His Majesty's Hope(48)

Gottlieb offered his arm. “We shall.”


Agonizing over every footfall on the stairs and each creak of the floorboards, Elise and Father Licht managed to get Herr Mystery up to the attic and onto the bed. She carefully opened the window a crack, peeking out to see a young couple walking in the garden below.

She turned back to her patient and tucked him in, then put a hand to his forehead. “You’re still warm,” she murmured. She reached into a bag she’d brought from the hospital that contained needles and tubes, bags of saline and bottles of antibiotics. “I’m going to start you on another round.” She cleaned her hands with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol, then inserted the IV line into his inner elbow. As she hung the bag from the bed’s headboard, Herr Mystery closed his eyes and began breathing deeply.

“What now?” whispered Father Licht.

Elise checked the hands on her tiny gold watch in the light from the setting sun. “Now I need to get dressed.” She looked at the sleeping body in the bed, then tiptoed to the priest and flung her arms around him impulsively. “Thank you so much for your help, Father,” she whispered. She let go; the priest’s face was red.

“Shhhhh,” he reminded her. “Wände haben Ohren.” Walls have ears.

“You’re right—we must go. I will take you to the kitchen, where you can bless the food. If anyone asks, it’s a personal favor for me.” She winked. “That way I don’t have to say I lied in confession.”


All of the party guests were crowding around the grand staircase. Maggie overheard snatches of conversation: “I really don’t see why the British don’t come to their senses—it’s not like they can win, after all …”

Goebbels went partway up the stairs, then turned to face his enraptured audience, mesmerizing them with his black eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler!”

“I’m pleased—no, delighted—to be here to celebrate the birthday of the eternally young, eternally beautiful, gnädige Frau Clara Hess.”

Maggie, braced for her first sight of her mother, noticed the sour look on Magda Goebbels’s face. Was Herr Goebbels just a bit too enthusiastic for his wife’s taste?

Goebbels continued, “Who is not only the epitome of Aryan womanhood but an integral and important part of the Third Reich. I am proud to present … Clara Hess!” With a flourish, he gestured to the top of the stairs.

A figure emerged on the landing, tall and slim with white-blond hair and the regal posture of a Valkyrie. Unlike the rest of the women at the party, she wore a gown of gleaming crimson. It was impossible to look away from her.

Maggie began to tremble. No—no, this can’t be happening … Gottlieb noticed and put his arm protectively around her shoulders. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this is happening. Maggie had known this moment would come, she’d gone over it countless times in her head. But no rehearsals could have prepared her for the reality. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, as Clara descended.





Chapter Ten


Clara Hess swept down the curving marble stairs to join Goebbels, a Mona Lisa smile touching her crimson-painted lips. When she reached him, he bent and kissed her black-gloved hand.

“Thank you, Joseph,” she said, turning to the assembled throng. “And thank you, everyone. How kind of you all to come here, to celebrate my birthday. I ask for no present but your presence.” Her smile widened. “As some of you may remember, I used to be an opera singer, a lyric soprano. Of course, I have more important work to do now, but I do like to remember my roots, as well as celebrate our shared Germanic culture. Tonight, I beg your humble indulgence, while I sing. I may be more of a mezzo now, but my passion for music remains the same.”

The crowd parted before her as she walked through the vestibule and into the great room amid another swell of applause. In front of the marble fireplace was a grand piano. Clara stood in its wing and turned, her crimson train swirling about her feet.

She gestured to the piano bench. “Ladies and gentlemen, my accompanist—my daughter, the beautiful and accomplished Elise Hess.”

A sister? I have a half sister? Maggie gave an involuntary gasp.

But the bench was empty.

Then, red-faced and breathless, a young woman in white dashed in through a side door and slid into place in the glow of the silver candelabra. She took a shaky breath, then opened the score to Lohengrin as Clara glared her disapproval.

There was polite applause as Elise raised her hands, poised over the keyboard.

Maggie bit the inside of her lip and tasted blood. She heard a faint buzzing in her head. No, this can’t be happening. It really can’t. It’s like a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon, yes, I’m sure of it …