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There was not a sound in the room.
He turned and took a step or two, as though thinking.
Gisela sat with an expressionless face. Rathbone was startled how strong it was in repose, how pronounced the bones. There was no softness in her mouth, no vulnerability. He wondered what inner despair filled her that she could look so impervious to what was going on around her. It seemed as if truly, now that Friedrich was dead, nothing could touch her. Perhaps it was only for his sake, for his memory, that she had brought this action at all.
Rolf’s lips closed in a thin, delicate line. He took a deep breath. His expression was one as of a man biting into something that had turned sour.
“The offer was conditional, not absolute,” he replied.
“Upon what, Count Lansdorff?”
“That is a political matter, and a family matter, both of delicacy and confidentiality,” Rolf replied coolly. “It would be crass to discuss it in public, and extremely insensitive.”
“I am aware of that, sir,” Rathbone said gravely. “And we all regret that it should be necessary … absolutely necessary, in order that justice should prevail. If it is any service in sparing your feelings, may I ask you if the condition was that Prince Friedrich should divorce his wife and return alone?”
Rolf’s face tightened till the light shone on the smooth planes of his cheeks and brow and his nose seemed like a blade.
The judge looked deeply unhappy. It occurred to Rathbone with a jolt that doubtless the Lord Chancellor had sent a word of warning to him, too.
“That was the condition,” Rolf said icily.
“And did you have hopes that he would meet it?” Rathbone pressed relentlessly.
Rolf was startled. It was obviously not the question he had expected. It took him an instant to collect his thoughts and reply.
“I had hoped that I would be able to prevail upon whatever sense of honor he had left, sir.” He did not look at Rathbone but at some point on the wooden paneling in the wall far above the lawyer’s head.
“Had he given you indication of that before you came to England, Count Lansdorff? Or was there some other circumstance or event which led you to believe that he had changed his mind since his original abdication?” Rathbone pursued.
Rolf still stood like a soldier on parade, but now one who heard the steps of the firing squad come to a halt.
“Sometimes one’s obsession with love subsides into something of better proportion with time,” he replied with intense dislike. “I had hoped that when Friedrich learned of his country’s need, he would set aside his personal feelings and follow the duty for which he was born and groomed, and whose privileges he was happy to accept for the first thirty years of his life.”
“It would be a great sacrifice …” Rathbone said tentatively.
Rolf glared at him. “All men make sacrifices for their country, sir! Does any Englishman whom you respect answer the call to arms by saying he would rather remain at home with his wife?” His voice almost choked it was so thick with disgust. “Damn the invader or the foreign army which would trample his land! Let someone else fight him. He would rather dance in Venice and float around in a gondola making love to some woman! Would you admire such a man, sir?”
“No, I would not,” Rathbone replied with a sudden sense of the shame which burned in th
e man in front of him. Friedrich was not only his prince but his sister’s son, his own blood. And Rathbone had forced him to this conclusion in front of a courtroom of ordinary people of the street—a foreign street at that. “Did you put this to him at Wellborough Hall, Count Lansdorff?”
“I did.”
“And his reply?”
“That if we needed him so profoundly in order to fight to retain our independence, then we should make the allowance and accept that woman as his wife.”
There was a wave of emotion around the room like the backwash of a tide.
For once Gisela too reacted. She winced as if she had been threatened with a blow to the face.
“And considering how much might ride on his return, were you willing to accept those terms?” Rathbone asked in the silence.
Rolf’s chin rose a fraction. “No sir, we were not.”
There was a sigh across the gallery.
“You say ’we,’ ” Rathbone said. “Who else do you mean, Count Lansdorff?”
