Blood Red (9781101637890)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  The maid, Marie, who had been the lady’s maid for the Graf’s inamorata, entered the bedroom to find her still staring in confusion. Until now, she had not attended on Rosa; Rosa’s few needs had been taken care of by one of the housemaids. And Rosa had been uncertain whether or not she was included in the Graf’s “family” of servants—who were all aware by this time of what, exactly, she was.

  But when Marie saw her standing in front of the open wardrobe doors Rosa felt a surge of familiar power from her—Earth energies—and Rosa turned to her in relief. Marie was one of them after all! “Marie!” she exclaimed, about to confess her problem. But Marie, it seemed, had already guessed. Rosa didn’t need to get any further.

  “We have plenty of time, my lady,” Marie said serenely—and with a faint French accent. “I realized that the Count is insufficiently educated in the finer points of Service and Fashion both, and would probably not be aware that you needed both assistance and education, if you will pardon my audacity. If I may be so bold as to explain the proper dress for every occasion?”

  “Oh please,” she begged, sitting down on the bed.

  What followed was an enlightening education on a fine lady’s wardrobe, as Marie deftly reorganized the garments in their wardrobes by purpose. “These are morning gowns; they are to be worn to breakfast if you do not break your fast in your room, and for giving morning instruction to your servants—that is mostly the provenance of the lady of the house,” here her eyebrow raised, “which Madame Giselle was not. These are the gowns you would change into for luncheon. These are the ones you would change into to make calls or receive them. These are tea gowns; if you were serving tea at home, entertaining company at tea, or having tea in the garden, you would change into one of these. These are walking gowns. This is a tennis gown. You would wear a tea gown to play croquet, but not tennis or badminton. And these are dinner gowns. Madame Giselle did not hunt, so there is no hunting outfit, but there is a riding habit, here, which she never used.” A little smile. “This last is a ball gown, meant only for attending an elegant evening party or a ball. Madame Giselle had many ball gowns, but she only kept one here, as the Count did not have balls here.”

  “I can see the differences now, now that you have organized them,” Rosa said with profound relief. The morning gowns were a more substantial version of a nightgown—more frothy than the dresses Mutti used to wear in the day, and more expensive by far. The luncheon gowns were similar, but the trimmings were more substantial and less frothy. Walking gowns were distinctly plain and sturdy, very like the gown Mutti had made for her. The riding habit was obvious. The tea gowns were all, universally, pale and lacy, but more elegant lace rather than frothy. The ball gown—well it was so incredible she hoped she would never be asked to wear it. Not only did it look horrifyingly expensive, she was certain she would look an utter fool in it. “But for this—this house party—”

  “If this were the sort of house party that was not consisting of magicians, you would wear gowns in the order I showed you. But the people here will expect you to be yourself, and not change gowns as if that were your sole occupation during the day. This—” she pulled out one of the luncheon gowns “—will do during the day unless you go walking or riding, when you should wear whatever you wish.”

  “You mean, my working garb?” she asked, surprised that it would be suitable. Marie didn’t laugh, but her eyes did twinkle a little.

  “I expect they would be disappointed if you did not,” she replied. “Then for dinner, this.” She reverently pulled out a gown of a sort that Rosa had never seen before. It was of a dyed and printed brown and green velvet and silk, and flowed and draped—and truth to tell, it looked a little like something from an ancient time. “This,” she said, in tones that Rosa would have reserved for worship, “is a gown by the great couturier, Fortuny. It is worth a fortune. Madame brought it back from Paris, then never wore it, because she deemed the company here in Munich too provincial. You would look magnificent in this gown, my lady.”

  Rosa gazed on the dress with longing, but reservation. It was one that had not needed to be fitted to her as it was meant to hang loosely. “I doubt that anyone here could be called provincial, except for me . . .”

  “Trust my judgment, my lady,” the maid said persuasively. “You are a Hunt Master. You must look like a queen.”

  “No matter how I feel inside?” she asked, dryly.

  “Especially if you do not feel like a queen,” Marie told her, firmly, and selected one of her ensembles from the Schwarzwald to meet the guests in. This one had, not breeches, but a cunning divided skirt. It was very difficult to tell that it was not a conventional walking skirt. The skirt was of deep green moleskin, and she wore her hunting jacket of loden-green wool, moleskin vest, and rather than her plain linen shirt, one of Madame’s more delicate shirtwaists. Marie brushed out and put up her hair, and after several moments of consideration, pinned her loden hat on.

  “There,” the maid said with great satisfaction. “Now, your role at this party is to be a sort of feted guest, rather than the Count’s hostess. You should go to the veranda and make yourself comfortable there. The Count will bring the other guests to meet you, as you are the more notable. Or at least, you have the cachet of novelty.”

  Rosa wasn’t quite sure how to react to that last statement, so she just nodded, left Marie to tidy up and continue organizing the gowns, and adjourned to the veranda above the gardens.

  But the first guest to arrive was not one to whom she was a novelty.

  She sensed him approaching before he even entered the morning room, and was up and out of her chair, running in through the double doors, and into his arms before he could say her name. “Papa!” she exclaimed with glee, as he put his arms around her and gave her a bear hug. “How are Mutti and Vati?”

  “Your father is proud of what you did in Romania,” Gunther chuckled, kissing her forehead before letting her go. “Your mother is beside herself to hear you are being entertained by a Count. The first and last thing she asked me was if he had any eligible sons or nephews.”

  Rosa sighed, blushing. “It is a good thing you didn’t tell her how Hans was my age, or she would have had me married to him in her mind.”

  “She almost did even after I pretended he was a graybeard, like me,” Gunther rumbled with amusement. Rosa was glad that he was amused, because she was not. “Don’t frown so, child. All mothers are like that. Mine was. When I finally settled down with my Bertha, she still was not content until we had produced grandchildren. She took it very personally, too. At least your mother only asks if there are young men your age about, she doesn’t hunt down every boy she sees to discover his marital status and offer to introduce you. I was more afraid of her than anything I met in the woods, shape-shifters included.”

  Rosa stared at her mentor; he was a tall, burly man, not unlike a graying bear, with a neatly trimmed beard and salt-and-pepper hair. Like her, he wore the most elegant version of his working clothes, a beautifully made loden-green jacket, vest, and trousers. He looked as important as the mayor, at least. She could not imagine him being so intimidated by his mother.

  Then again . . .

  “And you, Rosa?” he asked anxiously. “Are you still so pleased with Hans’s choice to stay in Romania?”

  “More than ever,” she replied firmly. “I do not like that he was living so much in my shadow. Now he will be the best Hunt Master in those parts for at least a generation. And I cannot help but think he will have a great deal more to do than he would at home. That is, more to do besides flirt with the pretty girls.”

  Gunther laughed and they went out to the veranda and took chairs. “Were there that many, then?” he asked in amusement. “Or was it just that our handsome blond Hans attracted them like bees to honey?”

  “That many,” she said, sobering. “The area has been dangerous, and I wonder at the number of ‘accidents.’ T
here is some conscription as well to take away the young men, but the place is so remote that they can hide in the woods if they don’t wish to go. I think that not all the wild animal attacks are truly wolves and bears, and not all the ‘accidents’ when young men are farming or hunting are anything of the sort. As for the women, there is a reason why the vampir chose that place. With so many unmarried young women there, it was a fine place to find prey. Where there was one vampir, there is probably more. Hans will be busy for some time. You might want to send one or two of the Bruderschaft to join him.”

  “I know just the ones.” Gunther nodded. “Ulrich Bernwald and Walther Vogel.”

  Rosa smiled. Those were good choices, friends of Hans, also single young men and the sons of Lodge members who would be pleased to see them somewhere they would do more than merely patrol the forest for weeks and months on end. Like Hans, they were handsome, sturdy blond fellows who would be very attractive by reason of contrast to the dark Romanians. It would do Hans no end of good to have to compete for those young ladies too. “I like your plans, Papa,” she said. “Though Hans may like it less when the maidens see how handsome Ulrich and Walther are.”

  Gunther might have said more, but at that moment the Graf appeared with another guest. This one was someone that Rosa was immediately comfortable with; he was dressed like a gentleman farmer, and Gunther greeted him heartily. They, too, were old friends, it seemed.

  The more people that arrived, the more comfortable Rosa became, rather than more apprehensive. The “gentleman farmer” proved to have a title as well as a fine manor and a great deal of property, but he put on no airs at all. Then came a medical doctor and his wife and three lively children, a real farmer who was dressed no differently than the fellow with a title, a handful of professors and scholars, several also with titles, from the University in Munich, another family, this time of a lawyer, some artists, and some musicians, Fritz Bern from the train, and Rudolf Weiss, the Graf’s secretary. Now she saw what Marie meant. None of these people were anything like the well-to-do aristocrats on the train. They were here because of what they all had in common; they were all members of the Graf’s White Lodge.

  They all knew each other, and greeted each other with varying degrees of warmth; some effusive, some cool and calm, which only made sense. Not even all the people in the Schwarzwald Bruderschaft liked each other; there were some cases where people merely tolerated each other. But not all of them lived in the Lodge as Gunther and Rosa did. The Schwarzwald was very large, and those who did not get along with the others lived in their hometowns and villages, either with their families or by themselves—or out in forester cottages completely alone.

  As Rosa watched the guests arrive, it occurred to her that the Graf was very lucky he had enough people in his White Lodge that liked each other well enough to supply such a big party as this one was.

  It was grand that everyone here got along well enough to spend several days together. Those who did not get along in the Bruderschaft tolerated each other just long enough to gather for a Hunt and immediately departed—which tended to be just as well. It wasn’t only old men and women either.

  Of course, not everyone who chose to live outside the Lodge was someone who didn’t care for his fellows. Perhaps once it had been possible to physically fit everyone in the Bruderschaft into the Lodge comfortably, but that was no longer the case. You would need a palace as big as the Graf’s to do it now.

  Rosa’s morning and afternoon were spent in engaging in commonplace pleasantries with the others—where was she from, who were her parents, how long had she known of her powers. The children of the group were watched over by a nursemaid, and the Graf had seen to it that there were plenty of things for them to do. The laughter of happy children sounded over the grass—and they were far enough away from the adults that the shrieks of happy children merely made people smile rather than wince.

  This was something she had never actually experienced before: an extended party. There had been parties and celebrations in her life of course, and many of them; the Bruderschaft was not a dour, grim lot. Christmas and New Year’s Day were the most prominent times to celebrate, but there were plenty of other occasions for a feast or a cake, and everyone went to the villages for Oktoberfest and Maifest. But there was always a sense of we must pack as much into this hour, this afternoon, this day as possible. This was leisurely. The party had just begun, and there would be several more days in which to enjoy themselves.

  Rosa found herself the object of attention from several young men; Fritz and Rudolf, and some of the students, artists and musicians. This was extremely flattering and, she found, very pleasant. None of these fellows were (as yet) intimidated by her despite her reputation, as her friends her own age were, probably because none of them had ever seen her at work, as the young men of the Bruderschaft had. All this might change the more they learned about her, but for now, she was going to enjoy being treated as—well—a girl.

  Luncheon was alfresco in the garden. The afternoon was spent in croquet and tennis; Rosa had never played either, and was not sure enough of the rules to attempt tennis, but the croquet was a great deal of fun, since everyone played a friendly-but-cutthroat game, frequently sending balls flying out into the hedges and flower beds. The older children were allowed to join, and the best game of the afternoon for Rosa was one where she was partnered with a bright young girl with Water talent who reminded her a great deal of herself.

  “My mother thinks a girl shouldn’t go to university, but I am going,” Hedwig said boldly. “They are giving girls degrees now! I want to study science so I can understand Water Magic better.”

  Rosa did not insult the child by warning her she must never talk of her powers in public. At her age, especially living so closely with those who knew nothing of magic, that would be second nature to her. “If I were to be able to do it over again, I would do the same,” she told the child. “My father is a schoolmaster, so he taught me everything the boys learned, but I would like to know more about science. Our powers have rules and logic, and the better you know how to discover the rules, the easier it is to do as much as you can with what the Good God has given you.”

  Young Hedwig beamed, and Rosa continued to encourage her—and made sure to let her know it was all right to say “Fraulein Rosamund said . . .”

  She changed for dinner actually looking forward to it, whereas this morning she had been nervous and apprehensive. Marie came to help her, and put up her hair with a feather and bead ornament. “The rest of the servants say you are quite the toast of the party,” the maid observed, then reached for a rabbit’s foot and a little box on the dressing table, and to Rosa’s astonishment, brushed powder on her face. Oh, she knew all about cosmetics from the advertisements in Mutti’s magazines but she had never, ever used them before. Marie paused at the startled expression she must have been wearing. “Would you rather I did not—”

  “Well . . . I suppose I had rather you taught me how,” Rosa said after a moment. “I mean, I believe even the grandest ladies do this for themselves.”

  “So they do, and I knew you never had, since the cosmetics had gone unused,” the maid replied. “Here, turn toward the mirror, and watch.”

  Rosa watched studiously, as the maid applied powder and added a little flush to her cheeks, a touch of red to her lips, darkened her lids a little, and lined her eyes. “Do I need to do this?” she wondered aloud.

  The maid considered that. “Not here. But in some circles you might stand out if you do not, at least for dinner.”

  She could hardly recognize herself in the mirror. She thought she looked like some sort of creature from a tapestry or ancient mural. Marie seemed quite pleased with her handiwork, and Rosa didn’t blame her.

  “I am a work of art,” she declared, “And you are as much an artist as any of the guests who call themselves as much.”

  Marie flushed with pleasure. “T
hank you, my lady. May I say it is a positive pleasure to help you.”

  “You are making things that are very difficult, and foreign to me, ever so much easier.” A thought occurred to her that made her frown. “Marie, now that your mistress is gone, what happens to you? You won’t be dismissed—” A vague idea crossed her mind of hiring Marie herself. Though what she was to use for Marie’s wages—and what she was to do with her at the Lodge was a real problem.

  But Marie only laughed. “Oh, I am in the Count’s employ, my lady. I serve all his . . . companions. He does not trust the maids they might bring with them; really, how could he, considering what sort of household this is? I shall remain in his employ as long as he is the head of this household, and when his nephew inherits, I shall become the lady’s maid to his wife when he takes one. Do not concern yourself for me! Seldom has there been a maid with a more secure position than mine.”

  Rosa breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known better, really.

  “If I have a complaint, it is that I wish that the Count would find a proper bride for himself—” she shook her head. “I am very weary of serving spoiled and pampered fool after spoiled and pampered fool, not one of whom has the sense to see what a paragon our Master is.” She gave Rosa a speculative look. “I don’t suppose you—”

  Rosa was scarcely the sort of girl who lived on romantic novels and was appalled at the idea of marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather. Heavens, Madame Giselle had probably been not much older than Rosa herself. Good marriages, especially in magic circles, were made between old men and young girls—and less commonly, old women and young men. But that was not why Rosa shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marie. First, I do not think the Count has any liking for the settled life. And second, what I do is decidedly not suited for the settled life.”

  Marie made a little face. “I cannot see why a woman would risk her life as you do. I could not do it,” she declared. “Not for any amount of money or fame or—”