Her Hidden Life. V.S. Alexander

rushed to her and said to the Colonel, ‘I’m sure this is a mistake. Fräulein Thalberg would never poison the Führer.’

      ‘Shut up,’ the Colonel commanded. ‘Get away from her.’

      Karl stared at me. Horror spread across his face. My heart pounded as I leaned against the door frame. The Colonel, still carrying the tea, grabbed Ursula roughly by the arm and pulled her down the steps of the Teahouse. He ordered her to hold out the cup; then he poured the hot liquid into it. He sniffed the steam as it rose in milky wisps in the air.

      ‘Drink it,’ he said. His lips formed a vicious smile.

      Franz stood frozen in the doorway. Karl, still restraining the barking dog, stared in disbelief.

      Ursula looked blankly at the Colonel. She lifted the cup to her lips and drank it in one draught.

      The Colonel took back the cup and waited.

      Nothing happened for a few long minutes as Ursula focused her gaze upon the ground. Then, slowly, her body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed on the path. Franz started to run to her, but Karl and a member of the kitchen staff held him back.

      Down the path, conversation and laughter filled the air. Hitler, with a walking stick in hand, strolled ahead of his entourage. He was accompanied by Eva and the guests, no more than fifty meters from the Teahouse. She carried her camera in her quest to get photographs of the Führer. She darted ahead of him at one point to snap pictures.

      I watched in disbelief as Ursula, her skin and lips turning blue, lay unconscious on the ground. The Colonel did nothing. Cook had told me about the body coloration as one of the symptoms of cyanide poisoning. It led to an unconscious state and respiratory failure – a lack of oxygen. The convulsions, her gasps, continued until her mouth gaped open. With one final breath, her body shook and then her arms fell lifeless by her sides.

      Karl ordered the staff to stay inside, although the whole event could be seen through the Teahouse windows.

      Heinrich Hoffmann, Hitler’s gray-haired photographer, rushed up and snapped a few pictures of the body. Hitler stopped the procession and motioned for the Colonel to come to him. With the teapot and cup in hand, he approached the Führer. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but after a short time Hitler turned and said something to the group. Amid looks of astonishment, they retreated and disappeared into the mist.

      The Colonel poured out the contents of the pot on the trail and addressed Karl. ‘You should have better command over your staff, Captain. Get a couple of men to take the body to the doctor’s office for an autopsy.’ He grabbed his dog’s leash. The animal wanted to sniff Ursula’s body. ‘You and Faber – in my quarters in an hour. In the meantime, make sure the Teahouse is cleaned up. No one should eat or drink anything. Keep only the items that are sealed.’ He handed Karl the teapot and the cup.

      He raised his right arm in salute. ‘Heil Hitler.’

      Karl and Franz came to attention and saluted as well. The Colonel turned toward the Berghof, pulling his dog with him. As soon as he was out of sight, Franz’s eyes brimmed with tears. Karl held his friend back while two SS men took the body away.

      ‘Go back to your room and remain there,’ he told me when I approached. ‘None of us is above suspicion.’

      The thought shook me. I took one last look inside the Teahouse with its magical furnishings. I remembered the fairy tales my mother had read to me when I was a child. They were often brutal tales ending in destruction or death. I was coming to realize how much the Reich was like a fairy tale. Death was never far away.