The sound of the kitchen bell caught her attention: dinner would be ready in half an hour. She let herself pout, thinking this would be the last day she would have to herself. It bothered her to contemplate her future, girls and all. She realized she had to find a suitor, and one who would command Uncle Wallache’s respect, and it had to be done before the cousins were too deeply sunk in her uncle’s affections. Hyacinthie’s face felt taut, as if her skin had been shrunken tightly over her bones. “He must take care of me!” she declared. “He must!”
The banging of doors on the far side of the garden announced that the servants were leaving the cow-barn for the Schloss; the sound of their voices drifted over the wall. She recognized Adelinde, the oldest of the three milkmaids, who was recounting some village scandal to her to companions. They seemed so contented, Hyacinthie thought, as though they had not a care in the world but to titter over a rumor. What must it be like, to have nothing to worry you? She contemplated that happy state as she wandered back through the garden, letting the dessicated leaves from the fountain dribble through her fingers.
The small dining room seemed uncomfortably warm; the fireplace was filled with pine logs that spat and filled the air with the scent of burning sap. Von Ravensberg sat at the head of the table, a large glass of white wine by his plate, his elegant jacket protected by the spread of his napkin from his neck to his lap. He nodded to Hyacinthie.
“Good afternoon, Uncle Wallache,” she said at her meekest.
“And to you, my girl. Sit down.” He beamed at her. “I trust you’re pleased to have company coming?”
She swallowed her indignation and said, “I should think so, Uncle. I have had you and my governess for tutors for so many years, I hardly know what to do.”
“Frau Schale will help you, if you have questions.” He looked up as a platter of buttered turnips with sliced cabbage was carried in. “Ah. Excellent.” After he helped himself to a generous portion, he offered the serving spoon to Hyacinthie. “Good German food, my girl. Make the most of it.”
“Of course, Uncle,” she said as she chose a small amount of the dish and set the spoon back on the platter with care.
“Later this summer, I plan to take you on a journey westward. There is someone in Trier I want you to meet—not that he is entirely a stranger—and then we must call upon my publisher in Amsterdam.” He beamed with self-satisfaction.
Hyacinthie let out a little shriek. “Amsterdam!”
“Why, yes. Eclipse Press has accepted my manuscript on blood. It is a great day for me—a great day.”
She wanted to scream it’s my day, too! but the words stuck in her chest and she only touched her cameo brooch as she brought forth a little sigh. “Congratulations, Uncle. When did you find out?”
“The messenger who came two days ago brought me an offer. Yesterday I penned an acceptance of terms, so in two weeks or so I may expect a formal contract.” He began to consume his turnips-and-cabbage, still talking as he chewed. “This is a most encouraging development. I have no doubt it will lead to wide acceptance of my findings.”
“How … how splendid,” she said, her head buzzing with hidden fury.
“It is, it is.” He continued to eat with gusto. “I have to tell you, my girl, that this is the very opportunity I have sought for years. I am beside myself with enthusiasm.”
“That’s wonderful, Uncle Wallache,” she said listlessly.
“And coming at just such a time! It is as if my life has emerged from obscurity into renown and delight.” He reached over and patted her hand. “Now, if only I can get you properly established in the world, at least one obligation will be behind me.”
“But you will have two more obligations,” she said, so sweetly that none of her malice showed in her voice or on her face.
“True, true. It befits a man of my position to assume these responsibilities.” He took a long draught of wine. “If the weather improves, I may soon restock the wine-cellar. It is time we had some decent vintages laid down again. I anticipate the need to entertain once my work is read in the academic community.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said softly and tried to choke down her food.
Werther brought in a tureen of soup, this one made of sausage and chicken meat with herbs and onions. He set this down and got the wide bowls from the cupboard, removed the first-course dishes from the chargers, and set down the bowls, then fetched the spoons. He left the first course in case either von Ravensberg or his ward should want more of it. With a little bow, he left them alone.
“The soup seems especially good today,” von Ravensberg announced as he reached for the handsome Baroque ladle. “Let me have your bowl, Hyacinthie.”
Obediently she handed it to him, and watched as he all but filled it with the soup. “There. Hold it carefully; it’s hot.” He had issued the same warning every day for the last eleven years, but she nodded as if she had heard it for the first time; he continued as he always had: “Mind you have bread with it. The strength is in the bread with the meat, not the meat alone.”
“Yes, Uncle Wallache,” she said, and dutifully took a slice of bread from the basket at arm’s-length down the table. She knew it would taste of straw as she spread a little fresh-churned butter on it.
“These two girls—they’re going to need a lot of attention from you. They have lost much. You know what it’s like, becoming an orphan suddenly.” He smacked his lips as he poured out soup for himself. “I depend upon you. Yes, I depend upon you, to shepherd them through their first months here. Let them benefit from your experience, if you will.”
“I suppose I can,” she said, imagining her uncle in the girls’ beds already.
“Calm their little fears, keep them from … from making fools of themselves. They may be disconcerted for a time, and you may spare them difficulties.” He took the largest slice of bread and slathered it well. “You know how it is.”
“Yes,” she said tonelessly; when she had told the minister’s wife what her uncle did to her at night, when she was nine, the minister had beaten her for lying and ingratitude. Perhaps she could spare the girls that humiliation. Much as she did not want them here, she did not want them exposed to such degradation even more.
“Good; good.” He consumed a good portion of soup, finally saying, “This journey to Amsterdam—you will need a few new gowns for it. I will arrange for you to visit Frau Amergau for a fitting some day next week, so she will have them ready in time for your travels. You’ll want a walking-dress, a morning-dress, a calling-dress, and something for fancy occasions. I can’t have my ward presenting a shabby appearance, not if I intend to marry her well. I might even provide for a dancing-master, so you may participate in the balls in Trier and Amsterdam.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said, despising herself for feeling grateful to him.
“Accept Constanz Medoc and I will consider it money well-spent.” He drank more wine, apparently unaware of her widen eyes.
“Constanz Medoc?” she burst out, her eyes filling with tears. “The one who came here two years ago?” She didn’t add the old man, for he was more than forty.
“Yes; yes.” Von Ravensberg nodded. “A very good man, my girl.”
“But he’s bald!” Hyacinthie sobbed, trying to express her repugnance without exposing herself to her uncle’s disdain. “And he smells of snuff.”
“He’s bald because he thinks so much. He is a most upstanding man, with an excellent reputation, one he has worked hard to establish and maintain. He is a very well-respected scholar, one whose work is known throughout Europe. He has been searching for a wife, a woman to ornament his life and tend to his pleasure. He is of an age when he wants children to carry on his name. His expectations are reasonable; the wildness of his youth is gone.” He stopped, staring at her. “But you seem distressed.”
“Because I am!’ She pushed back from the table and lurched to her feet. “I don’t like him, Uncle Wallache.”
“You don’t know him, m
y child. No doubt you have dreamed of a handsome young man who will carry you away to the city. Cities are dangerous places, and handsome young men have poor judgment in such matters. You are trying to suit your dreams to your life, and that is most unwise.” He patted the table next to her place. “Sit down; sit down. You’re overwrought. I oughtn’t to have told you all this so suddenly.” He waited while she complied. “You won’t have to marry him if you truly dislike him. But you will have to marry someone, and you may decide, after you have a look at the world, that there are many worse men than Herr Medoc, for all his father was a Frenchman. I am in no position to keep you around here forever, and I will not have my niece working as a governess or a tutor. You know how that would reflect upon me, to have you earn your living. That would abash the family. So. A year from now at most, if you have not made another choice, I will accept Herr Medoc’s very gracious offer for your hand.”
“But how can I find anyone else?” she wailed. “Ravensberg is leagues away from anything!”
“Perhaps in Amsterdam, or in one of the cities during our travels, you will find a man who suits you, and who is willing to marry you; I will do my utmost to see you have the opportunities you seek,” he said without any suggestion of confidence.
She tried to stop the tears from falling, and very nearly succeeded. “Thank you, Uncle Wallache,” she told him demurely.
“You must be realistic, my girl,” he said sympathetically.
“I have no fortune and you are my only real connection,” she recited, repeating the phrase he had told her regularly since she was seven.
“That’s right.” He glowered at her as he spooned up the soup, then broke off sections of bread and began to sop up the broth. “You don’t want to end up on the shelf. I have nothing to leave you, and I cannot continue to support you—”
“Not with Rosalie and Hedda coming,” she interjected.
“Exactly.” He popped a bit of soaked bread into this mouth.
“You mustn’t think that I mean you any harm, of course,” he went on as he chewed. “But there are limits. Perhaps, if my work is well-received, I will be able to provide a stipend for the youngsters, but I doubt I can afford to do it for you.”
“I see,” she said, very coolly now that she had mastered her outrage.
He nodded to her. “You sit down and finish your dinner. You don’t have to decide everything right now.”
“Not with the girls coming,” she said, too brightly.
“Yes. I have set two of the maids to preparing rooms for them, down the hall from mine.” He dropped his spoon into the small puddle of soup at the bottom of his bowl. “I’m going to have to assign one of the maids to them permanently, so you will have to share Idune with them.”
“As you wish.” She moved her soup-bowl aside, its contents largely untouched.
Von Ravensberg persevered. “I know you’ll be courteous with them. These accommodations need not be an occasion for distress.”
“Certainly not,” she said, planning to discover how to reclaim her one privilege—her maid—from the cousins.
He reached for the bell, ringing it emphatically. “They say they have trout today for our fish, with potatoes in a Dutch sauce.” He studied her for several seconds, as if truly seeing her for the first time. “Your appetite is lacking, my girl. You should eat something more than those nibbles you’ve had.”
She blinked. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I’ll have a good portion of fish,” she assured him, wishing she could vanish from the room.
Werther appeared in the door. “Are you ready for the fish?” he asked. “It is ready to be served.”
“That and another glass of wine,” said von Ravensberg. “And bring a small glass for my niece. It is her Natal Day, and she is now a woman. She should have wine when I do. But no beer. Gentlewomen should not drink beer.”
“Nein, von Ravensberg,” said Werther.
He smiled his approval. “Is it truly trout we’re having?”
“So I am told. With potatoes, bacon, and Dutch sauce.” He picked up the platter of turnips-and-cabbage. “You’ll want more bread, too, I see.”
“Soon, lad, soon.”
“Yes, Graf—” He stopped himself. “Von Ravensberg,” he corrected himself.
“Exactly,” said von Ravensberg as the under-chef let himself out of the smaller dining room.
“Thank you for ordering wine for me, Uncle Wallache,” Hyacinthie said, suspicious of his sudden magnanimity.
“It is time you learned how to behave as a woman. A sensible man expects to have a sensible wife.” Von Ravensberg coughed once. “You must not cause disgrace to me and our family by your conduct, which means you must establish how much wine you may safely drink.”
“Oh,” she said, lethargy coming over her again like a pall.
“You owe me that much, my girl—not to bring a poor opinion upon me through your carelessness. I have housed and clothed and fed you since you were seven when no other relative would do so.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “You don’t realize how the world is. Every aspect of your behavior reflects upon me as your guardian. Never forget that.”
“I won’t,” she promised, and looked toward the door where Werther was returning with a basket of bread, a bottle of pale-yellow wine, and a tulip-shaped glass along with a large covered platter of what smelled like fish. “I will never forget you, Uncle Wallache,” she vowed.
Text of a letter from Klasse van der Boom, printer and publisher, Eclipse Press, in Amsterdam, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by private messenger.
To the most excellent Comte Franciscus, the greetings of Klasse van der Boom in Amsterdam on this, the 21stday of July, 1817:
My very dear Comte,
Herewith find my account of sales from January to the end of June. As you can see, sales are up and averaging eight percent per title, which is a most encouraging sign. I am hoping you will agree to another expansion of our publication list, and a larger initial printrun for the three titles I have indicated have enjoyed the greatest sales of the last year, for I believe we may rely upon those titles to continue to sell and to attract more readers to these books. I have broken down the reported sales by month, as much as that can be determined, and by country, so that you may better appreciate where the interests of our readers lie.
I must also inform you that the new presses of your own design will be delivered next month, and I remind you that you have expressed the desire to be here to supervise their installation. This would please me not only for the opportunity it will provide for us to speak again, but to make certain that the presses are working to your specifications and satisfaction.
The summer has been fairly cool thus far, and I would think you need not worry that you will encounter oppressive heat in your travels, but I urge you to discuss with your coachman the requirements you may have for travel in a day. This may be summer, and the days may be long, but it is also the time when footpads and highwaymen are most active. Be sure you do not find yourself on the road at sundown, or be prepared to fight all manner of thieves for your possessions. Since Napoleon is no longer a menace, many of his men, left portionless in the world, have taken to outlawry as a means of preserving body and soul. This, above the usual criminals who prey on travelers. I would not like to see your profits lost to paying your ransom.
As soon as the time of your arrival is generally known, I will bespeak rooms for you at whichever hotel suits your purposes most completely. Your courier will also be received with hospitality, and I will take it upon myself to ensure his entertainment. You have only to inform me what concerts and balls you would like to attend and I will see you have the proper invitations. If there is any event you would like to sponsor, I will be honored to put it in motion, if you will let me know what you seek.
Let me address one other point to you: Graf von Ravensberg has declared he will come to Amsterdam
to review the pages of his book prior to publication, as he has been afforded the opportunity to do. If you have any desire to meet him, I will find out what his plans are in this regard, and make arrangements for such an engagement. If you would rather not meet this man, then tell me, and I will see that no such encounter occurs.
Believe me to be ever at your service,
Klasse van der Boom
printer and publisher
Eclipse Press
Amsterdam
enclosures: accounts as described above
6
Ragoczy studied his coachman’s twisted leg in silence, not looking at the man’s contorted face as he inspected the damage done to his body; the heavy dust smirching his black swallow-tail coat and his superfine black unmentionables did not bother him, nor did the smear of blood on his discreetly ruffled white-silk shirt-cuff. Finally he rose from beside the cot on which Ulf Hochvall had been laid; the coachman was dazed by pain but he did his utmost to concentrate on what Ragoczy told him. “I will set the leg, of course,” he said. “It should heal straight if no further damage is done, and he stays off it while the bone mends.”
“The coach … will need repair,” Hochvall confessed.
“It will need replacement,” said Ragoczy, unperturbed. “Your repair is more important. I will see you have it, and the time you will need to recuperate. You need not fear that I will not employ you because of this, but I will need to find an alternate for you through the rest of the summer.” He wiped his hands and glanced at his two field-hands. “If you will add to your kindness and bear Hochvall into the château, I would be most appreciative.”
Saint-Germain 21: Borne in Blood: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 8
