Von Wolgast pointed at von Rosenwiese, saying in quiet fury, “Leave my wife out of this. If you mention her again, you are a dead man.” Von Rosenwiese believed him beyond question. He sat very still, hardly willing to breathe, as his host paced around his chair. “I. . . ” he ventured when he could stand the tension no longer. “I did not mean anything...”
“Of course you did,” said von Wolgast, his tone silky and fatal. “You wanted to be certain that I recognized the extent of your displeasure.” He rocked back on his heels. “You may rest assured: I do.” His next words were measured. “Just be sure that you recognize the extent of mine.”
“Ah ...” Von Rosenwiese was finding it hard to breathe; his whole body sagged. “I apologize, Baron. I ... I hope you will not...”
“Show the letters to anyone?” von Wolgast supplied, his smile oiled with his pleasure at von Rosenwiese s terror. “No, not yet. That would make everything easy for you, wouldn’t it?”
“That wasn’t what I—”
“Egmont, you are an amateur at these games. Leave the field to those who know how to play.” He coughed delicately. “And keep in mind that I will not tolerate any lapse about my wife again. Is that understood?”
“Yes. Yes. It is fully understood.” He began to rise only to be shoved back down into the chair by von Wolgast. “Is there something more?”
Writ in Blood
377
“Yes, Egmont. I am afraid there is.” He stared down at his cringing guest and was almost sorry their conversation had to end. “I have been told that someone is watching me. I must know who it is, if indeed it is taking place at all. If anyone in the Kaisers government is keeping a record of my movements and transactions, I must know. Is that clear? Report what you find to me in a week. Between Apfelobstgarten and the surveillance, you should have your time filled.”
“I will try,” said von Rosenwiese.
“You will do more than try—you will succeed,” said von Wolgast with such conviction that von Rosenwiese was frightened afresh. “When I am satisfied that you have done enough to support my interests, I will return your correspondence to you. In case you should be tempted to be lax in these things, remember your performance will determine if and when you will be free to destroy those very compromising words you were foolish enough to commit to paper.” He patted von Rosenwiese on the shoulder. “I look forward to a most profitable year for the both of us.”
Von Rosenwiese could think of no appropriate response. He hunkered down in the chair and hoped von Wolgast would get back on the other side of the room. Finally, he forced himself to say, “I hope it may be, as well.”
“Wise,” von Wolgast approved, withdrawing to a place by the heavy draperies now shrouding the windows. “You will come, I think, to be pleased that I have dealt with you as I have. Many another would have used you and then exposed you, but I will not do that, so long as you continue to assist me. But you are aware of that already.”
“Yes. I am aware of that.” Von Rosenwiese felt the full weight of the demand come down upon him.
There was a loud bellow from the parlor, and a muffled shriek.
“What. . . ?” von Rosenwiese demanded in a shocked voice.
“Persuic and his companion, no doubt. He has probably exerted himself overmuch with her.” Von Wolgast found von Rosenwiese s dismay amusing. “It is illegal to go to her aid, you know. You are not her father or her brother.”
“And Persuic is not her husband,” said von Rosenwiese, sticking by the letter of the law.
“A fine point,” said von Wolgast, not turning his head as the shriek became a wail. “You would not find many advocates to support you in court, if you were impulsive enough to make an issue of it. I doubt the woman would welcome any official attention to her activities.” He held up an admonishing finger. “And Colonel Persuic could make any case
Chelsea Quinn Yarhro
unpleasant for you, being an officer on diplomatic assignment here. We know how large a cloak diplomacy provides, do we not? The Colonel would be excused much on behalf of Austro-Hungary.”
“Yes. I know that,” said von Rosenwiese, relieved that no more sounds came from the parlor down the corridor. That such cries could be heard through two closed doors—he did not want to think what their cause might be.
“Then keep in mind that both of you are my guests. I would not want any embarrassment to result for either of you—or for me—from this evenings entertainment.” He saw von Rosenwiese nod. “I think we begin to understand one another at last, my friend.” He indicated the draperies. “No one beyond this house could possibly have heard anything, and you would have to stake your reputation on the scream of a whore. A poor exchange, I would have thought.”
“I take your point,” von Rosenwiese said after a short silence.
“I thought you would,” said von Wolgast, liking to see von Rosenwiese squirm. He abandoned his sport reluctantly. “So. This next week you will find out what you can for me about Apfelobstgarten s inquiries, and inform me if it appears anything more may come of them. Then you are to discover who may be observing my movements, and why, and this you are to reveal to me as soon as you have any solid information.” As he said this, he decided it was time to speak with Reighert once again; for all his faults, Reighert was an invaluable source of reliable intelligence.
“I will: of course I will.” Von Rosenwiese scrambled to his feet, hoping the interminable evening might finally be ending. “If you will permit?”
“As soon as you thank me for the hospitality I have shown you; you know how such things are done,” von Wolgast reminded him, relishing the stricken look that crossed von Rosenwiese s face. “Oh, Egmont, do not make such a chore of this. Pretend it is part of your work—for in a very real sense, it is.” He gave a short, Prussian bow. “I am honored you accepted my invitation, von Rosenwiese. I look forward to our continued association.” He beamed. “See how easy it is?”
“Yes.” He went through the formal rituals of leave-taking, ending with the phrase, “I cannot tell you what a pleasure it has been to pass the evening in your company.”
Von Wolgast laughed aloud at this. “No, Egmont,” he said, his spirits once again restored. “I don’t suppose you can.”
Text of a letter from Carlisle Sunbury in London to Franchot Ragoczy in Saint Petersburg.
Writ in Blood
379
January 19, 1911
Franchot Ragoczy, Count Saint-Germain Daum Saint-Germain Nevsky Prospekt Saint Petersburg, Russia
My dear Ragoczy;
How disappointing to have so much effort fail to bring the desired results. I have instructed my secretary to send you the papers you have requested; they will be delivered to your man-of -business, P. D. Golovin, by courier, within the month. That will be sent from the office, all right and tight, and with appropriate releases and signatures. I wanted to express my sympathy in a more personal form, hence this letter from my private study.
I must apologize for my inability to persuade such men in the government as I know share your apprehension about the European situation to advance your cause with HMs government. I had not anticipated such obdurate opposition to what I felt was a very reasonable mission. I am still perplexed as to the cause of it, and I have given many evenings to analyzing how this came about. After due consideration, I must suppose it springs from the growing fear of Bolshevism that has taken the popular fancy just now. Although why anyone should assume that Czar Nicholas is a Bolshevik, I cannot think.
In accordance with your instructions, I have continued to authorize payment on you r house lease, and have kept up the salaries of Timothy Harris and Loretta Nowell. While I know you can well afford these expenses, I would be remiss if 1 did not remind you that you own buildings in London where you might establish yourself with less cost to you. Having said this, I will resign myself to maintaining the arrangement you already have in place. These two individuals have proved most reliable, and I agree it wo
uld be time-consuming and costly to replace them on short notice. We both know there are ways to deal with this, but I will not waste my time by reminding you what they are.
1 have been led to understand that you have had some contact with Rowena Pearce-Manning in Amsterdam. I impute no questionable purpose to this, but I feel I must tell you that your association with Miss Pearce-Manning has caused her mother great distress. I have promised her 1 would tell you of her many reservations in regard to you where her daughter is concerned. She is very much afraid that this latest escapade—her word, not mine—will ruin all Miss Pearce-Mannings
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
chances for a good match. That is her first worry, but by no means her last. She has enumerated them to me many times in the last two months. A young woman of Miss Pearce-Mannings fortune might easily fall prey to those unscrupulous men who batten on women with money. Nothing I have told her has convinced her that you are not one such. She has expostulated at length on the fatal attraction certain foreigners exert over impressionable, well-bred girls. More than once I have observed to Lady Pearce-Manning that her oldest daughter is no longer a schoolgirl, and well able to take care of herself, all to no avail. Clarice has decided you are seduction incarnate and is unwilling to believe you have any goal beyond the ruining of her firstborn.
You mentioned you may return to London before summer. If you do, let me warn you that you may have to endure a few cold shoulders and other indications of support for Lady Pearce-Manning. Most sensible persons recognize the overblown sentiments of Lady Pearce-Manning as precisely what they are. But a few have combined those distraught diatribes with the failure of your diplomatic mission, and have developed more serious reservations. These may prove to be the more difficult to counteract, and you are well-advised to be prepared to deal with them. I need not remind you, such rumors are Hydra-like—cut one off and two more grow in its place.
Pray do not let these uncharitable aspersions keep you from returning. I assure you most here have goodwill toward you and regard your presence as an asset to the scene. I would enjoy another opportunity to discuss your theories on the language of the ancient Romans. I confess, until you mentioned it, I never considered the matter of dialect and jargon in Roman speech, though it makes sense.
In the hope that your efforts may at last prevail, I remain
Most sincerely, Carlisle Sunbury
2
In the drawing room half-a-dozen guests gathered in the fading afternoon to hear Countess Amalija s illustrious guest play Chopin and Liszt on her splendid Chickering square grand piano; it was usually consid-
Writ in Blood
381
ereda coup to be invited to one of Countess Amalija’s salons, but this one was not as well-attended as many due to the uncertain standing Franchot Ragoczy was thought to have with Czar Nikolai. As he was the pianist, many of the high-born of Saint Petersburg thought it wise to stay away. Fortunately there had been enough of a storm that morning to make excuses readily come by.
“Don’t let it bother you,” Countess Amalija recommended to Ragoczy, as she went to greet late-arriving guests, whose motor car had just drawn up at the coach-door. “It is nothing more than the usual social snobism, and the fear of courtiers to be without favor. We’ll tell everyone it is on account of the storm, as they have told me, and we can all shake our heads together.” She signaled her majordomo, saying, “We will delay for a few minutes so that whoever-that-is may come up.”
“I have played for fewer,” said Ragoczy, recalling the many times music had gained him admission where no other skill would. He retired to a comer of the room to wait.
“As you wish, Countess,” said her majordomo, bowing enough to be respectful but not so much to be cowed, in accordance with recent revisions of servants’ conduct in the Czar’s household.
“Gennady is a gem, isn’t he?” Countess Amalija asked Ragoczy before going to her drawing room door, and lifting a hand to wave to her nephew Leonid, in the company of his youngest brother Konstantine.
“Sorry to be late, Aunt,” said Leonid as he came up the stairs. “Irina was having trouble with the baby, and... well, I couldn’t leave her until the physician arrived and declared all well.”
“Commendable,” Countess Amalija approved as she offered her cheek for her nephew to lass. “I am not going to stand on ceremony with you. Or with you, Konstantine. And don’t you look splendid in your uniform?”
The Guard cadet blushed to the roots of his tawny hair; he had just turned seventeen and was still caught in the tumult of youth and striving to his utmost to seem two or three years more experienced than he actually was. “Thank you. I am proud to have been accepted. There is always an Ohchenov in the Guards.” He gave his oldest brother an admiring look. “Leonid arranged it for me to join a year early.”
“With some help from our Aunt Amalija,” Leonid reminded Konstantine, and glanced around the drawing room. “A little thin of company,” he observed.
“Alas,” Countess Amalija agreed with a sarcastic light in her fine eyes. “The weather is so cold. February is often the harshest part of the winter.”
Chelsea Quinn Yarhro
“I see,” said Leonid knowledgeably, “It must be the chill.” With that he indicated the large brass samovar on the table across the room. “Konstantine, make yourself useful and get us both a glass of tea, will you?” He showed an expression of concern only after the young man had left his side. “Ragoczy is still regarded as trouble, is he?”
“So it would seem,” the Countess admitted. “But I will not let Nikolai Alexandreivich Romanovs freaks change my friends for me. If I were twenty, it might be different, but I am old enough to know how important friends are, and how insignificant a Czars whim can be.” She indicated a dozen empty chairs. “Sit wherever you like. I am grateful you are here, and your brother.”
“I am more respectful of an auntly summons than I am of court gossip; after all, I am your heir,” said Leonid with a wink, then bowed slightly before going to take a chair, greeting the other guests as he did. A moment later, Konstantine joined him, two glasses of steaming tea in lavishly decorated pewter holders clutched in his hands. “Very good. Now sit down and listen.”
Obediently, Konstantine did, smiling at his brother. “I don’t understand the music of Chopin,” he whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Leonid assured him as he took his glass of tea. “You can like it without understanding it.”
“I hope so,” said his youngest brother devoutly.
Countess Amalija resigned herself to the small attendance as she stepped in front of the Chickering grand and said, “Thank you so much for coming this afternoon, with the snow falling and the rest of it.” She glanced once at Ragoczy standing a short distance away. “Most of you already know Count Saint-Germain from his long residence in Saint Petersburg, but few of you have had the pleasure of hearing him play. I have asked him if he would remedy that, and so he has agreed to perform some of the works of Chopin and Liszt.” She turned to him, holding out her hand. “Count, if you will?”
Ragoczy stepped forward and bowed slightly to the listeners. “Allow me to echo the sentiments of your hostess: thank you so much for coming, and in such inclement weather. I think it is appropriate that I begin with Chopin’s Winter Wind. ” He saw Leonid smile, and felt that the afternoon would not be a complete exercise in futility. Flexing his fingers he took his place before the keyboard and began, his small hands working unexpected magic with the long chromatic plunges that characterized the piece. At its conclusion, the applause he was given was more than polite. He turned on the bench, saying. “I would next like to play Liszt’s piano transcription of Bellini’s opera Norma. ” It was as
Writ in Blood
383
difficult for the pianist as the title role was difficult for sopranos, written by Liszt to show off his own consummate virtuosity and to intimidate less accomplished pianists; Ragoczy loved it as much for it
s demands as for its remarkable musicality. He put his whole attention on the keyboard, and the music he had memorized decades ago.
He was six minutes into the piece when there was a stir in the room and two latecomers sat down at the back of the room, waving away the flurry of attention offered by Countess Amalija and her staff. At the conclusion of the work, the latercomers were the first to applaud.
“Bravo, bravo,” enthused Czar Nikolai, while his lovely Czarina continued to clap.
There were exclamations and a buzz of whispers. The other guests rose, the women curtsying, the men bowing. Ragoczy got to his feet and bowed.
“This isn’t Court, sit down, sit down,” said Czar Nikolai, coming up to the piano to shake Ragoczy s hand.
“Thank you,” Ragoczy said sincerely. “And not for your applause alone.”
“Let us pretend it is for the applause, or for Countess Amalija Romanovna,” said the Czar, going on amiably, “I don’t know about you, but just listening to Liszt exhausts me. After such a harrowing piece, I should think you would want an interval, wouldn’t you?”
Even if it was not what Ragoczy had planned he knew better than to argue with such a recommendation. “I am at your disposal, Czar.”
“And precious little good it has done you, for which I ask your pardon,” said Nikolai, pointing to the samovar. “If you will bear me company, I want to get my wife a-glass of tea. Come with me.”
Ragoczy went with him, noticing the other guests had not yet moved to help themselves to the tea or hors d’oeuvres laid out for them.
“I had no idea you played so well,” the Czar went on, determinedly making small talk. “You could be on the concert stage, I should think.”
“That is a difficult life,” Ragoczy observed as Gennady appeared to pour two glasses of tea for the royal guests.
“It may be. But it is no more difficult than the one I have required of you,” said Czar Nikolai, doing his best to make sure they were overheard. “I hold you in no way accountable for the decisions of my cousins. Your conduct was all that was admirable. I had no concept of how adamant my relatives could be.” He put his hand on Ragoczy s shoulder, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would be all over Saint Petersburg that Ragoczy was in the Czar’s favor once again. “I am sorry it has taken so long for me to acknowledge the great service you have
Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Page 50
