Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain
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She could not take in all he had said; nothing had prepared her for any of this, and she had an instant of annoyance, that he should catch her so unprepared. Then she told him, “I have work hanging in the Gallery of Women Artists: they tell me I can have a show of my own there in a year or so.”
“In Dean Street; yes, I know.” He leaned forward again. “Where you are thought to be an oddity among oddities, an aristocratic woman among the Bohemians and the naive. It is a safe place where women may be relegated without serious attention being given to their abili-
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ties.” He saw he had injured her. “I do not say this because I think it is so, Miss Saxon, but because I think it is not.”
Her face was somber. “I wish I could refute you.” She took a hurried sip of over-hot tea and put the cup down again, and looked at him, at once direct and reticent. “What do you want of me?”
So many times in the past he had heard that question in one form or another. His answer had always been the same: ‘Whatever you want for yourself, Miss Saxon,” he replied, the words deep and musical.
She stared at him, her tea abandoned on the table. “Whatever?” It was foolish to think, she told herself as she rose, ignoring her serviette as it dropped to the floor. Ragoczy was on his feet as she went into his arms, into a searching kiss that made her body thrum. When she finally broke away from him, she was as light-headed as if she had been drinking champagne too fast. She was about to apologize when his small, beautiful hand touched her mouth.
“Whatever you want for yourself, Rowena, is what I want of you, and with you,” he said again, making no attempt to embrace her again, although there was no mistaking the passion in his compelling eyes. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
She put her hand on his arm as if to steady herself. “I wish I could tell you what that was,” she said, so honestly that she felt fear wash through her in the wake of her confession.
“You need not,” he said. “It will change, in time.” He read alarm in the quick look she threw him. “That does not mean what you want is not genuine, only that even the most genuine, intense desires modify during life.” He raised her hand from his arm to his lips. “Do not be too angry with yourself when it happens: many wonderful things are ephemeral.”
Looking at him, her desire intensified; she reached out and brushed her fingers along his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you before.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, a hint of irony in his tone.
Rowena was less than two inches shorter than Ragoczy, so when she met his eyes now she did not need to raise her head. She held her breath for a dozen heartbeats, then said, “You may stay, if you wish.”
He took a step back from her. “I will. When it is truly your wish, as well as mine.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, his mouth tantalizingly light on hers. “Do not rush yourself into something you are uncertain of. I am a very patient man.” He gave her a rueful smile. “And I will do what I can to help you with showing your work
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no matter what you decide about anything between us.”
She stared at him. “You do not think I... I kissed you to ensure your help for my work, do you?”
“No, I do not,” he said with conviction. “And I hope you do not think it of me, either.”
Her growing stiffness evaporated in an engaging smile. “How did you know that I was starting to—”
“It is a . . . skill those of my blood possess,” he said. For a long moment they were silent, neither willing to break the spell working between them. Then Ragoczy turned away from her. “I will be in London for about a week, then I must return to Berlin. Send me a note if you would like me to call again, for any reason. I will tell you how to reach me in Berlin, as well.”
“What ...” Rowena blinked as if awakening from sleep. “Is there something wrong? Count, why are you leaving,” she asked, doing her best to gather her scattered thoughts. “If I have done anything to offend you ...”
“Nothing in the world. Quite the reverse, in fact: you have paid me a great compliment.” He had taken his coat from the hook. “I do not want to . . . abuse the gift.” He put his hand on the latch, but continued to look at her.
“You need not leave on my account,” she said, the polite phrase sounding hollow in her own ears.
“Then I leave on mine,” he said, and went on in a low voice, “Rowena, you must be sure that you want what you think you want, otherwise you will harm yourself, and I would not be able to forgive myself for being party to harming you. When you are sure, tell me what you have decided.” Impulsively he bowed to her, his form elegant and graceful. Then he was out the door and on his way.
He had almost reached Oxford Street, his thoughts preoccupied with all that had transpired in the last hour, when he heard someone behind him call his name. He halted at once and turned to see a tall young man getting out of an Arrol-Johnston, his hat pulled low over his face. “Are you speaking to me?” Ragoczy asked him, wondering why the fellow seemed familiar.
“Yes, by God, I am,” he declared indignantly.
Then Ragoczy recalled what Rowena had told him about a suitor; he gave the younger man his most affable smile as he stepped up to the automobile. “Mister Bowen, isn’t it?” He held out his hand. “We met at Longacres, I believe.”
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Rupert Bowen declined to take it. “Well, what have you to say for vourself. Count?' He turned the title into an insult.
“About what, Mister Bowen?’ Ragoczy asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“About you visiting mv fiancee!” he exclaimed. “What sort of adventurer are you, sir?’
Ragoczv was noticeablv shorter than Rupert Bowen, but his bearing was such that he dwarfed the taller man. “I am not an adventurer, as you are well aware. I can see vou are in the grip of strong emotion, and I will not require the apology I would if you were cooler-headed.” He gave Rupert a moment to master himself. “As to Miss Saxon, she has not told me of your engagement to mam .”
“Her father and I are agreed,” said Rupert haughtily.
“I see,” Ragoczy said. “Well, when Miss Saxon informs me that my visits are unwelcome or inappropriate. I will cease to make them. Until then. I will be honored to accept her imitations.”
“Her name is Pearce-Manning, damn vou,” Rupert informed him. He glared at the Sunbeam driver who dared to hoot at him.
“Not according to Miss Saxon.” said Ragoczv, and resumed his walk toward Oxford Street.
Text of a letter from Baron Klemens Manfred von Wolgast to Paul Reighert: delivered bv personal messenger.
Berlin April 11, 1910
Reighert:
Let me congratulate you on your industry in finding men in the government wiUingto be persuaded to stand between Ragoczy and his mission. Whatever the Czar is attempting, it is an abeyance for the moment, and with a little industry on your part, it may remain so. With Ragoczy returned to England without having had an audience with the Kaiser, we have much to be pleased about; it is most fortunate that Ragoczy was not in Berlin for long, given his place in the world which surely would have brought him to the attention of Wilhelm before many days had passed. I believe we must make the most of his most providential absence. If you can assure me that upon his return here, Ragoczy will be unable to obtain any access to the Kaiser, then you will earn the bonus we have discussed. 1 remind you of this so you will not be tempted to abandon your purpose.
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I would like you to take your dealings in regard to the foreigner one step further than what you have already accomplished: I want you to see that Ragoczy is discredited. Nothing blatant, nothing that might be brought into court and formally refuted, but enough to make the men he seeks be unwilling to receive him or advance his cause. Let it be known that he is debauched, or degenerate, and most of those hypocrites serving the Kai
ser will run from him, for fear of having their own failings discovered. You will know best how to accomplish this task.
With Ragoczy returning to Berlin, it would also be an opportune time to discover the extent of his wealth; if he is truly as rich as they say, it would be worthwhile to find a way of employing some of his money to our benefit, for surely he will never miss it. I think I may try to enlist Nadeznas help in this as well as yours, for having him as her patron might well provide her with information that might otherwise be hard to come by. Nadezna is afraid that his return to England indicates that Ragoczy is no longer willing to be the patron of her dance school, and for the time being, it is just as well that she think so, for it will cause her to be willing to extend herself to assist me in my work. It would be inconvenient to have her have her own way just now, and her love of her school is perhaps her most enduring emotion. Given that her fears have made her more malleable in my dealing with her I would not like her to think otherwise than what she does; for now, she is committed to allying herself with me and my cause. She is going to be most useful, I think.
Report to me soon. I know your creatures will keep track of all Ragoczy does, where he goes, those he sees. I will want to know everything you learn in this regard, the better to make the calumny we employ more credible. Be sure you admonish those you have retained to find any lapse in Ragoczys conduct that might be interpreted in an unfavorable light, or any idiosyncracy that might be seen as dangerous or reprehensible. There is enough money to pay for most of this enterprise enclosed with this missive. I do not mind the cost, great though it is, if it buys the results I seek. If I do not achieve my ends, however, you will have to explain to me how this has come about and determine who is responsible for the failure, so that some adjustment of the fee for your services may be arrived at. I trust this will not be necessary, but I remind you it can occur.
In anticipation, von Wolgast
When he finally opened the door to the insistent knocking, Pflaume was visibly relieved to discover Ragoczy instead of von Wolgast waiting. “Oh. Its you. Come in, Count,” he said, standing aside for the well-tumed-out foreigner. He favored Ragoczy with a faint smile of welcome. “We did not expect you.”
“Then thank you for admitting me at this time of night,” said Ragoczy, handing his black silk hat to Pflaume, along with the cane he carried. “It was Mozart at the Oper, at a very energetic pace. The violinists had trouble keeping up.” His sympathy was genuine, for he played several instalments expertly, the violin included, and had more than once supported himself through music.
That the performance at the Oper would have ended more than two hours earlier elicited no comment from Pflaume, who was inured to the vagaries of the men who called on Nadezna, her patron included. “Just so.” He coughed delicately once. “Madame retired a short time ago. I don’t think she’s asleep yet. I will announce you, if you like. Do you want to . . . speak to her?”
Ragoczy gave Pflaume a reassuring smile. “Yes. I do. Would you send word to her that at her convenience I will be waiting in her private drawing room?” The room had long served as a kind of study, and guests were rarely admitted to it. “I know the way: the end of the corridor on the right.”
Mildly startled that the late-arriving guest did not expect to be escorted to Nadezna’s bedchamber, Pflaume ducked his head in a compromise between a nod and a bow, then went off to tend to Ragoczy s hat and cane; he made no effort to take the long black cape that covered the formal wear expected at the Oper: doubtless Ragoczy had his reasons for keeping it with him.
As he climbed to the main floor of the house, Ragoczy noticed the many expensive additions that had been made to the establishment since he had last been there: the chandelier was more elaborate and larger than the one he remembered, there were a number of expensive antique chairs in the corridor, and two new murals had been added to the ones he had originally commissioned for Nadezna. He entered
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
the door at the end of the corridor and saw that Nadezna s extravagance had extended itself to this small chamber as well, with its two portraits of the dancer and an Italian writing desk of satin-finished rosewood. He drew up one of the brocade-upholstered chairs and sat down to wait for Nadezna to arrive, using the time to review the puzzling developments of the evening, hoping that his review of them would shed a more encouraging light on what had happened than he had been able to believe thus far.
Upon his arrival at Frederick the Greats opera house, Ragoczy had been pointedly snubbed by Otto Bleuler and Alfred Kraft, both of whom had always been cordial to him in the past, willing to talk about advances in chemistry and the latest entertainment. Yet tonight neither man had acknowledged his greeting. The faint quality of nostalgia Ragoczy had experienced as he entered the Oper where he and the flute-playing Emperor had met often, a century and a half ago, vanished in the chill reception he now received. Eugen Dreiwald had done nothing more than glance once in Ragoczy s direction, after which he pointedly avoided any contact. When Ragoczy had bowed to the Graffin von Binghen, she had turned away sharply, as if she were insulted. The Count s note to the Chancellor s box, carried by the box usher at intermission, went unanswered. Ragoczy had met Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg before he became Chancellor, and had found the mans personal chauvinistic arrogance off-putting, but he had not expected to be so wholly ignored. He was still considering the ramifications of these responses when Nadezna came through the door in her negligee, dark hair in a braid down her back. Ragoczy rose to greet her. “I hope you will forgive the lateness of the hour,” he said, bowing over her hand.
“Inconvenient and unlike you,” she said curtly. “If you wanted to talk privately, you might have sent a note and I would have put myself at your disposal.”
“So I might,” he agreed, waiting for her to sit down, “but then I would have been followed by at least two men, which I would rather not be. Now I am reasonably certain I am unobserved.”
She stared at him. “Followed? You? Why?”
He answered her questions in order. “Yes, I have been followed. I must be of interest to someone, or more than one someone. I do not know why, which is the reason I have come here so late. The thin, jumpy fellow on the bicycle is not on duty at this time of night, nor is the stalwart with the scarred knuckles and broken nose who is right now dozing in a delivery van at the end of Glanzend Strasse, or was when I left
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to come here. If there are any others I have not yet detected them.” He saw the disbelief in her eyes. “If you will like, I will return tomorrow and point them out to you. They are both very real, I give you my word.”
“That will not be necessary; I will take it as verified,” she said hastily as she took her seat behind the beautiful desk. “As to why you are here at any hour, I presume you wish to review my accounts. I have them in these two ledgers, and—”
He stopped her in the act of reaching for the bound volumes. “I would like to see them, of course, but not just at present; perhaps in a day or two, when I am better informed as to the reason for all this surveillance. I am not concerned about the money just now. At the moment there is something more pressing I must ask of you.” He sat down opposite the desk, looking directly at her. “I know you often hear rumors when you entertain.” The shock in her eyes was almost ludicrous. “Oh, yes, I know about your ... soirees. Do not try to convince me you do not have private ... meetings here, for I would not believe you. Von Wolgast attends many of them, I understand. I do not care what you do on your own, Nadezna, so long as you continue with your school. I told you that when we began this arrangement ten years ago, and I have not changed my view.”
She held herself very straight, thinking that she should have taken the time to dress instead of coming down en dishabille; that way she would have had more dignity to draw upon. “All right. Occasionally I do have a few . . . guests here with some of the women who have danced with my troupe.”
&n
bsp; “Yes. And doubtless you hear gossip. Which is why I am coming to you now.” He leaned forward. “I have no wish to put you in an awkward position, but I have so little time to ... ” He knew better than to mention his mission for the Czar. “If anything is being said of me, anything detrimental to my reputation, I must know about it: what is being said and who is saying it. If I know as much, I may be able to determine why these things are being said.”
Now she was flustered; she knew only too well what von Wolgast had been saying about his plans for Ragoczy. It had seemed prudent to support him; but with Ragoczy asking her of the matter in this direct fashion, she decided she had not been prudent to agree with this scheme. Thinking quickly, she did her best to plead ignorance of the rumors. “One hears so many things, Count—” she began.
“And I need to know what those things are,” Ragoczy interrupted her.
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“I do not care whether you give the things you hear credence or not; I have reason to think there are others who do.” He folded his hands and waited for her answer.
“I... I wish I could describe to you the things I have heard, but that would give the innuendos too much ... shape,” she began uncertainly. “They are not very... specific, as such vilifications usually are. And since it is generally understood that you are my patron, not everything being whispered is repeated to me. The worst of the aspersions are not repeated here.” She tried to compose herself and found the effort greater than she had anticipated.
“Urn,” he murmured. “I accept that you are not fully informed on this matter, and I believe you do not hear the worst. Tell me what it is you do hear, if you will.”