Frieda nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And what do you think of him?"
Marta shrugged. "He seems friendly. I don't really notice much, but I think he knows how to enjoy life, the way he surrounds himself with beautiful women and expensive things."
Frieda had to chuckle. "Did you know that the Count used to be married to the Baroness von Rosenbach? She drowned in this very lake in 1923."
Marta stared at her, her eyes wide open. "In this lake? How do you know that?"
"My Grandpa Rudolph used to work at the castle. He told me a lot. About Count Emil von Zynstein, his family, and also that the Count went to World War I as an officer in 1914. That was the last time he saw his parents. A year before the end of the war, they both had a fatal car accident."

Marta listened, spellbound. "How terrible. And what happened when the Count returned from the war?"
"He fired all his old employees and found new ones. My Grandpa was quite angry about that. He said he had been seriously mistaken about Emil von Zynstein. He always thought he was a just and grateful person. He didn't believe that anymore, and today he doesn't want to hear anything more about the Count."
The girls were silent as the water gently lapped against the dock. Marta thoughtfully let her gaze wander over the lake. "I'm glad to be working here. It's beautiful, even if a lot of things seem quite mysterious." She nudged her friend in the side. "Then at least I don't have to do the hard work in the fields like you, Frieda."

Frieda laughed. "Yes, it's not always easy, but look at my strong arms." She showed off her muscles. "We've always worked in the countryside. My father, my mother, except for Grandpa Rudolph. What did your parents actually do, Marta?"
Marta became thoughtful. "My parents worked in winemaking. We lived near the French border. It was very idyllic, you know." She took a deep breath. "And then the war came and the soldiers. They took everything they wanted. My father stood in their way. They cold-bloodedly shot him and my mother. Only Aunt Ida and I managed to escape." She sniffed.
She preferred not to think about those terrible times. "That was nine years ago. And we've been living here for six months and found work. And I have a new best friend." Marta put her arm around Frieda.
Frieda smiled sadly. "Shall we go for a walk in the woods?"
Marta shook her head. "We're not allowed to. The forest is the Count's private property, so we're not allowed to just go hiking."
"But you work for him. He won't say anything if we only go in for a short while." Frieda grinned mischievously.
"Okay, but only for a few meters."
They stood up and walked toward the woods. The oak trees cast such a restful shade on this hot day that the girls were drawn deeper and deeper into the forest. The light grew dimmer, the undergrowth thicker. After working their way forward for a while, they discovered an old building in a slight depression. It looked dilapidated. The roof sagged in the middle, and there were significant holes above the doorway. The plaster was already peeling from the walls. The shutters were closed.

This small house, which looked like a servants' quarters, was surrounded by a man-high black iron fence, extensively rusted. Frieda pointed to the iron gate in the fence, which was open a crack.

"If we suck in our guts, we should be able to do it," she called to Marta and started running.
"You can't just break into someone else's house." Marta desperately wanted to stop Frieda from entering the property, but she had already squeezed through the gate and was now standing in front of the oak front door.
"Come on," Frieda beckoned to Marta, "since we're already here, we shouldn't miss this. I'm so curious." Then she pushed the handle and, as the front door creaked open, she stepped inside.

"Oh my God..." whispered Frieda, her voice barely audible. Inside, a gloomy silence greeted her. Only the entrance area under the collapsed roof was clearly visible, for there the sun cast a few rays into the interior of the building. In the middle of the house was a wide wooden staircase leading to the upper floor. The lower steps had collapsed and smelled musty of mold. Frieda placed her foot on a step, but the wood was so damp and rotten that the step collapsed at the mere touch and fell with a clatter to the floor. Frieda shuddered in alarm.

Then she felt Marta's hand on her shoulder. "We'd better not go upstairs, or we'll break our necks," Marta persuaded her.

Frieda's interest now turned to the room on the right, which, in the little light coming in from the hallway, looked like a kitchen.
"We have to open the shutters," Frieda decided and carefully pushed back the heavy wooden shutters. Now light flooded into the room, and dust swirled up. The kitchen was full of old, dusty pots and broken dishes. There was dirt everywhere. The furniture was scratched and dilapidated. "Everything here is so spooky," Marta whispered, while she carefully pulled cobwebs off a kitchen chair.

"Look, there are candles and matches too," Frieda pulled a jar from the shelf. "It's a great idea to keep the matches in a glass jar, so at least they won't get damp." To her delight, the matches still worked, and soon after, she ran into the other room with a lit candle to satisfy her curiosity there as well.

It took a while until she returned to the kitchen, because the room had turned out to be the living room, where she had discovered some quite interesting objects. She was just about to tell Marta about her discovery, but Marta was no longer there. The kitchen was empty. She wasn't in the hallway either. "She couldn't possibly have taken the stairs upstairs, they were impassable," thought Frieda. She bit her lip. She called out worriedly several times, "Marta, Marta, where are you?" She also called out outside the house, in the kitchen, and in the living room. It remained silent.

Then she noticed a stone cellar staircase leading down from the kitchen. She quickly ran down the few steps and entered a large, almost empty room. There was only a massive fireplace, in front of which stood a small table with two simple wooden chairs, but no Marta. Frieda called her friend's name again and again, which echoed unanswered off the walls. Fear was written all over her face. What should she do now?

It was almost 6 p.m. Then she would have to milk the cows at home. She couldn't get help because, on the one hand, staying in the forest was not allowed , and on the other, she didn't know where to look for Marta. So she decided to return to the village for now. She couldn't sleep all night. She was so worried about her friend.

Sunday morning dawned. The sun shone brightly through the stained-glass windows of the church, where the entire congregation had gathered promptly at eight o'clock. Frieda nervously turned in her pew as her eyes scanned the nave. "Thank God," Frieda breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Marta sitting among the castle staff. Marta had spotted her, too. They winked at each other. A sign that everything was okay. At least, because a conversation was unfortunately impossible, as the staff had to return to the castle immediately after mass. Several guests had announced their arrival, and preparations were in full swing. Elise, the cook, had agreed to assist Marta in setting up the banquet hall.
"The long tablecloth has to be positioned precisely, otherwise everything will look unprofessional," Elise clarified. She immediately pressed one end of the stiffly ironed blanket into Marta's hand and instructed her to step backward until she was standing behind the table. She herself stepped behind the other end of the table. Then both women pulled the cloth taut and simultaneously lowered it onto the table so that the crease was positioned exactly in the middle.
"Perfect," cried the cook with relief. "Right the first time. Marta, you really have it down."
Then Elise showed Marta how to make beautiful paper roses out of the napkins.

"Elise," whispered Marta as she folded the napkins, "I've been working here in the castle for almost half a year and I still don't know everything that goes into this property."

Elise inserted a cake fork into each paper rose. "Well, there's this moated castle with the stables and the drawbridge, the lake, and the adjacent woods and fields. That's all."

"That's all?" Marta looked at her in surprise. "Isn't there a summer residence or servants' quarters?" she wanted to know.
The cook shook her head. "No, Marta, this is only the castle of a count, not a prince. All that princely splendor isn't here."
"Oh, what a pity," Marta said, disappointed. "So there aren't any special corridors for servants here, like in the stories of English noble houses? You know, corridors that serve to keep the servants out of the way of the nobles at work," she asked, interested.

"Forget it," Elise waved her hand. "None of that exists here. But one thing does," she acted mysterious. "Yes?" Marta's eyes widened. "Yes," Elise laughed again. "There's a lot of work to do here!" Marta found that less funny.

"Come on, child," Elise urged her, "we have to hurry. Set the table, I have to go back to the kitchen." With that, she left Marta alone in the ballroom.
Marta quickly laid out the plates, cups, and cutlery meticulously. The dishes were finely crafted, and the silverware gave everything a brilliant touch. As Marta picked up the candlesticks, memories of the previous day flooded back to her.

Like Frieda, she too had lit one of the candles in the kitchen of the servants' quarters to emulate her friend. She had chosen the stone stairs in the kitchen and thus reached the cellar. Although it was almost empty, it had seemed strange to her. At first, it was just a gut feeling, but then she had seriously considered the question of why such a large fireplace stood in this cellar. With the help of the candle, she had inspected the fireplace and, to her surprise, discovered that it didn't even have a vent. She even crawled into the fireplace to check. She noticed how the candle in her hand began to flicker sideways, as if there was a slight breeze. She crawled even deeper into the fireplace and passed through a small gap behind its back wall. To her astonishment, a tunnel vault stretched out before her. Her heart beat faster, and the joy of having discovered something mysterious drove her deeper and deeper into the tunnel. The tunnel had been carved into the rock. It was level, but at the same time not much wider than a grown man. Marta felt as if she had been transported into a strange world. She forgot everything around her, in particular, she had completely lost track of time. On and on she walked through the tunnel. At some point, the passage ended in front of a heavy wooden door.

Marta had no idea what awaited her behind this door. The fear that usually surrounded her had given way to curiosity to find out what might be hidden there.
She carefully pressed the handle and was astonished when the door opened sideways, revealing access to a narrow hallway. Stale air hit her. Following her inner instinct, she stepped through the door, only to witness in horror how it immediately closed behind her and disappeared into a wooden paneling. The creaking of the wood echoed in the silence. Marta's breath caught. "Damn it," she cursed. She raised her fists and punched the spot where the door had just been, but nothing happened. Nor could she make out the outline of the door in the paneling. No sign of a door, no crack, no knob. Just smooth wood paneling.

"Where on earth did the exit go?" Marta murmured desperately. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The way back was blocked. She had to find her way in the hallway. Only the light of the candle, which was now no more than a small stump in her hand, guided her. This room had no windows. Instead, she saw five narrow doors. "I don't have much time. The candle is almost burned out," Marta thought. "Which door should I take?" Marta took a deep breath and turned the handle of the right door. Almost silently, it slid aside, revealing a multitude of shelves filled from floor to ceiling with books. "This is unbelievable," she said quietly, spontaneously clapping her hands over her mouth. She knew this place. It was the library of Zynstein Castle. A smile flitted across her cheeks. She blew out the candle and shoved the stub into the pocket of her dress.

"Now everything is fine again," she thought, and entered the library with relief. She briefly considered which door she should use to leave. The right door led to the Count's office, the left door would take her directly to the entrance hall, while the middle door led to the Blue Salon. The Count's voice came from the Blue Salon. Marta began to tremble. In an instant, she remembered her employer's instructions. "Staff are forbidden from being in the library or my office when I am not present. There are valuable books there that must not be stolen. That's why I always lock these rooms behind me," he had taught her again and again. The blood drained from her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to use any of the three doors. She quickly turned around to return to the hallway from which she had entered the room. But this door, too, had already closed, and its outline had disappeared into the wood paneling.

Paniced, Marta's fingers felt the wood paneling. Perhaps there was a button, a hidden mechanism. Her fingers glided over the wood, searching for a clue. But in vain.

Then her gaze fell on a painting on the wall. It showed a gray-haired man in uniform. "That must be the count's grandfather," Marta concluded. "What an imposing man," she thought, completely fascinated by the picture. Her fingers carefully glided over the painting. Then she was startled, because suddenly the old man's chin had a nasty gray mark.

"What is that?" Marta stared at her fingers. How dirty they were.

"Dirt from the tunnel!"

In a panic, she reached for the painting to clean it. She discovered a small dent in the paneling behind the picture. "That's it!" she encouraged herself. With her index finger, she felt for the strange stain. As if by magic, the secret door opened. With presence of mind, Marta slid a foot into the crack in the door, quickly hung the picture back up, and pushed herself into the dark hallway before the door closed again. She took a deep breath with relief. Even though she no longer had any matches to light the candle, she now knew where to find other doors in this darkness. Her hand slowly slid along the wall. The oppressive silence was abruptly interrupted by the Count's shouts. Marta listened. The Count seemed to be in the library. "I'm just looking through my papers," he called to someone.

Then Marta heard footsteps and assumed that the Count had gone to his office. She gradually realized how thin the walls of this secret corridor must be. Perhaps the Count could hear her too if she didn't remain completely silent. She hardly dared to breathe or move.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard a door slam and lock. The Count must have returned to the Blue Salon, Marta concluded.
Carefully, she pressed her back against the wall and edged sideways along the corridor until she reached the handle of the leftmost door. According to her calculations, she must now be not far from the kitchen. She carefully pushed down the handle and thus reached the stairs of the rear building unrecognized.

"Can't you pay attention, Marta?" the servant Ferdinand had entered the ballroom and, with his quick intervention, had just averted impending disaster. Deep in thought, Marta had grabbed one of the precious sugar bowls and placed it just before the edge of the table. With an elegant dive, Ferdinand slid his hand under the bowl, thus preventing anything worse from happening.

"Wow," Marta was back in her stride. "Ferdinand, that was amazing. I wouldn't have thought you could do that at your age," she beamed at him gratefully.
"At my age? Young lady, I'm not even 30!" Ferdinand sounded a little offended. Then he admonished her, "Marta, where are your thoughts? You'd better help the others. I'll take care of the rest." With that, he sent her away.

Marta then tried to concentrate on dusting the stairwell. Her hands trembled slightly. She kept glancing at the paneling on the back wall, searching for a secret button. This was all so exciting and thrilling. She absolutely had to talk about this with someone.

Finally, the bells rang to usher in the weekend. At 6 p.m. sharp, Marta took off her apron and crossed the drawbridge into town. She'd been thinking all week about what she would tell Frieda, but when she rang the Buckenstette family's bell, no one seemed to be home. Disappointed, Marta sat down on the steps in front of the small house. She was still wondering where she could find Frieda when an elderly man approached her on a bicycle. "Are you looking for someone?" he called happily, getting off his bike. "I'm looking for my friend Frieda. Do you know where she is?" New hope sprouted within her. "She's still in the pasture. It might be late today. What do you want from her, if I may ask?"

"I'm Marta, a friend. I wanted to talk to her," she replied, dejectedly.

"Aha, Marta. Then I know who you are. You're the maid from the castle, aren't you? Frieda told me a lot about you. I'm her grandfather, by the way," the man clarified.

"You're Rudolph Buckenstette?" Marta's eyes opened wide. "Frieda said you once worked at the castle, is that true?"

Rudolph nodded. "That's right. Did you want to talk about it?"

Marta's face lit up. "If I may?"

"Of course you may. Come on, let's go into the house. Not everyone needs to listen to us."

When Rudolph sat down in a rocking chair, Marta, who was sitting on the sofa with a cup of hot milk, couldn't contain herself any longer. "If you worked at the castle, do you know the secret doors?" She leaned closer to him so as not to miss a word.
Rudolph grinned. "Oh, that's the point. What do you know?" Marta told him about the servants' quarters in the forest, the tunnel that led to the castle, and the secret corridor with the five doors.

Rudolph extended his index finger and pointed several times in her direction. "Young lady, you are certainly one of the very, very few people who know about this secret."

Marta grinned. "I believe so, too. I've been eavesdropping on our cook, Elise. She doesn't know anything about any of this."

"I would have been surprised, too, if the Count had informed his new team about it." Rudolph sounded thoughtful.

"What do you mean by 'new team'?" Marta wanted to know.

"Listen," Rudolph suggested. "Frieda's friends are also my friends. And I call my friends by their first names. If you're willing to call me by my first names, I'll tell you the whole secret." He looked at Marta, who nodded enthusiastically.

Then he put his index finger to his mouth and said: "What I'm telling you is strictly confidential. If I were still employed there as a servant, I wouldn't tell you, but I think, given everything I've done for the Count and his family, and for which I've received no thanks or financial compensation, I no longer need to remain loyal. But that is and will remain a secret and is no third party's business, do you understand?" Marta nodded eagerly.

"Well," he continued, "then listen carefully. Zynstein Castle has basically been with me my entire life. I started there as a stable boy at the age of 16. Over the years, I was able to work my way up to the position of servant. In total, I worked at the castle for over 50 years. Most recently, I served under Otto von Zynstein and his wife Clara. They were kind-hearted people. Their pictures still hang in the entrance hall of the castle. They were the parents of the current count." He took a sip of red wine.

"As for the tunnel," he rubbed his chin, as if he had reservations about discussing it. But then he raised his voice again and continued, "The tunnel was built in the last century as an escape route, since the moated castle can only be left via the drawbridge. Since the revolution of 1848/49, the nobles had become aware that there were more and more forces in the country that wanted to abolish feudal structures and special rights. Therefore, they prepared for the worst, and that's why this tunnel was built. If the castle were attacked, they could escape underground. That was the idea. When Count Emil was still small, the servants' quarters in the forest were his favorite place. He could sit upstairs for hours, philosophizing, writing, and reading books. If he wasn't back for dinner, the countess sent me through the tunnel to fetch him. I really liked the boy. He was so clever and warm-hearted, almost like my own son. But since he returned from the war, he's completely changed." Rudolph's face turned serious.

"Changed, what do you mean by that?" Marta wanted to know.

"Look, when Emil's parents had a fatal accident in their Mercedes near Blankenheim in 1917, none of the von Zynsteins were at the castle anymore. Emil was an officer in the war, and the employees weren't paid anymore. From whom should the get money? Almost everyone left the castle. Of the staff, only Gustav and I remained. We were already over 65 at the time, had families of our own and whose children had started their own families already. Since my wife was no longer alive and Gustav's wife had run away, there was no reason for us to leave the castle. Out of loyalty alone, we stayed there and looked after everything as best we could."

"If you weren't getting paid anymore," Marta wanted to know, "how did you live?"

"We planted a vegetable garden in the castle garden, fished in the lake, and heated our house with wood from the count's forest. If you don't have high standards, it's fine. But then the war was over, and we received a registered letter from a lawyer. It said that we had no business being in the castle, and if we were still on the property when Count Emil returned, we would be thrown in prison for trespassing." Rudolph had to pause. It was obvious how much this was still affecting him.

"That sounds really ungrateful," Marta fumed.

"Marta, I was never in the war. I don't know what Emil went through there. But the war ravaged many people's souls, and there are men on this street too who returned home greatly changed, if they returned at all. You have to give them credit for defending the country, even if we ultimately lost the war. There's no point in talking about it. For my part, I've made peace with the von Zynsteins, but I never want to have anything to do with Emil again. Do you understand?"

Marta swallowed. Was the Count not the friendly man she had thought? Certainly, he had established strict rules that had to be followed. But in his dealings with his guests, he had always seemed kind and generous.

"Rudolph, how do the secret doors actually work? So far, I've only found the mechanism for the door to the library. Where do I look for the button for the other doors, and most importantly, how do I open the door from the castle to the tunnel?"

Rudolph squealed with delight. "Haven't you cracked all the secrets yet? Well, it's not that easy." He quickly explained to her the locations of the buttons in each room and drew everything on a paper "And now the most important thing. Listen carefully. Every door has a small peephole through which you can look into the room. So, when you're standing in the secret corridor, pay attention to the little angels carved into the paneling. You have to move a magnet from right to left over the angels, and the small hole will open. If you move the magnet the other way, the hole will close again. You'll use the same magnet for the door to the tunnel. Look for the angel in the wood paneling for that as well. Have you understood everything?"

Marta nodded and wanted to take the note.

"No, Marta, all of this is and will remain our secret. You mustn't tell anyone. Not even Frieda. Swear it to me."
With these words, he lit a match and burned the note.

After Marta had taken the oath, Rudolph fetched a magnet for her. She put it in her jacket pocket, said goodbye, and hurried back to the count's estate, where there was still much to discover.

Marta had rarely been seen dusting as diligently as she did on this Saturday. She seemed to want to relieve everyone of work. She even offered to scrub the kitchen for the kitchen maid Alma.

Of course, the others let her do it, since they themselves had free time earlier. But Marta didn't do all this just out of charity. She was looking for reasons to spend more time unobserved in all the rooms that bordered the secret corridor.
And so, as the sun set, she fell into bed, totally exhausted, but nevertheless self-satisfied. She had tried everything Rudolph had explained to her several times, all the secret doors, all the peepholes, and the heavy wooden door to the tunnel. She had also sprinkled white pepper in front of every door in the secret corridor to test whether the Count would use the secret doors.

Sunday morning seemed to drag on forever. The count's hunting friends had been invited to a late breakfast, and a lavish barbecue had to be prepared.
Only when the guests left around 3 p.m. did the servants also get a few hours off. Marta was drawn back to the forest. Since she had promised Rudolph not to tell Frieda about the tunnel, she walked alone to the servants' quarters.

"How do I get to the upper floor?" Marta had opened the door of the servants' quarters and was staring at the rickety stairs that led upstairs.

"Maybe I should hang on to the banister," she thought. So she swung her hands around the wooden railing and was just about to place her feet on the very edge of the stairs when with a loud crash, the front part of the banister broke off and Marta was thrown backward against the wall. Luckily, she hit the ground with her bottom first, which cushioned the blow somewhat. Obviously, her idea didn't work. The stairs were simply too rotten to climb up. Marta stepped outside. Her eyes frantically searched for alternatives. The trees weren't close enough to the house to be used for a meaningful climb. Marta's eyes scanned the entire building again.
"Look, there's a chimney," she noted, and shortly afterward, she learned that the chimney was connected to the open fireplace in the kitchen. Unlike the fireplace in the basement, this fireplace did indeed have an upward vent, but unfortunately, it was too narrow for her.

"How did they clean the chimney in the old days?" This answer would be essential, she knew. Once again, she crept around the abandoned house. At the back, she found what she was looking for, an old chimney ladder ran along the exterior wall. Like much else in this building, its metal steps, which had been set into the building, were rusty and in places very wobbly. Some hooks were already missing. But it seemed to be her only way to reach the upper floor. So Marta gathered all her courage and embarked on the risky climb. She knew that every grip, every step could be dangerous. With trembling hands, she began to climb the ladder.
The hooks creaked threateningly beneath her feet. Marta's heart pounded as she pulled herself up the wall. When she was halfway up the ladder, a hook snapped out from under her left foot with a crash. Her feet in the air, clinging only to a shaky piece of metal, she gazed into the depths. She felt dizzy, but she forced herself to look up again and breathe rhythmically.
With her right leg, she pushed off the wall of the house and used the momentum to grab a hook higher up with her hands. She breathed a sigh of relief when she got hold of the rusty part. Then she pulled her legs up so that her feet could once again find purchase on a hook. By now, she had reached the gutter and carefully pushed herself up the mossy half-pipe onto the roof.

It was only a few meters to the left room on the upper floor. The roof was also rotten in the middle, the roof tiles brittle, and the beams below were barely able to support the load. Even if the ridge had only rotted in the places where the tiles were missing, one wrong step could still mean Marta's end. She didn't weigh much, but the risk she was taking was still enormous. Slowly, she pushed herself forward, her eyes warily on the unstable beams.

Finally, she had reached the spot below which she suspected Emil's room was. With tense hands, she began to remove individual tiles from the roof to create a hole large enough to climb through. The creaking of the old wood increasingly frightened her. With one last move, she ripped two tiles from their anchors. The space below her was dark. Only through the newly created hole did some light penetrate. Directly below her, she saw an old desk. She lowered herself from the roof beam, her feet almost touching the table, and let go.

The impact was gentle. Marta was overjoyed to have made it. But as soon as she was in the room, she heard voices. The voices were quiet, but unmistakable. It was Count Emil with the palace gardener, Willi. Marta hurried to the closed shutter, carefully pushed up a slat, and peered out.

"Look, Willi, what's that?" she heard Count Emil call, as he pointed at the abandoned servants' quarters. Marta was filled with terror. What were the two of them doing here on Sunday afternoon? Okay, it was the count's estate. But why didn't he know anything about it? The two men seemed to have just discovered the house by chance. Willi was busy at the open gate. With a squeak, he pushed it open with all his might.
"Strange," Emil murmured, "why is there such a building here in the middle of the undergrowth?" His voice sounded surprised.

"It looks like an old servants' quarters," Willi objected.

"But I've never seen it before," the count still seemed astonished. "Let's go inside and take a look."

Marta held her breath as the two men entered the house. She knew the room she was in couldn't offer her any protection. The voices grew louder, and she felt the danger coming ever closer.

"Ugh, what a filthy stable! It's full of cobwebs," Willi grumbled. Marta remembered that Frieda had thrown open all the shutters on the ground floor. The uninvited guests were thus able to quickly gain an overview.

Then she heard someone in the stairwell. Panic rose in Marta. What if these two men were able to climb the rotten stairs?

"Don't do that," Willi shouted, "the stairs are completely rotten, you can see that. Don't go on them. Look, I'll show you."
The front door creaked, then there was a loud bang that Marta couldn't place.

"Oh my God," groaned the Count, "your slippery flowerpot pierced the step like nothing. And I wanted to climb on it. Phew, I was lucky. I could have broken every bone in my body. Come on, let's go, I've seen enough."

Marta heard the front door creak again. Then, through the gap in the window shutter, she could see the men quickly disappearing into the thicket. A little later, a horse neighed, a sign that they were riding on.

Even though the men probably wouldn't come back today, Marta didn't dare open the shutters upstairs. Instead, she lit a candle she had brought with her as a precaution and began to look around the room. It was indeed a boy's room, with a bed, a shelf, many books, a closet, a table, a few chairs, and various boxes and crates. Curiously, she opened the desk drawer. It was teeming with photos. Marta pulled out a handful and examined them carefully. This was probably little Emil with his parents. What a lovely family, she thought. The picture conveyed so much connection and confidence. Notebooks lay on the shelf. Marta ran the sleeve of her dress over the top notebook and wiped away the dust. The author had written poems and short stories in a very elegant handwriting. Then Marta opened one of the crates. It contained diaries with small labels on their black spines with dates written on them. The years 1905 to 1914 had been neatly packed next to each other in the box. Marta chose 1914 and pulled out the diary. Then she leafed through it to the last entry. This one was dated August 4, 1914. It was a letter from Emil to his parents. Marta had to sit down. Then she read:

Dear Mother, Dear Father,
today my heart is so heavy. The German Empire declared war on France yesterday. Now I, too, must go to battle.
I feel compelled to write you these lines because I want to tell you openly and honestly what is going on inside me. The news that I have to go to war tomorrow has hit me deeply. But, it is not a decision that rests with me, because as a nobleman, I will fulfill my duty and stand by our fatherland. General von Schlieffen's plan calls for us to march through Belgium into France to achieve a quick victory. As an officer, I bear responsibility for my troops, and I will face this task with all my courage and dedication. I promise you that I will do everything to make you proud.
At this moment, I feel the love and care that you have always given me. Your warmth, your support, and your unwavering confidence have made me the person I am today. I am so grateful that I was able to grow up here, in a family where warmth and kindness set the tone. Your love has always strengthened me, even in the most difficult times. I know that you are worried, and that breaks my heart. But I want to assure you that I will do everything I can to return home healthy and unharmed. Your prayers and your thoughts are my greatest protection. The hope of seeing you again soon gives me strength. I imagine us sitting together by the fireplace again, and I can tell you about my experiences. I dream of being able to gratefully embrace you again.
When the war is over, I too would like to follow your example and start a family where love and trust are the foundation. I want to have children who grow up full of joy and confidence, just as I was able to experience with you. I wish that they grow up in a home where warmth and kindness are the most important values. My greatest wish is to see you again. In my thoughts I will always be with you. I pray to God that he will protect us and reunite us soon.
With deepest love and infinite gratitude,
Your son Emil.


Emil had signed the letter like a vow.

Tears ran down Marta's cheeks. She was so moved by the content of the letter.
She paused and looked around. Indeed, everything was as Rudolph had told her.

Soon the sun would set. So she had to decide what to do. She probably wouldn't dare climb up the fire escape again. At the same time, she wanted to learn more about young Emil, what he had thought, felt, and dreamed. But it wasn't her books, nor her photos that were lying around here. They belonged to Emil, and taking them would be like stealing them. So she packed everything back where she had taken it. Once again she looked through the crack in the window shutter out into the garden.
The events of the afternoon wouldn't leave her mind. Hadn't Count Emil just claimed that he didn't know this house? A house in which he had kept a diary throughout his youth until he went off to war? Somehow, it all didn't add up. Or did he have a reason to lie to Willi? But what reason could that be? He was the Count, after all. If he didn't want Willi to find out about the house, he wouldn't have had to ride here with him. Marta couldn't make sense of all this.

So she pulled the last diary out of the box again, put some of the family photos in it, and shoved everything into her undershirt under her dress. Then she climbed back onto the desk and pulled herself up onto the roof with all her strength. She carefully pushed the roof tiles back into their correct place. She wanted to prevent rain from entering this wonderful room.
She crawled across the roof again, this time toward the fire escape, which she carefully climbed down. She decided to return to the castle through the tunnel. If Emil didn't know the servants' quarters, he couldn't know the tunnel either, Marta reasoned. In the castle's secret corridor, she was pleased to see that the pepper was still in place.
So she slipped up to her room and tucked the diary into her mattress.

The next morning, black clouds hung over the castle. The heat of the last few days had built up, and a thunderstorm was approaching.

The Count had just finished a lavish breakfast with Lady of Rottenweil ​​in the ballroom when all the staff were summoned to the entrance hall. The Count was already waiting for them with a dark look.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Count began in a harsh voice, "the honorable Lady of Rottenweil ​​has been missing her valuable necklace since last night." With these words, he pointed to his companion, who had dressed up especially well.

His eyes sparkled. "It is reasonable to suspect that one of the staff has stolen this piece of jewelry." He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze wandering from face to face. "Therefore, I will search all the rooms today."
Marta paled. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What if he found the diary? The small, secret book she had hidden in the cover of her mattress?
This diary had also been stolen - by her. Hoping to hide her nervousness, she slid her trembling hands under her apron. As soon as the Count made his announcement, he ordered Marta to turn to the wall and hold up her hands. With swift movements, the Count began to search her. His hands briskly felt her body. He seemed barely able to restrain himself as his fingers glided over her breasts and he mockingly muttered, "You never know where women hide things." Marta grimaced in disgust. After the other employees had also submitted to this procedure, the Count commanded in military style, "Up, up, everyone upstairs!"

Count Emil led the group, followed by the employees, and Lady of Rottenweil ​​brought up the rear. They had to climb the oak staircase, which creaked slightly underfoot with every step. On the top floor, they immediately headed for the servants' quarters.
In the front room, the kitchen maid, Alma, and Marta slept in a bunk bed. The Count stormed into the room, tore open the only closet, and carelessly threw the clothes onto the floor. Then he turned to the bed. In an instant, he had stripped off Alma's bedclothes and thrown them to the floor. Alma's nightgown fell into his hand.
"Look here," he called mockingly, showing the fabric around. "The young lady sleeps in a rag like that. She might as well leave it off. What do you think?" A nasty laugh from Lady of Rottenweil ​​echoed through the room, while Alma blushed.
Then the Count bent down to search Marta's bed. "Oho," came from his mouth as his hand hit something hard. With a triumphant grin, he ripped open the mattress cover. Something black appeared.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked curiously, reading "Diary 1914" from the spine. Marta swallowed hard.
"It's just a stupid book," shrieked Lady of Rottenweil.
"Yes, just a book," replied the Count. "But one should really read the filthy stuff that young lady writes." He was just about to open the book when Marta snatched it from his hand. She felt herself trembling. She clutched the book as tightly as she could.
"Please, this is my last memento of my brother," she whispered in a trembling voice.
The Count examined her. "I didn't know you had a brother." His eyes sparkled suspiciously.
"I did," Marta feigned a sob, "he died in the war."
"Well then," the Count seemed no longer interested in the subject. "Then let's go to the next room," he instructed everyone.
"Phew, it's stiflingly hot up here," panted Lady of Rottenweil ​​and opened her purse to take out a refreshing towelette. As she did so, she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a necklace.
"Oh, look, honey, here it is." Lady of Rottenweil ​​beamed with joy, and the Count gave her a relieved kiss.
"How lovely." Another kiss followed, and then he sent everyone back to work. Marta briefly retreated to the bathroom, where she hid the diary behind the water tank. Then she too turned back to her daily work.

She swept the stone staircase leading to the entrance hall, mopped and dusted the hall and the Blue Salon. She should have cleaned the library and the Count's office. But after the incident that morning, she felt drained, almost exhausted. She knocked softly on the library door, opened it carefully, and entered. Her gaze immediately wandered toward the office. The door was open, and the Count was reading a newspaper.
"Should I clean the library and the office now?" Marta asked cautiously, but in a firm voice.
"Go ahead," came the curt reply, while the Count barely raised his eyes. "I'm not paying you just to stand around."
She began her work. With the feather duster, she glided between the shelves. She removed threads of dust that were hidden in the corners. The countless books had an attractive effect on her. Had the Count read them all? A wish arose within her. How she would love to secretly browse through the shelves, to simply lose herself in all the hidden knowledge.
She mopped the floor, placed fresh flowers in a vase, and took a deep breath, but her inner tension remained. "I could clean the office now, if you don't mind," she said quietly.
"Come in, clean up," the Count replied indifferently as he continued reading the newspaper. Marta knew she wasn't allowed to touch the desk; he had made that clear to her on the first day. Instead, she emptied the ashtray from the side table, opened the windows to dispel the stuffy air, and began dusting the locked cabinets.
Suddenly, the Count broke the silence: "And will you go to vote on Sunday?" His voice was sharp, almost biting, as he continued to lean over the newspaper.
She knew what he meant. Next Sunday, June 20th, a referendum on the expropriation of the German royal houses without compensation was to take place. It was a referendum that had been initiated in the spring by the free trade unions, the SPD, and the KPD.
"No, Count," Marta answered quietly, "I don't have the right to vote."
"Probably for the better," he replied mockingly. "It's bad enough that you women were granted the right to vote for the Reichstag after the war. Irresponsible, that decision. But fortunately, it doesn't apply to referendums. Men know more about politics, don't they?" He gave her a sharp look.

She turned away briefly. "I'm only 17. I don't even have the right to vote. I won't get that until I'm 20. Until then, I can still learn a lot, about politics, I mean."

Marta felt her heart beating faster as the Count scrutinized her with his sharp gaze. "First learn how to clean properly," he scolded her in a sharp voice. "Under the desk, it's not clean." He pointed to an old, dried coffee stain that had been there for days.

Marta carefully knelt down, picked up the cleaning bucket and the scouring cloth. As she scrubbed the stain away, she felt his gaze resting incessantly on her breasts. An unpleasant feeling crept up her spine.

When she was finished, she hastily shoved the scouring cloth into the bucket, stood up, and tried to keep her composure. She left the office as quietly as possible. Secretly, she now simply loathed working in the castle.

At lunch, the count announced that he would be traveling the following weekend, and therefore everyone would have Sunday off. They should use the time to vote against the expropriation in the referendum. Although the count's castle was not directly affected, since a count is not a prince, they should be aware of the privileges they enjoyed by working for the nobility.

Marta didn't really know what he meant, because by now she had come to the conclusion that the Count was just exploiting everyone.

During the week, she managed to sneak over the drawbridge into town in the dark. Although it was late, she rang Frieda's grandfather's doorbell, who quickly let her into the house without waking the family.

"Rudolph, you were so right about everything," Marta groaned as she sat back down on the sofa.
"What happened, Marta, tell me, you seem so unhappy," Rudolph demanded.
"He's a creep, that Count. How could I even start working for him?"
"Now, from the very beginning, Marta, what happened?" Rudolph was now unyielding. Marta reached under her blouse and pulled out the diary.
"I was in the servants' quarters again. Don't ask me how, but somehow I made it upstairs. Everything there is as you described it. There are photos, books, and boxes. From one box I took this diary from 1914 written by Count Emil.
In the castle, a room was searched because a friend of the count's couldn't find her necklace. That's when the count came across this diary. He didn't recognize it at all. He didn't even know the servants' quarters until he happened to notice it on Sunday with the gardener.
Emil from the diary and the current count, they are like day and night. They don't fit together at all. The count is just disgusting. He makes fun of us, is condescending, lascivious, and contemptuous. You can't even imagine how he treated us this week."

"Do you also have the feeling that the count might not be real? I already had that thought back then, when he simply threw me out with a lawyer's letter. Gustav wanted to make another personal approach. Imagine, they didn't even let him over the drawbridge. Not even allowing a brief conversation to a faithful and loyal servant who dedicated around 50 years of his life to the von Zynsteins, who had done absolutely nothing wrong. Not even allowing a brief conversation. Something must be wrong. I already said that back then. But you just can't get through to the count."

"Yes, Rudolph, we I can. He hasn't kicked me out yet. I have the possibility to make researchs in the castle. Maybe I should check the library and office to see what he's hiding. He always locks those rooms."

"He always locks the library?" Rudolph couldn't believe his ears.
"Yes, he does. He's afraid we'll steal his valuable books," Marta clarified. "The secret door only leads to the library. But how do I get into the count's office?" she looked at him, seeking help.

"Marta," Rudolph held her arm, "I think this whole thing is too big for you. We should just let it go."

"No, Rudolph, it's too late for that. I know by now that something is wrong in the castle and that some injustice has been done. I have to clear it up. I do feel a responsibility. So, how do I get into the office?"

Rudolph considered this. The office was heavily secured by the window bars. The only viable way in was through the door. "You need a lock pick. I'll get you one. And I'm also trying to find out more about the von Zynsteins. Shall we meet next Sunday? But please don't do anything before then, do you understand? Marta?"

Rudolph raised his eyebrows in concern.
Marta thanked him, promised to take care of herself, and returned to the castle without the diary.

The next Sunday came in a flash, and as all the servants crossed the drawbridge on their way to church, they were overtaken by the Count, sitting in his Maybach, who cheerfully waved to everyone before he put the pedal to the metal.

It was Marta's big day, because she wanted to take advantage of the Count's absence to inspect the library. After mass, she made her way back to the castle, but discovered that the drawbridge had been raised. Willi, the gardener, had been instructed not to lower the bridge until around 6 p.m., because that was when the Count expected his servants to return to prepare his dinner.

Marta was secretly pleased that the bridge was raised, because that way she was sure the Count wouldn't surprise her snooping around in his books. She simply had to use the tunnel to get into the castle. Equipped with enough candles, she hurried into the forest and through the tunnel into the castle. Through the oak door at the end of the corridor, she entered the secret corridor and was relieved to find that the pepper was still lying untouched in its place. Since she didn't want to carry it into the library, she carefully brushed it aside. Despite all her caution, she must have stirred up parts of the pepper, because suddenly her nose was stinging and pinching so much that she sneezed loudly.
"Cheers," came a voice from the library.

Marta froze. She wasn't alone in the castle. She hadn't yet opened the secret door to the library. So she swung the burning candle in a circle around her to see if anyone had approached her. But she was still alone in the corridor. Then she heard the voice, which she had now recognized as the Count's, start up again.

"Here is the beauty," it sounded flattering now. "The lady by the lake."

Marta swallowed. Was the Count speaking to her through the wall? Had he noticed her presence?
But then a second voice sounded, one that must have been much closer to her. "Excuse me, but I can't understand you. Please speak louder, my ears aren't the best anymore."

Curiously, Marta took the magnet out of her pocket and drew it over the small angel carved into the paneling. A pea-sized peephole opened, through which she could observe everything that was going on in the library. Her heart beat faster as she watched the scene.
An old, ugly, but well-dressed man held a gold-framed painting in his hands. The Count emphasized that it was a true Impressionist. The old man stood so close to the peephole that Marta could see the delicate brushstrokes on the painting that made it appear so vivid.

"That's a real Berthe Morisot," the Count declared, his chest puffed out. "I rescued it from France during the war."

The guest's gaze narrowed as he studied the entire painting with a handheld magnifying glass. Marta could practically feel the tension in the room.
With a French accent, he confirmed, "Okay, the deal is on." With that, he reached into a suitcase and handed the Count several bundles of francs. He mumbled something else in French, which Marta didn't understand, and which the Count didn't comment on. Instead, he counted the money, his fingers vibrating with excitement.

"Cèst vrai," Count Emil confirmed before hurriedly disappearing into his office. Marta heard him open a cabinet and saw him return shortly after. In his hands, he held a fine cloth, in which the guest wrapped the painting to keep it safe.

With incomprehensible words, the guest politely said goodbye. Marta listened intently as a car started up in front of the castle. Then the sound of the drawbridge was heard, and for another moment, everything seemed quiet.

Marta saw the count walk through the library again, disappear into his office, and shortly after, come out again. He closed the office door, then locked the library from the outside and disappeared into the corridors of the castle. After about ten minutes, everything was quiet.

Marta rubbed her eyes. Had she just dreamed that? What kind of secret business was going on here in the castle? A painting, French francs, a guest with a French accent, all of this seemed to be part of a larger mystery.

She carefully pulled the magnet in reverse over the angel in the paneling, closing the peephole. Now it was obvious that she was caught in a web of lies and betrayal here in the castle. This made it all the more important to uncover and bring down the machinations.
The heat of the summer day weighed heavily on the castle, and its oppressive humidity seemed to spread into the secret hallway as well. Sweat ran down Marta's forehead. At the same time, she considered, uncertainly, what to do next. The most important thing seemed to be the Count's office. Without a picklock, however, she wouldn't be able to enter it. Above all, she knew that the count, contrary to his announcement, would probably spend the entire day in the castle, and thus there was always the danger that he would visit the library again. The risk of being discovered was far too high.
Marta gasped, "I need something to drink." Without hesitation, she crept to the last door in the hallway, opened it quietly, and entered the back stairwell. The stairwell was fully exposed to the sun, and the heat pressed even harder on the maid, but she forced herself to remain calm. She entered the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She drank it in one go. The cold water refreshed her throat, and for a moment she could breathe easily.
She sat down at the small kitchen table, closed her eyes, and tried to shake off the heat and tension. But no sooner had she sat down than the door to the ballroom opened, and the count entered. He seemed hungry, because his gaze immediately fell on the fruit basket that was standing in the middle of the sideboard in front of the window. When he saw Marta, he stopped abruptly.
"What are you doing here? Today, on your day off? Didn't you go to church with the others?" the Count asked in an irritated tone that barely concealed how negatively surprised he was.
Suddenly, Marta's throat felt dry again.

"No, Count. I had such a bad migraine this morning that I couldn't go with the others. I stayed in my room and rested. I'm feeling better now, and I thought it would be good to have something to drink." She tried to sound calm, but her heart was pounding.
The Count frowned. "Oh, no," he said skeptically. "And I thought I remembered that you left the drawbridge with the others this morning."
"No, Count," Marta replied quickly. "I was in my room the whole time."
He took a step closer, his eyes examining her. "And you were in bed the whole time? No walk in the garden? Nothing?"
"Yes, I know this might label me as a lazy girl," Marta replied cautiously, "but the migraine was unbearable. The daylight bites your brains out." She wanted to explain more, but the Count raised his hand to interrupt her.
"I'm not interested in that," he said coolly. "Today is your day off. Therefore you can stay in bed as long as you want, I don`t care."

His voice softened, but there was something unpredictable in his eyes. "I'm hungry. How about you make me a really delicious breakfast? I'm sure you can do it." His gaze slid back to her breasts, and Marta felt an unpleasant feeling spreading through her. Count Emil took a step toward her, his voice becoming even more seductive. With a quiet undertone, he asked her, "We're alone in the house now. You no longer have a migraine. We should take advantage of that, shouldn't we?" He ran his hand over her thigh, over her dress. Marta immediately understood what game was being played. She felt panic spreading within her and knew she had to act quickly. With a jerk, she pushed Emil away, tore open the kitchen door, and ran through the ballroom and the adjoining entrance hall out into the open air. But the count was only briefly surprised by her action and began to pursue her.

Marta looked around. Where should she flee now?
The drawbridge had already been raised again. She was thus trapped on the island. But what other places were there to hide on the island? The only places Marta could think of to hide were the stables and the garden. She chose the latter.

"Stop! You can't get out of here!" she heard the count call.

Without hesitation, Marta ran across the forecourt into the old hedge maze, which was a branching tangle of tall, dense boxwood hedges. She knew the count would look for her there, but it was her only chance to hide. With quick steps, she rushed into the green thicket, using her hands to search for a path through the dense branches.
Behind her, she heard the heavy footsteps of the count, rushing past on the gravel path as he searched for her.

"Come out, Marta! I know you're here somewhere!" he shouted angrily. But she pressed deeper into the labyrinth, the branches scratching at her skin as she tried to stay quiet. In a corner where the view was blocked by the high hedge, she stopped to rest. Her breathing was barely audible. She pressed herself into the cold hedge. Her eyes were still searching for an escape route.
Suddenly, she heard Count Emil again, only a few meters away. His voice grew louder, more frustrated.
"I'll find you, no matter where you hide!"

That was the last thing she heard before the count ran in another direction of the garden. She dared a glance through the branches. The count seemed unfamiliar with the labyrinth, with all its confusing structure, and so it offered her protection as long as she remained silent. But she couldn't stay here permanently. It wasn't that safe, after all, especially since the count had some rather unpredictable ideas. But time passed without the count showing up again.
Marta looked at her watch. It was now just before six. Soon the other servants would be back, because the count expected his dinner at seven. So she would have to wait a little longer. Around a quarter to seven, she left the labyrinth and hurried past the castle to the drawbridge. But the count had again given orders for the bridge to be raised. He probably wanted to be sure that Marta wouldn't escape him.

How was she supposed to leave the island now? She could only reach the tunnel through the castle, Marta thought. The other alternative was to swim across the lake. But the count had warned everyone about this countless times. Because the river ran through the lake, there were unpredictable underground currents in the lake. That was also the reason why his wife had drowned there, even though she was actually a good swimmer, the count had explained.

Marta thought hard. What did she really want to achieve? She wanted to find out what was going on here, and Rudolph had also promised her support. She couldn't and didn't want to just give up everything. She had to go back to the house. If she stayed close to the other servants while the count was in the castle, he would surely leave her alone. So she returned to her room, changed clothes, and served dinner promptly at seven o'clock.

The count looked at her, chewing. "Oh, the young lady is feeling better again," came the mocking, smacking sound from his mouth.
Marta stayed close to Alma and Elise all evening and was glad when she later lay with Alma in the double bed, Alma on top, she on the bottom of the bed. Soon she heard Alma snoring above her. Marta, on the other hand, couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about the task she had to fulfill.

The next morning, the Count appeared for breakfast with an unusually broad smile on his face. While dipping his croissant into his coffee, he read aloud from the daily newspaper: "The referendum on the expropriation without compensation of the princely houses that ruled until 1918 has failed. Only 36.4% of the votes were in favor of the decision, so the current situation remains." He took a hearty bite of the croissant. For a moment, he closed his eyes contentedly. He murmured, "There are still reasonable people in this country."

Shortly afterward, he announced to the staff that he would be going into town today and would not return until the afternoon. By then, the cook should have prepared a lavish coffee party in the garden, because Lady of Rottenweil ​​was coming to visit. Everything had to be truly perfect, he emphasized, and stood up. Marta, who had overheard everything, suspected that the Count would put the large amount of money he had received the previous day into the bank. His absence was the opportunity to finally search the forbidden library.
As soon as the Count had left the moated castle in his Maybach, she slipped through the secret door into the library, whose official doors the Count had locked as usual. The library was a collection of old shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, overflowing with books. A metal pole, from which a ladder hung, ran around the perimeter of the room. This made it possible to reach the books on top. Marta began her search on the left side, where scholarly works in red leather bindings stood. On the right side, philosophy, literature, and art could be found. There were so many old, valuable books that hardly anyone had ever touched. But Marta's gaze remained fixed on the newer shelves that stood to the side of the Count's office. Here lay handwritten tomes with blue covers and gold lettering. They told the story of the family history of the von Zynstein family. The story ended in 1917, with the tragic death of the count's parents.

Marta would have loved to take the book to her room to study it in peace, but she knew she had to be careful. A missing book would be immediately noticeable on this shelf. Carefully, she leafed through the pages and learned that a fire had broken out in the castle before Count Otto von Zynstein was born. At that time, the entrance hall had gone up in flames. The entire staircase was destroyed. This was also the reason why, alongside the renovations, a second staircase was built at the same time: the rear building, which the servants now use. Count Otto was born in 1856. At 28, he married Baroness von Rosenbach, and in 1886, their son, Emil, was born. There were no further children. Marta read about the major complications that had occurred during Emil's birth. Count Otto had feared for his wife's life at the time. Doctors later determined that these problems had affected Clara's fertility, making further children impossible. In 1914, the Count had noted how afraid he and Clara were at the thought of seeing their only child go to war. Marta had to pause her reading for a moment, so deeply did everything touch her heart.

As she closed the heavy family book, she felt how the atmosphere in the room had changed. It was as if the Count's parents had spoken directly to her. She now felt a close connection with them. But she couldn't stay any longer, because work called.

In the kitchen, Elise was already busy preparing everything for coffee time in the garden. The scent of freshly baked cake and steaming coffee filled the air. Marta reached for the delicate, white tablecloth, picked up the tray with the fine china, cutlery, and small decorations, and began arranging everything in the garden.

Meanwhile, Willi was hanging small lanterns in the trees to make the ambiance even more magical after sunset.

"Look, Marta, look!" Willi waved to her as he hung one of the lanterns in a treetop. "Isn't that romantic?"

Soon, Count Emil and Lady of Rottenweil ​​arrived. They acted like a pair of lovebirds, holding hands, exchanging kisses, and enjoying Elise's delicious strawberry cake. Marta watched them with a hint of benevolence.

"If Lady of Rottenweil ​​wants to fulfill the Count's desires, then she should," she murmured quietly to herself. "Then at least the staff will be spared." Alma had also recently confessed to her that she was being harassed by the Count.

Towards evening, a messenger arrived at the castle on a bicycle. He wore dark clothing and carried an urgent message. The Count broke the seal. Then he called Marta. "Your aunt has had an accident," he said in a serious voice. "You should come home immediately." Marta felt her heart beat faster. Count Emil, who was still in a good mood, nodded understandingly and gestured with his hand that she could leave.

"Thank you," Marta breathed hastily and hurried into the city. Before Marta could even put the front door key in the lock at home, a hand was placed over her mouth, and Marta was quickly pulled into a bush next to the entrance.
"Calm down, Marta, don't worry," Rudolph whispered in a serious voice. "I sent you the message. It's important."

Together they crept into his room so they wouldn't be disturbed. Rudolph looked at Marta with a stern expression. "I'm very worried about you. Listen to what I've found out." He sat down next to her on the sofa. "I called my nephew in Berlin. He has good connections with employees in the Reich Archives. They did research for him. What my nephew told me made my blood run cold, Marta."
"Count Emil von Zynstein was an officer in the 134th Infantry Regiment," Rudolph continued. "In 1914, this unit moved via Belgium to France. The regiment was almost completely wiped out in the First Battle of the Marne. It is assumed that no one survived."

"No one? And what about Count Emil?" Marta's voice sounded irritated.
"That's exactly what's strange. Count Emil von Zynstein was initially registered as killed in action. But this entry was subsequently deleted. Therefore, no death notification was sent to his parents. It's as if someone had rewritten history."
Marta felt goosebumps forming on her arms. "That means he might not have been killed after all?"

"Isn't that strange?" Rudolph interrupted her. "Do you really believe that an officer who loses his entire regiment in battle can rise from the dead? I don't think so. Isn't it more likely that someone in the Reich Archives simply falsified the entries?" Rudolph took a breath. "And that sheds a completely different light on everything. Because then there's a lot more to it than we thought."

Marta stared at Rudolph. What she heard left her speechless. It seemed increasingly obvious that the man who now resided in the castle as Count Emil was not the real von Zynstein. He was a criminal, a swindler, and a fence - this became increasingly clear to Marta.
Then she told Rudolph what she had experienced in the castle. Rudolph listened attentively as she recounted the incident with the painting and was shocked to learn how the count was harassing the staff. "Be careful. Such people are dangerous," he warned her. "You never know what they'll plan next." They looked at each other, the tension palpable.
"What should we do now?" asked Marta.

"Beware of him. Perhaps it's better if you don't go to the castle again for the time being," Rudolph said resolutely.

"But I have to bring the truth to light," she replied. "I can't just look away."
"I understand that, Marta," Rudolph's voice had a calming tone. "But sometimes caution is better than rash action."
But Marta couldn't be stopped. Rudolph therefore decided to give her the lock pick he had procured especially for her.

"Take care of yourself," these words echoed in Marta's ears for a long time. The next morning, she was back at the castle. There, she apologized to the count for her absence and told him that her aunt had fallen from the ladder and twisted her ankle. They had gone straight to the doctor. She had slept the night well, and this morning she was already able to take her first steps. The neighbors would now take care of her.
In the kitchen, Marta met Alma, who was brimming with news. "Marta, you won't believe this," Alma greeted her, "but yesterday's garden party wasn't just a tête-à-tête."

Marta frowned. But Alma couldn't be stopped. "The Count is engaged. To Lady of Rottenweil. And the wedding is supposed to be this month."
"What? So quickly?" Marta could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Alma nodded. "Exactly. And now comes the thing. The whole castle has to be polished to a high shine by then. For the celebration, of course."

Marta wondered why this had to happen so quickly. "Does that mean everything will be even more hectic now? Even more pressure?"
"Yes," Alma moaned softly.

The renovation work would certainly give her more opportunities to accelerate her secret project, Marta thought reassuringly.

The very next day, construction workers and painters buzzed through the castle, their voices and the clatter of tools echoing through the hallways. The count led them through the rooms, pointing out nooks and crannies that urgently needed to be mended, repainted, or repaired. The hustle and bustle in the castle meant that the count's office was open for short periods, but Marta considered it too risky to exploit these times for her plan. Nevertheless, she kept a watchful eye.
When the count and Lady of Rottenweil ​​were on their way to the interior decorator's in town to select fine fabrics, she sneaked through the secret passage into the library. With trembling hands, she took the lock pick from her apron and carefully opened the office door. She quickly opened the drawers and rummaged through them. The household book fell into her hands. She opened it. It seemed as if the count had accumulated large debts.

As Marta put the book back, she wondered how he would finance the expensive renovation of the castle and the wedding. Marta now suspected the count of only arranging the wedding to get his hands on Lady of Rottenweil's fortune. That she was wealthy was obvious. Marta closed the drawers again and went to the cupboard. But it was locked. She was just wondering how she could open that lock when she heard someone at the library door.
Paniced, she hid behind a thin curtain that reached to the floor. She held her breath. Heavy footsteps echoed through the open office door, getting closer and closer.

Then a man entered the office. It was Willi, the gardener. He was visibly irritated that the door was open. Still in the doorway, he turned around, looked into the empty library, and seemed to think for a moment. Then he strode purposefully toward the closet, which Marta had previously been unable to open. She pressed herself even closer to the curtain so she could see everything through the thin fibers. However, Willi's back blocked her view.

She heard him fumbling with a dial. He quietly murmured the code: "5 right, 7 left, 3 right, 2 left." Then the safe clicked open. Marta could only guess what was inside. It was too risky to stick her head out of the curtain.

From the sound of it, Willi seemed to have taken a few items out of the safe before closing it again. Then he left the office and locked it.
Marta was confused. What was the gardener doing here? Where did he get the key, and how did he even know the code for the safe? She had already noticed during the incident in the servants' quarters that Willi and Emil were somehow close. But why?

Marta knew that now was no time for such mental games. She crept to the closet and pulled a hairpin from her hair. With care, she managed to open the closet using the pin. She turned the safe knob just as she had heard Willi do, and in an instant, the safe sprang open.
Inside lay a bundle of Reichsmarks, barely enough to cover the staff`s next month's salary. Next to them were jewelry boxes. She opened them one by one. Many were empty or almost empty, only occasionally containing an earring or a brooch. The bottom box was the heaviest. When Marta lifted the lid, the Count's famous necklace appeared. It was the necklace with which the ladies of the house had immortalized themselves in the paintings of the family trees that hung in the entrance hall.

Emil would probably soon have missed these last jewels, too, Marta thought. In the lower compartments of the safe were paintings wrapped in linen cloths. Marta's hands trembled with excitement as she carefully removed the cloths. The paintings were by French artists, all hand-signed. They depicted landscapes and nudes. In total, there were around ten paintings.
Marta was so engrossed in the beauty of the paintings that she didn't notice the office door opening again. She jumped in alarm when the Count's voice sounded next to her.

"Well, who do we have here?" he growled sharply. Before Marta could respond, she felt his fist painfully in her face. She fell to the ground, the force of the blow taking her breath away.

"What an ungrateful bitch you are!" the Count screamed as he swung again. But instead of hitting her, he pulled his belt out of his trousers, tied her to the radiator, and pressed a handkerchief into her mouth as a gag. Then he left the office. The door slammed shut.

Marta desperately tried to free herself. Her hands ached, the count had pulled the belt so tightly around her. She couldn't scream. The gag in her mouth prevented any words from escaping her throat. Her mind raced – what should she do now?

Since Marta didn't show up for dinner at 7 p.m., Elise and Alma had to serve the food themselves. The kitchen was therefore temporarily empty, so no one noticed when Willi pulled a heavy potatoe sack through it into the stairwell behind it. There, he hoisted the sack onto his shoulder and disappeared into the cellar.

The cellar served as a storage room. It consisted of two rooms. While coal and logs were stacked in the first room, the second room had shelves along the walls filled with preserves. Vegetables, fruit, everything the castle garden had to offer was canned and stored there so that Elise could use it in the kitchen during the winter.

Willi placed the heavy sack in front of the shelves. Then he pushed one of the shelves aside, revealing a hidden door. He unlocked it, turned on the light, and retrieved the sack. After closing the door again, he untied the cord that had tied the sack together. With brute force, he pulled Marta out of the sack, dragged her across the ground to the wall, in which an iron ring was embedded. Then he handcuffed her there before turning off the light and leaving the room.

When Marta regained consciousness, everything around her was shrouded in darkness. Her throat was dry, even though the gag was no longer in her mouth. Her wrists ached. She could only move a few centimeters and she had no idea where she was. It smelled dusty, the floor beneath her was cold. In her desperation, she began to tug at the handcuffs, but this only cut deeper into her hands.
Marta screamed. She screamed as loudly as she could. Someone had to hear her, she hoped. But everything remained quiet. She didn't know how long she had been lying there when she heard the door open and the light switched on.

She pulled her arm over her face. Her eyes were no longer used to the brightness, and the glare felt unbearable. A man reared up in front of her. It was Willi. "I wanted to check everything was okay before going to bed," he said mockingly.

Then he took a metal bucket and scooped some water from a tub in the corner of the room. Marta let her gaze wander around the room. Nail beds, pliers, and whips hung on the walls.
Marta screamed in horror when she saw the picture of a torture scene on the wall. Where had they brought her here? Fear rose within her, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

Willi slammed the bucket onto the floor next to her. "There, there's something to drink. So you don't die prematurely. Down here, you can scream as loudly as you want. No one will hear you here. And tomorrow the boss will decide what we do with you. So have sweet dreams!"
With these words, he turned off the light and disappeared. Marta still heard the key in the lock. Then it was quiet again.

She bent her head over the bucket. A disgusting smell rose from the water. It smelled musty. Marta was so disgusted that she didn't want to drink it. At least not yet. She had no idea what else awaited her.

At the market, Frieda had run into the kitchen maid Alma. They only knew each other slightly, but Alma knew that Frieda was Marta's best friend. So she spoke to Frieda. "I'm sorry that Marta was fired. Has she found a new job yet?"

Frieda looked at Alma, irritated. "Marta was fired?"
"Yes, the Count informed us this morning that he had to fire Marta. She was simply unreliable, didn't arrive at work on time, and only did everything half-heartedly. He couldn't tolerate that in his castle, and so he had fired Marta with immediate effect," Alma reported. "I found it strange that she didn't come to me to say goodbye. We shared the same room. I actually thought we always got along well.
Imagine, Frieda, she didn't even take her clothes with her. They're still hanging in our room."

Frieda seemed very worried. She quickly said goodbye to Alma and went to see her Grandpa Rudolph.

When Frieda told him about the developments in the castle, Rudolph turned pale and had to sit down.

"Has anyone seen Marta since her release?" he asked Frieda.
But she just shook her head. "I don't think so. Everything Alma said sounded so strange. Even if Marta were released, would she sneak off like that? I've already rung her aunt's doorbell. She hasn't called there either. Something's not right." She stared at her grandpa.

"I don't like this at all. The whole castle, the count, I think a huge crime is going on there."

Frieda offered to inform the police immediately, but her grandpa warned her. Then he told her all the secrets he and Marta had discovered.

"Frieda, we don't know what the fake count — that's what we have to call him — is planning with Marta. If we send the police, he might realize that his entire disguise has been exposed. Then, at the very latest, he'll eliminate everything that could pose a threat to him, including Marta."

Frieda urged her grandpa, "But we have to do something, we have to save Marta."
Rudolph considered this. "I suspect he caught her trying to break into his office. And I, the complete idiot I am, even got her the lock pick! Someone urgently needs to look for her at the castle."

"Should I ask Alma?" asked Frieda.
"No, we can't put the kitchen maid in danger too," Rudolph decided.
"Then I'll go to the castle," Frieda exclaimed. She was determined to help her friend. Although Rudolph wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, he let himself be persuaded. He also drew the outline of the castle for Frieda on a piece of paper. He sketched the tunnel and the secret doors, explained how they worked, and concluded his lecture by asking if she had understood everything. Frieda nodded. Now she also understood where Marta had disappeared to when they had visited the servants' quarters together.

Rudolph fetched her candles and a hand magnet. "Frieda, promise me that you won't put yourself in danger. Just find out if Marta is still in the castle and how we can get to her. Do you hear? Then you'll come back and we'll work out a plan together. You won't do anything alone, are we agreed?" Frieda nodded silently.

Rudolph took his granddaughter to the lake by bike. "Strange, the drawbridge is raised again. It used to be always down when the Count was at home. Why is it always up now?" Rudolph found that odd.

They saw a truck carrying building materials for the restoration approach the castle island. The driver got off and whistled loudly through his fingers. Then they could see Willi lower the drawbridge. But as soon as the truck had passed the bridge, the drawbridge moved back into the air.

"That's more than strange. They probably want to make sure that no one escapes from the island," Rudolph murmured. Then he kissed Frieda on the forehead. "Take care of yourself and come back as quickly as you can." Frieda waved to him gratefully. Then she disappeared into the forest.

All day long, Rudolph lurked in the moat in front of the castle. He watched everything that was going on. Across the water, he watched as scaffolding was erected at the castle, as craftsmen came and went. Every time the painters and builders arrived or left, the drawbridge was raised after them. Almost as if the island wanted to protect itself against enemies.

Frieda had meanwhile passed through the tunnel and into the secret passage. Using the magnet, she had examined the adjoining rooms through the spy holes. There was no one in the library, and the entrance hall and kitchen were also deserted. In the ballroom, the count was sitting at table with his future bride and was being served by Alma and Elise. She had climbed the rear staircase to the upper rooms of the castle and searched all the rooms. Nothing. Marta was nowhere to be found.

Then she crept into the basement and found the two storage rooms just as Grandpa Rudolph had described them to her. When footsteps approached, she crawled into the bottom shelf of one of the shelves. This way, she was able to witness Willi entering the storage room with a basket containing some bread and milk. He put the basket down briefly. Then with all his strength, he pushed one of the shelves aside and opened the door hidden behind it. After about five minutes, he returned without the basket, closed the door, and carefully pushed the shelf back in front of it. Frieda immediately knew who must be in this room.

Her urge to free her friend made her forget everything she had promised her grandpa. She waited a few more minutes before approaching the shelf. She wanted to push it aside, as she had seen it done before. But no matter how hard she pushed against the shelf, the shelf wouldn't budge. It was simply too heavy for her. Despite all the muscles she'd developed working in the fields, only a full-grown, strong man could muster the strength required to move the shelf.

"There has to be another way," Frieda encouraged herself. Then she began to remove heavy objects from the shelf. She lifted out a thick pickle jar, then the next and even more. She placed all the jars on the other shelves.

With open arms, she grasped a wine crate, but it was so heavy that it slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. Luckily, the shards only scattered inside the box. So she set it aside. However, the wine began to flow from the shattered bottles, leaving a thick red puddle on the floor. This stain, which continued to grow, was not only conspicuous, it was also obtrusive.

Frieda had no time to waste. Once again, she leaned against the shelf and pushed against it with all her strength. Gradually, the wooden frame moved to the side. She pressed her arms against the shelf again until the hidden door appeared. She quickly pulled the lock pick from her pocket and unlocked the door. The room that opened to her was pitch black. Only the light from the storage room penetrated a little. But Marta recognized her friend's outline and called softly to her, "Frieda, Frieda, I'm here. The light switch is right next to the door."

Frieda didn't need to be told twice. In an instant, the light bulb illuminated the castle's torture chamber. At first, Frieda was shocked by all the torture devices she saw. Then she ran toward Marta, who was still handcuffed to the iron ring on the wall.

"I can't get you out like this," she whispered in Marta's ear, "I have to get help." She ran back to the door, turned off the light, closed the door, pushed the shelf in front of it, and was about to leave the cellar when she heard footsteps again.

Once again, she squeezed onto the bottom shelf and pulled an empty potato sack over herself that had been innocently thrown there. She heard someone curse.
"What kind of mess is this? Who was here at the shelf? It stinks like a pub!"

Frieda couldn't remember what happened next. When she came to, she found herself in a dark room and all her bones ached.

"Frieda? Can you hear me?" She immediately recognized Marta's voice.
"Marta!" she exclaimed, and now she knew where she was. In the castle's torture chamber.

Rudolph crawled restlessly back and forth in the moat in front of the castle. He was very worried because Frieda still hadn't returned. He stayed awake all night, observing the count's estate.

When Frieda didn't show up the next morning, he was sure that something bad must have happened. It was no use. Now he had to check on the castle. The drawbridge was still raised. He had to use the tunnel to get inside. Faster than a startled deer, he ran through the forest. But there was no trace of the idyllic peace he was used to here.

Loud chainsaws howled through the undergrowth. The sound of construction machinery also reached him. Rudolph ran as fast as he could. Only when he approached the thicket, through which the servants' quarters could be seen, did he stop. His blood froze in his veins when he saw that a construction crew had turned its attention to the building and that an excavator had already reached the stairwell. The entrance to the cellar, Rudolph could see from his hidden position, had already been filled in. He would no longer be able to use the tunnel.

Worried, Rudolph returned to the lake, lost in thought. Why had the count decided almost overnight to demolish the servants' quarters? He wouldn't spend money on this without a reason.

He sat down on the small jetty and looked at the castle, which stood in the middle of the lake. As a young stable boy, he had often swum in the lake. He knew where the river flowed into the lake, where it was too dangerous to swim, and was familiar with all the local conditions. To reach the island safely, he would have to approach from the garden side. This would also have the advantage that he wouldn't be immediately recognized from one of the castle windows.

He ran around the lake until he was level with the castle garden. Then he took off his shoes and socks and waded into the water. He swam forward with calm strokes, as best his strength allowed at his advanced age. Nevertheless, he felt exhausted when he reached the other shore.

If he didn't want to leave any noticeable puddles in the castle, he had to dry his clothes. He also needed a breather.

He quickly slipped into the labyrinth, which he knew like the back of his hand. How many hours had he spent trimming that damned hedge? No wonder he knew every path. He also remembered that at the center of the labyrinth there was a small meadow, large enough to rest in, but at the same time completely protected from prying eyes. Since it was a sunny day, he spread his clothes out on the grass, where they dried quickly.

It wasn't until dusk fell that he dared to approach the castle. He climbed the painter's scaffolding to the second floor. From there, he used the stairs in the rear building and reached the secret hallway. Horrified, he discovered that the wooden door to the tunnel had been forced open. Now Rudolph understood why the building in the forest had to disappear so quickly. The entire tunnel system had been exposed. The Count must have caught Frieda as she entered the castle.

Rudolph pulled his magnet out of his pocket and looked through all the spy holes into the adjoining rooms of the castle. Since the rooms were empty, he decided to look for Frieda in the cellar.

There was a pungent smell of red wine there. When Rudolph saw the thick red stain in front of the shelf in the second cellar room, he suddenly remembered what was hidden behind that very shelf. He had lived alone with Gustav in the castle for too long not to have discovered every secret of the castle. If he wanted to get Frieda out, he needed a good plan, he knew that, otherwise he, too, would soon be trapped in the torture chamber.
He carefully hurried out of the cellar into the open air. There he almost ran into the arms of the Count and Willi, who were leaning against the side of the castle in the shadows of the twilight. Rudolph noticed only the burning cigarette butts as a warning, as they fluttered around like fireflies.

Careful not to make the slightest noise, Rudolph crept up behind the bushes toward the two.

"How are we going to get rid of them?" Willi asked. "I don't think they should stay here much longer."
"You're absolutely right," Emil took a drag on his cigarette. "Once the painters have left, we'll get rid of them. Before then, it's too risky. All those people here poking their noses into things that are none of their business."
"And how do we do it then," Willi wanted to know, "like we did with your first wife?"
"Well, that worked out great. Why shouldn't two stupid, young girls drown while swimming in the lake?" Emil asked coldly.
"As you wish. I'll get the pills," Willi informed him.

When they had finished smoking, they both went back to the castle. Rudolph had heard enough. These were real Mafia people he was dealing with. So he had to act quickly while the scaffolding was still in front of the castle. That wouldn't be for long, because the craftsmen were almost finished with their work and only had to make minor repairs.

Rudolph hurried to the stables. He loved the beautiful horses. Now there were only two stallions left, but at the castle's peak, he had cared for up to 10 horses here himself. He quickly opened the boxes and chased the horses outside. Then he fetched two spare canisters of gasoline from the car garage and poured the liquid generously over the straw before setting it on fire.

"Fire, fire!" he shouted into the castle courtyard. Then he quickly hid back in the bushes.
Now things happened in quick succession. People ran out of the castle, and panic set in. Then a line of buckets was formed, leading from the fountain to the stable. The Count rushed to his office to call the fire department. Rudolph, on the other hand, ran back to the cellar, pushed the shelf aside, opened the door, and saw two pale, hungry girls lying on the bare floor. Their hands were handcuffed to the iron rings on the wall.

He pulled a hairpin out of Frieda's hair and approached Marta. Then he grabbed her handcuff and turned the keyhole toward him. He carefully pushed the wire end in, bent the pin at a 70-degree angle, pulled it out again, and then inserted the other end of the pin into the hole and bent it as well. The hairpin now had the shape of a curl. He inserted the bent end into the keyhole again, because now he could use the pin like a real key. He turned the pin, which lifted the locking mechanism and Marta's handcuffs popped open.

"Run outside, Marta, hide, it's too risky if you wait here. I'll take care of it." Then he pulled the created hairpin key from the handcuff that Marta had left behind and tried to use it to undo Frieda's handcuffs.

Just as they burst open, Rudolph felt a heavy blow on the back of his head. He fell to the ground with a groan. Frieda looked up and recognized Willi, who was laughing maliciously. His laughter, however, was short-lived, because another blow sounded, and now Willi also fell on his face.

"Phew," Marta wiped the sweat from her forehead with her hand. "That was a close call. I was just in the stairwell when I saw Willi coming. So I jumped into the kitchen and grabbed the poker. Then I followed Willi into the cellar. That was worth it, don't you think?" Marta grinned contentedly.

"Marta, we're not safe yet," Rudolph admonished her, who had meanwhile gotten up from the ground but was still unsteady on his feet.

"Help me out of here. We have to get out of the castle," he ordered.

Rudolph linked arms with Frieda, while Marta quickly locked the door to the torture chamber so Willi couldn't follow them. They hurried up the back stairs as fast as possible and made it outside.

There, wailing sirens announced the arrival of the fire department. Immediately behind them, a police car crossed the drawbridge to the moated castle.

Frieda couldn't take it anymore. She broke free from Rudolph's grip and ran as fast as she could toward the police officers. "Help, help!" she screamed.
But she didn't get far. The fleshy Elise had grabbed her and thrown herself at them with full force, so that they both landed on the ground. The next moment, they heard the whir of a bullet flying over them. Then another shot rang out, this time from the police, aimed at the count.

Emil swayed slightly, dropped his pistol, and collapsed motionless.

"You saved my life," Frieda hugged the cook tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Within a short time, the fire department and police had the situation under control. The fire was extinguished, and Willi was taken away.

Rudolph needed a moment to recover. Then he explained, "I assume that Willi, the gardener, is the Berlin official who made the false entry in the register. He and the fake count worked together to take ownership of the castle using forged papers, I'm sure of that."

"And who will be the future count of the castle," Marta wanted to know.

"Well," said the policeman, "we'll check that."
"I'd like to continue working at the castle," Marta confessed, "but only if it's for really nice noblemen. Otherwise, I'd rather go to the fields with Frieda."
"Who knows, who knows," Frieda joked. "Perhaps you'll marry the new count and become a countess yourself."

At this thought, they all had to laugh heartily.