THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque (47 page)

‘I do believe your preferences would be elsewhere, m'lady. Am I correct?’ the maid enquires from across the carriage, her eyes regarding her mistress with a fresh intensity.

‘Indeed,’ Deborah replies. ‘On a morning such as this - why it is so delightful, so perfect. It is like the end of the world. The last day.’

‘It is - for one hateful person.’

‘The illustrious baron von Spiegler - yes, it will be.’

‘No, it is already,’ Kristina argues, cheerfully now. ‘It is done, ma'am. You have no need to be anxious. His foolish soul departed his body just a few moments ago. It was a heart attack. He has died in his bed. The discovery has already been made.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I know.’

‘Yes … of course. And I have not the slightest doubt you are correct, whoever you are.’

‘Do you not yet understand, m'lady? Oh, I am sure you do. You have honoured me with your obedience and your faith, and that is sufficient. And now you are free.’

At which Deborah, in a moment of instant decision, lowers the glass of the moving vehicle and calls out to the driver that she would like to convey some fresh instructions. He draws the carriage to a halt the better to attend to her wishes and, leaning over and forward from his position above, allows Deborah to address him more directly. ‘I no longer need to go to The Imperial,’ she tells him with a smile born of immense joy and relief. ‘Take me instead, will you, to the railway station -
Westbahnhof
.’

It is only a short journey, a few minutes brisk canter along the fast
Mariahilfer Straße
, and once arrived and having climbed down to open the door for his passengers, the driver is surprised when it is Deborah alone who steps down onto the pavement, and she who settles the fare herself. ‘Thank you. That will be all,’ she states, accompanied by a generous tip.

‘And the young lady?’ the man remarks, looking across her shoulder with an obvious curiosity. ‘Would she like to step down, also, before I go?’

‘The young lady? Oh, I’m afraid you must be mistaken,’ Deborah replies merrily. ‘There is no one else in the carriage.’

The coachman, confused and perhaps slightly sceptical, takes a good look inside for himself, just to make sure. The carriage is indeed vacant, the door on the other side locked from within.

‘Right you are, then, ma'am,’ he states - for one does not dispute such matters. And really it is of no consequence anyway, because as he turns to bid the lady farewell, he discovers she has already gone - making her way towards the busy portico of the station, her modest portmanteau in hand, her tall figure with her open parasol casting shadows in the sun; so beautiful a scene, he cannot help thinking - what with the blossom and blue sky and all the bees buzzing about the trees and flowers: ‘like the end of the world,’ it could be. He is certain he heard someone say those very words inside the carriage just a few moments ago. But there again, it has been a long night. Maybe he just imagined that, as well. He watches her for a moment longer as she stops at a newsstand to buy a paper before vanishing into the crowd. Judging by the look on the boy’s face, she has tipped him fulsomely as well: as generous as she is beautiful. Wherever do women like that come from, he wonders? Wherever do they go?