Love Conquers War Page 3

  All the time they had been travelling she had been growing more and more apprehensive about the husband who awaited her when she reached her destination.

  It was not so much what people said about him but what they said when they thought that she was not listening that concerned her.

  She had been sure that there must be something strange about Prince Maximilian when her mother had been so evasive about his reasons for not being photographed.

  Now it seemed to her that when his name was mentioned, her relatives put on a special expression that she could not translate into words.

  It was disapproval, she was quite sure of that, and she knew too that they were sorry for her.

  Once, as she entered a salon, King George of Hanover, who had a large nose and side whiskers that met under his chin, was saying in a booming tone,

  “How can that innocent child possibly marry Maximilian? It should not be allowed – ”

  His words were cut off in mid-sentence when he realised that Tilda was listening. Coughing in a somewhat affected manner he walked away, leaving his wife to face an uncomfortable moment.

  After that she listened more attentively. Half-sentences and sotto voce comments were disturbing.

  “It’s criminal, how could they expect that – ”

  “How can Priscilla allow it? She must know – ”

  “I just cannot bear to think of that sweet little creature finding – ”

  What were they hiding from her?

  What was wrong?

  Neither the Dowager Lady Crewkerne nor Professor Schiller had met His Royal Highness so it was no use questioning them.

  Besides Tilda had found that Lady Crewkerne was far too ingrained with diplomatic tact to say anything to her about the Prince that was not extremely flattering.

  Tilda faced the fact that there was something definitely wrong.

  She tried to think what it could be. Could the Prince be deformed or monstrous in appearance?

  But everyone had spoken of him as being good-looking, handsome, in the manner they spoke about King Ludwig.

  And there were pictures in the Linderhof to prove that here at any rate the adjectives were warranted.

  ‘What can it be?’ Tilda asked herself.

  As they went further South, she began to wish that she had protested against the marriage from the very start!

  Not that it would have done much good if she had!

  Both her mother and father had been delighted at the honour that was accorded to her, but perhaps she could have insisted on seeing a picture of the Prince.

  Alternatively she could have made a fuss, insisting that the engagement could not be announced unless he came to England and met her.

  There were all sorts of excuses and explanations as to why he was unable to do this.

  “It is impossible for him to leave his country.”

  “In his absence it might give Germany an excuse to threaten Obernia’s independence.”

  “It would take up too much time since the wedding is planned to take place in early June.”

  All the excuses sounded very reasonable and Tilda had accepted them without question.

  But now she was suspicious.

  What other bride in modern times married a man when she had not the slightest idea of even what he looked like?

  Other Kings and Grand Dukes had their features on their coinage, but so far she had not seen any Obernian money.

  Linderhof brought to the surface all the dreams that had been hers since she was old enough to think of being married.

  It was a perfect background to romance.

  It was a Palace where she could imagine herself moving in her beautiful new gowns through the exquisite rooms brilliant with gold, where the very walls seemed to whisper of love.

  She stood in the hall of mirrors and saw herself reflected and re-reflected.

  Hundreds, no thousands of Lady Victoria Matilda Tether- ton-Smythes, and how small and ineffective she looked!

  Then she smiled.

  She was the right size for the Linderhof and in it she could be a Fairy Princess if only there was a Prince to look at her with eyes of love.

  Almost like a cold hand placed on her heart she recalled the lecture her mother had given her before she left England.

  “You must not expect too much of marriage, Tilda,” she had said firmly. “You are making a Royal marriage, a mariage de convenance, and therefore you must try to be friends with your husband. You must give him your loyalty and expect his, but you cannot ask for more.”

  It had seemed to Tilda at the time a cold and austere way to enter into marriage and then she told herself optimistically that everything would be all right.

  When she met the Prince, they would fall in love with each other.

  She had met very few men, but even her father’s friends when they came to the house in Worcestershire would look at her with a little glint in their eyes, which Tilda knew was admiration.

  ‘The Prince will admire me,’ Tilda told herself, ‘and if he is good looking I shall admire him and then – ’

  When she went to bed at night, she would tell herself stories of how everything in Obernia would be happy and romantic.

  She visualised a smiling cheering people.

  She had thought of herself giving out sympathy and understanding to the subjects over whom she would rule and she believed deep down in her heart that the Prince would love her and she would love him.

  Now she was frightened.

  Frightened by the great gloomy Palaces where she had stayed, most of them crumbling and badly in need of paint and redecoration.

  She thought of the Kings and Grand Dukes sitting in heavy silence and carrying on a one-sided conversation with people who could only murmur,

  “Yes, Sire,” – “Quite so, Sire” and “You are right, Sire,” to everything they said.

  ‘I cannot bear it! I cannot listen to that day after day, year after year!’ Tilda told herself.

  And yet she knew that this was why she had been educated and why she had spent all those hours learning languages!

  Why she had read all those heavy history books that never seemed to contain anything but dates and descriptions of battles, births, and deaths.

  Why she had studied the maps that had decorated her schoolroom.

  Maps of Europe drawn before Napoleon changed the boundaries of almost every country and maps drawn after he had been banished with the countries restored to their original colours.

  Now there were maps of Europe after 1871 when the German Federation had been formed.

  Now the brown of Germany sprawled everywhere from Russia to France with the acquisitions from the Treaty of Prague in a slightly lighter shade.

  ‘Brown is the right colour for Germany,’ Tilda thought. ‘It is a dull heavy country. At the same time rather sinister!’

  There was something hard and autocratic about the Prussians but, although she had not seen a lot of the Bavarians, she found them different in every way.

  They were a smiling people as she imagined that the Obernians would be.

  It had been arranged before she left England on the extensive itinerary compiled for her by her father and mother that she should stay at the Linderhof for two nights before she crossed the border into Obernia.

  As it was only a distance of three miles or so, the Linderhof was really the end of her journey.

  After that she would pass into the Principality over which she was to rule and a new chapter in her life would begin.

  “King Ludwig of course knows Prince Maximilian well,” Princess Priscilla had said, “and he will tell you, Tilda, all the things you want to know before you enter the Capital of your new country.”

  But King Ludwig, elusive and secretive, was not there and Tilda thought forlornly that she still knew nothing at all about Prince Maximilian.

  There was also every likelihood of her making a number of mistakes from the moment she left the Linderhof.

>   On the night of their arrival there had been little time for them to see everything, but on the following clay, the aide-de-camp had taken Tilda and her companions on an extensive tour of the Palace and gardens.

  The place was so small that it did not take long for them to see everything there was to be seen.

  Because she was entranced by the exquisite and precise detail that the King had expended on his dream Palace, Tilda had wandered around afterwards by herself.

  She looked at the embroidery on the curtains, she stared at the Sèvres porcelain peacock and was entranced by the tiny oval rose cabinet.

  Here panels on the walls held pictures of the King’s ancestors set amongst rose porcelain and the line carving in which the craftsmen of Bavaria excelled.

  Only someone with a deep appreciation of beauty, with a soul that could vibrate to what the eye saw and to what the ear heard could have envisaged anything so perfect, Tilda told herself.

  She returned to the salon, feeling as if she had walked amongst the clouds, to find general consternation.

  “I cannot understand it!” the Dowager Lady Crewkerne was saying. “Are you sure that His Royal Highness understands we are here and waiting?”

  “What has happened?” Tilda asked.

  There was an uncomfortable silence before Professor Schiller, who was always prepared to be calm and matter of fact, said,

  “The preparations, Lady Victoria, for your reception in Obernia are not yet completed.”

  “Did we arrive here earlier than was expected?” Tilda asked.

  “No. It is the date that your father anticipated we would reach Linderhof and the date that His Royal Highness was informed we would be here.”

  They all, including the aide-de-camp, looked so worried that Tilda smiled.

  “Well, I am quite prepared to wait indefinitely in such perfect and beautiful surroundings,” she said.

  First Lady Crewkerne and then the Professor looked at the aide-de-camp.

  He was not a young man and Tilda had thought from the moment of her arrival that he had a worried rather anxious look about him.

  Now it seemed intensified.

  “I must explain, Lady Victoria,” he said in the voice of a man who is feeling for words, “That this hitch in the proceedings is unfortunate from another point of view.”

  “What is it?” Tilda asked.

  “You cannot stay here, my Lady.”

  Tilda’s eyes widened and, before she could speak, Lady Crewkerne said,

  “Are you certain? Would it not be possible to ask His Majesty’s permission?”

  The aide-de-camp shook his head.

  “As I have already explained,” he replied, “His Majesty will never tolerate any interference with his plans. He expected you for two nights. He made arrangements that you should leave tomorrow. I deeply regret to say this, but that is what you must do.”

  The Dowager Lady Crewkerne made a sound of exasperation, but she did not speak and, after a moment, Tilda said,

  “Then where can we go? I obviously cannot arrive in Obernia until they are ready to receive me.”

  “I can only suggest,” the aide-de-camp said uncomfortably, “that you return to Württemberg.”

  “That is impossible!” Tilda answered. “King Karl was kind enough to have us for three nights, but I heard that he was leaving for Alsace after we had departed.”

  No one said anything and after a moment she added,

  “I would not wish to impose upon him further.”

  “No, of course not,” the Dowager agreed and Tilda knew that Lady Crewkerne, who had not enjoyed herself at Württemberg, would not wish to make another visit there.

  “The only alternative” the aide-de-camp said reflectively, “is for you to go to Munich.”

  “To stay in His Majesty’s Palace?” Lady Crewkerne enquired.

  “I am afraid that too would be impossible,” the aide-de- camp replied.

  Tilda could see that he was very embarrassed at having to refuse them hospitality.

  She remembered now many remarks that had been said about King Ludwig’s strange behaviour.

  People were usually very careful whom they discussed in her presence, but she knew that many of her mother’s relatives disapproved of him.

  King George of Hanover, always blunt, had commented,

  “The fellow’s mad! That’s what’s wrong with him. I always did say so!”

  His wife had hushed him into silence and the subject had been changed.

  But Tilda had not forgotten.

  “Are you seriously suggesting,” the Dowager Lady Crewkerne asked, “that we should stay at a hotel?”

  “It is a very good one,” the aide-de-camp answered.

  “That is true,” the Professor agreed. “I remember it well. A very comfortable and respectable place, which has housed a great number of notabilities.”

  “The Duke of Forthampton,” Lady Crewkerne remarked, “planned this journey for his daughter so that she should not at any time have to sleep the night in a hostelry.”

  “Well that is where we shall have to stay,” Tilda said with practical common sense, “unless we intend to spend the night on a mountain and, as they are still snow-capped, I think it would be very cold!”

  She was smiling as she spoke.

  Suddenly it all seemed to be an adventure and what was more, although she hardly dared admit it to herself, it was really a relief to think that she had a short reprieve before having to enter Obernia.

  The Dowager Lady Crewkerne rose to her feet.

  “I cannot think what the world is coming to,” she grumbled in icy tones, “when a direct descendant of our gracious Queen must pay to have a roof over her head!”

  She swept from the room.

  Tilda smiled at the aide-de- camp.

  “Don’t look so worried,” she said, “I don’t mind. I have longed to see Munich. The Professor has told me much about it.”

  It had indeed been one of the subjects about which Professor Schiller had become quite human.

  He had been a student at the University of Munich and he had, when he was older, taught there for some years.

  Whenever he spoke of the town, there was a warmth in his voice and there was an enthusiasm about him that was often sadly lacking in his history and language lessons.

  “You must realise, my Lady,” the aide-de-camp said to Tilda, “that I can only follow the instructions and the orders of His Majesty.”

  “But, of course, I understand that,” Tilda said, “and, as we have been so lucky on our whole journey, we must not complain if there are a few difficulties at the last moment.”

  She smiled again as she spoke and the aide-de-camp, with a little glint in his eye, bowed.

  “Your Ladyship is very gracious.”

  “Now, Professor,” Tilda said to her teacher, “I will be able to find out if you exaggerated in all your praise of Munich and whether it is as fine and exciting as you proclaimed.”

  “You will see, you will see!” the Professor asserted.

  Tilda knew that he too was pleased to be going to Munich, delighted to see again the town that meant so much to him when he was young.

  The Dowager Lady Crewkerne however was sulky and disagreeable for the rest of the evening.

  Tilda did not listen to her croakings.

  She was still entranced with the Linderhof, determined to imprint every exquisite inch of it permanently on her mind.

  ‘Perhaps one day,’ she told herself, ‘I shall be able to build something like it.’

  It was an intoxicating thought.

  That night, when the splendour of the glittering candelabra were reflected in the silver mirrors, she felt as if she was wafted away into a romantic dream where everything she had ever imagined and longed for became true.

  Because she could not bear to waste her last hours in the Linderhof, Tilda rose early.

  Long before Dowager Lady Crewkerne was dressed or the Professor had emerged from his
bedroom she slipped downstairs.

  She walked through the Staterooms and became so lost in admiration at all she saw that she had to make fulsome apologies for being late for breakfast.

  The carriages for some reason best known to Lady Crewkerne and the aide-de-camp had not been ordered until eleven o’clock and rather than sit about listening to their apologies, which grew more and more abject, Tilda wandered away into the garden.

  It was a warm day for the end of May and the sunshine on the blossom of the trees that surrounded the Linderhof Palace made it seem magical.

  The whole building gleamed like a pearl and high above stretching up towards the deep blue sky were the snow-capped peaks of the Bavarian mountains.

  It would grow much warmer during the day as Tilda well knew, but at night it was still chilly.

  She had been glad the night before of a thick feather-filled coverlet for her bed.

  Now she had no need for a coat and indeed the sun was already so hot that she was thankful for the shade of her bonnet, which was tied beneath her chin with ribbons that matched her eyes.

  She walked up the steps of the garden, which led her behind the house and then she climbed higher still.

  The King in planning the formal gardens had left the woods wild and unchanged.

  They were in fact a perfect setting for the jewelled wonder of the Linderhof.

  Yet looking at the silver and white birch trees under which grew wild flowers interspersed with moss, Tilda found herself wondering if anything could be more beautiful than nature itself.

  She climbed higher and higher, knowing that when she reached the top there would be a magnificent view of the mountains.

  It was tiring and, after a little while, she sat down on a fallen tree-stump.

  The trees encircled her.

  Then she heard voices a little below her and, looking between the trunks, she saw a man and a woman, hand in hand, climbing up the mountainside.

  “It is too far and too exhausting!” the woman was protesting.

  She was speaking in German, but Tilda’s German was very proficient.

  “I want you to see the view,” the man with her answered.

  He spoke in a deep voice.

  Now she could see him through the trees and realised that he was very good looking.