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Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

Page 22

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-


  She stared up at the elaborate lighting fixtures flanking the small fireplace and wished she had refused to come down. “All right: I have heard it said that you go to the slums and pay destitute families for their most beautiful children. It is being said that you maintain a brothel of children in Russia. Or France.”

  “Or Italy or Hungary or Greece or Poland or Turkey,” he said with a deep fatigue. “Anywhere but Germany, of course.” He shook his head. “Why do these mendacities always follow the same predictable patterns? I would like it much better if some imagination were used. Why not claim that I ... oh, that I poison the water with disease, or that I practice cannibalism? Or that I leave no alms for lepers? Or that I doubt the immortality of Pharaoh? Or tie red woolen offerings on the branches of hollow trees?” In his long millennia of life he had been suspected of all five crimes. “Nine centuries ago, they would have said I defecated on the cross or did not prostrate myself before edicts of the Vermillion Brush; today they say I make children into prostitutes.”

  “It is a dreadful accusation,” said Nadezna dutifully; she held onto her elbows with either hand as if suddenly taken cold.

  “There is probably worse said, as well,” Ragoczy conceded, getting to his feet and going to the hearth; he spoke to the embers there, his voice sounding tired. “I am a foreigner in exile, and so it is more readily accepted that I would have to practice some discreditable act in order to maintain myself. Of course, foreigners are always suspect, simply by being foreign.”

  Nadezna adjusted the lace ruffles at her elbow and leaned fonvard, elbows on the desk. “You are a wealthy man, Count. Some of the men in Berlin are jealous of wealth, no matter who has it.”

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  “Truly.” Ragoczy turned to face her. “I hope you do not make the mistake of defending me.”

  Her brows rose in surprise. “I ... I say I know of nothing that disgraces you.” She faltered now, her knuckles whitening as the grip on her elbows grew stronger. “I should have said more, but...” She could not find words to explain her necessary accommodation of von Wolgast.

  “No, you’ve done very well. If anything, you could have said less.” He realized she was puzzled by this; he came back across the room to her. “If you defend me, you will only condemn me in many men’s eyes.”

  “You mean that as a dancer depending on a patron, I would have to speak for you? You would expect me to defend you, no matter what your crime?” she guessed. “Some might think so: men who are as cynical as Kraus of Die Fackel. ” She had to suppress an intense feeling of disgust.

  Ragoczy managed a sardonic smile. “Cynics, my dear, are not always wrong just because they are cynical.” He held up his hand.

  She paled. “Do you mean ...” Again her words trailed away.

  “That I keep brothels?” He laughed once, his amusement colored with sadness. “Of course not. I would have to be a great fool to do something so obviously despicable. But you and I both know that there are men of good reputation who have few credentials to support that high opinion they enjoy; no doubt I am considered to be one of them now. And any direct protestation I make against the rumor will only serve to confirm it.” He sat down once again. “I want to ask a favor of you, if you will?”

  “What is it?” she asked, her apprehension showing through her carefully maintained facade of calm.

  “I would appreciate it,” he said, watching her more narrowly, “that the next time you hear some disparagement of me, that you do not deny it, but instead admit that you have always had some reservations about me; if you can, hint that you would like to know all you can about what is whispered about me, to confirm your own fears. Let those repeating these tales reveal as much as they wish. This will accomplish two things: you may avoid being tarred with the brush being used on me, and you may be able to learn more of the imputations currently—” He got no further.

  With a cry, Nadezna pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t want to be dragged into this, Count.” She put her hands to her face. “No. I’m sorry, but it is hard enough listening to slander without conspiring to enhance it.” As she made herself look at him, she said, “I don’t know what else to tell you, except that I cannot be party to any more attacks on your character.”

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Ragoczy made a gesture of respect. “I am grateful for your loyalty, Madame. But in this instance, you would serve my reputation better by helping me to determine the extent of the damage done to it.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “I’m sorry, Count; I can’t.”

  “It would be very useful to me,” he said, his tone steady and determined. “I would not hold anything you tell me against you, if that is your concern.”

  “I can’t,” she repeated, fearing what would happen to her if von Wol-gast began to suspect she was aiding Ragoczy in any way

  “It would not harm me, and I would not be angry to hear what you tell me, or if I am, I will not be angry with you.” He thought this would soothe her, and was mildly alarmed when he saw it did not.

  “Please, Count, don’t ask this of me. I have . . . too high regard ...” Her worry lost her in a tangle of half-completed words.

  Ragoczy cut in, doing his best to put her at ease again. “I do not seek to have the defamation compounded, you understand; nor do I want to know who believes the tales. I only wish to determine the full extent of it, and how long the campaign has been going on. I will trace the calumny to its origin, and you will not be implicated in any of it.” He gave her a little time to consider this. “You may laugh off anything you hear, if it would make you less anxious about—”

  “No.” She was shocked to feel herself trembling.

  At this, Ragoczy relented. He stood, bowing slightly. “Then I must thank you, Nadezna, for your high opinion of me. I will not trouble you again on this matter. I am grateful for what you imparted to me, and I promise you that none of this conversation will be discussed with anyone outside of this room, save my manservant. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” He started toward the door, but paused to say, “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  Her blunt answer told him far more than she had intended to reveal. “You didn’t.”

  “Ah.” His dark eyes softened. “How good of you to let me know that much,” he said before he opened the door and left her alone in the study while he reclaimed his hat and cane from Pflaume. “I’ll find my own way out, Pflaume,” he said, handing him an English shilling as a tip.

  Nadezna listened to hear the front door close. After several minutes, she decided Ragoczy must have left through the kitchen, a notion that leant credence to his assertion that he was being followed. Perhaps, she thought, it was the fate of all foreigners—herself included—to feel apprehensive in Berlin. She went back to her desk, her thoughts in turmoil, as she tried to decide if she should inform von Wolgast of

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  Ragoczys visit. It was not an easy decision to make: if Ragoczy were truly being followed, and if it was on von Wolgast s order, the Baron would expect to be told of Ragoczy s unusual visit and would hold it against her if she failed to mention it. But if the tale of being watched were nothing more than a fiction, then telling von Wolgast of it would surely result in her being found out. Either way, she exposed herself to disapprobation and possible repercussions that would be costly; both men were expecting too much of her, she decided. She was a dancer and a teacher, not a spy. At that moment she hated von Wolgast and Ragoczy equally for putting her in such an untenable position. She swore comprehensively in Ukrainian, and decided it was better to keep silent unless von Wolgast challenged her in regard to the visit; that would give her time to come up with a plausible explanation for her failure to send von Wolgast a full memorandum at once. Satisfied that she had averted disaster for the time being, she left her study, only to find Pflaume waiting outside, his wrinkled features set in a semblance of an encouraging smile.

  “Mad
ame,” he said, his eyes bruised with fatigue, “it is very late; do you have anything more you need of me tonight?”

  “No,” she said, drawing herself upright and tossing her head so that her long, dark braid swung across her back. Her demeanor was imperious although her mouth was unhappy. “I am going to retire. I have a full day tomorrow.” Then she added, “You are not to tell anyone of Ragoczys visit here tonight. Do you understand? Not anyone.”

  “Of course,” he said, already planning to include a report on as much of the conversation as he had overheard in his regular accounts of household activity, which he presented weekly to Baron von Wolgast, who paid him well and who had assured Pflaume of a pension when Nadezna could no longer afford to employ him.

  “If anyone else comes tonight, I don’t want to see him,” said Nadezna, as if this single order could keep out the anxiety she felt. “I will want to be awakened at eight.”

  “Certainly,” said Pflaume, recognizing the distress in Nadezna. “The school?” he ventured to ask as Nadezna fled down the hall toward the stairs.

  She stopped. “The school?” she echoed. “Oh. There is no trouble that I am aware of. That was not the reason for the Counts visit.” Then she resumed her hasty rush to the safety of her own room and the bastion of comforters that would guard her disquiet dreams.

  Pflaume was left to try to puzzle out what Ragoczy would have to discuss with Nadezna at this hour of the night that did not involve the bal-

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  let school. Ragoczy had always kept late hours, he knew from the past, but this late a call was unusual even for him. Perhaps, he thought, Ragoczy was seeking a mistress and had asked for Nadezna s assistance: that could account for her apparent distress; it was a position she would want for herself, and had Ragoczy suggested such an alliance, he would not have left the house that night. Pflaume was convinced that von Wol-gast would want to know as much as possible about that private interview; he decided that tomorrow he would do his utmost to learn what Ragoczy had said to Nadezna.

  The big man with the scarred knuckles was still hunched behind the wheel of his delivery van when Ragoczy slipped past him half an hour after he left Nadezna s house. It was tempting to deepen the man s sleep and search him, but Ragoczy knew it was more risky than useful—if the man were a hireling there would be nothing on him to reveal who employed him: if he were a professional, all means of identifying him would be missing. He noticed a camera on the seat beside the dozing man, and managed an ironic, one-sided smile, knowing that all exposures of him would be blurred, no features discernable, just as his reflection was entirely missing.

  As he entered his house through the service door, Ragoczy found Roger waiting for him, his faded-blue eyes alight with concern. “You spoke with Nadezna.”

  “Yes,” Ragoczy said as he handed over his hat, cane, and cape. “For all the good it did.”

  “She could not help you,” Roger inferred as he started toward the rear stairs.

  “Actually,” said Ragoczy in a steady tone, “I suspect it is more a matter of she would not help me; either that, or she is more frightened of me than I realized.”

  “Why would she be frightened?” Roger asked as he followed Ragoczy up the stairs.

  “There are any number of reasons,” he answered; he had been thinking this over all the way back to his house. “I think she may be ... on the horns of a dilemma. She is dependent on me for funding for her school, and she may fear I will cease to support her if I dislike what she tells me, though she knows that to remain silent exposes me to a continuing impugning of my . . . honor.” That, of all the possibilities, was the most palatable. “It is also likely that she has some other, more pressing, reason to feel as she does, one that increases her personal danger if she warns me. I have assumed from the first that she must have lovers. If one of them has decided to undermine me—”

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  “Why would he want to do that?” Roger did not wait for Ragoczy to speak. “What if the trouble isn’t German at all? I suppose you have thought about the chance that Czar Nicholas may have changed his mind? Or his intentions been found out? You would then be a hazard to the Generals of the Czar’s armies, and—”

  “Yes, I have thought about all of it, old friend.” He held his hand up as he reached the door to his rooms. “Whatever the case is, we will not solve the matter tonight, try as we might. Rest assured that I will do what I can to find out who is influencing Nadezna. I might then discover who is spreading rumors about me, as well.” He pressed the latch and was about to go in when he added, “I should call upon Shaller tomorrow morning; or, this morning, considering the hour. He is expecting me at ten-thirty. If the rumors have not wholly eroded my position, I should be able to secure a little time with Kaiser Wilhelm before the end of the week.”

  “Not before?” Roger’s austere features showed no sign of worry, but there was a change in his eyes that Ragoczy knew was concern.

  “No; I do not think it could be arranged so quickly. I understand that every passing hour increases the chance that some part of the rumors may reach the Kaiser, which would probably mean I would not be able to reach him at all, not even informally.” He lowered his eyes, not liking to admit the defeat such a response would be. He stepped inside his room, leaving the door open for Roger.

  The outer chamber was a neat apartment, with two large bookcases flanking the tall window on the east wall. Opposite that, a large break-front wardrobe of eighteenth-century Dutch marquetry was standing open for Roger’s convenience. Between them, a Louis XV chaise longue upholstered in burgundy damask provided Ragoczy a place to stretch out while reading. Three new floor lamps with frosted, lotus-shaped bowls provided illumination as Roger took a robe of black brocaded silk from the wardrobe and traded it for Ragoczy s tailed coat, white brocade waistcoat, and foulard tie with the ruby stickpin that had secured it.

  As Ragoczy shrugged into the robe, Roger said in a neutral way, “It has been some time since you—”

  “Took nourishment? Fed?” Ragoczy suggested. “Yes, it has been. As you have often reminded me.” He tightened the sash around his waist. “You still think I should have accepted the opportunity Rowena Saxon offered me.”

  “Your attention would have been welcome, from what I observed of her. She would not have been likely to refuse you,” Roger said carefully.

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Welcome is not quite the right word,” Ragoczy said. “I will allow she is fascinated, in that way that artists are captivated by that which intrigues them. I am a symbol of... I suppose escape is the best word, to her. She is not yet ready to ... to know my true nature; she has an aversion to bonds of any ki nd, and it may well include the bond of blood. Enough is being imposed upon her now without me adding to her burdens.” He went to the nearer bookshelf and took down a leather-bound copy of Recherches sur la Probability des Jugements. “I had hoped that last evening I might have ... called upon the Graffin von Binghen once she was asleep, but—” He stopped with a slight nod. “Other problems seemed more immediate.”

  “You should not go so long without sustenance.” Roger had admonished Ragoczy about this so often and for so many centuries that it was now a ritual between them.

  “No, and I should have a knowing partner, not one in profound sleep, and I should share full passion with my lover. She should have fulfillment from me so that I, too, could be fulfilled.” He rubbed at his chin. “I will need a shave in a few more days.”

  “And your hair trimmed in a month,” Roger added, accepting the diversionary tactic for what it was. “I will see to it.”

  Ragoczy turned to smile at him. “When have you not?” he asked. “I have been churlish. I apologize.”

  “You have been preoccupied and fretful,” Roger corrected him. “It is hardly surprising you are brusque.” He finished putting Ragoczy s clothes away. “Shall I draw a bath for you?”

  “In the morning, I think,”
said Ragoczy. “I have too much on my mind just now; I will have to reconsider my options before I decide how to proceed.” He paused. “And thank you for not taking me to task. You had every reason to.”

  Roger paused in the door as he left. “Why need I bother, when you did it so well without my help?”

  The amused half-smile that lit Ragoczy’s attractive, irregular features faded as soon as the hall door closed. The frown that replaced it would have confirmed Rogers worst suspicions, had he been in the room to see it. He did not like the prospect of failure on the Czars mission, but it was looming ever larger in his efforts. No matter what he tried, it seemed he could not gain the endorsement Nicholas sought. Few emotions so aggravated him as frustration; he understood that his indecision was due to lack of information regarding the opposition he faced, but he could not discern how to gather that material without increasing his risk of exposure or confrontation, neither of which would

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  serve the Czars purpose, or his own. After more than three hours of trying to concentrate on Simeon Poisson s work, he noticed the window beginning to pale; sighing, he returned the book to its place on the shelf and went into his private room, a spartan chamber with a single trestle table at the foot of his narrow bed made over a chest of his native earth. He did not bother to undress, although a black silk robe was laid out, neatly folded, at the end of the trestle table. With a second, deeper sigh he lay down upon it and gave himself up to the annealing power of good Transylvanian soil that had nurtured him for more than four thousand years.

  Roger wakened him at nine with the announcement that his bath was ready. “The thin man on the bicycle is back. And the fellow in the van has left. I think there is a rabbity, middle-aged man in a loden coat who has taken his place.”

  “Who are these people? Why are they watching me?” Ragoczy wondered aloud as he rose from his bed. He was feeling invigorated for the first time in days, and his questions were clear, precise in their enunciation and intention. “I think it may be time we found out, before any more mischief is done.”

 

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