The Enchanted Waltz Read online

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  The words came out spontaneously.

  Then she stopped.

  “I am sorry, Sire – that is what I should call you, isn’t it? I had forgotten.”

  “There is no reason for any formality between us,” Richard answered. “When we meet, I am incognito. And have you not just said that you like me because I am an ordinary man?”

  He would have taken her hand in his again, but Wanda sprang to her feet.

  “I ought to be – going,” she faltered.

  “But why?” Richard asked cruelly. “You have only just arrived and we have much to talk about. We have not discussed any of the things yet that will really interest you – the question of Poland for instance. I feel sure that you would like to have my opinion on that.”

  “Yes, of course, if you – would like to tell me about it,” Wanda answered.

  “What exactly do you want to know?” Richard enquired.

  I-I don’t really know,” Wanda replied. “I am sorry to appear so stupid – but when I hear people talking about the Poland question I am not certain – what it all means.”

  Richard’s lips tightened.

  She was being cleverer than he thought possible. A half-knowledge might have put the man she was speaking to on his guard and to pretend utter ignorance was to invite an explanation from him, which would undoubtedly be of tremendous interest to Metternich and his Ministers.

  “It is the most important problem, the essential crisis of the Congress, and anyone less politically abstruse than Prince Metternich would realise it immediately.”

  “The Prince has to look at everything from the Austrian – point of view,” Wanda said in a small voice.

  “And I think of it from Poland’s,” Richard answered. “That perhaps is the difference between the Prince and myself. He thinks only of his own country, its needs, its aspirations and its ambitions, whilst I am entirely selfless, thinking not of Russia, but of Poland.”

  He smiled to himself as he spoke.

  That sort of sentence was indeed worthy of Alexander and Metternich, when it was repeated to him, would undoubtedly recognise the familiar touch.

  “I wish I was clever – about these things,” Wanda sighed. “My father hated politics and would never have them discussed at home. But my mother always said that Metternich was the most brilliant diplomat that Europe has ever known. I would like to believe that she was right – for my country’s sake.”

  “And if I told you that she was wrong?”

  Wanda hesitated for a moment.

  “I should think that perhaps – you were mistaken,” she said quietly.

  Unexpectedly Richard laughed. At least the girl had courage. As he well knew, it took courage to say that sort of thing to the Czar.

  “Metternich is making a terrible mistake,” he insisted. “What is more, he will find it out in a very short while.”

  Let the Prince make what he could of that, Richard thought.

  Then, bored with the whole conversation, he said,

  “Now let’s talk of something else. You, for instance. Where else did you go today?”

  There was a note of relief in Wanda’s voice as she began to talk of the visits that she and the Baroness had made that afternoon.

  Richard let her chatter away for some time and then he said,

  “Didn’t the Baroness think it a little strange that you should come here tonight alone and unchaperoned?”

  The embarrassment in Wanda’s little face was so intense that for a moment he almost hated himself for wiping away her expression of happiness and making her lips tremble as she answered,

  “The Baroness – did not – know.”

  It was a lie and a very badly told lie at that.

  “But it must have been difficult to slip out without an explanation, without leaving a message,” he insisted. “Will the servants not tell her that you have gone? “

  “I – don’t think – so.”

  “I should not be too sure of that. Servants in Vienna have an uncomfortable way of recounting everything they hear and everything they learn either to those who employ them or to those who pay them better.”

  “You mean – they spy?”

  “But of course. Everyone spies on everyone else and perhaps the most efficient of the lot is Baron Hager, haven’t you heard of him yet? He is the head of the Secret Police in Vienna and the Emperor Francis’ right-hand man, an indispensable figure at the Congress.”

  “But what could servants learn of any import?” Wanda asked.

  “I don’t think that you can be quite as innocent as that,” Richard answered coldly. “Think for instance what trouble a spy in Baron Hager’s pay could make if he was allowed to move about in my apartments at the Hofburg and overhear what I say to my Ministers and to my friends in private. Words that should never be repeated, words that would hurt my country as well as myself if they came to the ears of my enemies.”

  He noticed as he spoke that Wanda was twisting her fingers together, her face turned away from him.

  “But don’t worry,” he said with false cheerfulness. “I take every precaution that is possible against Baron Hager. I can trust those who are around me and I am assured of their loyalty and I count myself singularly fortunate where my friends are concerned.”

  Wanda made a little strangled sound.

  Then she turned towards him impulsively.

  But, as her blue eyes looked up at his masked face, it seemed as if she remembered something and she turned her face away again.

  “What were you going to say?” Richard enquired.

  “Nothing – nothing.”

  “But are you sure? I had the feeling that you were going to confide in me.”

  “No, no – you were mistaken.”

  “How stupid of me. I am not usually so abstruse. Another glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you – I really ought to go now.”

  Her face was very pale and it seemed drained of all colour.

  “I have a feeling you have not enjoyed yourself tonight,” Richard said in a low voice.

  “It has been nice – to see you again.”

  “I thought we should be happy here. Can you not hear the music? It seems to me that they are playing another enchanted waltz.”

  “No. It is – not the same.”

  Her voice was very positive.

  “The tune or the enchantment?

  “I don’t know. I only know that – I must go now. Thank you for my fan and thank you for asking me here. But I would like your permission – to leave.”

  “Supposing I refuse it?”

  She turned quickly, her eyes widening a little. Much as he desired to hurt her, his better instincts would not permit him to play the brute.

  “I only mean that we have had no chance to talk comfortably as we talked last night.”

  “That is because everything – is different,” she murmured.

  “Are we different?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered miserably. “Perhaps it is this room or perhaps it is – us.”

  He had a sudden feeling that she must not leave him on such a note.

  He told himself that he was thinking of the Czar and his instructions, but he knew in his heart that he could not bear to hear the unhappiness in her voice or see the bewilderment in her eyes.

  If she was acting now, she was brilliant beyond belief and would have made a fortune at any playhouse.

  “Wait five minutes more,” he begged. “Just to please me – and besides, your carriage will not be ready.”

  He thought she wished to believe this, although anyone more experienced would have known that it was a palpable untruth.

  She sat down again and now he bent towards her and in a quite different tone said,

  “I have been worried and disturbed today. I learnt something that upset me. Someone I trusted has failed me. You must forgive me if I have made you suffer for that.”

&nb
sp; “I am sorry – you are unhappy,” she said gently. “Being disillusioned by someone we care for hurts more than anything else in the world.”

  “How do you know?” Richard asked.

  “It happened to me – once,” she answered, “and I have never forgotten it.”

  “You are right,” he said, “disillusionment can hurt but don’t let’s talk about it for the moment.”

  “What shall we talk about?” Wanda enquired.

  “Why not you?”

  “But we are always talking about me,” Wanda answered. “It is a very dull subject and, if it comes to that, a limited one. Tell me about Russia.”

  “What do you want to know? Russia’s intentions with regard to Poland?”

  His ill temper was obvious and gave an unmistakable sharpness to his tongue.”

  Wanda gave a little sigh.

  “Oh dear, we don’t seem to be getting very much further, do we? Do you think my carriage – will be there? Shall we ring – and ask?”

  “In a moment,” Richard replied. “When shall I see you again?

  “Will you want to see me again – after tonight?”

  “What is wrong with tonight?”

  “I don’t know exactly – it is just that everything has gone awry. Can’t you feel it? We are on edge with each other. Last night was – different. I-I thought you were my friend. I suppose that is presumptuous of me, knowing who – you are.”

  “You were my friend last night,” Richard agreed.

  “And – tonight?”

  “And tonight, too,” he answered, hastily but without conviction.

  She made a little helpless gesture with her hands that was somehow infinitely pathetic.

  “You are upset about something,” she said. “But, because I don’t know what it is, I cannot do anything to help. Perhaps next time we meet – things will be different.”

  “When will that be?” Richard enquired.

  “I will come and see you, when – you want me.”

  “Because you yourself want to or because you think it is the right thing to do?”

  He could not forbear to ask the question.

  “Because I want to,” she answered, quickly and directly. The blue eyes raised to his were shining with sincerity. “Please believe that – you must believe it.”

  For a moment they were close again, as they had been the night before.

  “Are you quite sure that you would want to see me,” he asked, “If I was not the person you think I am?”

  “More so.”

  He hardly heard the words.

  Then impulsively she bent towards him.

  “I felt last night that it was of tremendous importance that we had met – then I remembered who you were and I wished that I might learn that you were a nobody like myself, just a man – I could talk to and I could be friends with.”

  “If I was, perhaps you would never have noticed me,” Richard sneered.

  “Somehow I think these things – are meant,” Wanda answered. “We were fated to meet each other. Don’t you feel that, too?”

  “I wish I could be sure,” Richard answered. “Last night I was very grateful to a broken fan. Today I was not so sure.”

  She flushed and turned her eyes away from him.

  “There is only one thing you can be quite sure of,” she said, “that is that I should want to talk with you and – be with you if you were indeed nobody.”

  Richard had a wild desire to tell her the truth and to pull the mask from his face.

  Then he laughed at himself for being duped once again as he had been duped before.

  “I am indeed honoured,” he said stiffly.

  She rose to her feet.

  “Goodnight,” she said, and he knew, as she stood there, that she was thinking how they had said good night last night.

  He wanted to kiss her again, but some fastidiousness within himself stopped him.

  Last night their kiss had been perfect, a spontaneous expression of happiness between two people united by a joy that could not be withstood.

  Tonight both joy and happiness were missing.

  He took both her hands in his and kissed first one and then the other.

  “Goodnight, Wanda,” he sighed. “Forgive me.”

  “For what?”

  “For spoiling our time together. It was my fault. I know that, but I could not help myself.”

  “Please, don’t be sorry. I am trying to understand. There is really nothing one can say on these occasions, is there?”

  “Nothing,” he agreed a little sadly.

  “Good night then.”

  She turned away from him and walked towards the door.

  Then, as she reached it, as her hand went out towards it, he cried her name,

  “Wanda!”

  She turned as he bridged the space between them, reaching out towards her, forgetting caution, pride and suspicion.

  There was no need for words, no need for explanations.

  She was in his arms, his lips were on here and he was kissing her wildly, impetuously, with the desperation of a man who has so nearly lost what he wanted most.

  “Wanda! Wanda!”

  He heard himself whispering her name against her lips and then with an unmistakable sob she had broken free of him and was gone before he could stop her.

  He heard her footsteps running down the corridor and dared not follow her.

  Instead, he could only stand for a long time in the empty room, looking at the place where she had sat on the sofa, feeling the softness and fragrance and youthfulness of her still in his arms, until his elation ebbed away from him.

  He laughed cynically at the reflection of his masked face in the mirror and, picking up his cape and hat, he went towards the panel in the wall that led to the secret staircase.

  Chapter 8

  Baron Hager drummed his spyglass in the palm of his hand, an irritating habit he had when annoyed.

  “I regret that there is not more to report, Your Excellency,” he said with an air of sullenness.

  Prince Metternich threw the closely written sheets of paper down on his desk.

  “More!” he exclaimed. “There is nothing here, nothing of the slightest import. I cannot believe that the Emperor is satisfied with such rubbish.”

  “His Majesty has not expressed his dissatisfaction,” the Baron retorted.

  His tired deep-set eyes met those of the Prince and they were both thinking the same thing.

  The Emperor Francis possessed an infantile and therefore prying mind and would read with delight the secret reports supplied to him by the Baron’s agents, however trivial and however inconsequential they might be.

  After a moment Prince Metternich picked up the papers again.

  “Do we really pay for this twaddle?” he asked and read aloud, “‘The King of Prussia this morning visited the Archduke Charles. In the evening he went out in civilian clothes with a large hat pulled over his eyes. He had not returned by ten o’clock.’ That of course is most enlightening! What chambermaid or City scavenger supplied you with that nonsense or did you find it in the wastepaper baskets that are sorted through so assiduously every morning?”

  His sarcasm had no apparent effect on the Baron who merely shrugged his shoulders.

  “It must be a tragedy for you, my dear Baron,” the Prince continued, his voice sharp as a razor, “to learn that Lord Castlereagh has commanded that the contents of all the wastepaper baskets at the British Embassy shall be burnt.”

  “I believe that the order has been given,” the Baron agreed. “The British Mission has also engaged two housemaids of its own. Yet one of them is already in our pay.”

  “Splendid,” the Prince replied with much heartiness, “and we shall, therefore, receive more of these enlightening reports on the movements of our guests.”

  He turned over two or three sheets distastefully before he once again read aloud,

  “‘The Emperor of Russia went out at seven o’clock with
one of his aides-de-camp. It is believed he went to visit the Princess Thurm and Taxis. Every morning a large block of ice is brought to the Emperor with which he washes his face and hands. At ten o’clock he left the Hofburg by a side door and drove alone to the Razumovsky Palace, which he entered by the secret stairway’.”

  Prince Metternich looked up at the Baron.

  “Why did he go there?” he enquired.

  “I have no idea,” the Baron replied. “There is nothing unusual about his visiting his Ambassador.”

  “Alone? Leaving the Hofburg by a side door?” Prince Metternich queried.

  “I will make enquiries,” the Baron said.

  He was still sullen and resentful of the contempt that Prince Metternich had shown for his reports.

  Then suddenly a gleam came into his eye.

  “Someone else went to the Razumovsky Palace last night. Let me think who it was. The Comtesse Wanda Schonbörn, a newcomer to Vienna. I don’t think that I have spoken to you of her before. She danced with the Czar at the masked ball and in fact it is reported that he paid her marked attention.”

  “So!”

  A faint smile played round Prince Metternich’s lips.

  “I have somewhere,” the Baron continued, rustling through his papers, “a report on her. She is staying with the Baroness Waluzen. No one was told of her arrival before she came, but the Baroness escorts her everywhere and speaks of her as the daughter of one of her oldest friends.”

  The Baron drew a piece of paper from the bottom of the file and put it on the Prince’s desk.

  “Here it is,” he said. “‘The Comtesse Wanda Schonbörn visited the Razumovsky Palace last night at approximately ten o’clock. She left three-quarters of an hour later and was driven back to the Baroness Waluzen’s house’.”

  He glanced up quickly.

  “The times coincide.”

  “So they do, my dear Baron,” the Prince said, as if in surprise.

  “You are not interested?”

  “Not particularly.”

  The Baron sighed.

  “I shall bring you the reports tomorrow.”

  “Do, if there is anything I should know. But don’t waste my time with rubbish. I am, I may remind you, a very busy man.”