The Furies by Irving McCabe Page B

to sit forward and stand up – a hand grasped the collar of Gabriel’s smock and he felt himself being pulled backwards. He turned his head and found he was now eye-to-eye with General Potiorek who was staring down at him, flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth, lines of tension radiating across his cheeks as he gripped the back of Gabriel’s jacket. ‘For God’s sake,’ Potiorek said, ‘there must be something more you can do?’
    Gabriel was at first stunned, then angry at being manhandled. But before he could react, he heard the chief’s reprimanding tone – ‘Herr General!’ – and saw Potiorek turn towards him. ‘There is nothing that God or any man can do,’ the chief continued.
    Potiorek seemed to come to his senses and released his grip. Gabriel pulled away, shrugging his jacket back into place as he stood up and stepped away from the couch; Colonel Harrach – standing beside him – looked embarrassed at Potiorek’s outburst.
    â€˜The Archduke is dead, Herr General,’ the chief reiterated. ‘It’s over.’
    For several seconds Potiorek stood motionless. Then his head dropped onto his chest, his shoulders slumped, and for a moment Gabriel thought he was about to collapse as he swayed slightly. But then he reached out to grasp the side of the chaise longue, steadied himself, and slowly sat down on the edge of the couch, by the dead man’s feet.
    The room was completely silent, broken only by the sound of sobbing coming through the archway. Gabriel walked back through into the bedroom, where the body of the duchess still lay on the bed, her aides weeping as they knelt beside her. He felt numb as he stood mindlessly watching this pitiful tableau. Then another hand touched his collar – softer this time – and when he turned, the chief was standing beside him.
    â€˜You did your best, Gabriel,’ the chief said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
    The words of kindness should have consoled him, but strangely Gabriel had felt better being angry. He watched the chief walk back into the annexe to speak to Harrach, Potiorek still sitting on the end of the blood-stained chaise longue, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Gabriel turned to look at the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and for a moment felt lightheaded. Then he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything, hadn’t had his breakfast yet. He walked forwards and leant on the windowsill. Through the glass he saw an army ambulance speed through the entrance gate to the Konak and pull up beside the Archduke’s convertible. The top of Flieger’s head appeared as he jumped out from the driver’s cab and, accompanied by Major Arnstein, he began to run up the steps to the Konak’s entrance. Too late, thought Gabriel as he lifted his gaze and looked at the cypress trees at the edge of the compound. A sapphire-blue sky heralded the prospect of a beautiful summer day, and a flight of swallows swooped into view, darting and diving between the trees. Gabriel looked down at his blood-soaked jacket and slipped a hand inside the pocket to remove his pocket-watch. He flipped open the lid with his thumb: it was only eleven-fifteen in the morning.

3. London, Sunday 28 June 1914. Afternoon
    Summer had finally arrived in London and Elspeth had the warmth of the sun on her back as she walked beside the Serpentine in Hyde Park. She was due to meet the rest of her arson squad later that afternoon, but as Sylvia was on duty in the hospital that morning, Elspeth had decided first to take a stroll in the park on her own.
    The previous Sunday a group of suffragettes had held a meeting near the Serpentine. Elspeth and Sylvia had gone to watch the event, which the suffragettes had called a ‘Water Carnival’ as they were banned from holding demonstrations in the park. In fancy dress as dominoes, the women had paraded around the lake,