Blue Damask Page 11

  “Why not? I cannot sit still.”

  “I do not like seeing you do a servant’s work.”

  She stopped, one of his shirts over her arm. “Servants?” She felt her face get warm. She had not been raised with servants. She put his shirt down on the bed. Some of the shirts would need to be ironed again. She fingered a button.

  His eyes were closed and he had a hand to his temple. “Leave it for Davies and the staff. You are not my servant.”

  “No. Of course not.” She frowned. In her father’s house this kind of work was done every day. She and her sisters did the wash on Mondays. They ironed on Tuesdays, mended on Wednesdays. It was not a servant’s work. It was their work. They baked bread and scrubbed floors. Her brothers tended the machines in the brewery, maintained the family automobile and did house repairs. “Go to sleep,” she said softly. She couldn’t think of anything else to say and she wanted him to stop talking. His words were hurting her and she did not know why.

  “I cannot sleep. My mind is working too quickly.”

  “Did you sleep last night?”

  “Not a wink.” He blinked his eyes open at her and she saw they were bloodshot and glassy.

  “You are not well, Lord Sonnenby.”

  “No, I am not. That is why I was wearing that fashionable jacket with the many buckles on the back.”

  It was too easy to forget he spent a year in an asylum. “You are much better now,” she soothed. “The jacket is gone. You will wear dinner jackets now. In time you will recover.”

  “Really? There is a cure?” He closed his eyes again.

  “For neurosis, yes. Psychosis, no. But you are not psychotic.”

  “You can tell after four days?”

  “Five. And yes. Doctor Engel knew in the reception room of his practice. He would not have sent me if he thought you were psychotic. He told me you needed…” She stopped, aware she had said too much. She sat in the chair near the sideboard and looked at her hands.

  “What do I need, Elsa?” his voice was very soft.

  “You are getting it now,” she answered just as softly.

  Davies pushed open the door and brought her a packet of medicine powders. He glanced at the bed. “Good. He has finally fallen asleep.”

  Chapter Eight

  Elsa stood at the rail and watched the port of Beirut as the many ships and slid past the Oriana on her way to her dock. The breeze was not so fresh, now, as it carried the scent of fuel and waste and stagnant water from the city. She turned away and rested her elbows on the rail. She looked at the deck instead, watching the passengers as they made their last stroll along the promenade before their journey ended.

  Servants and uniformed staff hurried to and fro burdened with every kind of luggage. Elsa looked down at her feet. She had her briefcase. Her luggage had been picked up earlier by Davies and a porter. She wore the black silk skirt and white blouse she found among Mr. Marshall’s gifts. A lovely white silk scarf covered her head and the ends crossed her shoulders. She had not had the courage to refuse the suitcase; though she kept telling herself when her journey was over she would return the beautiful clothing to him.

  She waited. The ship’s whistle blew and the deck shuddered as the engines reversed the great propellers with a loud rumble. She looked up and down the deck for Marshall and Sonnenby. She glanced down at her little watch. She checked the plate that assured her she was on the Lido deck, port side, amidships. Yes. She was in the right place. After a few more minutes of waiting, she saw them approaching. Sonnenby wore a dark fedora; Marshall was topped by his ever-present bowler. Both men gave her a slight bow as they joined her at the rail.

  “You are limping, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Apparently I pulled something, running yesterday.” He gave her a small smile. “Any more adventures and I won’t make it to Damascus in one piece.” He touched the bruises around his left eye, still visible from his encounter on the train. “Marshall, you will have to do a better job.”

  “Hmph,” Marshall looked at his pocket watch, and then snapped the cover closed. “My job is nearly over, my lord. One hour to disembark, and two to Damascus.”

  Elsa raised an eyebrow. “That soon? You are responsible only for delivering him?”

  Marshall gave her a charming smile. “As you say. In Damascus he will come under the care of the Arab Bureau. They have brought another man in from the Cairo office to escort him into the bush.”

  “They don’t call it the ‘bush’ here,” Sonnenby said. He leaned on the rail and watched the city grow bigger as they approached. Elsa followed his eyes to the white plaster and cement houses. Cranes and turbines and shipping containers disturbed what might have been a beautiful coastline. Industry darkened all beauty. She sighed and Sonnenby turned to her.

  “It is beautiful farther inland,” he said, interpreting her sigh.

  “It is a wasteland farther inland,” Marshall corrected.

  Sonnenby replied without looking at Marshall, “It is a beautiful wasteland.”

  Elsa tried to smile. Neither of these men must have seen Alpine meadows in the spring, or they would not speak so freely about beauty. The only thing beautiful she could see was the deep azure of the cloudless sky and the leaping dolphins that sped along beside the ship as it maneuvered into port. She sighed again.

  Marshall took her elbow. “When we get to the office you will be debriefed by the men there. Do not be afraid, and tell them the truth.”

  It had never occurred to Elsa to be afraid, or to lie about anything. “Why should I be afraid?” She glanced at Sonnenby. He did not appear to be looking forward to this ‘debriefing’.

  Marshall tried to look reassuring, but he only made his face appear more stiff and disingenuous. “I know that some people are nervous being questioned by the government.” He made it sound like a reasonable fear.

  “Of course,” she answered and pulled her elbow from his hand. He let her go and touched the rim of his hat.

  “I will also be questioned. If you find yourself at a loss, just tell them to ask me.”

  “To what will these questions pertain?”

  “Yours may be merely about Lord Sonnenby’s health and state of mind. Perhaps they will ask about the car, and the gun battle. I did not tell them about the incident in my lord’s stateroom.”

  “Why not?” Sonnenby turned from the rail.

  Marshall appeared uncomfortable. “What can be said but that someone in staff’s uniform rummaged through your belongings, but did not steal anything?”

  “He stole a silver frame.”

  Marshall stroked his mustache with his index finger. He glanced at Elsa as if unsure he should speak in front of her. He couched his words carefully. “You will have to make your decisions yourself, Sonnenby.” He leaned forward slightly and his voice was intense. “Keeping this incident to ourselves gives you…” he closed his eyes. “…room to negotiate.” He opened them again and they glittered with something unspoken.

  Elsa watched the two men stare at each other. She tried to understand what was communicated between them. She found the British particularly difficult to read. Germans were easier, though they also had a stiffness that had to be deconstructed. The Italians were simple to decipher. And the French as well. But the British, not so much.

  She shook her head as she looked from man to man. Sonnenby was slightly taller. She noticed Marshall leaned a little forward on the balls of his feet to compensate. They stared hard at each other until finally Sonnenby nodded once and narrowed his eyes before turning back to the rail. Marshall relaxed and tried to smile at her.

  “Once debriefed, you will stay in Damascus in a very nice hotel while Lord Sonnenby makes his way into his…beautiful wasteland. When he returns you will accompany him on the journey to England. A ship again, then a train to Paris, and from there to London. After a short stay in London I would appreciate it if you would accompany Lord Sonnenby to his estates and meet with his doctor there before returning to Vienna.”r />
  Sonnenby did not turn away from the rail, but continued to stare at the approaching city. “Then the asylum vacation is over?”

  Marshall paused before answering. “If the negotiations are resolved favorably, you will be released.”

  Elsa saw Sonnenby’s shoulders bunch beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket. “And if it is not favorable?”

  Marshall did not answer, but looked at his pocket watch again. Sonnenby didn’t feel the need to turn around.

  They were met at the port by a large car. Inside the chauffeur was silent, but the ministry man who sat beside him was all smiles and effusive greetings. He was interested in any news from London, and even expressed an interest in the post-war developments in Vienna. Elsa found Mr. Bain very charming and gave him some sincere smiles in return.

  The conversation was lively while the car wove through the narrow streets of Beirut, but as the many smaller streets started to flow into one wider one, the talk slowed. Soon conversation stopped altogether as the single road that left the city stretched out before them to the horizon. The road to Damascus. The car climbed a steep bluff that led up from the shore and as it crested the top she could see for miles. In the distance weathered mountains met the sky in a hazy blur. On either side of the road low whitewashed houses and rough yards moved by her window every few minutes. As in Istanbul, the occasional small boy and donkey responded quickly to the driver’s horn and moved clear of the vehicle.

  Elsa sank back into the seat. It was obvious that the rest of the way to Damascus would have little variation in scenery. Beautiful wasteland, indeed. She felt Sonnenby move in his seat beside her and turned her head. He was watching the dry grayness and intermittent green gardens with intense interest.

  “Are you remembering this?” she asked him.

  “I am. It had been a long time. I used to be one of those boys with a donkey and a stick.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “Did you, now?” She followed his gaze to a group of boys with long sticks encouraging donkeys laden with straw to cross the road in the dust behind them. “A nobleman’s son?” She realized she had been making some assumptions about his youth.

  He shifted in his seat so his shoulders blocked Marshall from her sight. He gave her a smile. “My father admired strength and agility, since he possessed so little of it himself. He encouraged me to run about outdoors. The only thing for a boy to do in this land is to do what the other boys were doing. So I did that. I returned from holidays tanned and strong.”

  Marshall did not look up from a letter he was reading. “And fluent.”

  Sonnenby turned to acknowledge his comment. “Na’am.”

  Marshall looked out his window, his face impassive.

  An hour later the car pulled up in front of the hotel in a yellow cloud of the ubiquitous dust. Bell hops and doormen in uncomfortable uniforms were quick to open the doors and the boot. Elsa was about to get out when Mr. Bain spoke her name.

  “Miss Schluss, if you would wait in the car, please, the ministry awaits our arrival.” Both he and Marshall tucked their hands into their jackets and pulled out dual watches and flipped them open simultaneously. Davies gave her a quick wave as he got out of the car.

  She leaned back in her seat and touched her briefcase. “Of course.” The hotel was three stories tall and each level had a wide balcony that shaded the one below it. Bright colors were painted on the awnings and shutters, though the building itself was a brilliant white. The grounds were green with cypress and cedars, and a tall fountain was the focal point at the center of the circular drive. The exchange of information and luggage occurred at a professional clip. Both watches snapped shut as the government men returned to their seats for the short ride to a nondescript white building with many windows and two floors.

  This time Elsa was handed out of the back seat and escorted through large double doors. Marshall and Sonnenby followed behind. The corridor was long and cool, with a fresh breeze that seemed to change direction no matter which way the hall turned. She was ushered into a small office and handed a glass of cool water. Sonnenby caught her eye before he disappeared with Marshall into the next room.

  “Fraulein Schluss,” a man behind the desk stood, then shook her offered hand. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am John Frank, with His Majesty’s Foreign Service, the Arab Bureau. I will be debriefing you on your recent travels from Vienna to Damascus.” He moved his hand to a sturdy chair next to a wooden desk. “Please be seated. This won’t take long, and you will be free to return to the hotel.”

  She sipped the water and looked around. Austerity seemed to be the décor of choice, though that should not have surprised her considering the recent war. The men staffing the office were sharply dressed and walked with a straight military bearing. Men in military uniforms with pistols in holsters walked past the open door from time to time. Clocks were on nearly every wall. The one in front of her proudly read the time in London and Paris as well as Cairo and the local time in Damascus. She heard French being spoken in the next room.

  Everything was very ordered and very efficient. Telephones rang. Business was being conducted. Typewriters clicked and clacked and the little bells on the carriage return chimed. Decisions were being made. She felt rather comfortable among all this competency.

  Mr. Frank drew up a chair across from her, and next to the desk. He rested his elbow on the edge and flipped open a notebook. She smiled politely at him, knowing that by avoiding putting the authority of the desk between them, he was trying to establish a sense of equality and camaraderie to encourage her to speak freely. She was ready to comply. She folded her hands in her lap and pressed her knees and ankles together in a professional manner.

  “When Lord Sonnenby was first brought to you, he was in a straightjacket, is this correct?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Mr. Frank wrote in the notebook for a few seconds. As he wrote he asked without looking up, “And why was that, Miss Schluss?”

  She paused until he did look up. “I don’t know, really, Mr. Frank. I had heard he attacked two orderlies in the asylum. It is possible his keepers did not want any trouble on the journey from London to Vienna.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Frank bent over his notebook again. “And yet on the train he broke out a window and escaped—“

  “Briefly,” Elsa inserted quickly. She wondered if he knew it was her fault Sonnenby had gotten away.

  “Yes, he was briefly free before being caught and returned to the train. He cut his arm on the shards and it had to be stitched. Is this true?”

  “It is.”

  “And you did the surgery?”

  “I did.”

  “I read here that you were a surgical nurse in a field hospital during the war, and in a hospital in Munich.”

  “That is true, sir.”

  “And the next day an assassin entered his compartment on the train and tried to stab him to death. Yes?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Schluss, I didn’t hear that.”

  She answered louder, “Yes.”

  Mr. Frank gave her a long look before asking, “And it was reported that you attacked this assassin with your bare hands and prevented him from killing Lord Sonnenby.” His voice was tainted with disbelief and his eyes travelled over her. Obviously she was no physical match for a murderous Turk.

  She squeezed her hands together. “Lord Sonnenby was my patient. Is my patient. I could not sit still and watch him be murdered.” She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “Right. And then Lord Sonnenby proceeded to beat the assassin to death with his fists.” He glanced up from the notebook. She nodded silently, remembering. He bent over the notebook again and then, “Afterwards Lord Sonnenby had some kind of mental collapse, yes?”

  “I would not call it a ‘mental collapse’ Mr.—“

  “What is your professional term for what happened to him after the attack?”

 
“He suffered a delayed reaction to traumatic stress. It was expressed as catatonia. It was very short and he recovered fully.”

  “Mr. Marshall says in his report that incident is what convinced him to keep the straightjacket off.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the handcuffs as well.”

  “Yes. Lord Sonnenby would be dead if he had been in any kind of restraints.”

  “And later in Istanbul there was an automobile accident involving unidentified Turkish assassins.”

  She just nodded. Apparently Mr. Marshall was excellent at providing his superiors with reports.

  “He had not been in restraints in the car?”

  “No. He was in the back seat with me.”

  “I see. And do you have any reason to believe that Lord Sonnenby requires restraints from this day forward?”

  “No, actually the presence of restraints seems to act as a catalyst for extreme anxiety that leads to violence. He is—“

  There was a roar and a crash in the next room. The French voices began to shout and the military men in the hallway passed their open door at a pounding run. Mr. Frank leaped from his chair and leaned into the hallway, his arm on the door frame. She pushed under his arm and leaned out as more men ran past into the next office. She heard shouting and the sounds of furniture being disturbed and upended. She tried to squeeze past Mr. Frank, but he grabbed her shoulder.

  “Wait.”

  “I think Lord Sonnenby might be causing this ruckus, Mr. Frank.”

  “I am certain of it, madam.”

  “Then you must let me go.”

  “In a moment, when they have him subdued.”

  Elsa looked up at his face, composed and calm as if the flurry of noise and destruction were not bouncing off the walls six feet away from him. She twisted her shoulder and slipped by him. The next office was whirling like a storm of paper and pencils. File folders erupted and swirled in the air from a tornado that was Sonnenby. Elsa tried to enter, but a uniformed guard held her by the arms.

  “Let me go.”

  “Not yet,” he answered.