Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-

  “Do you deny that you have such gatherings?” he challenged. “I have spoken to several men who tell me they have attended your parties. I am told by your students that they are occasionally asked to attend them. Are they lying?”

  “Those who say you have brothels for children are lying,” she reminded him sharply.

  “And men lie about women all the time. Yes, I am aware of that.” He watched her bring her temper under control. “If that were the only source of information I have, I would extend you the benefit of the doubt; men desire lovely women, and you are lovely. Even the students might be jealous. But Aasa Bjomgard has confirmed many of the stories. Are you saying that your assistant is lying, too?”

  “She spoke against me? Aasa?” Nadeznas thoughts raced furiously. “She must be more ambitious than I thought, wanting my school for herself.”

  Ragoczy sighed. “Nadezna, use a little wisdom.” He had not moved from his chair, but he slid it toward her desk. “I have no argument with you regarding your soirees. That is your business, not mine. But I can and will protect your school. If that is not acceptable to you, tell me now, so that formal arrangements may be made to preserve the school. I do not want you jeopardizing it again.”

  “Protecting your investment?” she asked him scornfully.

  “Of course.” He leaned back, his manner still cordial, unmoved by her display of pique. “You may not believe me just at present, but I admire your work as a teacher and a choreographer. 1 think you have real ability in both capacities. It would be a shame to lose your talents.”

  “So you say.” She tossed her head as she once again took her seat, her eyes bright with fury.

  “And I have said all along,” he reminded her without a trace of ran-

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  cor. “I understand why you are not willing to help me in regard to the rumors circulating about me. You do not want it said that you report on what is said by your guests, particularly those who are known to be powerful men.” He held out his hand to her. “Nadezna, let us agree that my support is for your school and nothing more.”

  “Or you will make claims against me in court?” she demanded, unrelenting. “Why should you not? It is your right.”

  “No, I will not make claims against you in court,” he said wearily. “Then what? If you speak out against me, you will not be believed, not after what is being said of you.” Her defiance made her voice shrill. “No one will listen to you, not in court, not anywhere!”

  “I would not do that, Nadezna,” he said, her venality making him feel very ancient and tired. “I would merely take steps to separate your school from your private life, so that you would have to answer to more than two retired dancers and my banker. I do not want to hamper you with directors of your school, but if you continue to squander your money, I will.”

  “I do not squander,” she said, becoming haughty. “I ... I am ensuring I will not be destitute in my old age.” She moved in her chair and felt the roll of banknotes he had given her rub against her arm.

  Ragoczy smiled ironically. “You cannot blackmail them all, Nadezna. Some of them will turn on you, oh, perhaps not this year or next, but in time they will, and you will face worse than poverty.”

  “Because you will help them.” She flung the accusation as if striking his face with a glove. “Because you will encourage them to ruin me.” “No.”

  This calm denial silenced her. She tried another tack. “I am afraid, Count. The men who come here frighten me.”

  “So you have said before,” he said, watching her. “I find it curious you would continue to entertain these men, if they distress you as much as you claim.”

  “I . . . I . . . dare not refuse ... to ... ” She made sure Ragoczy saw the tear on her cheek. “They are very powerful men, and I am helpless to stop them. They demand I obey them. How can I refuse?”

  “In other words, you, not they, are being blackmailed. I had not realized you were so much in their thrall.” He straightened up and rose from the chair, his fine brows drawn together thoughtfully. “All the more reason to appoint directors for you, so you will not be as easily manipulated by the ... sponsors you are afraid to disoblige. You will not have to make the decision for yourself, or to expose yourself to trouble. And you would not have to surrender so much to their demands, those gal-

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  lants who have imposed on you.” He studied her face, adding, “At least the fear is genuine.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded, her pathos forgotten.

  “I mean that you are a far better dancer than you are an actress,” said Ragoczy, kindness taking the worst sting out of his words. “I will meet with my man-of-business and make arrangements to see your school is protected. And your old age, as well.” This last was offered with a quick smile. “Shall we say a pension, to be paid when you retire from the school, to be continued until your death? I will set the amount in relation to the cost of certain specific items, such as food and woolen clothing, for money has a way of changing its worth over time.”

  “And you? Will this generosity extend beyond your demise?” She wanted to slap him for his concern.

  His smile disconcerted her. “It is not my old age that is worrisome. Do not worry; I will order the thing to your liking. If you wish to have a place among the directors, I will provide for that as well.” He bowed to her. “I will not stay to vex you, Nadezna. I have other calls to make.”

  She blinked in confusion, aware that things had not gone as she had anticipated; she longed to humble him, as she had been humbled. “Couldn’t we make another arrangement?” she suggested breathlessly. “A more private arrangement?” She let the flounce on the neckline of her wrapper drop a little.

  “No, Nadezna,” he answered, his eyes stern and gentle at once. “It would be unwise; believe this.”

  “How do you know if you will not try?” she prompted, her gesture to him enticing, languishing, and artful.

  He shook his head. “No. I prefer not to bargain in bed.”

  “What are you saying?” she said, her languor gone. “Are you calling me a whore?”

  “No, my dear,” he replied. “I am trying very hard not to. You are the one who has suggested we substitute flesh for business contracts.” He bowed again, as an indication he did not intend to insult her. “Come, Nadezna. You knew from the first that our dealings would be about your school, and nothing more. You have been willing to accept such terms from the first. As I recall, you welcomed our formal agreement because it provided you would have the autonomy you said you wanted. And now this. It is not wise of you to change our contract. If I have learned nothing else in my life, I have realized that it is a mistake to conduct commerce and strive for intimacy at the same time: the two are antithetical.”

  Her mouth was square with outrage. “Is it because you do keep chil-

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  dren? Is that what you are hiding? If a woman does not move you, then what does? Are all those stories completely wrong?”

  The softness went from his voice, although he spoke no louder than before. “You do not want me for an enemy, Nadezna.” He saw he had her full attention. “I will not tolerate threats.”

  She swallowed hard. “But—”

  “If you want me to continue to sponsor your school, you will say nothing more. Is that clear? Not now about anything, and never again about those vile insinuations.” He waited until she nodded. “Very good. I will make the arrangements I offered you. Do not stare,” he went on as she watched him in amazement. “Whatever my opinion of you may be, I keep my word, and I told you, eight years ago, that I would support your school.” He opened the door. “You will be notified when your directors have been selected. I think it would be better if we do not meet again.”

  The events of the past few minutes had moved too fast for Nadezna. She remained in her seat, her face empty of all emotion, as Ragoczy closed the door. Hearing him go, she h
ad the urge to rise and slam the door in a display of temperament that would restore his opinion of her. But she could not bring herself to move; it was too galling to feel the money in her sleeve. She was annoyed now that she had sent Charlotte Milch away for the night, in the hope that she and Ragoczy might want more privacy than her maid provided. Pflaume would not listen to her tirades; she would not reveal so much to him, in any case. She grabbed a crystal rose from its place on her desk and hurled it at the fireplace, smiling wolfishly as it shattered. She reached for her bell to summon Pflaume, then remembered he was at supper and would not come back from his bierstube for at least an hour. She rose from her chair and began to pace the room, reviewing in her thoughts all that had passed between her and Ragoczy. The more she thought, the more irate she became. Only his assurance that he would continue to support the school kept her from writing a letter to the authorities denouncing him.

  A short while later she left her study and went up to her bedroom, cursing Charlotte for being gone. It was no difficult matter to draw a bath, and she decided to do just that. She was always calmer after a long, hot bath.

  The bathtub was long and stood on clawed feet, with shiny brass fixtures at the straight end. For Nadezna, it was a symbol of her achievement in the world that all her fine clothes and adoring followers could not equal: all through her childhood she had bathed in an old flour barrel and listened to her mother complain about the decadence of rich

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  people, who weakened themselves by lying in hot water. She added jasmine-scented salts to the water and slid out of her wrapper, leaving it on the floor; Charlotte would take care of it in the morning: the banknotes Ragoczy had given her lay discarded along with the wrapper. A large sea-sponge rested above the soap, and she grabbed it as she got into the tub, testing the water with her feet and adjusting the spigots to a warmer temperature. Satisfied, she lay back, working the spigots with her feet until the tub was full. The hot water wrapped around her, the air misty with fragrant steam. She closed her eyes and let her senses drift. No Ragoczy, no von Wolgast, no school, just the warm, sensuous caress of the water and the heady smell of flowers.

  It was a while later that she heard footsteps in the hall—Pflaume must have returned from supper early, she decided, and was about to call out to him when she heard the door to the bathroom open. She started to sit up, reaching for a towel to cover herself, and wondering why Pflaume had entered her bathroom when she heard a voice above her.

  “There you are, Nadezna,” said Klemens Manfred von Wolgast as he came up to her, signaling the man behind him to approach. “I realize we are not expected.”

  Nadezna held the towel more tightly as it began to get wet. “Baron. I hardly know what to say. Pflaume will attend to you—”

  “Truly,” he purred. “Let me advise you not to lie.”

  “He will come if I scream,” Nadezna said with as much conviction as she could summon.

  Reighert laughed, and closed the door, putting the lock in place. “Your servant . . . the one who guards your door? he is still drinking. Unless he has fallen asleep from his drink.”

  “What do you mean?” Nadezna shrank back as much as the tub would allow, her back pressed against the porcelain surface as if she wanted it to give under her weight.

  “I know your schedule, my dear,” said von Wolgast. “You are not as secretive as you would like to think. On Tuesdays you are alone at night. This is Tuesday.” He folded his anns. “And we have a few things we must settle.”

  “Get out of my house!” Nadezna ordered sharply. She could not summon the strength to get out of the bath; her bones seemed made of the same material as her sponge; she could get no purchase on the porcelain. “This is not amusing, Baron. Leave. I will forget the intrusion. But you must leave at once. You and your . . . companion.”

  “Poor Nadezna,” said Reighert in snide sympathy. “You don’t like im-

  position when it is directed at you, but you are willing to impose on others.”

  “1 . . . ” She managed to get her legs under her; she reached for the edge of the tub. “You are offending me. The both of you.”

  “Tit for tat,” said von Wolgast with terrible satisfaction as he reached out and slid her hands back. “You have been offending me ever since you refused to see Sisak last month. He is blaming me for your rudeness.”

  She tried to brazen it out. “The man is a pig. He delights in humiliating me.”

  “For what he pays, he ought to be allowed to cover you with dung if he wants to,” said von Wolgast, no trace of sympathy in his eyes.

  At that instant, Nadezna knew beyond all doubt that von Wolgast and the man with him had come to kill her. She strove to climb out of the tub, her body fired by dread. She had swung one leg out of the tub and was levering herself upright when she felt von Wolgast s hand close around her wrist and pull her back again into the tub. Her head knocked on the porcelain and her vision spangled as the pain ricochetted through her.

  “Ready?” Reighert asked, reaching under his shapeless coat.

  “She’s strong,” von Wolgast warned as Nadezna summoned up all the resistance she could, kicking and trying to flail her pinioned arms. “I don’t know how long I can hold her.”

  When Nadezna saw the knife in Reighert s hand, she began to scream, only to be shoved under water. She broke the surface coughing, her throat burning.

  “Be quick,” von Wolgast ordered, his cheeks flushed with effort and excitement.

  “No!” Nadezna gasped, one hand reaching out to stop what was coming. It was impossible that the knife was moving down on her, that the weight that she felt across her belly was the cut of the knife. The knife came again and again. The pain hit her a moment later, and took her breath away.

  Reighert continued to hack at her torso, from breasts to pubis, turning her flesh to mangled meat, until the bathwater was a murky red, the towel she had clutched was shredded, and the smell of copper and feces completely overpowered the jasmine.

  Von Wolgast released his hold on her arm and stepped back. As he looked down at the front of his suit he saw for the first time he was wet, and that the stains were bloody. He looked down at Nadezna s body, her beauty ruined, her grace destroyed. “Well.”

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  Reighert’s eyes were glazed. “Do you want to leave her here?” he asked in a strained voice.

  “It would be best. If we move her, we might ...” He gestured to show that they might have to wrap her up.

  “Then we shouldn’t wait any longer,” Reighert warned, using a washcloth to blot his hands and face. “Its getting late. If Ragoczy has reached his next appointment, he will be able to account for his time, and that—”

  “Will not suit our purpose. I agree.” Von Wolgast looked around the bathroom, desperate now for something to dry his clothes. “Hand me that towel, will you?”

  “This one?” Reighert inquired unpleasantly, indicating the scraps floating in the bath.

  “No, you lunatic,” snapped von Wolgast. “One of the clean ones.” He pointed to the rack beside the sink.

  As Reighert handed over the towel, he glanced down at the roll of banknotes lying with Nadezna’s wrapper. “There’s a lot of money here. It’s a shame to waste it.”

  “It will not be wasted. The sleeve on it will identify the bank, and the bank will identify the person who received it.” There was a gloating light in his eyes now.

  “You are assuming she had it from Ragoczy,” said Reighert, his statement filled with doubt.

  “Who else would give her so much money? Her other callers earlier, according to your associate, were dancers; Pflaume will vouch for that. Why would they give her a roll of banknotes, if they had them to give?” Von Wolgast finished his rudimentary cleaning up and tossed the towel aside. “This way, they will know it is not a robbery. We would not want the police looking in the wrong place for the culprit.” He bent over the bathtub again, as
if held by arcane spells. “You wouldn’t think it would take so little to change her from a desirable, vibrant woman to this, would you?”

  “You make guns. They do worse and in less time,” Reighert reminded him as he slipped the knife back into the hidden pocket in his jacket.

  Von Wolgast gave a bark of laughter. “You’re right, of course.” As he started to the door, he slipped on the wet tile floor and dropped heavily to his knee, cursing as he went down. “Stupid!” he accused himself.

  Reighert helped him back to his feet. “Be careful, Baron. We have to get out of here without being noticed, which we shall be if I have to carry you out.” His amusement was angry, for von Wolgast clearly weighed half again as much as the former Jesuit did.

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  “Right you are,” said von Wolgast, limping noticeably as he went out into the hall. “It might be best if you fetch the automobile and bring it here. I don’t think I can move very quickly.”

  Shooting von Wolgast a look of disgust, Reighert said, “If you like.” “It would be sensible,” said von Wolgast in a display of petulance that evoked a sour smile from Reighert. “I can manage my way down the stairs, if I take my time.” The prospect of two flights made him cringe.

  “We do not have much time,” said Reighert, the elation of a few minutes ago giving way to growing apprehension. He faltered, then made up his mind. “All right. I will get the Benz. And you had better be on the street when I return; I will not come looking for you.”

  “Fine,” said von Wolgast between his teeth; his knee was throbbing and he was certain he could feel it swell.

  Reighert patted his pockets nervously, and drew out his cigarette case, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled one from the container and used a match to light it. “Get downstairs, that’s all I can say.” He coughed once, then hurried away.

  By the time von Wolgast had made it to the front door, Reighert was pacing around his idling Benz, his gestures made abrupt by his nerves. He opened the door for the Baron, then climbed into the automobile and put it into gear.