“Not since you took that turn I said not to,” retorted Eustace. “We should have stayed on the main road to Vienna.”

He peered at the map in the gathering dusk, struggling to pick out routes and writing alike. Snatching a glance ahead, he was relieved to see a small town nestled at the bottom of the valley. “We must find someone to ask.”

“If we stop, I don’t rate our chances of starting again.” Irate, Hal thumped the steering wheel. “Your Aunt Verity’s chap swore this bally motor was fit for the trip.”

The Lanchester coughed spitefully one last time before falling silent. The only sound was its wire-spoked wheels rumbling down the road.

“Hal!” Eustace exclaimed, alarmed.

“Show some backbone, Ferrars!” Though Hal sounded none too calm as the automobile gathered speed on the steep slope.

Eustace gripped the top of his shallow door with one hand, the other clinging to the front of his seat. “Over there!” He didn’t dare let go to point. “A fuel pump outside that blacksmithy!”

“Right you are.” Setting his jaw, Hal wrestled with the steering wheel.

The Lanchester wobbled perilously as they swept into the market square. Eustace’s heart was in his mouth until more level ground prevailed and the vehicle slowed to a halt.

His relief was short-lived. There was no sign of life in the blacksmith’s workshop; no lamps lit or any breath of a fire within.

“Try the starter,” Hal ordered.

Eustace swallowed a curt rejoinder as he opened his door. Going to the front of the vehicle, he bent to crank the obdurate engine’s handle. He tried, once, twice, a third time. All his efforts went unrewarded.

“The rotten thing’s dead.” Standing up, he rubbed his aching wrist.

“Then we had better find that blacksmith and see if he knows anything about motor cars. If he does, all well and good. If not—”

Hal paused to take stock of their situation. The market place boasted some splendid dwellings crowned with bulbous turrets, their windows festooned with swags of carved garlands. Though the cobbled expanse was entirely deserted at this dinner hour.

“We find somewhere to stay for the night,” Eustace decided. “I’ll cable Aunt Verity in the morning. If there are no Royal Automobile Club patrolmen, she can at least send her beau to explain himself and get us back on the road.”

Unless the motor was completely crocked. Pa would get in the most fearful bate.

“Try—”

Whatever Hal might have suggested was lost as a group of youths entered the market square. One hailed them.

“What did he say?” Hal asked quickly.

“I don’t know,” protested Eustace.

Hal shook his head, exasperated. “I thought you were the linguist.”

“When they’re speaking Latin or Greek, I’ll parse the conversation,” Eustace offered, sarcastic.

“It didn’t occur to you to learn the lingo, when you knew we were coming to Austria?” But Hal’s heart wasn’t in the rebuke.

The approaching youths paused to contemplate them from a distance. One stepped forward.

“Good evening. What appears to be the trouble?”

“You speak English?” Eustace broke off, confused by unseemly laughter among the fellows, followed by a scornful flurry of German.

“Get back in the motor car, Eustace,” Hal said quietly. But the English-speaker was approaching, a tall youth with an athlete’s build.

“I have learned your language among several others.” He smiled, supercilious. “At Heidelberg.” He turned his head this way and that, to display the neat scars on his chiseled cheekbones.

“Good evening.” Eustace offered his hand. “We’re Oxford men ourselves. At least, we will be this Michaelmas.” He smiled hopefully.

Hands still in his pockets, the Heidelberger inclined his head in a curt bow. “My condolences.”

“I’m sorry?” Challenge sharpened Hal’s tone.

“On the recent death of your king,” the Heidelberger said smoothly.

That’s not what he’d meant at all. Eustace was convinced of it, as the rest of the gang sniggered.

“May I offer my congratulations on your King George’s accession?” the tall blond youth continued. “And his lovely qveen. Let us hope good German blood will strengthen your so-called royal line.”

Eustace couldn’t believe he’d heard the bounder correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive me, but Great Britain is ruled by mere Hanoverian Electors.” The Heidelberger didn’t sound in the least contrite. “You must admit that’s barely a monarchy compared to the Imperial powers of Europe.”

“What about India?” Eustace demanded. “Africa? Canada? Australia? That’s the British Empire, you know!”

The Heidelberger didn’t reply, addressing Hal instead. “Do you suppose your new king can save England from all these anarchists and socialists running riot in London?”

“That’s enough of your infernal cheek,” Hal said wrathfully.

The Heidelberger spread innocent hands. “There have not been anarchist outrages? What of that Tottenham incident last year, when that poor policeman was shot?”

Hal’s lip curled. “Piccadilly’s gutters are hardly running with blood.”

“My pa says this new Home Secretary will put an end to such nonsense,” Eustace said stoutly. “Quite the coming man, Winston Churchill, so my pa says.”

But the Heidelberger threw back his blonde head with a raucous laugh. “Churchill? Horsewhipped by some suffragette whore last month? How can such a man command anyone’s respect?”

Eustace saw Hal redden with anger as he flung open the Lanchester’s door. He was all the more furious himself because he could hardly deny that the lunatic woman had tried to give Churchill a thrashing.

“We’ve had enough of your jaw.” Stepping over the running board onto the cobbles, Hal squared up to the Heidelberger. “I’ll take an apology, if you please.”

“An apology?” The tall youth feigned surprise.

The Heidelberger punctuated each challenge with a shove to Hal’s chest, forcing him away from the car. Anxious, Eustace moved to follow, only to find his path barred by the youths who’d originally accompanied the Heidelberger.

“What right have you two fools to be in Austria?” the young German demanded. “Are you spies? We know how England conspires with the Russians and the French against the Hapsburgs. We know your government has divided up Persia with the Tsar, so the Romanovs can hem in all of central Europe with their railways.”

“That’s utter rot,” Hal said hotly.

“You are welcome to your Triple Entente,” the Heidelberger sneered. “Germany has science and industry.

Eustace thought, just for a moment, that the youth had satisfactorily vented his spleen. Perhaps he intended to spit on the cobbles, not on Hal’s shoe. But as the repellent spittle landed, Eustace saw his friend’s fists clench and that was that.

Hal swung with all the pugilistic science of an English boarding school education. The punch connected with the ruffian’s scarred cheekbone to send him spiraling away. As he fell, he knocked several of his fellows flying.

Eustace braced himself as the closest ill-shaven brute aimed a brutal blow at his stomach. Tensed muscles kept his wind intact. Two more yahoos rushed him, fists milling wildly. Eustace landed solid body blows on each and followed up with a right hook and an uppercut.

But he couldn’t fend them all off. Vicious fists landed thick and fast. Insults rang in his ears, incomprehensible yet unmistakable. He couldn’t see what was happening to Hal over on the other side of the car.

An agonizing stamp on his ankle and Eustace dropped to one knee. His enemies seized their chance. As their brutal jostling floored him, he could only curl into a ball. One hand clenched over his groin, he buried his face in the crook of his other arm. Boots and fists pummeled him, merciless, bruising his back and his thighs, his shins and his shoulders.

Until they broke away. For no apparent reason their attackers scattered, tossing a last barrage of insults as they fled. Eustace lay dazed, hardly able to believe the torment was over.

But what about Hal? Eustace blinked away blood and tears, trying to focus on a dark shape slumped beyond the motor car. He cautiously raised himself up on his elbow. He grimaced. How could such a beating leave him in such agony and yet numb? He didn’t think his legs could support him. Eustace forced himself to his knees. After a moment’s concentrated effort, he managed to stand, albeit doubled over. Step by excruciating step, he staggered towards the huddled shape.

For a heart-stopping instant, he truly thought that Hal was dead. He lay limp as a discarded rag doll, his face an ashen mask smeared with filth. Then he drew a shuddering breath and Eustace’s relief momentarily overwhelmed his own sufferings. Until he saw Hal cough up a mouthful of blood and groan with heart-rending agony.

“I’m here, Hal.” Eustace knelt, ignoring the pains that cost him. “Come on, old chap. Upsy-daisy!”

As he tried to lift his friend, Hal yelped. Worse, he was wracked by a ferocious coughing fit. Fresh blood trickled down his chin.

Eustace was terrified. But what to do? He dared not leave Hal alone. There was no knowing if those roughs would return. They had to find somewhere safe, some chance of summoning a doctor, of sending a telegram back to Salzburg.

“You have to get up!” Steeling himself, Eustace hauled Hal to his feet.

He draped Hal’s left arm over his shoulder, gripping his hand mercilessly. Shoving his right shoulder into Hal’s armpit helped him bear as much of his friend’s weight as possible. He wrapped his arm around Hal’s waist and grabbed a handful of tweed. “Come on, old chap!”

“Just—” Hal gasped in pain. “Let me get my breath.”

“How badly are you hurt?” Eustace had to ask.

“A broken rib, I think,” Hal took a labored breath. “Dash it all, I’ve had worse playing rugger. Let me get my hands on that blighter. I’ll make him sorry.”

“You and the Brigade of Guards?” Eustace snapped. “Don’t be an ass—”

He broke off as heavy boots echoed somewhere between the houses set around the square. Hal stiffened with an inarticulate whimper.

“Let’s try that way.” Eustace nodded towards a lane bounded by garden walls topped with leafy trees.

But as they toiled through the gloaming, closed gates and shuttered windows offered them no succor. Eustace pressed doggedly onwards. They soon reached humble streets very different from the baroque elegance of the market place.

The lane grew steeper. They found a flight of stone steps, treacherously dished by the tread of countless centuries. Eustace forced himself upwards, jaw clenched. Hal’s breath hissed painfully through his nose.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the top of the steps to find a small square. On the far side lamplit windows glowed golden in the darkness. One illuminated a swinging sign. The White Rose.

Eustace managed a faint laugh. “We’ve made it all the way to Yorkshire!”

Hal’s only response was a pitiful moan.

Eustace summoned up the last of his strength to carry them both to the tavern’s door. He had to let go of Hal’s hand to reach for the handle. That was a dreadful mistake. Hal slumped senseless on the threshold. Unable to rouse him, Eustace could only batter the nail-studded wood with feeble bloody knuckles.

A broad-shouldered man, aproned over shirt and trousers, opened the door.

“Please—”

Before Eustace could continue, the man stooped to scoop Hal up into his arms. He turned to carry him inside.

“He’s hurt. He needs a doctor.” Eustace ignored his own agonies. “Doktor.” That was one German word that he knew.

The barman carried Hal to an alcove tucked beside a black-leaded stove mercifully unlit for the summer. He slid him on to the padded bench by the table.

Hal’s head lolled against the oak-paneled wall, his eyes glazed. Eustace’s heart twisted in his chest.

“He needs a doctor!” Overwrought, he grabbed the sturdy barman’s sleeve, shaking his arm like a terrier.

Only then did he wonder what he was doing. The man topped him by more than a head, solidly muscled with curling black hair and a handsome beard.

“Don’t worry, my friend.” Though accented, the man’s English was fluent. “We will look after you both.” His grey-green eyes were calm and reassuring. “Please, sit.”

Astonished as well as exhausted, Eustace did as he was told. What else could he do?

He searched Hal’s white face for any sign of his wits returning. Nothing. Sick at heart, he turned away, only to realize that the other patrons of this out-of-the-way inn were staring at them. Some were avid with curiosity. Others looked indignant, even outraged at such rude interruption to their peaceable evening.

What must the two of them look like? While his tweeds had endured their rough treatment surprisingly well, Eustace could see that his shirt was an utter disgrace, his collar half torn from its studs.

He looked up, as if to study the carved beams supporting the creamy plastered roof. Countless knickknacks crowded the high shelves that ringed the room. Pewter-lidded tankards jostled dusty flagons with faded labels and all manner of trinkets from fat-sailed ships in bottles to a gunmetal model of the Eiffel Tower. Lamplight burnished Mediterranean pots for all the world like the ones in the British Museum. Greek athletes cavorted on red-glazed curves. Propped in a far corner, a slab of ancient terracotta was checkered with incomprehensible symbols.

As he managed to blink away the last of his treacherous tears, their host returned with an anonymous bottle and two small glasses. “Drink this.”

Eustace looked doubtfully at the clear liquor. Pa had warned him never to drink from an unlabelled bottle. But the man was cradling Hal’s head with one broad hand, easing the rim of the glass between his nerveless lips. Hal coughed and opened his eyes.

Faint with relief, Eustace reached blindly for his own glass. Even Pa wouldn’t deny him a stiffener in this dire emergency.

The liquor filled his mouth with subtle warmth. He smelled mingled perfumes of summer fruit, sweet without being sickly. As he swallowed, he could swear the warmth spread from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes, soothing every ache and bruise along the way. He still knew he’d been in a fight but he no longer feared he might pass out.

As the man released him, Hal sat upright. He coughed again, pressing a hand to his mouth. Eustace was inexpressibly relieved to see no fresh blood on his lips and a healthier color return to his cheeks.

“Thank you.” He set his own glass down. “Please, forgive this intrusion. Eustace Ferrars, at your service.” He braced himself for the strong man’s grip, only to discover this chap felt no need to grind another man’s knuckles to prove himself.

Even more disheveled and bloodstained, Hal offered the barman his hand. “Harold Brandon,” he said, stiff with embarrassment. “So sorry to have troubled you.”

The barman simply smiled, teeth white against his black beard. “I am Gil, to my friends. Are you Harry to yours?”

“Hal, as it happens.” He managed a crooked grin, only to wince as a split in his lip oozed.

“‘Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George’?” The barman’s smile widened. “Let me guess. If you had half a crown for everyone who says that, you would dine at the Savoy Grill every night?”

“Something like that.”

Eustace was relieved to see Hal was too intrigued to be as annoyed as he usually was by that blasted quotation.

“Do you know London well?”

“I travel.” The man waved an airy hand around the cluttered shelves. “But you two are far from home.”

“We’re travelling for the summer,” began Eustace.

“We go up to Oxford next term. Corpus,” Hal nodded at Eustace, “and Christ Church for me.”

“We’re travelling with my aunt,” Eustace interjected, “and her fiancé. All quite above board,” he added. Or at least it had been—

Hal waved an impatient hand. “They’re in Salzburg but we wanted to see Vienna. So they said we could take a couple of days to make the trip while they stayed behind.”

And wouldn’t Pa cut up rough about that, when he learned what had happened? Eustace sighed, his head drooping.

“What misfortune befell you?” the barman Gil enquired.

“We had trouble with our motor. We would have been fine until that stiff-necked, sauerkraut-munching Prussian turned up,” Hal glowered at the thought of their erstwhile foe. “Arrogant brutes, every man jack of them. Just as my Pa says.”

“Is that so?” Their host sounded amused.

“You’re not—” Eustace looked up, aghast.

“Prussian?” The barman’s grey-green eyes held his, penetrating, as though he could read every thought inside Eustace’s head. “Would it make any difference if I was?”

Before Eustace could answer, the man stood, gathering up bottle and glasses. “Excuse me, please.”

As their savior departed Eustace glared at Hal. “Will you hold your tongue?”

“What—” He fell silent as an old lady bustled up, full skirts dark beneath her snowy blouse and embroidered bodice.

Her sympathetic tone needed no translation, even if her heavy dialect defeated Eustace’s rudimentary knowledge of German.

She set a tray on the table and handed them each a glass tumbler and spoon. Then she placed a dish of eggs and a smaller one of butter between them. As the young Englishmen exchanged a puzzled glance, she clicked her tongue in toothless exasperation.

“Eier im glas!”

Still mute as schoolboys, they watched her take an egg from the dish and tap it all over with a spoon.

“It’s boiled,” Eustace realized.

The old woman’s gnarled fingers stripped the soft whiteness of every fragment of shell and dropped the naked egg in the tumbler. Just as quickly she peeled a second and added a slice of butter.

“So?” She handed the glass to Eustace, looking at him expectantly.

Realizing he was utterly famished, he dug the spoon into the egg’s golden heart. His mouth full an instant later, he nodded as he swallowed. “Good. Sehr gut,” he essayed sheepishly.

The old woman smiled as Hal followed Eustace’s lead, talking all the while. Now her tone rang with incomprehensible indignation, though Eustace didn’t think it was directed at them.

“You feel better for something to eat?” Gil returned, bearing two tankards of foaming beer.

“My oath, I do.” Eustace sucked the last trace of yolk from his spoon. “Beg pardon, but what is she saying?”

“She’s so sorry you were attacked by gypsies.” The barman broke off to speak briefly to the old woman. Satisfied she nodded and headed back to her kitchen.

Hal was puzzled. “Why on earth would she think that?”

Gil shrugged. “Gypsies are responsible for every evil that strikes a traveler, according to her. They are cursed by God, ever since they cast the Golden Calf for Moses’ brother. They even forged the nails for the crucifixion.”

“That’s not something I’ve ever heard,” Eustace said cautiously.

Granted, some of the gypsies that came and went around his father’s estate weren’t above poaching pheasants. But plenty helped with the fruit picking and the potato harvest and they worked hard for their day’s pay.

Hal was more forthright. “That’s superstitious tosh. Anyway, gypsies had nothing to do with it.”

“You won’t persuade her of that.” Gil placed the tankards on the table. “Any sooner than your Pa would give a Prussian the benefit of the doubt.” His eyes glinted vivid green in some trick of the light.

Eustace saw Hal redden but before he could say anything foolish, a gentleman arrived at their table. He was wearing a gray and green loden jacket, buckskin knee breeches and polished brogues. They had seen several men in such garb, as they’d driven along without a care in the world.

“Good evening.” With a punctilious bow of his head, he removed his black-cockaded hat. While his English was far more heavily accented than the barman’s, it was perfectly comprehensible. “May I present my card?” He hesitated, not knowing where to offer the pasteboard.

“Please,” Eustace invited with instinctive politeness. “Join us.”

The gentleman pressed the card into his palm, though he didn’t sit. “Konrad von Ledebur, at your service. Please, this dreadful business—” Distress momentarily overwhelmed his English. “By the time the alarm was raised, no one knew where to find you—”

Gil broke in with swift reassurance and Eustace was relieved to see the gentleman nod, mollified.

“I understand you have trouble with your automobile?” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps my own chauffeur could be of assistance? He is the most competent engineer.”

“That would be marvelous.” Eustace looked helplessly at Hal.

“The Lanchester is in the market place,” Hal said stiffly.

Eustace couldn’t tell if he was still suffering an excess of pain or smarting from the barman’s rebuke.

“Also,” Herr von Ledebur said in the German style. “I drive a Daimler. I bought it in London last year.”

“You’ve visited England?” Why wouldn’t the chap? Eustace silently rebuked himself.

“Many times. Also, Ireland.” Their new benefactor smiled tentatively. “I very much like to hunt the fox in your beautiful country.”

“You ride to hounds?” That instantly won Hal’s attention. “Whereabouts?”

“Northamptonshire and Leicestershire,” Herr von Ledebur explained with careful precision. “In Ireland, in the Qveen’s County.”

“We live in Devon.” Hal instinctively reached for his pocket book and visiting cards. “We have some very fine coverts—oh, lord!”

Aghast, he withdrew his hand from his inner pocket. Ink stained his fingers. “Those blighters broke my fountain pen!”

Eustace might have been amused, if he hadn’t seen sudden tears glisten in Hal’s eyes.

“Also.” Herr von Ledebur hastily clicked his heels while donning his hat. “If you will excuse me, I shall see what I can discover of your auto. And of these blackguards who assaulted you.” He said something scathing in his native tongue.

“Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.”

As Herr von Ledebur departed, Eustace’s eyes resolutely followed him to the door, to give Hal a chance to get his emotions in hand.

Hal scrubbed his face with his ink-free hand. “Mater gave me that pen for passing Common Entrance,” he said gruffly.

Much as Eustace wanted to offer his sympathies, he searched desperately for a change of subject. He nodded at their untouched tankards. “Have a drink, old chap.”

He was as glad as Hal to drown the sorrows of this horrible day in the fragrant ale.

“Gosh!” Hal exclaimed after a deep draught. “That’s the finest brew I’ve tasted yet.”

“I’ll say so,” Eustace agreed. They’d enjoyed some excellent beer on their journey through Bavaria but this outclassed everything.

Though getting pie-eyed wouldn’t improve their situation. What should they do now?

He looked around the tavern again. While some patrons were now intent on their own conversations, others were stealing glances at their table. As sympathetic smiles caught his eye, he nodded self-conscious acknowledgement.

There was a fine variety of ages and complexions among them, he noted belatedly. An elderly man with ferocious whiskers was deep in conversation with a younger, darker-skinned man. A few tables away, two mild-faced scholarly types were intent on the chessboard between them. One wore a skull cap so was clearly a Jew. No one was giving him a second look though. Eustace couldn’t imagine that in an English country inn, where dubious glances would warn off anyone with a touch of the tar-brush.

“Do you think this place has rooms for the night?” he wondered. “Even if our new friend’s chap can mend the motor, it’s surely too late to set off.”

“You want to stay?” Hal looked at him dubiously. “After our welcome in the square?”

“What about our welcome here?” Eustace countered.

Hal looked obstinate. “We don’t know these people.”

“They don’t know us,” Eustace retorted, “and a right pair of hooligans we must look, all muck and blood. But they’re helping us and that chap von Ledebur is a gentleman without question.”

He waved to catch the barman’s eye. The tall man was talking to a purple-bonneted lady. Gil came over, bringing her with him.

“Excuse me, but do you have rooms for the night?” Eustace began.

Gill nodded. “We do and Magdalena is making them ready. Frau Bauer will fetch some of her sons’ outgrown shirts—”

“Oh, I say,” Hal protested.

“Don’t you be silly, my lad.” The purple-bonneted woman wagged an admonishing finger. “You can’t go on your way in rags.”

“Madam.” Her Kentish accents propelled Hal instinctively to his feet before words failed him.

The comfortably plump woman patted his hand. “You and yours would do the same, if my boys washed up on your doorstep.”

“Then—thank you, Madam.” Hal bowed, rigid with mortification.

“Frau Bauer met her husband when he served in the Kriegsmarine,” Gil explained.

“We met in Malta when I was visiting my sister. Her husband was Royal Navy.” A saucy smile dimpled her cheeks. “Two of us girls all the way from Chatham. Just fancy.”

“You are a long way from home.” For the life of him, Eustace couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Aren’t we all?” The purple-bonneted lady glanced around the inn before nodding to Gil. “I’ll just step out and fetch that linen.”

“We really are most grateful.” Eustace called after her. “To all of you,” he added hurriedly to Gil.

The barman chuckled deep in his barrel of a chest. “You are very welcome.”

“Thank you.” Sitting down again, Hal studied the foam on his beer. “And I’m sorry. I was talking through my hat earlier.”

Eustace was quite knocked off his stride. He couldn’t recall when he’d ever heard Hal offer such a heartfelt apology.

He cast around for some fresh topic of conversation. “We’re not the only travelers here, from what that lady was saying?”

Gil regarded him for a moment before replying. Eustace found his intensity rather unnerving, until the big man smiled.

“Your British Empire may span the globe but you’re too used to life among your own kind, in your own islands. Here we have Slav, Magyar, Czech, Rumanian, Istrian.”

He indicated different men and women round the room, beginning with the elderly man with the fine whiskers. “The margrave rode with the Austrian Imperial Cavalry in his younger days. His nephew is visiting from Zagreb.” He nodded towards the chess players. “Dr.Aslan Bey is a Mohammedan scholar from Bosnia. Herr Schneider’s family lives in Prague.”

The barman picked up Herr von Ledebur’s card from the table and tapped the smaller writing below the name. “Kaiserlich und königlich. Imperial and Royal. Do you know that the Austrian Empire encompasses three kingdoms, two archduchies and countless lesser fiefdoms, alongside the Hungarian Kingdom of St. Stephen? There are almost as many languages spoken within these borders as there are across the rest of Europe. Catholics live alongside Orthodox Christians and Lutherans have Calvinists for neighbors.”

His gaze encompassed the room. “Naturally there are tensions and misunderstandings, old hatreds and feuds still cause trouble from time to time. But when people stop to share a meal and a drink and have the leisure to talk, they discover they’re not so different.”

“It takes a broad field to make a horse race.” Eustace recalled his Pa saying that more than once.

Gil smiled, enigmatic behind his beard. He gestured towards the stairs. “Once you’ve eaten your dinner, I imagine you would welcome a hot bath.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Eustace reached for his pocket book. “What do we owe you?”

He froze, appalled. His inside pocket was empty. Somehow in the fracas, their money had been lost or stolen. What on earth would they do now?

His throat closed with panic. This was all too much, after such a long and fraught day.

“Keep your money.” Where Gil’s eyes had glinted green, now they were mysterious gray. “Repay me by remembering this night, every detail, the good and the bad. Both of you,” he emphasized. “Remember who was so quick to accuse without reason and who was so quick to take offense with as little justification.”

“Right-ho,” Hal said nervously.

Eustace looked down at his grazed knuckles. But they hadn’t actually told the barman how the fight started. Had Herr von Ledebur? But he hadn’t been in the market square to hear the quarrel.

Eustace raised his tankard and drank deep. At least this splendid beer was straight-forward.

What had Morgan said, when they’d told the guys they were going on vacation to England? “Europe’s where history comes from!” Pretty cute, for a third grader.

All the same, he was keeping a close eye on the boys. All these antiques and paintings and vases were so tempting, and a few velvet ropes weren’t much of a barrier.

For now, they were both behaving. Morgan was studying some kind of square piano just the other side of the rope. Eliot stood, mouth open, staring up at the awesome painted ceiling.

“Honey, can you see one of those cards?” Over by a dresser loaded with photos, Patti was looking around. She’d caught on real quick how much information was available in these places, if you only knew where to look for it.

“Here you are, my dear.” A little grey-haired old lady rose from her seat in the corner, a plastic-laminated sheet in her hand.

The British sure had a different approach to security guards. At least this one in her tweed skirt and cashmere sweater didn’t glare at the kids like they were here to steal the silver.

“Is that the Queen?” Patti was pointing at one of the pictures.

“That’s right, my dear,” the old lady said warmly. “With Sir Harold, Sir Andrew’s grandfather.”

“He’s the current owner?” Patti nodded as the old lady handed her the guide to the pictures. “Hey, Todd, there are army photos. My husband’s grandpa spent some time over here before the D-Day landings,” she explained.

“He sure did.” Todd went to look, while keeping one eye on the boys.

“That’s Sir Harold in the Great War.” The old lady used the aerial of her walkie-talkie to point. “Enlisted in 1914 with the 5th Dragoon Guards. He was in some of the British Army’s last cavalry charges.”

As she shook her head, Todd shared her wonderment. Horsemen riding against tanks?

“After France, he served in Egypt,” the old lady went on, “then India and Palestine.”

“Who’s that?” Patti pointed at a different photo, where Sir Harold stood beside another young man.

“Sir Eustace Ferrars. Lifelong friends, right from school.” The old lady smiled. “That’s Sir Harold as best man at his wedding.”

“What a beautiful bride.” Patti glanced at Todd and he could see the memory of their own wedding in her eyes. What a great day that had been.

“Beatrice Dashwood was the prettiest deb of her year,” the old lady said fondly.

Patti nodded, though Todd guessed that meant as little to her as it did to him.

The old lady didn’t seem to notice. “Sir Eustace served in the trenches through the first war. He won the Military Medal. Then he went into the Diplomatic, working on the Treaty of Versailles.”

“Hey, is that Hitler?” Todd bent close to the velvet rope to get a better look.

The old lady was unperturbed. “1936 Olympics. Sir Harold had friends in the equestrian events. Him and Sir Eustace, they both saw the writing on the wall in Germany. They always said we’d live to regret Versailles. Not that either of them had any time for Chamberlain,” she added swiftly. “Or appeasement.”

“What did they do in World War II?” Todd searched the massed ranks of pictures for any uniforms he might recognize from film or TV. Wow. That was Churchill!

“Sir Eustace was in Intelligence so that’s all classified. Sir Harold worked with the Special Operations Executive—?” The old lady broke off to look at them both.

Todd nodded. “Secret agents.”

Satisfied, the old lady continued. “He organized Free French goings-on in Occupied France and after D-Day.”

Patti had moved on. “That’s some family photo. Oh, wait.” She looked confused.

“That’s Sir Harold’s first wedding to Lady Imogen Bertram. She died in the Plymouth Blitz, 1941.” The old lady pointed to a second picture. “He married again in 1951. Carlotta Leibowitz, her ladyship was. Italian, from Rome.”

“How many children did they have?” Patti wondered at the crowd in a later photo.

“Five daughters, eleven grandchildren. That’s Miss Winifred’s wedding to David Ferrars, Sir Eustace’s third son.” The old woman was as proud as if they were her own kin. “They went all over the world, Sir Eustace and his family. In Germany first of all, helping with the Marshall Plan and reconstruction. After that he worked with the colonies when they wanted independence. That’s him in Ghana. He always said there was no call for trouble, not with goodwill on both sides.” The old girl surprised Todd with an impish grin. “You Americans taught us that, he used to say.”

“Right.” Todd couldn’t help smiling back.

“What about Sir Harold?” Patti was looking at a long photo of rows of children.

“When he wasn’t in London, he was here in Devon.” The old girl nodded at the photo. “Always supported the Scouts and the Girl Guides. Youngsters from all over Europe came to camps on the estate after the war. He got involved in town twinning too, to promote understanding and friendship.” She pointed to a picture of the old boy on a platform under some banner. “Even campaigned for the EEC in 1975, in his eighties.”

Whatever that was. Todd could see Patti was intrigued but he didn’t think they had time to find out.

“Uh, honey, I think the guys are ready to get going.”

The ceiling had lost its fascination for Eliot. He was heading for his brother, already hovering in the doorway to the next room. No way was Todd letting them out of his sight.

“Thank you so much.” Patti said apologetically at the old lady. “That was really interesting.”

“You’re welcome.” The old lady smiled and returned to her seat.

“Remind me to get a guidebook from the gift shop,” Patti said as they hurried after the kids. “I want to find out more about the family. Hey, guys! Wait up!”