The Quality of Mercy (21 page)

Edward’s heart lurched and for a moment he felt unable to breathe. ‘I am afraid I have some very bad news . . .’

‘Georg reached England safely. He wrote to us. It made us so happy. He said how warmly he had been welcomed by you and Miss Browne.’ Frau Dreiser was nervous but had not yet allowed herself to be alarmed. She offered him a glass of
Sekt
as though they were to drink Georg’s health.

‘No, thank you, Frau Dreiser. I’m afraid . . . Georg was staying with my brother at Mersham Castle when the accident . . .’

Herr Dreiser lifted his right hand as though he would stop him and spoke for the first time and his voice was anguished. ‘Georg is dead . . . ?’

‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have to tell you but, yes, he is dead.’

Dreiser took his wife’s arm and led her to an uncomfortable-looking gilt sofa. He waved to Edward to be seated. ‘Please, Lord Edward, tell us how this could have happened. We thought if he reached England he would be safe.’

‘He was at the stables in Lord Louis Mountbatten’s house and one of the horses went wild and . . . and I am afraid he was kicked in the head.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Frau Dreiser said. ‘Georg did not like animals. He had never ridden a horse. He was a city boy . . .’

‘We think he may have been meeting someone . . .’

‘Please, Lord Edward, I realize how hard this must be for you but we must know the truth. Are you telling us that the man our son went to meet killed him?’

‘It is possible but we do not know yet. Perhaps it was an accident.’

The Dreisers remained silent. Edward wished Frau Dreiser would weep but it seemed her grief was too deep for tears. At last Herr Dreiser spoke again. ‘He had enemies. He wrote to us . . . he mentioned . . .’

‘He mentioned enemies . . .?’ Edward was alert.

‘He mentioned that some people he had known in Vienna were staying nearby at the house of Lord Mountbatten. Hedwig Kiesler, the actress – she calls herself Joan Miller – and her husband, the arms dealer . . .’

‘Yes, he told me he knew Joan before she was married.’ Edward did not feel able to ask if they knew their son had been Joan’s lover. ‘Who else might have wanted to . . . to harm him?’ Herr Dreiser gave a helpless shrug. ‘Excuse me, Herr Dreiser, but if it was not an accident . . . if Georg was killed . . . then we must bring the murderer to justice.’

‘To justice . . .?’ Frau Dreiser said, her voice sharp with pain. ‘There is no justice in this world. My son escapes the Nazis and dies in England where he should have been most safe.’

‘Hush, Gretel,
meine Liebe
, we must not give way to our grief. It is the will of God that we must suffer as our people have always suffered.’

‘May I see Georg’s letter?’ Edward asked.

Without a word, Herr Dreiser walked over to a desk, opened a drawer and took out an envelope and handed it over. Edward thought he had visibly aged since he had arrived at the apartment. He took out two thin sheets of paper covered in a spidery hand.

‘Is your German good enough to read it?’ Herr Dreiser asked with studied courtesy. ‘Here, let me translate.’

Taking back the letter he read, ‘“Dear Mother – I have arrived safely in England and I am staying at the apartment of my friend Miss Browne. Everyone is being most kind but I feel worried about you and Papa and I am homesick. Is Papa now with you as you hoped? Lord Edward Corinth, who I told you about, has arranged for his brother to offer you a job and a little money to work at Mersham Castle. A letter will follow. This should be enough for you to get a visa to follow me here. At least I pray it is so.

‘“I saw in London someone I did not expect to be here and whom I fear. I shall not say who it was in case this letter gets you into trouble. I am to meet Lord Louis Mountbatten who, Lord Edward tells me, is a member of the British Royal Family. His house is near that of Lord Edward’s brother, the Duke of Mersham, and I understand my friend Hedwig and her odious husband are staying there. Still, it will be good to see her after so long.

‘“I wait anxiously to hear that you are on your way to England. Leave while you have the chance. What you gave me is safe. My kind friends here are looking after me and I do not starve! You may not have long. Your loving son, Gorgi.”

‘Gorgi is his family nickname,’ Herr Dreiser said and his face fell as he remembered that he should have said ‘was’ instead of ‘is’. ‘We were so proud that our son should be mingling with the English aristocracy,’ he added with touching naivety.

‘I am very sorry, Herr Dreiser. Sorrier than I can ever say that your son should have died while he was a guest of my brother but this letter seems to prove that he knew he had enemies in England – one, at least. Perhaps Frau Mandl will be able to help identify who Georg was referring to?’ Edward hesitated. ‘May I ask what it was that you gave him? If it is valuable it ought to be returned to you.’

‘You have not found it? It is a small picture – a woman’s face sketched by a great master . . . by Albrecht Dürer. We gave it to him because we could not give him money.’

‘Ah, yes! He showed it to Miss Browne but we have not found it yet.’

‘Do you think it has been stolen? Is that why my son was killed?’

‘I don’t know, Herr Dreiser, but I intend to find out and return the drawing to you.’

‘We thought it would be safe with Georg and he could sell it if he needed to,’ Herr Dreiser said sadly. ‘If you should find it, do not return it to us. It would only be stolen by the Nazis or, worse still, destroyed. Sell it and use what it fetches to help other Jews more fortunate than our Georg.’

Edward bowed his head in acceptance.

‘Forgive me, Lord Edward, but we should like to be alone now.’ Herr Dreiser spoke with quiet dignity. ‘Perhaps you could come back tomorrow or are you returning to London immediately? It was good of you to come yourself to tell us this terrible news.’

‘I have a letter from my brother offering you employment and I will come tomorrow to take you to the British Embassy. As soon as you have a visa, I will help you leave the country. Georg was right: you have no time to lose.’

‘Please? You do not think we are leaving?’

‘You
must
leave,’ Edward said urgently. ‘You have no alternative.’

‘There is an alternative,’ Herr Dreiser said gravely. ‘We are part of an organization helping Jewish children to safety. In two weeks, we are escorting a train to the Swiss border and several more are planned.’

‘I see. But when you cross the border with the children . . .?’

‘We do not cross the border. We go to the frontier and then, when the children are safely in Switzerland, we return to Vienna.’

‘But why?’

‘Because they have told us that if we do not return – the escorts – no further trains will be allowed to leave.’

‘But . . .’ Edward was at a loss for words.

‘Please understand, Lord Edward, that once we knew Georg was safe in England . . . or so we thought, we made the decision to stay. We are old. We would find it difficult to settle in a foreign country at our time of life. We can do something useful here. To be in London and know that so many of our friends and families were . . . not so fortunate – that we could not bear. The guilt would destroy us.’ He held up his hand. ‘Please do not try and persuade us to come with you. You will not succeed. If you wish to be of service, you will make sure there are homes for these children. The Nazis say that only those with addresses to go to in England will be allowed to leave. It will not be long before they prevent any of our people emigrating.’

Edward left, impressed with their fortitude but, when he reached the door of the apartment building, he heard a high-pitched wail from above. The Dreisers’ world had been shattered and there was nothing anyone could do about it. His duty was clear: to find Georg’s killer and do what he could to bring as many Jewish children as was possible out of Vienna.

Distressed by his visit but grateful that it was over, he felt the need for fresh air and exercise. He strode off, not knowing where he was heading. After twenty minutes, he found himself in what Verity had told him was the Jewish area of Vienna – Leopoldstadt, near the Carl-Theater. Many of the Jewish-owned shops had been broken into and daubed with swastikas. He saw the still-smoking ruin of what had once been a synagogue. He suddenly felt nervous and walked more quickly.

Ever since leaving the Imperial he had sensed that he was being followed. He assumed someone among Austria’s new rulers thought he was worth keeping tabs on but he had no fears for himself. He was, however, concerned not to bring further trouble on the Dreisers so he did what he could to throw his pursuer off his trail and thought he had succeeded.

He found himself at the Café Zentral on the corner of Herrengasse and Strauchgasse and remembered Verity telling him about the waxwork of Trotsky which stood in a corner. He went in and was delighted to find that the Nazis had not got round to destroying it. He nodded his head to it and sat down at a nearby table. He ordered an
Einspanner
– one of those coffees the Viennese love so much served in a glass topped with
Schlagobers
, whipped cream – and waited to see who would appear at his elbow. He picked up a newspaper attached to a wooden stick from a rack by the door. It was slow work translating the German and he soon put it down. A young man who had been watching him furtively from a neighbouring table caught his eye and he nodded politely. Seeming to take this as an invitation, he came over and said, ‘
Entschuldigen Sie bitte
,
Herr Corinth
,
störe ich Sie?
’

‘
Verzeihung
,
ich spreche nicht Deutsch
. Or at least not well enough to carry on a conversation.’

The young man looked relieved, perhaps because Edward was who he thought he was, and replied that he spoke some English.

‘Who are you?’ Edward asked, rather puzzled. It seemed unlikely that this inoffensive boy could be a secret policeman.

‘
Ich bin
. . . I’m a friend of Georg’s. He is safe in England?’

‘I believe so,’ Edward volunteered, not wishing to give anything away to a complete stranger. ‘How did you know my name?’

‘Georg told me you were the gentleman who Fraulein Browne was . . . who would guarantee his visa. I guessed it must be you when I saw you enter the Dreisers’ apartment.’

‘And your name is . . . ?’

‘My name is Gustav.’ The young man obviously thought that now they had introduced themselves, they should shake hands, which they did with some solemnity.

‘And what can I do for you, Gustav?’

‘It is all right. I am not going to ask you for help to leave the country. I am not Jewish.’ A charming smile lit up his sallow, melancholy face.

‘But you were . . . are a friend of Georg’s?’

‘He has many friends who are not Jews. So have his parents. That is why Herr Dreiser was released from prison. We have urged him to leave the country but he will not.’

‘I know. I, too, offered to help him emigrate but, as you say, he refuses to go,’ Edward said shortly. He thought this young man with the sad eyes was honest but he would take no chances. Nothing he said must get the Dreisers into trouble with the authorities.

‘So what do you want of me, Gustav?’ he repeated.

‘Come with me to the university. I have a friend – a scientist – who wishes to . . . who wants to talk to you.’

Edward found that his heart was beating faster than normal. ‘It is safe for your friend to be seen with me?’ he asked as a little test.

‘No one will see you. Shall we go?’

Edward looked at him and tried to gauge whether he was being led into a trap. It was a risk but one he knew he must take. He threw a few
Schillinge
on the table and got up. ‘Let us go, Gustav.’

The young man smiled reassuringly. ‘
Machen Sie sich keine Sorgen. Alles ist in Ordnung . . . alles ist in Ordnung.
’ ‘Don’t worry, everything is all right.’ But of course, it wasn’t.

Verity and Vera had taken to one another when they had met before and, when she explained on the telephone that Edward had to go to Vienna so she would come in his place, Vera was rather relieved. She found Lord Edward Corinth a touch intimidating. They agreed to meet at Peter Gray’s flat in Mornington Crescent. Verity was late – she had got rather lost in Camden, an area she did not know well and did not like. It looked dirty and rundown. Most of the buildings in Camden High Street had been miserable enough when they had been run up in the 1820s and were now little more than slums. As a good Communist, she ought to have been angry at the poverty she saw all around her – and she was angry – but that did not make her want to stay there any longer than she had to.

She found herself standing by a statue of Richard Cobden, the radical economist and MP, and she stopped to examine it. As she stooped to read the inscription, she was accosted by several children who eyed her rather as jackals eye their prey and demanded money. It occurred to her that she did look too smart for the neighbourhood and was attracting attention. Perhaps she ought to have brought Adrian with her as Edward had suggested. She definitely wished she had not chosen the hat with the feather in it – altogether too jaunty.

She surrendered a sixpence and asked directions to Mornington Crescent but the children, pretending they did not understand her, ran off – she hoped not to bring their older siblings to complete her humiliation. Just as she was becoming rather desperate she saw a constable. He advised her that Mornington Crescent was only a few hundred yards away behind the huge, recently built tobacco factory. It was with relief that she identified the house, dilapidated and crumbling at the edges, at the far end of the crescent. She peered at the little tower of bells, each with its own grimy label. The topmost was inscribed Gray so she pressed the bell beside it. Nothing happened though she thought she heard a bell ringing inside the house. After a minute or two she rang again and, just as she was about to give up and go home, she heard the clatter of shoes on uncarpeted stairs.

Vera opened the door looking as though she had been crying – red-eyed and with a smudge on her cheek.