by I. J. Parker
In spite of the danger, he went back to the house and arrived to see the lawyer Stiebel leaving. He wondered if the queer little man knew that someone had searched his place. Probably not. His back door had been easy—he hadn’t needed to force the lock. Too bad the strongbox hadn’t yielded as well. He could have used the gold, and if the letter was there, it would have got his employer off his back. Maybe he could try again, with better tools. He was a better thief than a killer.
Then Seutter arrived. Max caught a glimpse of Augusta when she let him in. Max didn’t like Seutter. He had a nasty suspicious way of looking at Max. And that day when he’d caught Augusta falling out of the pear tree, Seutter had looked fighting mad. She would have kissed him, if the old bastard hadn’t walked in on them.
The memory of that missed kiss was sweet enough to make Max risk his life. He went to the house through the back alley and the garden, slipping into the kitchen just as the front door closed behind Seutter.
10
Travel Plans
Innocence never finds as much protection as guilt.
François, Duc de la Rochefoucauld
The incident with Seutter upset Franz’s recuperation. He realized how very ill he felt when Augusta left the parlor in tears. His mother had collapsed into hysterical weeping, and Elsbeth still stared at his bare legs. His headache had reached a blinding ferocity, his stomach heaved, and he reached for the chair back to support himself in a sudden fit of dizziness. Heaven forbid he should faint. His misery made him even angrier.
“Don’t you have things to do in the kitchen?” he snarled at Elsbeth through clenched teeth.
The girl squeaked, “Yessir. Sorry, Master,” and disappeared with the full market basket.
He turned his mother. “Come, Mama,” he said as firmly as he could manage. “No harm was done, thanks to your timely arrival. If you will see to the household affairs, I’ll return to my bed.”
She burst into angry speech. “How can you say ‘no harm was done’? What of my feelings? What of the gossip? I shall not be able to hold up my head before my friends. The scandal will spread all over town. I’m ruined. No harm indeed! You are very unfeeling, Franz.”
He closed his eyes and clutched his throbbing head. “Hush. Nobody will know. Seutter will hardly spread the tale.” Then he remembered Elsbeth and knew he would have to have a word with her.
“That’s not the point at all,” his mother cried shrilly. “What of my broken engagement?”
He lowered his hand and looked at her. “What broken engagement? Are you telling me that Seutter has proposed to you and you accepted?”
His mother looked away and dabbed at her eyes. “We had an understanding,” she said with a sniffle.
“Surely,” Franz said severely, “that was quite improper. I knew nothing of it. Why didn’t you speak to me?”
She began to cry again. “You are so hard. What has made you so hard? Don’t you know my heart is broken? Why do you torment me?”
It dawned on Franz that the “understanding” had been one-sided. And she had probably informed her friends of her expectations. He sighed again. “We’ll discuss it later. Perhaps you should also lie down for a little. Elsbeth can bring some chocolate to your room. You may feel more yourself by evening.”
To his relief, his mother nodded. “I do feel very weak. Your arm, if you please. And tell Elsbeth to bring some of those almond cakes with the chocolate.”
He saw his mother to her bedroom. On the way back, he passed Augusta’s closed door and thought he heard weeping. He regretted that he had been so harsh with her and knocked softly. “Augusta?”
There was no answer, but the weeping stopped. When he tried the door, he found it locked. This angered him again, and he turned away. Remembering Elsbeth’s fascination with his bare legs, he put his banyan over his shirt before staggering downstairs again to deliver his mother’s instructions.
The girl was talking to someone, so he called to her from the hall.
She put her head out of the kitchen door. “Yessir?” Franz noticed the broad-shouldered figure of Max disappearing through the backdoor.
“I see Max finally showed up,” he said sourly. “About time, with the house in such a turmoil.” Though it was probably too late, he added, “Elsbeth, you are to speak to no one about what happened just now in the parlor. Do you understand?”
Elsbeth flushed and nodded.
“Your mistress is resting. Take up some hot chocolate and almond cakes. Then see if you can fix a plain meal. Anything will do.”
She looked doubtful. “There’s some soup left, Master. And I can cook potatoes and a bit of bacon.”
Franz suppressed a wave of nausea. “Anything. Perhaps Miss Augusta will be down later.” Feeling dizzy again, he turned and climbed back up to his room, where he fell into bed and closed his eyes with a moan.
*
The assassin returned to Mannheim in the company of the vulpine messenger. He felt like a prisoner being taken to face his judge. The nasty creature maintained a stubborn silence about his fate, but he smiled a good deal.
Schadenfreude!
In a mood of mingled fury, he was delivered to a large private house near the palace. The fox led him to a paneled and gilded library filled with paintings, globes, and comfortable chairs.
The “great man” surprised him with a courteous, “I hope I see you well, my friend,” and dismissed the fox, saying, “Entre nous: le petit reynard est trés utile, mais je ne l’aime pas.”
Offered a comfortable chair and a glass of burgundy, the assassin—who positively hated the little fox—permitted himself a cautious smile. “A strange creature,” he murmured and raised his glass to study its ruby lights before tasting. The wine was superb, and that was as strange as the friendly reception. Was this the condemned man’s last drink? He did not think so. “Frankly, I wondered how much he knows of our business.”
“Almost nothing, and he’s devoted to my family and would never speak against me or mine. His usefulness lies in the fact that he pays close attention to all I do business with.”
“I see.” He felt a fresh twinge of unease.
The great man eyed him over his glass. His voice purred as he said, “Reynard will report to me later.” His white, plump hand with the heavy gold ring twirled the stem, and the candles drew ruby sparks from the wine.
As red as blood, the assassin thought, and the old anger returned. “If it concerns me, I’ll warrant I can do that better, sir.”
“Mmm. Perhaps, perhaps not. But I have more important matters to discuss.” He set down his glass and leaned forward. “I take it that you still do not have the letter?”
The assassin burst out angrily, “There is no letter! If there ever was one, it’s long gone.”
The great man raised a hand. “Pray, do not excite yourself. I’m inclined to agree. Will you take part in the hunting this fall?”
The assassin contained his surprise and relief at the change of subject. “I have no plans but am at your service as always, sir,” he said cautiously.
His host refilled their glasses. “There will be another official hunt this year. In Schwetzingen.” He made a face. “I get no pleasure from the killing of trapped animals, but you rather like that sort of thing. You know Schwetzingen, of course.”
He was beginning to get nervous again. “Certainly.”
“I doubt His Highness will stage the hunt far from the comforts of the summer palace. You’ll get an invitation.”
He guessed wildly at what was coming. The thought struck him with horror.
With a faintly sardonic smile, the great man said, “You look stunned. Surely such an entertainment is the very thing for a man of your parts.”
The assassin’s hand trembled, and a small amount of wine splattered on his frilled shirt cuff. This, too, looked like blood. “I…I…you cannot have considered, sir. It would be much too public!” He heard the panic in his voice.
The
bushy brows rose, and the smile was gone. “I beg your pardon?”
He sweated and put the glass on the table, clenching his hands together. “Please consider, sir, the crowd of spectators.”
“You surprise me. As a soldier you should know that life is not without a few risks.” The great man laughed. “I dare say it will be much like Freiberg. Guns fire, blood flows, and when it’s all done, there is a winner.”
He knew there would be a great difference. During a royal hunt, those with guns are few, and they are watched by many. Every man with a rifle had several guests and servants beside him.
The great man emptied his glass. “The plans aren’t final. My true purpose for calling you back was to assure myself of your continued loyalty. Her Highness needs all the friends she can find.” He turned cold eyes on the assassin. “You have mismanaged this other business badly, and I had to make sure. You do understand that matters have gone too far for you to withdraw now?”
The assassin cast a frantic glance around the room. He was trapped. What a fool he had been to think he was master of his fate while serving this man’s political ambitions. He was being used just as he had used Max. Gulping down the rest of his wine, he said angrily, “You do me an injustice, sir. I proved my loyalty at Freiberg.”
“Let us not speak of that matter. It was poorly done and dangerous. And you have been paid generously with your current appointment. If you prove more reliable in the future, you may do even better.”
The assassin bowed, deciding against another warning about the dangers of killing a ruling monarch in front of his assembled court. Time would show him a way to extricate himself and emerge victorious. Already his mind turned over possibilities. The reward would be enormous, unimaginable.
The other man became all complacency. “I recently received the privilege of suggesting appointments. Quite often, a title and an appropriate estate accompany such appointments.”
That was more like it. Title and estate would certainly take care of what fate and his parents had denied him. The assassin bowed again. “My felicitations, sir. You will have, as always, my utmost loyalty and support.”
The great man refilled their glasses. “Let us drink to success.”
He raised his glass. “To the glory of Kurpfalz!”
*
Franz slept the rest of the day, waking only to find darkness outside his window and silence in the house. He got up to use the chamber pot and drink some water from the pitcher in his room and went back to sleep. The next time he woke, the sun was up and his head felt much better.
The house was quiet. He got up, splashed some water on his face, combed his hair as best he could around the bandage and tied his queue in back with a black silk ribbon. Then he dressed and opened the door to listen. He heard Elsbeth clattering pots around in the kitchen, but otherwise there was no noise. His mother must still be asleep, and perhaps Augusta also.
He felt a little cowardly, because he was going to turn his back on the troubles of his family and go directly to work. Sharing a house with three emotional females was hard on a man. Young Elsbeth was all prying eyes and ears and seemed to follow him about, and while he should be used to his mother’s silliness and hysterics, she still managed to upset him. He found it difficult to show her the respect due a mother. And now even Augusta’s behavior had become quite shocking. She had been such a quiet, sensible girl. What could have possessed her to pay visits to a man like Seutter? And without so much as a maid to lend some respectability? Was she so blinded by wealth that she did not care, that she did not mind Seutter’s age and appearance and—worse—his lack of culture?
He tiptoed downstairs and slipped outside, closing the front door softly behind him.
He found Stiebel with the servant from the inn who had just served him his breakfast. Not having expected Franz, the little lawyer insisted on first ordering another breakfast. Then he looked Franz over carefully and asked, “Are you quite sure you are well enough? You still look very pale. Come, take a seat.” He pushed his cup toward Franz. “Have some of my coffee. I’m sure it will set you up in an instant.”
Coffee was a luxury the Langsdorffs had never succumbed to. Feeling the need for clear thinking, Franz accepted gratefully and asked if he might have Dr. Stiebel’s advice in a family matter.
Stiebel’s face grew grave. “My good friend Seutter came to see me yesterday. He was in a very distraught state. If it’s about that, then I think we should wait until after breakfast.”
“The man’s a scoundrel!”
Stiebel said nothing.
“Augusta is not yet seventeen. A child! And he, a man old enough to have fathered both of us, played with her affections and tempted her with his wealth. He may well have ruined her. I say he’s a scoundrel.”
Stiebel sighed. “You forget that I’ve met your sister. She is not a child. She is a young woman. A very charming young woman. Why should not a man fall in love with her? Is love reserved only for the young? Amor idem omnibus, says Virgil.”
Franz floundered. He thought of the scene in the garden when Augusta had shocked him by displaying a good deal of bosom. Seutter had seen her nakedness also. No doubt the damage had been done that day. It was disgusting but true that even a man Seutter’s age might lust after her. “Perhaps,” he said, “Augusta has been too careless in her dress, but I’m convinced it was done quite innocently. In fact, I had to have a word with her about it. I’m afraid my mother has not paid sufficient attention while I was away.”
Stiebel looked grave again. “Poor girl. What must she have thought? I trust you have made amends?”
“Amends? She knows how improper their behavior was. To sit alone with a man, allowing him to hold her hand—and God knows what else—is surely the height of brazenness.”
They were interrupted by the inn’s servant bringing Franz’s breakfast. Franz had lost his appetite and seethed with impotent anger.
“Eat,” said Stiebel, turning his attention to his own meal.
Franz knew better than to interrupt breakfast. He made an attempt to eat and found that he was hungry after yesterday’s abstinence. They ate silently, Franz turning over in his head the arguments he meant to bring in the Seutter affair. He had just about arranged them cogently when Stiebel removed his napkin, dabbed his mouth and fingers, and leaned back in his chair to regard Franz.
Franz hurried to swallow his last bite. “Sir?”
“This attack on your poor head—it hasn’t by chance addled your good sense?”
Franz flushed. “Not at all, sir,” he said stiffly. “In fact it seems to have taken away the stutter. I feel quite well and am ready to go to work.”
“As to the stutter, yes, it seems to be gone. An excellent thing, though perhaps it may rather be ascribed to Doctor Mesmer’s treatment. But that is not what I meant. You have confirmed what my friend Seutter told me, and it seems to me that you owe your sister and him apologies.”
“Apologies?” Franz was shocked. Stiebel’s manner reminded him of certain occasions when his father had looked and spoken to him in just such a way. But he had been a boy then, and he was a man now, and the head of his family. “I have certain responsibilities, sir,” he pointed out. “You cannot know what that feels like. You have no family.”
Stiebel was silent. Then he said bleakly, “You’re right. I beg your pardon.” He rose. “Let’s go to work then.”
Franz jumped up and limped after him. “No, I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps I’m not quite myself yet. I would not for the world have offended you.”
Stiebel stopped. “Well, my boy,” he said, “perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken as I did. Only, being a lonely man, I have long since formed a habit of imagining myself in the shoes of others. In a manner, I try to live their lives for a little while, to see the world through their eyes, to feel their pain and joy, to understand why they act the way they do. It is quite an extraordinary exercise and has occasionall
y been useful to me in my profession. As you show an interest in the practice of law, you might try it.”
“I shall try, sir.”
“Well, there’s no more to be said, then.” Stiebel turned and disappeared into his office.
Franz stood for a moment, trying to grasp that Stiebel, who only two days ago had been the kindest and most affectionate friend he had ever had, was angry with him when he should have understood. Then he took his wounded self to his own desk.
The morning passed slowly. Franz tried to work but his mind was not on it. He felt the pain of Stiebel’s reproof acutely and blamed his family for it. If they had not created the scene the day before, Stiebel would not have taken against him. And Seutter, no doubt, had represented the situation in a light favorable to himself while blackening Franz’s character.
The lying villain!
Around noon the post came. Since all of it was usually for Stiebel, Franz paid no attention. Perhaps a new case or two would be added to his chores. He did not care.
Suddenly the door of his room flew open, and Stiebel shot in, periwig and coat skirts flying. He waved a letter in his hand. “We have it!” he cried and hopped on a stool next to Franz’s desk. “We know who he is! Wait until you hear.”
Franz blinked. “What?”
“Von Loe, silly boy. Von Loe! How could you forget? The man your letter is addressed to.”
“Oh,” said Franz. “Yes.”
“Listen to this: ‘My dear Nepo,’—he’s always called me that, ever since we were boys together at the university—‘my dear Nepo, I am happy to be able to clear up this mystery for your young friend. It is indeed a fascinating tale. Your von Loe is none other than Baron Friedrich von Winkelhausen He is chamberlain to His Most Gracious Highness, the Prince Elector of the Palatinate. Born into the von Loe family of Heidelberg, he still bears that name, along with his new titles. When the court moved from Heidelberg to Mannheim, this branch of the von Loe family moved also.’” Stiebel lowered the letter. “You see? It’s just as I guessed. And he’s a great man.” He glanced at the letter again. “Well, there’s more here but mostly about himself. Now, what will you do?”
