“You’ve received quite an honor today,” Herr Goering said as the bus pulled to a stop at the front of a column of black-uniformed soldiers standing in front of a contingent of students in identical khaki shirts and green shorts. “This is where the SS Totenkopf train. They’re the elite of the elite and here to welcome you.”

“What does Totenkopf mean?” Amelia whispered to Mr. Forwood as they followed the others off the bus.

“Death’s head.”

That couldn’t be good no matter how much Herr Goering or anyone else talked it up.

The soldiers in their high, shiny boots and black uniforms broken by red swastika armbands threw up their hands and shouted, “Heil, Windsor!”

His Royal Highness raised his right arm in return as the Death’s Head band played “God Save the King.” The British anthem drifting over the brutal fortress and surrounding countryside was more chilling than the cold fall day.

I should have stayed in Berlin. She’d wanted to see Germany. Now that she’d had a good look at it, she didn’t like it at all.

Nothing about the salutes or the rigid line of soldiers bothered His Royal Highness. He inspected them as if they were his old Welsh Guards regiment, stopping every few feet to speak with the soldiers in German and accepting and returning their salutes. The train station had practically been a melee. This was a well-coordinated show of strength and power.

They passed from the parade ground into the school’s main building, where more students and officers greeted them. The interior was as austere as the outside with heavy, exposed-beam ceilings and stark white plaster walls broken by a large map of Europe with Austria and Germany painted as one country.

“In the Great War, I used to inspect the troops like this. They loved me and I couldn’t get enough of them,” His Royal Highness said to Wallis before he stepped up to the line of officers and officials inside who showed him the military respect he’d been denied since leaving Britain.

After the formal greeting, Herr Goering and Dr. Ley escorted His Royal Highness on a tour of the school. Frau Goering took charge of Amelia and Wallis.

“Ladies, if you’ll follow me, I’ve arranged for a nice tea.” Frau Goering led them to a small sitting room, clearly a man’s office given the dark wood walls and the lack of decorative pillows or patterned furniture. Large windows showcased the stunning view of the tree-covered hills and the young men doing calisthenics on the field below.

“Quite the stoic institution.” Wallis sat in one of the wood and leather chairs surrounding a low table. A silver tea service engraved with the Nazi eagle sat in all its Art Deco formality in the center beside a similarly decorated china platter with tea sandwiches. The gold eagle was also stamped on the china cups, saucers, and teaspoons.

“It’s an honor to attend Ordensburg. Only the best are selected for admission. Students receive a very comprehensive education in strengthening the body,” Frau Goering explained in her heavily accented English as she poured the tea. She was a stately Swedish woman with wavy blond hair parted in the center and pulled loosely back from her oval face. According to Wallis, she’d been a famous actress in Germany before she’d married Major General Hermann Goering. “The rest of the time they attend classes on racial biology and German history.”

Amelia didn’t ask what a class in racial biology was, not sure she wished to know.

“They also study politics, especially Bolshevism.” Frau Goering handed Wallis her teacup. “One must know their enemies to face them.”

If the Germans placed so much emphasis on studying the Russians then perhaps His Royal Highness was right about the two countries fighting it out and leaving the rest of the world alone.

“I noticed the map in the entrance hall doesn’t have the border between Germany and Austria,” Amelia remarked, earning a scrutinizing gaze from Wallis, who barely touched her food.

“Germans in Austria dream of being reunited with the fatherland. In time they’ll decide to make that dream a reality.” Frau Goering turned to Wallis. “I must offer my deepest condolences on His Royal Highness being forced to abdicate. Herr Hitler feels it is a great loss to Britain and Europe. You would have made a glorious queen.”

“How kind of you to say so.” Wallis practically glowed under Frau Goering’s flattery. “His Royal Highness was driven from England because they were afraid of his desire to make peace instead of war. Rest assured, His Majesty’s Government will regret what they’ve done, perhaps not today, but in time.”

“I have no doubt they will.” Frau Goering sipped her tea as if they were discussing finding a good maid, not the tenuous future of Germany and Europe. “Mrs. Montague, will you join Their Royal Highnesses at Berchtesgaden to meet the Führer? It’s an honor any German girl would die for.”

“If Amelia wishes to come, she’s more than welcome to join us,” Wallis said, waiting for her response with the same eagerness as Frau Goering.

Amelia set her teacup and saucer on the table so they wouldn’t clatter in her hands. She should agree and prop up Wallis’s standing with the highest-ranking woman in Germany, as expected of any good employee, but she couldn’t. Everything giving her the willies here would be ten times worse at Berchtesgaden, and she wasn’t a talented enough actress to hide it. Amelia lowered her gaze to her lap and assumed the most subservient attitude she could muster. “The honor of meeting a head of state is for royalty, not for private secretaries.”

It shouldn’t be for Wallis either but with Frau Goering puffing her up and rattling on about what a grand honor it was to meet Herr Hitler, there’d be no talking Wallis out of it. How she could ignore the death’s head insignia, the anti-Jewish signs they’d seen on the way out of Berlin, and the constant flattery, she didn’t know, but if there was one thing Wallis was good at, it was seeing only what she wanted to see. Right now, all her cousin could focus on was the honors being heaped on her by the German heads of state, even if those heads stunk to high heaven.

Chapter Nine

Nuremberg, October 20, 1937

“I can’t tell you how pleased this will make His Royal Highness.” Mr. Forwood beamed as bright as the Duke. He and Amelia stood on the fringes of Wallis and the Duke’s conversation in the Grand Hotel receiving room waiting for a call to duty, the two of them more like furniture than guests. “Duke Charles Edward is the first European royalty to acknowledge Her Royal Highness. It’ll encourage others to follow, perhaps even His Majesty and his brothers.”

Amelia doubted the acknowledgment of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Queen Victoria’s grandson and His Royal Highness’s cousin, carried much weight with the royal family. His coziness with the German hierarchy gave royals all over Europe palpitations but it didn’t appear to trouble the Duke. He chatted with his cousin, who was much taller than him with thinning white hair, a high forehead, and a full mustache. Duke Charles Edward wore a military uniform adorned with more medals and ribbons than anyone else in the room. His Royal Highness stood out in his somber black tuxedo beside Wallis in her cream silk dress with a fitted bodice, slightly flared skirt, and a black sequined jacket that covered her wide shoulders. Her diamond and emerald set outshone the tiaras of the titled women who rushed to curtsey to her.

“Mr. Forwood, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” An older woman in a long navy-blue dress, her blond and gray hair twisted into a fancy chignon, greeted the equerry. “Will we see you in London this spring?”

“Not this year, I’m afraid. Lady Williams-Taylor, may I introduce Mrs. Montague, the Duchess of Windsor’s private secretary.”

“A pleasure. You must meet Miss Heastie, my private secretary. She couldn’t accompany me to Berlin but you’ll see her at my parties in Paris. The two of you will get on splendidly,” she assured in her posh English accent. The seventy-year-old socialite was the queen of Bahamian society and the wife of the manager of the Bank of Montreal and spent her time among her homes in Nassau, England, and Paris. She was also one of the few socially prominent people who hadn’t shunned Wallis. Seeing her in Germany, Amelia finally understood why. “Ah, there’s Frau Goering. I must say hello. Enjoy your evening, darlings.”

The Duke motioned to Mr. Forwood to assist him, leaving Amelia to stand by herself. She smiled at passing guests, thankful for the pale pink and silver-trimmed Schiaparelli dress Wallis had bought for her. She didn’t shine as grandly as the wives of the dignitaries around her but she held her own.

“You must be Mrs. Montague.” A woman with an American accent approached Amelia and shook her hand. “I’m Alice Gordon.”

Amelia recognized the name. “You knew Her Royal Highness in Washington in the twenties?”

“Back when she was plain Wallis Warfield. What an interesting place to see her again.” Mrs. Gordon accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server. “My husband is the American minister to The Hague. It’s how we received the honor of being here tonight. Ask if Her Grace will speak to me.”

Amelia wondered why Mrs. Gordon didn’t simply approach Wallis herself, or why she hadn’t gone through the receiving line, but it wasn’t her place to ask questions. She was here to carry out orders and requests. She approached Wallis and while the Duke spoke to Herr Goering, she whispered in her ear, “Mrs. Alice Gordon, an old acquaintance of yours, would like a word with you.”

Wallis locked eyes with Mrs. Gordon, and the sparkle that’d ignited them the instant they’d stepped into the Grand Hotel vanished. “I have no desire to talk to her.”

Amelia returned to Mrs. Gordon, remembering Mrs. Bedaux’s advice to be kind to everyone. Wallis might not want to see her old friend but it didn’t mean Amelia should be rude. “I’m sorry, Her Royal Highness is unable to meet with you this evening.”

The sting of the slight hung in the air like the woman’s Chanel No. 5. “She’s mistaken if she thinks she can erase her past by ignoring it. She was a penniless nobody when I launched her into Washington society and introduced her to Felipe Aja Espil. I’m sure she’s mentioned him.”

Amelia shook her head. Wallis enjoyed name-dropping but she’d never said his.

“He was first secretary at the Argentine Embassy back then, with a promising ambassadorial career ahead of him and quite the looker. Everyone was stunned when he took up with her, but her talent for collecting influential men is impressive. However, an ambassador needs money, and she had none. The woman he married did.”

Amelia listened, amazed again at how free people in social and diplomatic circles were with gossip. They might not say anything above a whisper but they certainly whispered. Of course, if Mrs. Gordon had been the making of Wallis in D.C., back when helping her had gained her nothing, then no wonder she was mad at the snub. Wallis should have at least greeted her. A simple acknowledgment would have smoothed some old wounds instead of reopening them.

“I’ve always admired Wallis’s ability to social climb, but, as George Mallory learned the hard way, not all climbers are successful. Sometimes they topple down before they reach the summit.” Mrs. Gordon sipped her champagne then nodded at the very tall, silver-haired man bowing to the Windsors. “There’s a mountaineer Wallis should stay away from. Mr. Axel Wenner-Gren, owner of Electrolux, among other businesses, and a close friend of the Nazis. He and Frau Goering knew each other in Sweden before Frau Goering shot to prominence in Germany.”

“The Bahamas is a delight this time of year,” Mr. Wenner-Gren said to Wallis in his thick Swedish accent. “The heat is finally gone and construction on my estate’s deepwater harbor can resume.”

“What do you need a deep harbor for?” Wallis asked.

“My yacht, of course. One’s yacht can never be too large or too well-appointed.”

“Just as one can never be too rich or too thin.”

Mr. Wenner-Gren’s deep chuckle joined Wallis’s gratingly high laugh.

“Let me give you a piece of advice to pass on to Her Grace,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Photos of Their Royal Highnesses giving Herr Hitler the Nazi salute are circulating in newspapers everywhere and people aren’t happy about it. Lie down with the dogs and rise up with the fleas. Also, be wary of Her Grace’s friendship. She isn’t as good at keeping friends as she is at cultivating them.”

She walked off, leaving Amelia to chew on that bit of wisdom. She didn’t have long to mull it over as the banquet hall doors opened and everyone spilled in to find their places.