone walkway seemed almost quaint as they approached the front entrance protected by a timber alcove. Inga murmured something about the darling mullioned windows, but Benedict eyed the series of stag antlers mounted atop the gables and suspected it didn’t bode well for the decor inside the lodge.
“Can this be real?” Inga said as she stepped inside. It sounded as if she couldn’t decide whether to be charmed or appalled. The entrance was decorated with mounted stag heads, a snarling boar with pointy tusks, a mountain ram with curling horns, and geese with outstretched wings. Smaller animals were stuffed and perched on windowsills in realistic poses. Hunting trophies graced every wall and mantelpiece inside the vaulted interior of the lodge. A stunning chandelier built entirely of antlers hung above the great hall.
A plump housekeeper named Frau Huber welcomed them inside, her rustic German accent charming. “Will you show us the bedrooms?” he asked Frau Huber, praying there might be one with two beds. While it might seem odd for newlyweds to take a room with separate beds, he could always make an excuse that he was a light sleeper.
Carpet covered the wooden stairs as they headed to the second floor. There was a generous selection of bedrooms, all with slanted roofs, mullioned windows, and massive wooden headboards.
None with two beds. He chose one that had an upholstered chair in the corner. “This will do,” he said to Frau Huber. The housekeeper motioned for a servant to bring their luggage into the room. Inga instinctively reached out for her hatbox, but he took her hand to stop her. No wife of a ranking diplomat would carry her own baggage, no matter how light.
He was spared the need to make conversation with Inga over the next few minutes as servants lugged suitcases, trunks, and hatboxes into each of the bedrooms. Benedict pretended to be at ease while unpacking his trunk to hang his diplomatic suit. Inga followed his lead, hanging her navy walking suit beside his in the wardrobe. Seeing their clothes snug together in the same wardrobe seemed uncomfortably intimate.
“I wonder what this means?” Inga asked as she studied the carving along the top of the large headboard.
Benedict leaned forward to study the carved lettering. Bóg, Honor, Ojczyzna . “It is the national motto of Poland,” he said. “It translates to something like ‘God, Honor, and Homeland.’”
“You speak Polish?” she asked in amazement.
Hardly, but he’d read the lengthy sections on Poland in the Encylopedia Britannica , which was a good thing because this part of Europe had been Polish before it was swallowed up by Germany.
“The servants working at the lodge will certainly be German. Should you travel into the village, the people will all be Polish. I would prefer you stay on the hunting lodge grounds if I’m not with you.”
He insisted on it actually. It wasn’t safe to wander about.
A collection of owls arranged on perches rimmed the top of the room, seeming to stare down at them.
“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep with those owls watching me,” Inga said.
I don’t know how I’m going to sleep with Inga two feet away , he thought.
Before he could worry about the situation, Ambassador Gerard appeared in their doorway. “We’ve been summoned to the castle,” he said. “We leave in ten minutes.”
Benedict opened his pocket watch: four o’clock in the afternoon. It was too late for hunting, too early for dinner. That meant it was most likely to discuss the political situation and required the appropriate diplomatic uniform.
He closed the door. “Please change into your maroon suit, and I’ll be wearing my diplomatic attire.”
Her eyes widened. “That seems so formal.”
It did, but he couldn’t be sure of the intention of this meeting. “It’s better to be overdressed than underdressed. I’ll leave for a few minutes while you change, then we can trade places.”
Inga’s fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons on her crisply tailored maroon jacket. This was the richest of all her suits, but she looked like a ragpicker compared to the men. Diplomatic attire consisted of a single-breasted black tailcoat with high-stand collars. Because it was daytime, Benedict advised against the scarlet sash in favor of a small dress sword with an embellished hilt and scabbard. Gold buttons with tiny American eagles were the only hint of color on the shockingly impressive attire.
Colonel Reyes wore his formal Army uniform with gold braiding on the epaulets, collar, and gauntlet cuffs. The only other color was a thin red stripe down the side of his trousers.
Only four of them were attending the gathering, as Mary was exhausted from traveling and opted to stay at the hunting lodge. Benedict and Mr. Gerard sat in the carriage opposite her and Colonel Reyes.
Inga clutched the bag carrying the scrapbook on her lap as the carriage rolled ever closer to the castle. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she would see the kaiser in person, but instead of dropping into a curtsy like she ought to do, she carried a book filled with vile cartoons and insulting press. Thank goodness she wasn’t going to be the one to put it into his hands, yet even being in the background while someone else did the deed would be unnerving.
Benedict continued to give her last-minute instructions as the carriage approached the castle. “Don’t look the kaiser in the eye, and don’t initiate a conversation. You are attending the meeting as a secretary, not as a guest or my wife.”
All to the good. Kaiser Wilhelm had a fearsome reputation, and she’d be too tongue-tied to speak. Benedict took the scrapbook from her arms and set it on the bench beside him.
“We shall leave it in the carriage until the appropriate time,” he said. “If the meeting goes well, there may be no need to hand it over. In the likelihood our relationship with Germany continues to sour, I’ll find the best time to show the kaiser the precarious situation in America.”
She breathed easier once the awful book was off her lap. Now all she carried was a slim leather case that Mary loaned her, with a notepad and pen for taking shorthand notes of the meetings with the kaiser.
Her mouth went dry. The men in the carriage were trying to keep America out of the war, and she would do everything possible to support them. Dear Lord, please bless them with strength and wisdom and courage .
Castle Pless loomed before them, a baroque building of white granite topped with a mansard roof and the flag of the German Empire flying from the spire, the unmistakable sign that the kaiser was in the residence. Manicured hedges and topiaries filled the gardens beneath a shockingly blue sky.
The carriage rounded the large expanse of lawn and then crossed a stone bridge spanning a stream. The stream fed into a picturesque lake beside the castle, where swans glided among lily pads and fronds of grass. Surely this was what heaven must look like.
The carriage soon arrived at the stables. Half a dozen men dressed in scarlet livery with white stockings and white wigs came out to greet them. Benedict got out first, then helped her down. She tried not to look at the fancy servants with their gold braid and gleaming shoe buckles. If she met their gaze, they might spot her for a fraud.
A handsome young man wearing a tweed jacket and jodhpurs strolled over to meet them. “Welcome,” he said with a nod to the ambassador. “I hope you are game for a round of shooting. We’re hosting the Turkish delegation around back and have been shooting clay pigeons. Care to join us?”
As if on cue, the report of a gunshot blasted through the air. Inga flinched as the boom echoed and rolled across the countryside. She glanced uneasily at the others. Everyone wore their finest diplomatic attire and certainly weren’t here for backyard shooting contests. Rather than be insulted, Mr. Gerard seemed amused.
“Sorry, Your Highness,” Mr. Gerard said. “I’m due to meet with your father or I’d have brought my gear. Nothing beats a good round of trapshooting.”
Inga sucked in a quick breath. She’d never seen an actual prince before, but this laughing young man must be one of the kaiser’s six sons. All of them were high-ranking military officers, although none had been sent to the front. She tried to be invisible as Ambassador Gerard introduced Prince Adalbert to Benedict and Colonel Reyes. The prince looked around thirty and spoke with an upper-crust accent with lovely, precise diction and vocabulary.
Mr. Gerard did not introduce Inga, nor did Prince Adalbert acknowledge her presence, which was fine. Servants were used to being in the background.
Another crack of a gunshot rang out, and the prince gestured for the delegation to follow him toward the sound of the shooting. This wasn’t going as expected. Nobody was dressed for trapshooting or a garden party. The repetitive gun blasts ratcheted her tension even higher. How ironic that the first time she heard a gun fired during this war should be at Kaiser Wilhelm’s castle.
The prince led them around to the back of the castle, where a line of men stood in a grassy field. Most of them casually held rifles while one aimed at a clay disk launched into the air from a trap machine. Boom!
Other men sat beneath a cluster of shade trees, watching the sport from garden chairs. Her breath caught when she spotted the kaiser, who was wearing tweedy garb like all the others. He sat in an ordinary garden chair, but still held himself as though it were a throne. Someone leaned down to whisper in the kaiser’s ear, and he casually glanced at them as they approached.
Her mouth went dry, and her heart thudded as Kaiser Wilhelm stood. The ends of his mustache were ruthlessly waxed to turn up in little tufts pointing toward his eyes. Ambassador Gerard led the delegation forward, Benedict and Colonel Reyes a step behind. Inga walked an additional three steps behind but wished she could be invisible.
Everyone in the American delegation was painfully overdressed in formal black and ceremonial swords. Ambassador Gerard halted a few yards away from the kaiser, who looked mildly amused.
“Ha!” the kaiser said. “The three of you look like a flock of blackbirds.”
From behind, Inga spotted a slight stiffening of Benedict’s spine, but Mr. Gerard affected jovial good cheer. “Had I known we were shooting, I’d have worn my hunting garb. I have fond memories of our weekend shooting grouse at Blutenburg. Come! I can’t resist a quick go at those targets. Somebody hand me a rifle.”
Mr. Gerard shrugged out of his formal coat, handing it to Benedict. A stout, tweedy man agreeably handed over his rifle, and Inga glanced among the Germans. How smoothly Mr. Gerard just turned the tables on them all. It looked like the kaiser deliberately lured them here under the pretense of a diplomatic meeting so they would arrive overdressed and off-balance.
Mr. Gerard wasn’t off-balance. He seemed delighted as he shouldered the rifle and nodded to the servant at the trap machine. Inga held her breath as a clay disk soared into the air, then shattered into pieces after Mr. Gerard shot the gun. Six more disks were launched into the air in rapid succession, and Mr. Gerard shot four of them, pieces of clay pigeon falling into the grass.
Mr. Gerard asked for another round while Inga eavesdropped on Prince Adalbert, who introduced Benedict and Colonel Reyes to the other five men. Two were from the Ottoman Empire, two from Austria, and a gentleman from Bulgaria. There were three German princes! Prince Adalbert was the one who had met them at the carriage. The stout man was Prince Eitel, and Prince August was the knee-weakening handsome man with a slim pencil mustache. Imagine ... she was breathing the same air as three real princes and the kaiser.
An assortment of other men in ordinary business attire stood well back from the diplomats. They were secretaries like Inga. It was extremely uncomfortable to stand there doing nothing while the introductions among the envoys and ambassadors unfolded in a well-oiled sequence. Inga mirrored the stance of the other secretaries, keeping her expression neutral and hands at her sides.
A small army of servants soon appeared with additional wicker chairs for the Americans. A few more chairs were set out in a line several yards behind the diplomats for the secretaries, and Inga finally sat. She was on the end of the row, beside a dapper young man with dark hair and eyes. He held a notepad on his lap, prompting Inga to hold her pad exactly like the other secretaries.
The man next to her leaned close to whisper, “Vasil Petrov, aide to the ambassador from Bulgaria. And you are?”
“Inga Klein. Kincaid ,” she hastily amended. “Secretary to the American ambassador.”
“Welcome, Miss Klein-Kincaid,” he said, and she didn’t correct him. Hopefully her blunder would never matter.
They were close enough to hear the chatter among the diplomats. Mr. Gerard was jovial, praising the quality of shooting to be had in the region and reminiscing about yachting with the princes at Kiel.
The kaiser turned to the Bulgarian ambassador. Bulgaria was a small nation, but it was strategically located between Germany and their Ottoman allies, and a new railway was under discussion. The Bulgarian secretary began jotting down notes in a style of shorthand unfamiliar to Inga and prompting her to begin taking notes as well, even though the discussion didn’t directly relate to America. All the other secretaries took notes, so she would too.
Ambassador Gerard interjected himself to ask if the kaiser had the chance to read President Wilson’s latest missive regarding the Lusitania , the one that reiterated the need for an apology.
“Why should we apologize for the Lusitania ?” the kaiser barked. “Every American who set foot on that ship had been warned not to do so.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Gerard retorted. “If you warned me not to ride my own horse, the fact that you gave me a warning would not give you permission to shoot me in the head for doing so.”
Apparently the kaiser wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner. The princes shifted uneasily, and the other diplomats looked away. Benedict didn’t. He kept his eyes trained on the kaiser, who refused to answer.
Finally, Prince Adalbert broke the tension. “Say, how about we find you some appropriate clothes, and we can all go for a round of tennis? We have an indoor court. Where is Silas? He was always good for keeping track of the score.”
Silas was Inga’s predecessor, the secretary Mr. Gerard fired, and Inga was surprised the prince remembered him.
“Silas has been reassigned,” Mr. Gerard replied. “Inga is now my personal secretary.”
Several heads swiveled to look at her, including the kaiser, who snapped his fingers. “Stand up, then,” he ordered in the same tone he might use to bring his dogs to heel, but Inga instinctively obeyed. How could she not?
“A secretary, is she?” an Ottoman diplomat said. “How convenient. I wish I had such a pretty secretary to accompany me while my wife was safe at home.”
Mr. Gerard shot to his feet. “Sir, my wife is two miles away at the hunting lodge. You insult both my wife and my secretary by suggesting anything improper.”
Inga felt the blood drain from her face as she remained standing, frozen and uncertain what to do. Everyone was still looking at her, and one of the other diplomats gave a good-natured chuckle. “Please give her my salutations. It is an understandable mistake, is it not? Anyone would be forgiven for thinking so.”
Benedict stood. “Inga is my wife,” he bit out. “There is nothing improper about her, and she deserves an apology.”
The world tilted. This wasn’t the apology they came here for, but mercifully the Ottoman diplomat stepped forward and offered her the slightest of bows.
“My apologies, Mrs. Kincaid.”
The kaiser waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Mrs. Kincaid, sit down before you fall down.”
“No need,” Ambassador Gerard said, motioning for Colonel Reyes to stand. “Tempers are too hot for any productive discussion today. Hopefully we can reconvene tomorrow to discuss the president’s note. Neither one of us wishes to go to war, but we are fully prepared to do so.” He turned and strode toward the carriage house, Benedict and Colonel Reyes close behind him. Inga scooped up her notepad, an avalanche of heat engulfing her as she followed the group.
The carriage ride back to the lodge was awful, though Mr. Gerard did not seem all that distressed. “We shall wear our traveling clothes tomorrow,” he said. “It will send a message more powerful than any words can deliver.”
Sharing a bedroom was nothing new to Inga. She grew up sharing with her baby sister, and then after moving to New York, she shared a bedroom with Delia for two years before she could afford her own room.
She was not going to share a bedroom with Benedict. Her sole objective tonight was to convince him it would be okay for her to sleep downstairs in the billiard room, which had a padded bench big enough to sleep on if she curled up tight. That bench was the answer to their problems. It was going to be impossible to sleep if Benedict was in the room, and all those stuffed owls mounted on the wall gave her the willies.
Benedict changed in the washroom while she quickly donned a nightgown. She wished the cotton wasn’t so thin and that it didn’t dip so low in the front, but at least she had a robe. It was a ratty old yellow robe that once belonged to her mother. She perched on the corner chair and grabbed fistfuls of fabric to gather up beneath her chin and waited for Benedict to return.
Even so, she was still startled by the brisk knock on the bedroom door. “Come in,” she said, clutching her robe tighter.
Benedict entered, a thick green robe covering a white shirt. It looked like he still wore slacks beneath his robe. He frowned at her.
“That is likely the ugliest robe in this world or the next,” he said dryly, then flipped the bedsheets down. “Hop in. I’ll take the chair; you get the bed.”
She cleared her throat, ready for battle. “You take the bed. I’m heading down to the billiard room to read for a while. I might end up falling asleep down there, so please don’t wait up for me.”
His expression looked as enthused as a man facing an execution. He leaned in closer and spoke in a low voice, “Get in the bed, Inga. This place is swarming with servants, and they all work for the kaiser.”
“So?” she said in a harsh whisper. “Maybe they understand that people sometimes read at night and fall asleep on a cozy bench.”
Benedict folded his arms. “Get in bed, Inga.”
She lifted her chin. “You might say ‘please.’”
“Please.”
She scooted deeper into the upholstered chair. Benedict did her a huge favor by marrying her, and if they were forced to share this room, the least she could do was take the chair. She curled her feet beneath her. “I’ll stay here—you take the bed.”
He snapped his fingers. “In the bed. Now.”
Oh, for pity’s sake . She kept her eyes averted as she sprang off the chair and jumped into the bed, horrid yellow robe and all. Her nightgown bunched up beneath the covers, and she struggled to yank it down even though Benedict surely couldn’t see a thing. Still, it bothered her. There would be no exposed legs while he was in the room.
She kept her eyes closed but sensed him moving around the room, removing his shoes and settling into the chair. He must have turned down the wick of the kerosene lamp because the light behind her lids faded, and she tentatively opened her eyes.
She sensed him in the chair beside her. It couldn’t be comfortable. In fact, it was probably awful.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the darkness.
He grunted in reply.
It was an oppressively long night.