“Tell me about him,” he said.
“Another time,” I promised, sipping champagne. “We have had too much talk of death and sadness. Anna, our friend’s glass is empty.”
We talked and laughed about this and that. I liked him very much. He was good and kind. He loved his wife and his children and his family. I thought, I wouldn’t put it past Ludwig to try and match make, even as his kingdom was crumbling around him. I laughed out loud and my companion looked curious.
“Forgive me, Monsieur McClelland,” I said. “But my friend King Ludwig is such a transparent schemer. Of course he had to send for an Adonis to rescue his dear Venus!” We laughed together. He liked that reference to Adonis. He might have been a lawyer, but he was not above flattery.
We left the train at Stuttgart and immediately entered a waiting coach for the drive to Strasbourg, just over the French border. In Strasbourg, an ancient city with winding medieval streets and a soaring cathedral spire, we checked into a clean middle-class hotel on the Rue de Marengo. After a very pleasant meal in the hotel dining room, my new friend bid me good-night and told me we would travel to Paris by easy stages.
“Forgive me,” I said, “but I disobeyed your instructions and had my trunks forwarded to Le Havre. From there I will go to England, perhaps. But I will not go to Paris. I can’t.”
“I understand,” he said kindly.
“No, you don’t. You can’t. Perhaps someday I will tell you. But you must not let us distract you from your business. Anna and I will take another coach to Le Havre. I am sure there will be no further trouble and I wouldn’t like you to inconvenience yourself any more than you already have.”
“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. And I knew that he wouldn’t leave us. He kissed my hand. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a more delightful travelling companion, Baroness,” he said with more sincerity than gallantry. “Or a more pleasant evening. Thank you.”
“And thank you for your help, Monsieur McClelland. Good-night.”
Anna and I were both very tired, and we slept deeply. I was awakened by sounds of a struggle. Rough hands dragged me out of bed and covered my mouth.
A man growled in German, “Tell me where they are, bitch, or we’ll cut your maid’s ears off.”
I twisted around in his arms and saw that another man was holding a knife to Anna’s throat. Anna’s eyes bulged.
She was terrified and trembling.
“You see that?” my captor said. “Now tell me, or—”
I bit his hand. He snatched it away and I squalled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave her alone! Get out of here!”
He grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back. I thought my shoulder would pop out of its socket. "Tell me or I’ll break your arm!”
The only light in the room came from a lantern set on top of the armoire. Just then Steven McClelland came in through the window. There was a narrow balcony running across the face of the building and his room was next to ours. He pulled the man off me, slamming his fist into the brute’s jaw and sending him crashing to the floor. The man who was tormenting Anna shoved her aside and ran past us to the window. Steven followed him, but the man leapt agilely over the edge of the balcony and shinned down the drainpipe.
I held Anna close and comforted her. Steven came over to us and I looked up at him. “Wicked fiends!” I said angrily. “To frighten a poor helpless girl like Anna, who can’t shout for help! Thank you. Thank you for helping us.”
Steven crouched over the unconscious man and searched his pockets.
“He is German,” I said. “Of course he is working for the Baron.”
“But how did he find us?” Steven wondered. “Damn. I thought I had been so careful.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps the Baron had agents stationed all along the border. Strasbourg might have seemed the obvious place for us to go. I fear that I am not inconspicuous, even in a black dress and a veil.”
“We’re getting out of here right now,” Steven said. He gagged the intruder with a handkerchief, then tied his hands with a silk stocking I gave him. “I’ll alert our coachman and meet you downstairs. We’ll get away from here and then consider another plan. Can Anna ride?” Anna shook her head violently and sent me despairing looks.
“It’s all right, Anna,” Steven said soothingly.
We went as far as Phalsburg that night, thirty miles from Strasbourg, and stopped at an inn on the western edge of town.
Steven followed me into my room. I saw he wanted to talk alone and I sent Anna for hot water.
“What were those men after. Baroness?” he asked me. “I think I have a right to know.”
“I have no idea,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“I see,” he said dryly. “Perhaps they were just garden-variety thieves, not agents of the Baron at all”
“The King did give me some very valuable jewelry before I left. Perhaps the Baron regards them as public property and he regards public property as his own.”
“Where are the jewels?” Steven asked.
“Right here.” I lifted my skirts and the hem of my petticoat. “See? Anyone would think they were weights, to keep my skirts from blowing up.”
“Maybe that is what they’re after,” he said grudgingly. “You have other jewels as well, in your jewel case?”
“A few.”
“It was lying on your dresser in Strasbourg, in full sight. I wonder why they didn’t just snatch it and run?” He gave me a sharp look. I smiled, all innocence. Then he sighed and said, “Well, get some sleep if you can. We’ll travel together to Nancy. Anna will go ahead to Le Havre, alone, and we’ll travel on horseback, by night if we have to. If they’re looking for a Baroness who’s travelling in style, they’ll be disappointed.”
“It sounds rather complicated and drastic,” I said. “If, as you suggested, those men were common thieves—”
“You don’t believe that and neither do I.” He sounded tired and he spoke rather gruffly. “If you’d rather go by coach and train, exposing yourself to danger, it’s up to you.”
I smiled. “Of course I will do as you say. I have riding clothes with me. And I was instructed to obey you in everything. Well, it has been a very long day and night. Once again, I thank you. Monsieur McClelland.”
Steven yawned and stretched. “We’ll be travelling together for a week or more. Perhaps you could call me Steven.”
“I will,” I agreed. “And you must call me Rhawnie.”
“Rhawnie,” he repeated. “It’s beautiful. Is it Romany?”
I nodded. “It means ‘great lady.’ ”
“Very appropriate.” He smiled wearily. I hoped he would kiss my hand again, but he didn’t. He wished me good-night and left the room as Anna was coming in with a steaming basin.
“He is very good-looking, isn’t he, Anna?” I sighed. “I feel as though I have known him for years. He’s still a little reserved, but we have only known each other a day. He makes me feel quite fluttery and young and silly. Why, I might be fifteen instead of twenty-one. Or is it twenty-two? Good-night, Anna.”
12
Gypsy Prima Donna
"IF YOU LOOK south you can see the lights of Paris.” I reined in my horse at the top of a knoll when he spoke. It was dusk, the end of the fifth day of our journey from Le Havre. When I saw the golden glow in the sky I thought of Madame Odette and Jules, of the Delacroix Ball and the house on the Rue de Montmorency, of gambling and horses and Martin de Vernay. So many memories. And woven around them all, like a silken web that colors everything it covers, was the memory of Seth.
I had thought about him a lot since meeting Steven McClelland. They were so different. Seth was greedy, self-centered, moody, careless of other people’s feelings. He could no more have spent an hour in the company of a woman like the Baroness of Ravensfeld without seducing her than he could sprout wings and fly to the moon.
Steven, on the other hand, was the perfect gentleman. Maddeningly perfect. In t
he four days that had passed since we left Strasbourg his attitude hadn’t altered: he was still friendly, polite, and warm. If anything, he had grown a little distant, cooler. We were still able to talk together and laugh together without strain or tension, in a way I had never been able to talk with Seth. And he thought I was beautiful—I had seen the admiration in his eyes a dozen times. He couldn’t hide that. But he never uttered a suggestive word or made an impolite gesture.
Oh, well. I shrugged inwardly. He was probably a snob. A respected, respectable member of American society with an exalted position to maintain; a valuable servant to his government. I was a lot of things, but not even remotely respectable. This American lawyer probably thought himself much too good for intimate association with a notorious Baroness.
We sat quietly, watching the pink in the sky dissolve into deeper shades of violet and blue. Our horses grazed contentedly under us, grateful for a brief respite from hard riding.
“Why don’t you want to go back?” Steven asked suddenly.
I was startled. He had never before questioned me about my past. I had told him a few things, stories from my Gypsy childhood, a vague account of how I got away from Russia and came to live with Madame Odette. But not much else. I didn’t think he would be interested.
“Because of the man who took me there in the first place. I can’t think of Paris without thinking of him, and I don’t want to think about him.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “It hurts too much.” I told him about Seth— never using his name, though, because I couldn’t bear to say it aloud. I related how Seth had left me with Madame Odette, how he had claimed me as his mistress after disgracing me at the ball; how he had discovered my talent for faro, and how he had used and exploited me and never let me out of his sight.
“I tried to run away with a boy, Martin de Vernay. But he killed Martin in a duel and we had to escape to London. I discovered I was pregnant and I tried to kill myself because he wanted me to have an abortion. You’ve seen the bracelets I wear. They hide the scars. But I couldn’t even get away from him that way. He didn’t want to let me go. He saved my life then married me. He married me. I still can’t believe it sometimes. He hated being married. I didn’t want to change him, to domesticate him, to curb his freedom. But he thought I did, and perhaps he was right. In any case, he decided that he didn’t want to be saddled with a wife and child. I saw his face after our son was born and I knew—I knew he wouldn’t stay. He deserted us, in Vienna. The baby got sick and died, and I went to Munich to be mistress to the King.” We were silent for a while. “Quite a sordid story, isn’t it?” I said softly. “I can’t imagine what possessed me to tell you. Now you’ll think even less of me than you did before.”
“What do you mean?” Steven’s voice came out of the deepening gloom.
“Men like you disapprove of women like me,” I said lightly. “It’s one of the facts of life. I’m sorry King Ludwig involved you in my problems. You’ve been very good about it, but I know I’ve been a nuisance to you.” Before he could reply a shot rang out and a bullet whistled past my ear. My horse reared twice, nearly throwing me, but I hung on.
“It came from those trees,” Steven shouted. “Let’s go!”
We raced away from the source of the shot, toward a small woods at the edge of the field. We pulled our horses up and I panted, “A gamekeeper, perhaps, thinking we were poachers?”
“No,” Steven said grimly. “Gamekeepers don’t usually travel on horseback. Listen.” We could hear pounding hooves. Several horses. “They know who they’re looking for now. A man and a woman, riding. Let’s get out of these woods and into open country. We don’t know how many are after us and we need to get away before moonrise.” We rode swiftly for an hour or more and finally Steven signalled a halt.
“I think we’ve lost them. I’m not sure, though. Can you go a little farther?”
“Oh, yes,” I answered cheerfully. “I’m not tired.”
“You’re made of sterner stuff than I am,” he confessed, laughing. “I’m exhausted. I suppose Gypsies thrive on danger?”
“It’s meat and drink to us,” I told him.
“I think we’ll disappear. That should throw them off. I know just the place.”
Late that night we passed between twin stone pillars that marked the entrance to a country estate. We rode through acres of wooded park land. The bright full moon cast long shadows among the trees. Everything looked water, silvery.
The château was a sprawling, low structure faced with acres of windows that caught the brightness of the moon. Pools and fountains were still and quiet, their stone figures looking like persons petrified by a magic hand in the midst of riotous revelry.
“It looks deserted,” I said.
“It is.” We dismounted and walked up a flight of marble stairs. “There are caretakers living in the cottage we passed a while back. I’ll tell them we’re here in the morning.” Steven pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the double doors. We went inside. The pieces of furniture in the main hall were all draped with white dust sheets. “I’ll start a fire for you in one of the bedrooms,” Steven told me. “Then I’ll come back and look after the horses.”
“I know how to build a fire,” I told him. “Such a beautiful house! Is it yours?”
“My family’s. My Uncle Philippe owns it now—it came to him when his uncle died a few years ago. But he’s married and living in America. He talks of selling it—the taxes are ruinous and the upkeep is terrific, even when there’s no one living here—but my mother won’t hear of it. So we hang on to it for sentimental reasons, and I look in whenever I’m in the country. I was born here.”
“Show me where!” I asked delightedly. Impulsively, I slipped my hand into his.
He led me up a curving staircase and along a corridor. Tall candelabra stood like spidery sentinels in the dark hallway, flanking each doorway. The house was cold and silent, dimly lighted by the moon, full of ghosts and memories. Steven opened the door to a room that overlooked the fountains and the driveway.
He struck a match and lit candles on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. “My mother’s room," he announced with great pride. “The scene of her lying-in. My birthplace.”
How proud your father must have been!” I exclaimed.
Steven laughed. “He wasn’t here. They weren’t married at the time.” He saw the startled look on my face and laughed heartily. I laughed, too.
“May I stay here tonight?” I asked. "Do you think your mother would mind?”
“She would be delighted. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll look after the horses.”
I peeked inside the fuel box. “Ah, there’s plenty of coal in the bin. I’ll have a nice fire for you when you come in. It’s rather cold tonight.”
I crouched down in front of the grate. I could feel him behind me, watching. Was he admiring the round line of my haunch and the way my riding skirt pulled around my thigh? Not him, I thought. He’s probably thinking about ruinous taxes or business matters or about how he’s desecrating his family home by bringing someone like me into it. As if to confirm these thoughts he turned and went out without saying another word.
I sighed. “He is too much of a gentleman,” I muttered. “I don’t care if he was born before his parents were married.”
1 got a nice blaze going and shoveled a few coals into a warming pan for the bed. I’d need something to keep me warm. I wasn't going to have Steven McClelland that night, or any other night. I took off my dusty riding clothes and shook them out, then dug around in my valise for a wrapper of lime green silk. I sat cross-legged on a rug in front of the fire and took my braids down.
Steven tapped at the door and came in. He watched silently as I brushed my hair.
“I’ve brought a pitcher of water for washing,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s cold.”
“How thoughtful you are, Monsieur S,” I said, smiling at him through a veil of hair. It was very long and it rip
pled almost to the floor. I finished brushing and threw it back behind my shoulders. “Come closer to the fire, Steven,” I said. “You must be very tired.” As he approached me, reluctantly, like a schoolboy in a no hurry to get a beating, I saw two red spots burning on his cheeks. “Are you ill?” I asked. “You look feverish.”
He lowered himself into a chintz-covered chair and scowled at me. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely.
I switched myself around in front of him. “Let me help you with your boots,” I said. “It’s a special talent of mine.” I worked the boots off and stood them up at the side of the chair. Steven was gripping the chair arms so tightly that his knuckles were white and the tendons on the back of his hands stood out. His face was suffused with anger.
“What’s the matter, Steven?” I asked wonderingly. “Have I done something to offend you?”
He stood up so quickly that he almost knocked me down.
“Christ.”
He stamped across the room. Quick as a flash I was on my feet, after him. I threw myself in front of him and blocked the door.
“Please tell me what’s bothering you,” I said. “I won’t let you go until—”
He grabbed my hand and pressed my palm against the front of his breeches. His bulging member felt as big as a wine bottle. I gave an astonished little cry, and then I smiled and said pityingly, “Oh, you are so foolish.”
I undid the sash of my robe and let it slip to the floor.
Underneath I was naked. I put my hands on his chest and the scent of roses and of warm womanly flesh assaulted his nostrils. He hurled himself on top of me and we sank to the carpeted floor.
I unfastened the buttons of his breeches and slid them over his buttocks. He kicked them away. With something like a sob he brought his mouth down on mine and parted my legs with his hand. The desire that burned in us both flared up like the flame of a match and our bodies ignited like dry timber. The sweet pain of his thrust made me cry out. The flames devoured us and spent themselves quickly, and we lay together panting and trembling. Then he started to pull away. “I’m sorry—”
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