by I. J. Parker
Stiebel’s appearance shocked Seutter profoundly. He found him dozing, looking shockingly shrunken and senile without the customary wig. As anxious as Seutter was about Augusta, he tiptoed to the bedstead and asked softly, “My dear friend, are you awake?”
To his relief, Stiebel opened his eyes and looked instantly more animated. “Jakob! Of all that’s wonderful! You find me sadly out of sorts, I’m afraid.”
Indeed, his voice was weak and he did not seem to have the strength to raise himself. “You’re sorely needed. The boy’s gone to look for his sister, but…well, he’s young.” He took Jakob’s hand, and pulled him down on the chair beside his bed. “You must find the young Augusta, poor girl. I fear she’s tangled up in this infernal mystery of ours. A very unscrupulous man by the name of Eberau may have got hold of her.” He told Jakob of the recent events and his suspicions, pausing frequently to gasp for breath. Eventually, he stopped in utter exhaustion.
Seutter, sickened by what he had learned, looked at the gray face on the pillow and at the gray rain outside the window. He did not think it was possible to feel sadder than he did just then. To Stiebel, he said with false cheer, “I shall take of everything. You must rest as the doctor said and leave this to me. Augusta and I are betrothed. It was her wish.” He paused. “At least that was our understanding in Lindau. In any case and always respecting her own wishes, her welfare is my charge.”
Stiebel smiled very sweetly. “Bless me,” he murmured, “what joyous news!” and fell asleep.
Seutter ran back downstairs, where he found that Max had helped Frau von Langsdorff out of the coach, leaving her ankle-deep in the mud. He was leading the tired horses off toward the stables.
“Max,” Seutter called, “let the grooms take care of that. I need you.”
“Just what I told him,” wailed Frau von Langsdorff. “Really, I don’t know what’s come over Max. He used to be so accommodating, but here he leaves me standing outside in the rain and mire with not so much as an arm to lean on when I’m in delicate health.” She sniffled and raised her skirt. “I shall need new shoes.”
Seutter clapped on his hat and eyed her coldly. “Sorry, madam. Max and I must look for Augusta. She’s not here. Pray, go inside and wait.” She opened her mouth to protest. He ignored her and said, “Tell them to put the charges for rooms and stabling on my account.”
Seutter had hoped that the confused tale about murder and mayhem was due to his old friend’s illness. But when one of the grooms confirmed that Augusta’s brother had gone to look for her at Baron Eberau’s house, his heart sank.
He and Max started to walk, quickly soaked to the skin by the cold rain. Max was glum and said, “What if she’s been taken away from here in that carriage?”
The thought demoralized Seutter. “No! Not that. She’s here, I feel it. She must be. Look, you’re younger. Run ahead.”
Max departed at a trot, leaving Seutter a measure of privacy. If his girl had been carried off to some other town, why then the whole wide world might hide her forever from him. And if she was here, well then things were bad enough. He bowed his head, and the rain mingled with the first tears he had shed since the loss of his wife and child some fifteen years before.
*
As Max turned down the rutted private lane, he nearly collided with a very pretty young woman in a rain-soaked blue silk gown. She was wild-eyed and babbled at him in a foreign tongue. He kept shaking his head and she stamped her dainty foot and screamed at him. It was hopeless until he asked, “Augusta?” She nodded vigorously then and pointed over her shoulder, adding another stream of gibberish. Max started running.
The house looked unoccupied, its shutters closed, but a covered chaise with a pair of horses waited at the door. It was just the sort of house where a villain might hide away his angel—and just the sort of vehicle he would carry her away in. But Max would rescue her. As he ran, he imagined her eyes shining up at him and her arms wrapping themselves gratefully around his manly neck.
A man came from the house, tossed a travel case into the chaise, took the reins, and jumped in.
Franz stopped. Oho! What was Koehl doing here? Koehl, the hateful bastard who had ordered him to kill Augusta’s brother?
The chaise started rolling.
“Wait!” shouted Max and started running again.
Koehl ignored him and whipped up the horses.
If Augusta was in the carriage and that bastard Koehl was taking her away, the only chance of saving her was to stop the chaise now.
As the vehicle flew toward him, Max did not jump clear but instead flung himself at the horse on the left and clung to its halter, yelling to Koehl to stop. Koehl, his face distorted with anger, used his whip. The horse reared, then both animals shied. Max was lifted off the ground and clung on for dear life as they careened down the lane and the frightened animal tried to shake him loose. Koehl bawled curses and snapped the whip at their backs and at Max. Max clutched the animal’s neck with both arms and swung his legs toward the carriage pole. He meant to get enough purchase to climb on the animal’s back. He had almost managed it and murmured Augusta’s name to give himself courage when his wet hands slipped, and he fell under the flying hooves.
*
Seutter heard the sounds of shying horses and shouting and started to run. The chaise appeared from the lane at a furious pace, almost tipping over as the driver took the turn. Seutter jumped aside and rushed down the lane.
He saw the shuttered house ahead, its door open. And he saw the motionless figure lying across the muddy ruts left by the chaise. A woman in blue was bent over it. His heart leaped, but she was a stranger. The lifeless body belonged to Max.
He knelt and checked briefly the crushed skull and the twisted limbs, then got to his feet. “He’s dead,” he said heavily.
He heard a girl’s voice calling “Jakob” and looked up. In the open doorway of the house stood Franz, leaning heavily against the jamb, but Seutter’s eyes were on Augusta, who came toward him with faltering steps, her arms out-stretched.
When they were closer, he could see that she was ill, her eyes feverishly bright, and her voice weak. “Jakob,” she said, “oh, Jakob. You came. Oh, you came!” There was a world of love in her words, and if she gave a small sob, he thought it was from joy. His heart melted. He opened his arms, and she tumbled into them, clutching him fiercely.
21
What Price Happiness?
…what a thing is the heart of man!…there would be far less suffering among mankind , if men—and God knows why they are made that way—did not use their imagination so assiduously to recall the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther
Franz knocked softly and entered when he heard a robust “Come.”
Jakob Seutter sat at the small desk of his room, writing into a notebook.
“I wonder, sir,” murmured Franz, shifting his weight awkwardly, “if I might trouble you for just a moment?”
Seutter got up and came, his hand outstretched. “My dear Franz, nothing could please me more. I have just finished with the sad business of Max’s funeral. How fares Augusta today?”
They shook hands. “She’s much improved, sir. We are greatly—no, immensely—in your debt. In every way.” Franz stood, clenching and unclenching his hands and avoiding Seutter’s eyes. “I’ve come to…to express our gratitude.”
“Not at all.” Seutter’s voice had cooled a little. “I trust my friend Stiebel is also on the mend?”
Franz glanced at Seutter’s face but saw nothing there beyond polite interest. “As to that, sir, I’d hoped you could tell me. I haven’t…it seemed better not to…I haven’t seen him since midday yesterday, sir.”
“Bless my soul.” Seutter’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I did speak to him last night to give him the good news about Augusta. He seemed quite strengthened by it.”<
br />
“I’m very glad to hear it.” A silence fell. Franz glanced helplessly around the room and shuffled his feet. His knee still ached abominably this morning, making it even harder to find the right words. “I…I…also c-came t-to—” He gulped down the stutter, and enunciated the words slowly and clearly. “I must apologize to you, sir, for what I said in Lindau. I spoke in haste, and I was quite wrong—I see that now and should have seen it long ago. It was inexcusable, of course, and Doktor Stiebel told me so, only I didn’t listen and, like a fool, I denied my sister the right to make her wishes known.” He gulped and shifted his weight, leaning on his cane more heavily before plunging on. “I’ve spoken to Augusta, both last night and again this morning, and I’m persuaded that she knows her own mind. And so I came to say that I was wrong, sir, and that I’m truly sorry.”
Seutter’s face broke into a smile. “God love you, Franz.” He put a large, warm hand on Franz’s shoulder. “It’s devilish hard to know what to do for others sometimes,” he said. “I worry a good deal myself. There’s the matter of poor Max, but never mind. In the end you did what you could for Augusta, and I honor you for that. As for the other, well, you thought I was too old for your sister, and so I am. But she will not have it so. Truth to tell, she makes me the happiest man alive, and I’ll make it my life’s work to love and care for her as she deserves.” He cleared his throat, then gestured toward a chair. “But come, you mustn’t stand there. Sit and rest your leg.”
Franz did so gratefully and glanced at the window. It rained still quite heavily. The droplets trailing down the panes were like tears. Rain always made his knee much more painful. He thought of Augusta, who was feverish and uncomfortable but filled with a quiet happiness. He said, “Indeed, Augusta deserves much love and care. She’s had little enough of it from her mother and me.” He hung his head. “She’s been good enough to forgive me.”
Seutter beamed. “She’s a generous girl, isn’t she? I’m truly blessed that she should look with favor on such an old, clumsy, common fellow like me.” He gave a little shamefaced laugh. “What a fine day this is: my Augusta’s mending, her brother tells me he’ll give us his blessings, and with God’s help my friend Stiebel will get better soon. We shall all travel home together. Oh, how I miss home!”
Sorrow settled over Franz like a suffocating black cloth. He, too, longed for his lake, but he would miss Stiebel even more. “As to that, sir, I shall stay here. Mama has borrowed money that must be paid back, and I had hopes of giving Augusta something for a dowry. I’m afraid the house in Fischergasse must be sold. I regret very much that we cannot…that is, my father would have wished a dowry…oh, the devil, sir…we’re as poor as church mice, but you knew that. Only we’re much poorer now.”
Seutter shuffled through the papers on the desk and came up with one. “No need to sell the house. You may pay back the loan as you can, and it shall be Augusta’s dowry.”
Franz stared at the papers his mother had signed. “I don’t understand. How did you come by these?”
Seutter chuckled. “I didn’t like what the other fellow planned to do, so I bought the loan. I trust Stiebel pays you enough to save a little? There’s no hurry, no hurry at all. And someday soon, when you’re an advocate yourself, you may find this a very small burden indeed. I assure you, Augusta and I shall not press you, and the interest is exceeding low.”
Franz said dully, “You’re very kind, but Doktor Stiebel has dismissed me. I shall not be going home.” He laid the loan papers back on the desk and stumbled to his feet. In a moment he would be blubbering like a child. Grasping his cane, he said quickly, “Thank you, sir, for your generosity and your affection for my sister,” and made for the door.
Seutter came after him. “Wait, Franz—I may call you that, I hope, and you must call me Jakob. Surely you cannot think to leave my friend Stiebel. It would break his heart. I know he never meant to dismiss you.”
Franz turned away his face and said thickly, “I dare not go to him. If I should upset him again, it might be his death.”
“Well then, let me smooth the way, and I shall tell you when the time is right. Now take back the paper. I insist.”
*
Eberau passed through Schwetzingen without stopping—a man pursued by furies. Fate had turned against him: the cripple had won, his sister was likely to lay charges against him, Max had found him and, if he had survived the fall under the carriage, he could implicate him in robbery and attempted murder.
But eventually his old bravado resurfaced from this crushing tide of retribution, and he considered his position more calmly. There was no proof of anything he had done, and so it would be their word against his. And Desirée would support him. She was paid heavily for her testimonial.
He reached his house in Mannheim exhausted, dismissed his servants, and fell into bed.
The very next morning brought good news, a double dose, in fact. The first letter was from the palace and confirmed his position as director of the court theater for another year with a raise in salary. The second was a note on thick cream-colored paper, sealed with the private seal of Elizabeth Augusta. It was short but in her own hand, and Eberau devoured the words:
“If he will come to the small eastern entrance on the garden side one hour past midnight, he will be met by my woman of the chamber. E.A.”
Eberau kissed the note, not lustfully—though he gave a passing thought to his performance—but greedily, for it stood for titles, legitimate at last, and estates better than those of his father and equal to the hated Rodenstein’s. And perhaps someday there might even be power.
*
Franz approached Stiebel’s door fearfully. What if Seutter was wrong? What if Stiebel got angry again and the mere sight of Franz brought on a fatal fit?
He stood there for a while, stared at by a maid with an armful of linens, and then knocked softly.
“Who is it?” came Stiebel’s voice. He sounded stronger, and Franz took courage.
“It’s Franz, sir.”
“Well, come in then.”
Franz opened the door and peered toward the bed. Stiebel was sitting up. He was in his nightshirt and wore a night cap but looked more like himself, his eyes bright but unsmiling.
“I hope I see you better, sir,” Franz offered.
“Come in and close the door. Where’ve you been all night?” Stiebel demanded. “I thought you’d fallen into more mischief.”
“I…I slept outside the door, sir.”
“You what?”
“You told me to go away.”
“Humph.” Stiebel frowned. “And since when do you do what I tell you?”
“By your leave, sir, I strive to do what you say. I…I thought you were angry.”
Stiebel had the grace to blush. “And so I was. Have you made your peace with your sister?”
“Yes, sir, and also with Jakob Seutter.”
“Good. Now help me into my clothes. I want to eat my breakfast like a Christian.”
*
Eberau took great pains with his appearance on the night of his triumph. He ordered a bath to be got ready, had his manservant shave him twice, both his face and his head, so that no unseemly and uncomfortable stubble should remain, then selected his finest, lavender-scented and lace-trimmed shirt and his most flattering coat and breeches. Wearing his cocked hat and a caped cloak, he left for the palace shortly after midnight.
He was halfway down the street from his house, when it struck him that what he was about to do might hold some danger. True, he had skirted close to the abyss so many times that it seemed he had always been preserved by fate for some great purpose—the glorious future he was embarked on this night—but caution prevailed. He returned to his house to get a loaded pistol and shove it into the pocket of his coat. Then he set out again.
It was a dark, overcast, and chilly, but thoughts of the coming affair warmed his blood. He hoped his sexual powers woul
d not fail him. The middle-aged and fat Elisabeth Augusta was quite a different proposition from the lithe young actresses and dancers he had fucked, but he had dined on oysters and sweetbreads and, if matters got too discouraging, he would close his eyes and imagine…what?…the cripple’s little virginal sister beneath him.
He found the door easily, a small one used by servants only. No matter, his was a visit that required sacrifices. But it was not a lady-in-waiting or maidservant who stood there in the dark, but a man, who immediately murmured a warning not to speak. Eberau’s hand felt for the pistol in his pocket. But the fellow had used his name and so he said nothing and followed him.
The darkness inside was dense, and his guide had only a shuttered lantern which cast a vague spot of light on floors and stairs. They climbed upward, traversed a number of small unlit rooms, then climbed again, all of it in silence. Eberau, who was familiar with the location of Elisabeth Augusta’s apartments, was content that he was being taken there. Eventually, the doors his companion opened and closed for him became more ornate and the floors changed to inlaid parquet. When they entered a room that was lit with candles in sconces, he recognized it as Elisabeth Augusta’s private study because he had reported to her here about the theater. She took an avid interest in the female performers because of her husband’s past and current liaisons.
The candles flickered in the draft from the door and cast a warm glow over dusky rose silk draperies, gilded chairs, and a Savonnerie carpet adorned with wreaths of roses and blue ribbons. When Eberau turned to see who his guide had been, the other had already slipped from the room.
He stood alone for a minute or two and waited. Then he fixed his eyes on the double doors leading to the next room, which he took to be Elizabeth Augusta’s bed chamber, or perhaps her private sitting room. He cleared his throat. When nothing happened, he took off his hat and cloak, laying both across a chair beside the doors. Then he knocked, very softly.
