His Majesty's Hope(52)

“We’re high-ranking members of the party.”

“You’re a high-ranking member of the party. I just happen to be married to you.”

“Papa und Mutti are fighting again,” Elise whispered to Maggie. Maggie looked at Elise, who seemed to be accustomed to the harsh words. She felt a sudden stab of pity for her half sister. Elise might have grown up with a mother and father—but was her life really any better than Maggie’s with Aunt Edith? From the sound of the shouting, Maggie thought perhaps not. But before she had time to respond, she heard, “What on earth are you two doing in here?”

Up close, Clara’s face had more fine lines than Maggie had noticed during the performance; more indents around the mouth from pursed lips than around the eyes from smiling. Herr Miles Hess was tall and broad, with thick gray hair and a bushy mustache.

“Father, Mother, allow me to present—”

“Margareta Hoffman,” Maggie interrupted, willing her paralyzed legs to move, walking toward them. The microphone would have to wait, at least for the moment. She could only hope that someone didn’t accidentally step on it. “I truly enjoyed your performance, gnädige Frau Hess. And it’s an honor to meet you, Herr Hess.”

Herr Hess kissed Maggie’s hand. “Likewise, Fräulein Hoffman.”

“Thank you,” Clara said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it … while you could. Although, I suppose, a fainting spell can’t be helped.”

She glared at Elise. “Unlike tardiness.” Then she asked, “What are you two doing in here? Why aren’t you at the party?”

“Fräulein Hoffman wasn’t feeling well,” Elise interposed hastily, “so we brought her to my room to recover. When she was feeling better, I took her on a tour of the house.”

“This room is off-limits. In fact, it should have been locked.”

“Clara—” Miles said.

“It was locked. We used the door from the conservatory,” Elise said.

“I see.” Clara looked Maggie up and down; then her beautiful eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”

Oh, the things I could say. “No, no—I don’t think so.”

“Hoffman … I don’t remember your name on the guest list,” Clara continued, taking a step closer, head tilted to one side in contemplation.

“Mother!” Elise exclaimed.

“I’m Gottlieb Lehrer’s girlfriend,” Maggie said evenly, although her heart was racing. Her hands were starting to shake; she clasped them behind her back. “He also works at the Abwehr.”

“Gottlieb Lehrer? Oh, yes, one of Canaris’s men,” Clara said absently. She kept staring at Maggie. “Red hair—it’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

Yes, I inherited it from my father—the man you betrayed, Maggie thought. “Oh, it’s darker now, but when I was younger it was bright red—almost orange. I was teased horribly.”

Clara reached out a hand to touch one of Maggie’s locks. Maggie fought the urge to slap the beringed fingers away. But Clara dropped her hand before it made contact, shaking it as though she’d received an electric shock. “Are you sure we haven’t met?”

she asked again. “You look so familiar. But I can’t quite place your face.”

Maggie felt her cheeks flush. “No, no, I don’t think so, Frau Hess.”

Clara gave a dazzling smile. “Well, let’s all get back to the party then, shall we? I still need to cut the cake.”

“Cake!” enthused Miles. He winked at Elise. “Guess I came just in time.” He offered his arms, and Elise and Maggie each took one. The three walked out of the study together. Clara used her key to lock the conservatory door, then returned to the hall door and locked that, too.


Conversation drifted past Maggie’s ears: “After all, our segregation of the Jews is inspired by the United States and her segregation of Negroes …” “Racial hygiene, you know—social Darwinism …” “It all started in Cold Spring Harbor—that’s near New York City…”

A general, apparently drunk, was shouting, “Blood must flow! Blood must flow!” as he was escorted out to his waiting car by two of the liveried servants. Behind him, a woman in diamonds patted him on the back, saying in soothing tones, “Of course, darling. Of course it must.”

“Elise, come with me—there are some people I want you to meet,” Clara said, sweeping her daughter in her wake.

“Let’s talk more later,” Elise whispered back to Maggie.

“Ah, Fräulein Hoffman,” Goebbels said, walking over to her. “I trust you’re feeling better?”