His Majesty's Hope(92)

“I see you’re still wearing your cross, Mausi,” Clara said over the rumble of the engine, pushing back the veil of her hat. The blackout curtains made the air in the compartment feel stifling. “Where’s your swastika necklace? I paid a fortune for it, you know.”

“It didn’t go with the dress,” Elise managed. Why was her mother smiling that Mona Lisa smile? Why was she here?

“Pity,” Clara murmured.

There was a knock at the compartment door. “Maestro! Gnädige Frau Hess! Gnädiges Fräulein Hess!” The conductor bowed. “I am at your service. May I bring you something to drink?”

“I would like brandy,” Clara decided.

Miles considered. “Coffee.”

“A bottle of Fanta, please,” Elise said, thinking of the three in the luggage compartment and how they must be thirsty.

When the conductor left, Clara said with a wicked smile, “You’d better watch yourself. Soda can get you in trouble.”

“What?” Elise said, startled. Was her mother reading her thoughts?

“Relax, Mausi,” Clara said, patting the girl’s knee and smiling. “I mean your waistline. All that sugar in soda … Don’t you think that dress is fitting a bit snugly? I think a little slimming is in order.”

Elise found she could breathe again. “Of course, Mutti.”


Trapped in the silk-lined trunk, Maggie tried to relax and breathe slowly. At Beaulieu, they’d been taught to count when they needed to calm down in a dangerous situation. And so she counted, to a hundred, to a thousand, then started over again at one. She tried not to think about her legs cramping up, or her lips getting dry. She tried not to think about the increasing pressure on her bladder. Why did I have to drink so much water today? She calculated pi—getting up to almost a hundred decimal places before her memory gave out, and then began to reiterate Fermat’s theorem.

The porters had been rough with the case, but she hadn’t been injured, and for that she was grateful. And although she couldn’t hear much, she could feel the train’s engines start up. Next stop, Switzerland, she thought. I hope John and Ernst are all right—didn’t get too banged up in the move. Or worse.

It was dark and close in her trunk, which felt disconcertingly like a small coffin. Stop it, Hope. Back to Fermat for you. Let’s see, no three positive integers—a, b, and c—can satisfy the equation an + bn = cn for any integer value of n greater than 2. So …




Second by second, minute by minute, the hours ticked away and the miles flew by as the train rolled on through the German countryside in the dark.

Miles had soon leaned his head back against the white lace headrest and begun snoring softly.

Clara had removed her hat and shoes and tucked her stocking-clad legs up under her, like a cat. “Try to get some sleep, Mausi,” she urged, closing her eyes. “Lots of shopping to do in Switzerland, after all.”

Elise obeyed but secretly stayed awake, waiting until she heard her mother’s breathing change. Then she rose silently, grabbed the bottle of Fanta and the bottle opener, and eased her way out of the compartment. She walked the train’s corridors hurriedly, holding on to the wall with one hand to keep her balance. It was late. Most of the other passengers were sleeping; the conductors paid her no mind.

Just as she was about to exit the last car before the luggage car, someone stepped in front of her. A man, dressed in a conductor’s uniform. A young man, a boy really. Scarcely old enough to shave. He was looking down at his feet, counting and practicing dance steps. She recognized the steps he’d been doing—the most basic move in swing dance. Rock-step, step-hold, step-hold. Rock-step, step-hold, step-hold. In his arms, he held an imaginary girl.

He looked up, his face blushing furiously at being caught. “What are you doing back here?”

“You dance well,” Elise said. “I—I’m one of the musicians. And I left something in my case.”

He turned even pinker. “You still can’t go in there. It is forbidden. Most of the musicians have their instruments with them,” he added. It was true; those with smaller instruments always carried them by hand. The Berlin Opera even bought each of their cellists an extra ticket for a seat for his instrument.

“But, you see,” Elise said, trying her best to bat her eyelashes, “I play the harp. It’s too big to travel with me. And that’s why it’s back there.”

“And why are you carrying a soda?”

Elise wasn’t prepared for this one. She blinked. “Performing tonight’s made me very thirsty.”