An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(65)

“This was the work of Bismarck,” he said. “But he is a fool. He argued that knitting the German states together under the rule of the empire would make them more powerful, but the only one who has gained from it is the emperor himself.”

“Kaiser Wilhelm,” I finished.

“The second of that name,” the chancellor said with a grave nod. “Those of us outside of the empire had hopes for his father, a great and progressive man. When he ascended to the throne last spring, we believed it was a new beginning for all of us. We did not realize he was doomed,” he added, crossing himself. I had been in Madeira at the time, but I vaguely remembered reading about the three-month reign of Kaiser Frederick. He had been a gentle soul, progressive and forward thinking, unlike his warlike and reactionary son.

The chancellor went on. “For thirty years, Kaiser Frederick bided his time, waiting for his turn to remake Germany, to bring her into the light with the help of his empress.” His empress was of special interest to me. She was the eldest child of our queen, Victoria, and had been named for her august mother. As Princess Royal, she had been the apple of her father’s eye, schooled by Prince Albert in the English principles of liberality and fairness. Throughout her long marriage to Frederick, she had remained steadfast in her beliefs, in spite of the damage this caused to her popularity with the Germans. They clung to the glory of their warlike past, and her eldest son, now the kaiser, had followed in those traditions.

“The empress was unpopular,” I began, but the chancellor made a noise of derision.

“Unpopular! She was reviled, treated with the greatest of contempt by her own son. All those years, waiting to put her mark upon Germany, and her husband’s reign lasts no more than three months. A single season for them to rule, and even that was thwarted. Everyone knew Kaiser Frederick was ill when he ascended. The court and the army looked beyond him, as if he were already a ghost. They did not even bother to bend a knee to his will. They did as his son bade them, and as soon as Wilhelm became emperor, they turned on Empress Frederick with all the savagery of which they are capable.”

“She was not mistreated?” Stoker asked in horror.

“She was,” the chancellor confirmed. “Actually shoved about by her son’s men. They came to her palace to remove her papers—her personal and private papers—because her son believed her a traitor to Germany. She, who did nothing but work for the peace of Europe,” he added bitterly. His color was high, the dueling scars on his cheeks standing out white against his scarlet skin.

He took a few deep breaths. “But they found nothing. She is as cautious as she is clever,” he added with a sly smile. “She sent her papers to England and she thwarted her son. For all his cruelty, he is not intelligent. He could never anticipate how far she would go to secure peace in Europe.”

“How far would she go?” Stoker asked.

The chancellor paused, assessing us carefully. “I will tell you something that you must vow never to reveal outside of this room. I require your word of honor, both of you. On pain of death.” The words were startling, but his manner was grave. Stoker and I did not look at one another as we swore. The chancellor reached into his portfolio and drew forth a document.

“The Alpenwald is one of the few German-speaking states to resist Bismarck’s aggression. She remains independent in spite of the danger.”

“The danger?” I asked.

He pointed to the map, sketching out a movement. “Should Germany decide to go to war, she will attack France first. The Alpenwald lies in the clearest and most direct route. We would be destroyed if we oppose the German Empire. But oppose her we will,” he finished fiercely. He went to the desk and unlocked a drawer, drawing out a leather portfolio stamped with the crest of the Alpenwald. “This is a treaty between the Alpenwald and France. It is a binding pact of mutual defense against the German Empire.”

Stoker gave a soundless whistle as we bent to read the text. It was in English and brief, bereft of the usual flowery diplomatic language that characterized such things. It was a promise, to be signed by both governments, to protect one another and come to each other’s aid in the event of German aggression.

“How on earth did you manage to get the French to agree to this?” Stoker asked.

“I did not,” the chancellor told him. “It was the work of the Empress Frederick.”

“Our Princess Royal Victoria?” I goggled at him. “Our British princess has brokered a treaty against her own son’s interests?”

“Because his interests are not those of good and peaceful men,” the chancellor said sternly. “She has tried the whole of her life to instill in him the principles of democracy upon which she was weaned, but his upbringing was taken out of her hands by his grandfather. He was schooled to admire all things military and warlike, to love aggression and fighting and the glory of Germany.” His moustaches quivered in disgust. “He was never taught to cherish peace, to work for the good of his people. His mother is deeply afraid, you see. She has seen a change in him since he ascended the throne. For decades, Bismarck counted upon being able to control Wilhelm when he came to power. But the chancellor grows old and he cannot keep Wilhelm under his thumb. The kaiser does as he pleases, and he sees himself as a new Frederick the Great, bestriding Europe and the rest of the world. He cares nothing for peace and freedom, and in the great battle, his mother will be on the side of the angels. She does what she can for the cause that is just, and we are grateful to her,” he finished with fervor. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his bald head, dabbing at his eyes. The subject was clearly an emotional one for him, and Stoker and I looked at the maps until he had regained control of himself.