Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-

  As he went into the parlor ahead of the rest, von Wolgast had a brief, eerie sensation that Nadezna was reclining on the settee. He shook his head and reached to turn on the lights, relieved to discover no apparition as the room brightened; a shawl that was usually spread over the sideboard was now draped over the back of the settee. He leaned on the back of one of the chairs, aware his heart was racing. Then he heard his guests behind him and he lurched around to welcome them.

  “Its pretty,” said Persuic’s woman; then she let out a squeal as she saw the food laid out on the sideboard. “Oh. That’s ... that’s marvelous. ” “Come in. Have something to eat. The rest of the champagne will be along in a moment. And if we run out, there is more,” Von Wolgast rubbed his hands together. “Let’s sop up some of the wine, so we can have more.”

  “Excellent! Excellent,” Persuic approved, weavingfn the general direction of the sideboard. “I’m famished.”

  “And I’m . . . sick,” said von Nordlingen, leaning over suddenly and vomiting onto the hearth, his hands knotted on the mantle. He righted himself slowly, looking a trifle shamefaced. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No matter,” said von Wolgast quickly, determined to keep the celebration cordial. “Schmidt will clean it up. In the meantime, what you need is food. The chopped goose liver is especially good; there are truffles in it. The lamb ribs you can eat with your fingers, if you like, as if we were in the country. We’ll have no ceremony here. The cheese is good. Have some of that on an onion roll. And the ham is smoked, and garnished with tinned cherries. You’ll like it.” He took von Nordlingen

  by the shoulder and steered him toward the buffet. “The plates are at the other end.”

  Von Nordlingen glanced back toward the hearth. “I’m . . . sorry. I would have used the toilet. . . But... so sudden ...”

  “These things happen, nothing to distress yourself,” said von Wolgast, paying no attention to the skeptically raised eyebrow Persuic offered in silent comment. “After so much champagne ...” He did not bother to finish.

  “Is there any horseradish?” asked von Rosenwiese, looking over the dishes laid out.

  “There should be: behind the eel, I think,” said von Wolgast, his drunkenness deserting him as he strove to set the evening to rights once again. “If you want something that is not here, let me know what it is. There is more in the pantry, I’m told.” He reached for a bottle of champagne as Schmidt tugged the copper tub into the parlor, then indicated the hearth. “That needs cleaning.”

  “So it does,” said Schmidt, trying not to sigh as he stood up. “I will send one of the kitchen staff.”

  “Whatever you do,” von Wolgast said, “do it quickly. The stench is ruining the buffet.” He jutted his jaw in the direction of the corridor. “Then have that drunken slut brought in here for von Nordlingen.”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Schmidt, wishing for the thousandth time that he had the courage to leave von Wolgast s employ. The thought of trying to find other work in Berlin daunted him enough to keep him where he was.

  “And see if we have any of those little peppers. You know the ones I like—from Italy.” He pursed his lips, thinking that the peppers would be the perfect compliment to the game birds. “Well, hurry up, Schmidt. The year isn’t getting any younger.” He chuckled at his own humor, and poured more champagne for himself.

  An hour later the sideboard was a shambles, the remains of the food strewn about carelessly. Plates were stacked haphazardly about the parlor, and all but two of the champagne bottles in the tub of ice had their necks down, empty.

  “Wonderful,” muttered Persuic as he pronged the last of the sausages with his fork and began to bite one end of it; his supper had given him renewed energy but had only slightly diminished his intoxication. Chewing vigorously, he said to his host, “You know, Manfred, your party is wonderful. The food. The wine. I don’t remember a better New Year. Wonderful.”

  The night’s revelries were catching up with the woman beside him.

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  She did her best to conceal a yawn; her fair hair was slipping out of its elaborate coiffeur, and there were circles under her eyes that made her appear closer to forty than thirty. The carmine color on her mouth was smudged, and she was sagging with the task of propping him upright. She took the last of the pickled onions and ate it, making a face at its tang. “When were you planning to send for your automobile? Your chauffeur is surely longing for his bed.”

  “He is napping now, no doubt,” said Persuic, scowling at the sausage as if it were his hapless chauffeur. “They all do, no matter what they tell you. They nap, they use the automobiles for their own purposes, and they pay too much for parts.”

  “But it is late,” she protested, far more for herself than the chauffeur. “It is time we were . . . alone.”

  “Hah!” Persuic scoffed. “It is hardly more than two, and New Year as well.” Another bite brought his teeth almost to the tines of the fork. “Wonderful.”

  On the settee where Schmidt and the cooks assistant had set Gretta as upright as they could, von Nordlingen now reposed as well, his arm flung over the end of it, his head against the armrest. Occasionally he gave a stentorian snore, woke himself, muttered an excuse, then slid back into slumber. Von Rosenwiese stood by the fireplace, one elbow propped on the mantelpiece, a half-drained bottle of champagne clutched by the neck in his hand, an expression of utmost misery on his face.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” said von Wolgast, less sincerely than he had said it half an hour ago. He was nursing his champagne now, dreading how his head would feel when he woke next, around noon. “Have more champagne. And help yourself to the food.”

  “In a moment I will refill my glass.” He reached over and fondled the woman beside him. “You think this sausage is impressive, little lamb? I have something better than this for you.” He took her hand and laid it on the front of his breeches. “You will feel it from your cunt to your skull,” he promised.

  She did her best to give him an encouraging smile. “I hope so, Colonel,” she said, “I am longing to lie with you. You’ve filled me with longing foryou. That is why I would like to leave.” Her sensible plea fell on deaf ears.

  “Anything for a bed,” said von Wolgast with unusual insight, and realized at once he had made a mistake; Persuic glowered at him. “Not but what the night is still young, and you are not ready to abandon the revels.”

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  Persuic decided to be magnanimous about the remark. “The night is young. Young and lusty,” he said, and reduced the sausage by another bite. “A pity about Nadezna,” he added as he ate.

  “Nadezna?” von Wolgast repeated, his bones going icy within him.

  “Yes.” He continued to chew as if unaware of von Wolgast s response. “Your friend.”

  “What do you mean?” von Wolgast asked sharply, spilling champagne on his shoes. Why did Persuic have to mention her? The evening had been going well enough without any reminder of her.

  Persuic stared at him. “I meant it is a pity she is dead. She would be a wonderful addition to our party. I liked having her around. So charming and so famous. We could have held this celebration at her house, and she would have had the women for us.” He took a last bite, pulling the remaining sausage off the tines while smiling toothily.

  “Yes,” said von Wolgast, mollified.

  “Did they ever arrest anyone for killing her?” Persuic inquired, his attention no longer fixed on the answer.

  “No. When Ragoczy left, they stopped the investigation,” said von Wolgast with deep satisfaction. It was one of the few delights he had had in the last month.

  “Pity,” said Persuic. “She was a nice piece.” He licked his lips.

  “That she was,” von Wolgast said, raising his glass to her memory.

  “And you would not be alone to bring in the year, if she were still alive,” Persuic went on. “A man should have more under hi
m than sheets for New Year.”

  “He probably should,” said von Wolgast with a sigh. “But Nadezna is gone. And sadly, my wife is not available.” He made a gesture of fatalistic resignation.

  “The devils own luck, to be married to an invalid,” said von Rosen-wiese, as snide as he dared to be. “I have been told she is unable to leave her room.”

  “It is true enough,” said von Wolgast with a shudder. He had visited his wife only twice in the last five years. Both times their encounters had ended in her shrieking obscenities at him through the bars on the window of her room; the nuns had hurried him out of the asylum, suggesting that it might be better to come another time.

  “How sad for you both,” said Persuic s companion.

  “Yes,” von Wolgast sighed, thinking again that he wished she would die and be done with it. He shook his head. “We must not let unhappy thoughts mar the New Year. Let us drink to happy days and an end of suffering.”

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  “Strange wish, for a munitions maker,” Persuic observed as he lifted a new glass of champagne. “Why not drink to a bloody war instead? We do, in barracks. There is nothing like a war to bring promotions.”

  “Because,” said von Wolgast, straightening the sash on his smoking jacket, “war is risky. I would rather see hostilities increasing without actual fighting. Fighting is always costly, and unpredictable.” He hoped that von Rosenwiese would remember some of this tomorrow. “If I were to have things precisely as I like, all sides would purchase my weapons, but not actually use them. That is the best possible outcome.” It was also the way to the greatest profit, but he said nothing of this.

  “Then we drink to that,” said Persuic, stumbled backward a few steps, spilling champagne, and fell into one of the Louis XV chairs near the buffet; his companion staggered and managed to remain upright. He stared unseeing at his host. “Lost my footing.”

  “So it appears,” said von Wolgast, oddly relieved that Persuic was finally succumbing to his excesses.

  His companion knelt beside him. “Colonel, let us leave now. Before it is so late that all we do is sleep.” She kept the desperation from her voice but not from her face.

  He tugged on her dress, bringing her down onto his knee. “No. You wouldn’t want to sleep tonight, would you, little lamb? You can sleep any time, but you cannot have me between your legs.” He fumbled with the spill of lace around the low neckline of her evening gown. “You aren’t tired, are you? Little lambiken?”

  “Of course not,” she lied valiantly.

  “Such an eager little bitch you are,” Persuic murmured to her, nuzzling her neck. “You know you want me to prong you now, don’t you?” He slipped his hand along her skirt and began to lift it. “What an infernal mess of petticoats you’re wearing,” he complained.

  “Then let us go to your flat,” she insisted. “You will take them off me, one by one, and I will take your uniform off. Won’t that be fun?” She sounded like the nanny she had once been, attempting to get her charge to behave.

  “We can do that here. Von Wolgast won’t mind.” He chortled lasciviously. “You will not be able to walk for three days by the time I’ve done with you.” He took hold of her hair, dislodging a flurry of pins, and tugged her into a lass. When at last they broke apart, Persuic beamed at her. “Women are so depraved. No wonder your employer’s son was smitten with you. I am.”

  As von Wolgast watched, the woman tried to stand up, only to be dragged back onto Persuic’s lap. He decided it would be best to leave

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  them alone, and after checking to be certain that von Nordlingen and the woman Gretta were still asleep, he signaled to von Rosenwiese, and indicated they should leave the parlor. “They will want privacy,” the Baron remarked as he heard the thick taffeta of her dress tear.

  “This is scandalous,” said von Rosenwiese as they stepped into the corridor.

  “Egmont, Egmont,” von Wolgast chided him. “Just because women are not to your taste does not mean that a private act at a private party is scandalous. I will not say anything. Persuic certainly won’t, nor will the woman. That leaves only you.” He waited while von Rosenwiese considered what he was being told to do.

  “You may rely on my discretion,” he assured his host, unable to look at him. “If you are content to have your house used thus, what cause can I have to object.”

  “Very good,” said von Wolgast, indicating the corridor back to the room where their festivities had begun. “We’ll be private in there.”

  Von Rosenwiese heaved a sigh. “If you insist.”

  “Of course I do,” said von Wolgast, trying not to gloat. “We have a few matters we must discuss, and there is no time like the present. Wouldn’t you rather attend to this now, than have to call here again in a day or two?” They had reached the drawing room, and von Wolgast permitted von Rosenwiese to enter first, then closed the door. “Sit down. I will order coffee for us in a short while. But there are one or two matters I want to have . . . arranged between us.” He stood until von Rosenwiese had selected one of the high-backed chairs; then he went to the settee and sat down, bringing his legs up onto the velvet upholstery. “You recall that I have wanted a stronger position within the Office of Procurement?”

  “You have mentioned it, I believe,” said von Rosenwiese, cursing himself for not having left an hour ago.

  “And thus far, nothing has come of it.” His tone was mild, but this was only the first salvo.

  “I... I have had other demands on my time. The holidays are always filled with official entertainments, and it would make me conspicuous to attempt to press any of the men in the Office of Procurement...” His words straggled to nothing.

  “There is some merit in what you say,” von Wolgast allowed. “And I must suppose you are preparing to launch increased activities now that the New Year has come. Let me tell you, it does not look advantageous for me to have so many orders for my . . . products going out of Germany. If anything should erupt among those to whom I have supplied

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  guns, I could be called to account if I have not been selling to Germany as well. I do not want to be seen as a profiteer. I am a patriot.” He put his hand to his chest, only then noticing the large spot of mustard on his half-open shirtfront.

  Von Rosenwiese sighed. “There is a man—Euchary Apfelobst-garten—who has been reviewing your sales; he has expressed interest in the orders handled by Sisak. I found that out only two days ago or I would have sent you word of it. I did not want to report falsely.” He held up his hands in response to the thunderous look in von Wolgast’s eyes. “I have been told the man has some link to Franchot Ragoczy, and has been upset at the intimations of criminal doings laid at his door. It seemed best to explore that avenue before approaching him.”

  “Apfelobstgarten,” said von Wolgast. “I don’t believe I know him.” He made no mention of his encounter with the man at Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg’s reception, trusting that von Rosenwiese had not been aware of it. “We may have met,” he added cautiously.

  “He is something of an independent, or he has that reputation. His degree is in chemistry, I am told, and he is considered a first-class thinker.” This offering was made in the hope of diverting the worst of von Wolgast s wrath. “I was planning on seeking him out this next week.”

  Von Wolgast snorted. “First-class thinkers don’t end up in the Office of Procurement. He may have secured good marks at university, but he would be at Farben or possibly Krupp if he was so accomplished.”

  “Perhaps he is interested in public service,” von Rosenwiese suggested. “I don’t know him beyond exchanging greetings, but it is possible.”

  Von Wolgast put the tips of his thick fingers together, trying to force his sodden thoughts into motion. “Does the man have any . . . weaknesses?”

  “I have no idea,” said von Rosenwiese, knowing where von Wolgast was heading.
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  “See what you can learn about him,” von Wolgast recommended.

  For a moment von Rosenwiese’s temper flashed. “So you can blackmail him, too?” As soon as the words were out, he hoped the earth would open up and swallow him. He did his best to cling to his evaporating indignation.

  “Sojthat you will not be under so great an obligation to me,” von Wolgast said smoothly. “You are aware that I will continue to make demands of you so long as I do not have another to do my bidding. You have made it abundantly clear that you dislike your position with me. You need not continue to occupy it.” He was almost purring as he continued. “You

  Chelsea Quinn Yarhro

  can become my lieutenant, von Rosenwiese, and profit from our association. Or you can continue to oppose me and pay the price for it.” “You are despicable,” said von Rosenwiese, shocked by the suggestion that he might want to be part of von Wolgast’s schemes. “Your claims of patriotism are nothing more than blatant self-service.”

  “No; venal, perhaps, but not despicable. Despicable people are usually without influence, and I am not one such. And I am a patriotic German, no matter what else I may be. I know that we must preserve the Kaiser if we are to have order in Europe, order maintained with German guns: my guns.” He smiled faintly. “You have such tremendous ideals, Egmont. How do you reconcile them to your perversion?”

  “I need reconcile nothing,” said von Rosenwiese, but without the conviction he had had moments before. “You have no idea—”

  “What it is to have a cock up my backside? No, I don’t.” He folded his arms. “I would rather have a woman.”

  “Then your wife must be a double disappointment to you,” said von Rosenwiese, striking back the only way he could. “Mad, and childless to boot.”