As the count moved off, Marion glanced at Heinrich with an anxious look of worry. He then tried to allay her fears for the doctor with a half-smile. This was not the first time they had been in such circumstances, though in recent years they had made every effort to avoid the social circles most people of their economic standing seemed to thrive upon. Heinrich had not been to a function such as this since the garden party in Berlin at his brother Otto’s two years before. Had the occasion been such as to allow it, they would have declined this afternoon’s festivities as well, preferring to visit the count and countess privately a day or two later. After the brief interchange with their host, all his reservations about coming swept back over him, and with them a foreboding anxiety about their friend in town.

But Otto had been quite insistent that Heinrich attend. “Influential people will be there. It would not do to be seen as unsupportive of our Führer. They watch those kinds of things, Heinrich. You must learn to keep step with the times.”

Heinrich von Dortmann cared not a straw to keep step with the times, as Otto put it. But for his brother’s sake, and because it was the first invitation their whole family had had to the Schmundt estate in some time, he had decided to accept. He had been concerned about the count of late and prayed this might indicate a thaw in the chilly relationship that had come to exist between them.

He glanced around as they made their way slowly into the hall.

It’s all such a facade, thought Heinrich sadly to himself. The two levels of intercourse were so apparent to a sensitive spiritual nature such as his—the pretended level of gaiety, the chinking sounds of glasses, laughter, string music from the far end of the hall, smiles, light conversation—yet beneath it all he could feel the minor chords resonating, the abundant swastikas everywhere, the talk of politics and careening world events, the crisp clicking of German heels and the robust Heil Hitlers that could be heard periodically above the merrymaking din.

This was a show, he thought, full of veneers and undercurrents, everyone with his own agenda to fulfill, all intended to hide what Heinrich knew was a core of corruption and deceit at the heart of his country’s leadership. The mood felt like the calm before a storm. Already, though he knew many of the socialites present and would have enjoyed rekindling some of the acquaintances, the baron began to feel the atmosphere stifling.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” he whispered to his wife, “I’ll drive into town and see if Aaron is all right. But I don’t like the sound of it.”