"No, I'm not leaving for two more days," Mary explained. "Ronnie had some last minute things she needed to attend to."
That was a reference to Veronica Richter—or Veronica Dreeson, now, if you went by American custom, since she'd married Grantville's mayor. To just about everyone's surprise, including theirs, she and Mary Simpson had become quite good friends since the Ring of Fire. Veronica was determined to return to the Upper Palatinate and see what she could recover of the family's property that had been left behind when she and the survivors of her family had been forced to become camp followers of Tilly's army.
Lady Ulrike smiled. "Two more days for the rumors to keep mounting."
Mary rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. Why are so many people convinced that there's some Machiavellian political scheme involved in this? It's a purely personal matter for Veronica, and I agreed to accompany her simply because she's a friend of mine, she asked me to come—and I won't be seeing my husband until the war's over, anyway."
If I ever see him again at all, she could have added, but didn't. The ironclads had passed through Hamburg, according to the radio reports, with not much in the way of casualties. The admiral hadn't been one of them, or that would certainly have been reported also. Still, there were months of fighting ahead, and Mary's husband would be in the thick of it. She might very well not hear from him again until the summer, even if he survived.
Lady Ulrike was sure that was the underlying reason behind Mary's willingness to go to the Upper Palatinate with Veronica Dreeson. It was either that or spend the next few weeks in Magdeburg, fretting with worry.
She shrugged. "Don't be naïve, Mary. You are John Simpson's wife and Veronica is Gretchen Richter's grandmother. No competent spymaster in Europe would presume that a joint trip you take—now of all times—would simply be an innocent personal matter. Especially not going to the Oberpfalz, where General Banér is locking horns with the Bavarians."
She used the German term for the Upper Palatinate, slipping it effortlessly into the English they'd been speaking. Lady Ulrike used every possible opportunity to improve her English—or her American, as she thought of it. Regardless of what happened, she was likely to continue being Princess Kristina's official lady-in-waiting. That meant she'd be dealing with the girl's new American friends and mentors for a long time to come. Understanding their language would be a help in the task. Lady Ulrike had started with a good grasp of the English of her day, but she'd soon come to appreciate the quip someone had once made about the relationship between Americans and Britons: Divided by a common language.
The princess came up that very moment. "Barreled up," to use American idiom. With her usual heedlessness, she flung herself into an embrace with Mary Simpson.
"Aunt Mary! I want the Brillo stuff first!"
Lady Ulrike sidled off. Let Mary deal with that.
It was the general opinion of the Lutheran establishment that dominated both Sweden and, to a lesser degree, the USE, that it was most fortunate that the royal child had taken a liking to Mary Simpson as well as to Caroline Platzer, the dame of Magdeburg being who and what she was.
Personally, Lady Ulrike thought that general opinion was shortsighted, as the commonly accepted wisdom so often was. True, Mary Simpson had her own version of an upper-crust view of the world. But, beneath the surface, it was really not so much different from the attitudes of someone like Caroline Platzer. In the long run, she was pretty sure, the reinforcing aspects of their mutual influence on the child would greatly outweigh whatever conservative opinions Mary Simpson might bring to the mix.
But she really didn't care. It was so much easier, these days, to deal with Kristina.
The concert went well, in everyone's opinion. Whatever dubious attitudes anyone in the audience might have had over the content of the Brillo ballads were more than offset by their satisfaction that the formidable dame of Magdeburg had quite successfully squelched the rambunctious princess' demand to rearrange the program. Thank God, somebody could discipline the child.
They were less pleased the next day, those of them who attended—not many, but all of them heard about it afterward—when the regiments of the army marched through Magdeburg on their way to the front. The war, quiescent during the winter except for the sieges of Luebeck and Amsterdam, was erupting again.
Alas, General Torstensson had sent orders to march the entire army right through the middle of the capital before sending them into battle. To boost the morale of the soldiers, was his public explanation.