Now, he looked alarmed. “Are you sure? That piece will hold its value. Whatever somebody’s told you, if you’re thinking about mining stocks, or railroads, or, even worse, airlines, all those things that sound so lucrative to theunsophisticated … those are highly speculative ventures.Highly.The market is volatile in general at the moment, with the shift from the war economy. Better to hold onto the necklace, or if you think a sale absolutely necessary, to consult a firm that can invest the proceeds conservatively. Blue-chip stocks, government bonds, annuities. They aren’t exciting, but neither is losing your money.”
“But you see,” I said, “I don’t wish to invest in diamond mines or railroads, or to have somebody else invest it all for me. Some of the money, yes, for it’s always best to have money invested in many different places. My father had a great deal of land, farms and forests both—the forests for timber, you know—in Czechoslovakia, and held many shares in the German railroads. Alas, it would have been better to purchase land in Britain, or even America, for all that is gone. For me, I wish to buy land, and perhaps buildings also.”
“Youwish?” Mr. Stark looked at Joe.
“It’s her necklace,” Joe said. “You know that better than I do. That necklace isn’t marital property. And I think we have to face that she may have a better head for business than I do.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Mr. Stark said. “Naturally, she’ll beguided by you. Excuse me, Marguerite, but surely this is a decision to be made with your husband.”Byyour husband, he meant.
“Joe and I have discussed it, of course,” I said. “He was against my plan at first, but for other reasons. Not because he thought I would make foolish investments, but because the necklace is a very important piece from my family. I explained, however, that my father advised me to sell it if I needed to. I’ve told you already that I sold the brooch in order to survive. I didn’t regret that. It was the only choice, and itwasmy choice. I won’t regret this either.”
“Easy to say now,” Mr. Stark said. “But it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
“This sounds as if you expect women to be foolish,” I said. “I don’t think I’m foolish, and I have a strong will. If I decide that this is the right thing to do, I’ll move forward without regret, I assure you.”
“I assure you, too,” Joe said. “Marguerite may be the most decisive person you’ve ever met. Sure, she’s barely more than five feet tall. Sure, she’s only—” He stopped.
“But you must tell him,” I said, “for this information he will need, if he is to help us. I’m not twenty-one, as Joe told you. I’m nineteen.” I opened my purse and pulled out my originalKennkarte.The faded, spiky blue German lettering, the photo of a schoolgirl—how young she looked! And the date of birth. “I changed the date on my forgedKennkarteas well as the name, because it was better to be eighteen than sixteen, and it was best of all not to resemble Marguerite von Sachsen.”
Mr. Stark looked at the document, then at me. And then at Joe. “So when you met her …” he said slowly.
“She was sixteen,” Joe said. His face had that pale, set look again. “And when I fell in love with her, she was still sixteen. When I asked her to marry me, she told me the truth about all of it.”
“And that didn’t stop you,” Mr. Stark said flatly. “That she was a kid.”
“Dad. Look at her.Listento her. She was no kid. For one thing, she was brought up as a princess, and whatever we’d like to think here in the States, it’s not the same. Princess Elizabeth met Prince Philip when she was thirteen, and how old was she when she married him?” His gaze was steady, but I could feel his stress. How often had he defied his father before going off to war? And how many times since, mainly about me? He went on, “I told myself all those things you’re thinking. Who wouldn’t have? That she was a princess. That she was German. That she was sixteen.”
“That I wasn’t a Jew,” I said. “And that I carry the gene for hemophilia.”
Mr. Stark paled. I saw it happen, as if the blood had drained from his face. “What?” He didn’t say it loudly. He said it as if he had no strength left.
“Yes,” I said. “I was an ineligible partner for Joe in every way. But we loved each other so, you see. I’ve felt that I should tell you and Mrs. Stark this, about the hemophilia, and now, I think you must know it all. It came from Queen Victoria, and, of course, from her mother before her.”
“Queen Victoria.” Mr. Stark was reduced to repeating my words, apparently.
“Yes. I’m descended from a daughter who was also a carrier, as was Tsarina Alexandra of Russia, and her children after her. Elizabeth and Philip are fortunate; their mothers didn’t inherit this.”
“Elizabeth and Philip?” Mr. Stark looked lost.
“Yes. They’re my third cousins, because of Queen Victoria. My mother wished me to seek refuge with them after the war, but this was not realistic. Only observe with what reluctance Lord Mountbatten has been accepted! Merely because he was born Prince Louis of Battenberg, and his mother was Princess Victoria of Hesse and by Rhine. Despite his being born in Britain, so many German names could not be countenanced, and now he and Philip are both surnamed Mountbatten. He is a cousin, yes, and Elizabeth also, but both fortunately unafflicted.”
“Unafflicted,” Mr. Stark said. This must be a lawyer technique, to merely repeat a word and keep the other person talking on. I must remember it; it was most effective.
“It’s been illuminating,” I said, “to discuss this family tree of mine with a professor at the School of Medicine, for, of course, there is much documentation of this royal lineage. The hemophilia trait is passed on by a very simple inheritancepattern, much simpler than, for example, that for eye color. A child of two brown-eyed parents has only a twenty-five-percent chance of having blue eyes, because of dominant and recessive genes. One can draw the Punnett Square to work out the probabilities; most illuminating. Eye color, you see, involves more than one gene, so it’s more difficult. Hemophilia, though, involves only one, so the pattern is much simpler. For a girl to be a carrier or a boy to have the illness, the chance with each child is exactly fifty percent. The best thing to do, I believe, is to have one child, and if he or she is proven not to carry the gene—this is done simply, by a blood test—one has no more children, because one has already won this genetic lottery.”
“Is that what your parents did?”
“No. No, they were unlucky. I carry the gene, and my two elder brothers had the disease.”
“And they are …”
“Dead. In childhood. But now, as Joe says, much more is known about such things, especially here in America, which is making such advances in science. Blood transfusions have long been possible, but the new plasma transfusions—so clever, to be able to separate the elements of blood in this way—are more effective. So even if one were unlucky, one’s children need not suffer such a tragic fate.”
Joe said, “This is beside the point. I don’t know why we had to tell you today, but Marguerite insisted.”
“Because I’m very tired of secrets,” I said. “And it isn’t fair to ask your father for help while holding back such secrets. You see, Mr. Stark, I wish to have … I wish for independence.”
“Independence.” Mr. Stark was repeating again. “And yet you married Joe. I’d like to ask you to wait in the outer office for a minute, Marguerite.”
