“Of someone who might tell the authorities how I came to be hurt?” she suggested. “Do not worry, Baron; no matter what I said, the police would pay no heed to me if you denied it. We both know it.”
He stiffened; she was so accurate that it troubled him: was he really so transparent? “Its not that at all,” he said feebly. “I only mean that . . . that there are physicians who would take advantage of your reputation to enhance their own.” He contemplated the spot on the carpet where a bottle of Bordeau had been spilled during the holidays: a small red stain still remained in spite of the best efforts of his servants.
“I am sure you did,” she replied with mendacious sweetness that concealed her increasing fright.
He tried to undo some of the damage he had done. “Look, Nadezna, my pet,” he said, using the same persuasive tone that had worked so well on von Rosenwiese earlier that day, “it will not be much longer. We will soon be able to set our own course, without having to cater to Tancred Sisak, or any of the rest of them. If you will only consent to help me for a few more months, you will be rewarded, I promise you.” “If you mean the thirty percent, it is not sufficient. I will expect you to provide me extra money for each month from now until I can tell Sisak to go away and never touch me again. I loathe him. He is hideous,” she said, her voice beginning to rise.
“Now, my pet,” von Wolgast soothed, unwilling to endure another round of arguments with her. “I said I will make it worth your while, and I will. I have been reliable before now, haven’t I? You may be certain that I will not leave you without any recompense for what you have done.” He lifted her cloak from the settee and put it around her shoulders. “I would feel better, knowing you were home and resting. That bruise—I cannot sufficiently apologize to you for forgetting myself so completely—will rebuke me for days to come.” He put his hand on the small of her back and propelled her toward the door. “Remember, you are to send me word if you decide to consult a physician.”
She stopped abruptly. “One other thing, Baron,” she said, making up her mind to reveal this additional news. “Ragoczy will be back in July.” She saw the startled look in his eyes, and said, enjoying his distress, “I
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had a letter from him this morning. He has been recalled to Saint Petersburg and the Czar has asked him to visit Europe again. If his plans continue as he supposes they will, he should be here on or about the tenth.” She gave von Wolgast a look bordering on triumph.
“Ragoczy,” said von Wolgast, making the name a curse. “In July?” He swore under his breath. “Did he say why he is coming back?”
“Only that the Czar has asked it of him. He would tell me no more than that.” She wanted to smile at him, if only to contain her trepidation.
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” said von Wolgast, sighing in disgust. “Well, I will have to keep an eye on him.”
She dared to be bolder. “I think you ought to thank me for telling you so much. I think I deserve payment for informing you.” It was dangerous to push him, now of all times, but she held onto her courage and met his hard gaze steadily.
“All right,” he muttered after a brief, silent contest of wills. “I will see that you have a few more marks to spend.”
“I think I should have double the usual amount,” she told him, lifting her chin not only to show her determination but to remind him of his attack.
“Yes, yes; very well. Double it will be,” he promised, and continued to guide her to the parlor door. “Schmidt will see you to the automobile.”
“Pflaume will want to know why my face is ... ” She ended with a gesture. “I will have to tell him something.”
“Say you fell; say I have a clumsy butler; I don’t care what you say, so long as I am not implicated.” He made sure she understood his meaning. “If word gets out, I will not be as generous as I will be if it does not.”
“I expected as much,” said Nadezna as she stood in the open parlor door. “I am sorry that I will be indisposed for three or four days. If you must speak with me, you may find me at my school.” She flung the end of her cloak over her shoulder and sallied off down the hall, doing her best to show a confidence she did not feel.
It was after seven when von Wolgast accompanied von Rosenwiese home, shepherding him up his steps and putting him into the care of his house steward with admonitions to take care of him.
“Back to your house, Baron?” asked Dietbold as von Wolgast closed the door of the passenger compartment.
Von Wolgast considered his answer. “No; not yet. Take me to Chez Noir. The side entrance, if you will.”
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If Dietbold was startled to have his employer ask to be taken to so well-known a whorehouse, he did not say so. He put the Italia in gear and headed off to the south side of the city. Along the way he pointed out a party of strolling officers in Hungarian uniforms; this brought no response from von Wolgast, who continued to ride in solitary thought, head down, brow brought low.
At the Chez Noir—a slate-colored house with black shutters and door—von Wolgast emerged from his motor car, saying to Dietbold, “I will expect you back in ninety minutes. I will be waiting. Do not be late.”
His chauffeur touched the brim of his cap before he drove off, already planning to spend the time having his supper in a nearby cafe.
Heloise, the tall, loose-limbed, large-breasted madame of Chez Noir came up to von Wolgast; she was wearing a tight corset of red leather and a long skirt of shining taffeta of the same shade. Her long black hair was gathered in an untidy knot on the top of her head, and when she spoke, her words were more slurred than her French accent required. “Good evening, Baron. We didn’t expect to see you tonight. I am afraid Aurore is busy.”
“I’m here to see Reighert,” said von Wolgast curtly, wanting no part of Heloise tonight. He often despised the woman for knowing his tastes and acknowledging them so blatantly. “Where is he?”
“He is with Dulcie and Maxim just now. He will be available shortly.” Heloise smiled at him, winked, and ambled on into the main room of the Chez Noir.
“Where should I wait for him?” von Wolgast called after her. “This is urgent, woman.”
She stopped and turned back to him. “You may go into the dining room. He will want some refreshment when he is finished. Food and a cigar.” Her laughter was gentle and poisonous. “I will have Phoebus tell him you are here, if you like?”
“I would appreciate it,” he said through a tightened jaw. He saw Phoebus in the main room—tall, supposedly of Greek descent, but with an obvious admixture of Turk or Arab—carrying a platter of fruit and cheese, his muscular body encased in a kind of black leather rig that left only his arms and penis free. “Degenerate,” von Wolgast whispered. As he watched, Heloise went up to him and murmured something in his ear; Phoebus nodded. Von Wolgast escaped to the dining room, where a lavish buffet was being laid out by girls of no more than ten, clad in sheer linen chemises and white leather collars. The light was low enough to make it difficult to identify the men seated at the
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tables around the walls, but von Wolgast recognized three of them; none of them exchanged greetings.
For the next twenty minutes von Wolgast nursed a plate of excellent ham, butter, and mustard, all the while increasing his sense of ill-usage so that by the time Paul Reighert emerged from his evening s debauch, he found the Baron glowering and sulky.
“I was told it was urgent,” he said, sitting down opposite von Wolgast. His thinning chestnut-brown hair was wet and his clothes were neat to the point of fussiness; although he was now soft of body and slack about the waist, Paul Reighert still had the remnants of handsomeness that had served him so well before the Church defrocked and excommunicated him. His most striking features were his large, blue-green eyes and a full, sensual mouth.
“It is,” snapped von Wolgast.
“Well?” said Reighert
. He reached over and took a slice of ham from von Wolgast s plate, rolling it into a long tube. “Tell me about it.”
Von Wolgast stared as Reighert ate the ham, thinking he had rarely seen anything so obscene. He cleared his throat. “There are two things. The first is that Ragoczy will be returning next month, or so Nadezna has been told.”
“My people will know what to do.” He seemed unimpressed with this news. “Shall I put them to watch his house now, before he arrives, or later?”
“Sometime the first week in July should be fine. The house steward—”
“—Erich Rotscheune,” Reighert supplied.
“Yes; if he can be persuaded to talk, that would be useful, providing it does not put him on guard.” He leaned a bit closer to Reighert, and lowered his voice. “The second thing is more difficult.” He paused, to be sure of Reigherts full attention. “Its Nadezna.”
“Oho,” said Reighert, licking his lips.
“She is becoming greedy, and dissatisfied.” He hesitated, this time to sort out his words. “I am worried that she is no longer to be trusted, and I am afraid to try to buy back her loyalty; it might well prove too costly.”
“I see,” said Reighert, encouraging von Wolgast to enlarge on his theme.
“Yes. Yes.” He wiped his mouth with his serviette, a nervous gesture that Reighert did not miss. “Something will have to be done about her.”
“How soon?” Reighert asked, as if it meant nothing more than issuing a warning.
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
“I’m not sure. It will depend on her.” Von Wolgast took a deep breath and revealed his favorite idea. “If possible, we should wait until Ragoczy is in Berlin.”
Reighert’s eyes brightened. “You mean so that he can be implicated in her ... loss?” He did not wait for an answer. “Very, very good, Baron. Keep thinking like that and I’ll make a Jesuit of you yet.”
It rankled with von Wolgast to have Reighert speak to him with such disrespect, but he held his pride in check, saying only, “I think you might want to consider how best to do this. I want everything ready by the time Ragoczy is back in Berlin.”
“Certainly,” said Reighert, unconcerned. He helped himself to more of the ham. “Heloise has an excellent kitchen—wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes. Excellent,” he answered brusquely. “About Nadezna—”
“Let me think about it,” Reighert interrupted, still chewing. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can do off the top of your head. I will have to make sure it will all fall into place. We don’t want the police to arrest the wrong man, do we?”
“No,” said von Wolgast, reaching for the large glass of white wine at his elbow.
“Once I talk to my .. . operatives, I will know how to arrange ... the event.” He grinned. “Thank you, Baron; I was beginning to fear that summer would be dull.” He clapped von Wolgast on the shoulder, very nearly causing him to spill his wine.
Von Wolgast put the glass down. “Just one thing, my friend,” he said, his voice low and stern. “I do not intend to trade one leech for another. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, very clear,” Reighert assured him. “Very, very clear.”
Text of a letter from Julian Sinclair-Howard in London to Ludwig Kesselmann in Berlin.
#2, St. Dunstan-the-West Close London, England May 28, 1910
Ludwig Kesselmann Ministry of Foreign Affairs Berlin, Germany
My dear Kesselmann;
I should think you and the Kaiser have nothing to fear from George V; he is inclined to listen to his advisors in regard to European mat-
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ters, and in spite of his inexperience, he is not without knowledge. In my opinion, he will be less likely to take an extreme stance in regard to military commitments, either for or against them. In two or three years he may not be so malleable, but just at present, he is feeling his way, and you may rest assured that I will do all I can to keep the ship of state from rocking too much while George is at the helm.
I concur with your assertion that the interests of Germany are the interests of England, far more than of France or Russia: the Czar and George may look more like brothers than cousins, but you may rest assured that it is the House of Hanover that exerts the strongest influence on George.
There are those in government here who are determined to bring about the Russo-French alliance with England joining it in mutual support. I do not suppose that it will be anything more than a cobbled-together farce, for all it is being proclaimed the way of the future. No, I am willing to stake my reputation on England’s maintaining close ties to Germany, and therefore to the Kaiser and his government, and you may assure your superiors of my continuing endorsement of German preeminence in Europe.
Sincerest regards, Julian Sinclair-Howard
3
Ragoczy was mounted on one of his grey horses, a Lipizzaner whose fading dapples indicated his nine years; beside him, Nikolai rode his bicycle, pedaling steadily along the dusty road leading to his temporary summer retreat. It was early enough in the day that the last of the morning breeze cooled them as wraiths of dusk swirled behind them, hanging on the air and glistening before settling back to the earth. In another hour it would be hot. Even so far north the sun weighed heavily on the Count.
“I wish Uncle Bertie had lived six months longer,” said Nikolai to Ragoczy, his resolution to speak of other issues long forgotten. “We might have achieved something then. He would have understood. I
know he would have joined with me in the limiting of arms sales, if not their production.”
“You have the agreement of two years ago,” Ragoczy reminded him. “Surely it is a good beginning.” His native earth lining the soles and heels of his boots offered some respite from the sun, although it was becoming uncomfortable to be so exposed.
“And thank God for it; you would have made no headway at all without it,” Nikolai exclaimed, leaning more firmly on the handlebars to show his sincerity. “I know it is some protection, and better than nothing at all, most certainly. But it does nothing to limit or reduce arms, it only provides for our mutual assistance, and such.” He sighed bluntly. “I don’t think that is enough, not with what I have been told, not onlv by you, of the increase in arms production in Europe, especially German.” His face clouded. “I hope Cousin Wilhelm knows what he is doing, letting Krupp in Essen and von Wolgast in Prenzlau step up their production. It seems reckless to me, but the Kaiser has always thought first of Germany and second of any other country. As he must. As we all must. But with an eye to our mutual obligations. That is why we sign treaties.” This last was emphasized with a pursing of his lips and a closed-mouth smile.
“It troubles you, doesn’t it?” Ragoczy asked, holding his grey to jogging trot to match Nikolais slowing progress. “That Germany is advancing its production of arms to sell to foreign powers?”
“Yes; of course it does. You need not ask. It was the very thing I’ve hoped to avoid, this competition and expanded sales in arms. Probably nothing can be done to stop the development of arms, but their production and sale is separate question. I know that Wilhelm’s explanation for his current policy in this regard is that the situation in Austro-Hungary is deteriorating and that Germany needs to be prepared to deal with the coming collapse by being militarily strong. But the unrest he so laments is bolstered by the increasing supply of German arms flooding into the Balkans.” He stopped for a moment and looked out over the expanse of land to the south of him. “You would think that Wilhelm would know how risky his gamble is. I cannot help but think if you had been allowed to speak with him, you could have persuaded him that he is courting disaster.”
“Perhaps he does have some sense of it; he is not a stupid man,” Ragoczy suggested, preparing to swing out of the saddle to show his proper respect for Nikolai; the Czar waved him permission to remain mounted.
“What do you mean? Are you saying that Wilhelm is trying to desta-
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bilize the Austro-Hungarian Empire?” He did not look as shocked as he felt he ought to. “He would not be so . . . contemptible.”
“Possibly, but there are those around him who are eager to take advantage of any upheaval in Hapsburg territories. There is much rancor still about the way in which Germany dealt with Austria fifty years ago, and men of titled and landed families do not readily forget such things, no matter what lip-service they pay to unity and accord. They are determined to maintain Germany’s power, and they encourage Wilhelm to act in their interests.” That Wilhelm was the most arrogantly chauvinistic of the lot, he did not mention. “Those same men would not be adverse to seeing that trouble spill over your borders, Czar, or into France, or Italy, or Poland.” He did not want to soften the blow, for that would provide Nikolai with an excuse to ignore the trouble in Europe. “You have much to contend with here in Russia, and I do not suggest that you turn away from your country to the problems of foreigners, but I suspect that much of what is fueling your .. . situation here is tied, directly or indirectly, to the developing conflicts in Germany and Austria, with the Balkans serving as flashpoint.”
“All the more reason for George and Wilhelm to join with me in limiting arms and negotiating terms of arms sales. No matter what they may think, none of us can afford war. I remember an American General saying there will be no more small wars.”
“General Sherman, I believe.” Madelaine de Montalia had repeated this to Ragoczy not long after the American’s death.
“Yes. I did not think so then, but now I fear he may have been right. I would not like the Balkans to prove his case.” He studied the road ahead, frowning.
“And that is becoming more likely each day,” Ragoczy agreed.
Nikolai began to pedal again, increasing his speed as he neared the summer house. “They are going to start cutting down the trees on the northeast side of the house tomorrow,” he remarked, cocking his head in the direction of the trees in question. “I think they are quite nice and I do not want to lose them, but my Generals advise me that they give too much cover for anyone approaching. They are afraid that what happened to my father will happen to me. I did not learn at Professor Pobedonostsev’s knee as my father did; I do not intend to devote my rule to nationalism, Orthodoxy, and autocracy, but to guiding the country on a middle course.” His mild features became sad. “I don’t think anyone will make the attempt, but they are afraid, so—” He coughed, adding, “Pavel is quite annoyed.” The steward of the summer house was known to be prouder of it than its royal owners.
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