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“People have long memories, sir. There are those who have never forgiven her for taking Prince Friedrich’s love—and, in their eyes, for having induced him to leave his country and his duty. She is like all people who have risen to great heights; there are those who are jealous and would be only too delighted to see her fall.”
Harvester glanced at Zorah, hesitated as if he were considering asking something further, then changed his mind. His meaning was abundantly clear, and yet Rathbone could not object. Nothing had been said.
Harvester looked up at the stand. “So this appalling charge has a possibility of causing great harm to the Princess through the agency of the envious and the bitter, who have long disliked her for their own reasons,” he concluded. “This has put a weapon into their hands, so to speak, now of all times, when the Princess is alone and at her most vulnerable?”
“Yes.” Evelyn nodded. “Yes, it has.”
“Thank you, Baroness. If you would remain where you are. Sir Oliver may have a question or two to ask you.”
Rathbone rose, simply not to allow the whole issue to go by default. His mind was racing over the thoughts that had come to him the previous evening. But how could he raise them with a witness with whom Harvester had been so circumspect? All he had was the right to cross-examine, not to open new and entirely speculative political territory.
“Baroness von Seidlitz,” he began thoughtfully, looking up at her grave and charming face. “These enemies of the Princess Gisela that you speak of, are they people with power?”
She looked surprised, uncertain how to answer.
He smiled at her. “At least in England, and I believe in most places,” he explained, “we are inclined to be very romantic about people involved in a great love story.” He must be extremely careful. Anything the jury saw as an attack on Gisela would instantly prejudice them against him. “We may wish we were in their place. We may even envy them their worldly good fortune, but only those who have actually been personally in love with the other party bear them real ill will. Is that not so in your country as well? And certainly I could believe it true in Venice, where the Princess has lived most of the time since her marriage.”
“Well … yes,” she conceded, her brow furrowed. “Of course we love a lover …” She laughed a little uncertainly. “All the world does, doesn’t it? We are no exception. But there is still resentment among a few that Prince Friedrich should have abdicated. That is different.”
“In Venice, Baroness?” he said with surprise. “Do the Venetians really care?”
“No … of course they …”
Harvester rose to his feet. “My lord, is there really some point to my learned friend’s questions? I fail to see it.”
The judge looked regretfully at Rathbone.
“Sir Oliver, you are presently eliciting information already within our knowledge. Please proceed
to something new, if you have it.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rathbone plunged on. As before, he had so little to lose. The risk was worth it. “The enemies you referred to who might in some way harm the Princess Gisela, you said they were in Felzburg, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Because in Venice they do not care. Venice is, if you will pardon me, full of royalty no longer possessing thrones or crowns for one reason or another. Socially, a princess is still a princess. You said yourself that people of any worth did not believe it there. And anyway, the Princess is in retirement, and one invitation or another will make no difference to her. Her friends, which is all she will care about, are totally loyal to her.”
“Yes …” Evelyn was still at a loss for his meaning. It was clear in her face.
“Would I be correct in supposing that these enemies, who are able to harm her, are not merely the odd disappointed past women admirers of Prince Friedrich, still holding a bitter envy, but people of some power and substance, able to command the respect of others?”
Evelyn stared at him wordlessly.
“Are you sure you wish this question answered, Sir Oliver?” the judge said anxiously.
Even Harvester looked puzzled. Rathbone would seem to be hurting Zorah rather than helping her.
“Yes, if you please, my lord,” Rathbone assured him.
“Baroness …” the judge prompted.
“Well …” She could not contradict herself. She looked at Harvester, then away again. She regarded Rathbone with open dislike. “Yes, some of them are people of power.”
“Perhaps political enemies?” Rathbone pressed. “People to whom the fate of their country is of the utmost importance? People who care desperately whether Felzburg remains independent or is absorbed into a unified and greater Germany, losing her individual identity and, of course, her individual monarchy?”
“I … I don’t know …”
“Really!” Harvester protested, rising again to his feet. “Is my learned friend now suggesting some kind of political assassination? This whole argument is nonsense! By whom? These imaginary political enemies of Princess Gisela? It is the Princess herself that his client has accused.” He waved his arm derisively at Zorah. “He is making confusion worse confounded.”
