“Why are you trying to prevent me from the rest of your house?” As she spoke, the countess now thought how she had resisted Gustav’s request that she come here. This, however, was proving rather fun—she enjoyed seeing Marion flustered.

“I had no such intention. In fact, I believe Carola has baked some fresh cake today and I was about to go to the kitchen to ask her about it,” said Marion, trying to calm her nervousness. “Why don’t you come with me, and if it is finished, we’ll enjoy some together.”

Settling her ruffled feathers, the countess nodded her agreement, and the two women rose and left the room.

All the way down the two corridors to the kitchen, the countess looked this way and that, her eyes and ears alert for anything she might tell her son.

Marion led her into the kitchen, where, as she had said, Carola was busy knifing generous clumps of creamy chocolate frosting over several multilayered yellow cakes.

Marion proceeded to cut two slices out of the one Carola had already completed, and she and Ingrid each took a seat at one of the small tables.

“There is enough cake there to feed an army, Marion!” exclaimed Ingrid.

“We have many workers, you know.”

“Not since the war,” rejoined the countess. “I was told you were down to a live-in staff of only six or eight. What about rationing?”

“We grow most of our own food. You know Heinrich’s farming gifts.”

“There are six large cakes there,” insisted the countess.

“Day workers have dinner with us too,” said Marion.

The countess took in the information and said no more, but her visage said that she was far from convinced.

Silence fell momentarily as the one woman picked at her cake and the other devoured hers.

Suddenly the door from the outer courtyard opened. Voices, although hushed, became audible before their owners were visible and preceded the sound of footfalls along the short corridor into the kitchen. There was nothing Marion could do to prevent her guest from hearing their conversation, and the whispered voices became all the more incriminating.

“…if we had any new roses for sale.”

“He had it exactly backwards!”

“The look on the poor fellow’s face told me he was only confused. I don’t think he’d eaten in days.”

“What did you do?”

“I let him in, and the—”

The baron’s voice suddenly stopped the instant he and Schmidt came into view. A quick glance of his eyes about the room caught Marion’s terrified gaze attempting to silence them. He sized up the situation in a second.

“Ah, Ingrid!” he exclaimed, face brightening in welcome. “Go ahead without me,” he added, turning back to Schmidt.

But the countess was as shrewd as they, and she had well noted the nervous expressions and glances flying about the room. Something was going on here, she was certain of it.