Idune tisked as she came to help Hyacinthie out of the garment. “Thank goodness, Fraulein, that it is not one of your newer garments.”
“I wouldn’t wear them on a walk, especially not a walk with a child.” As she said this, she could feel excitement fizzing through her: she had done it! She raised her arms and bent over to help Idune pull the dress off.
“Just so, Fraulein,” said Idune, taking a moment to assess the worst of the damage. “I think you had best consign this dress to your donation-box. It isn’t going to be mended adequately, no matter what we do.” She held up the dress to the waning light from the window. “This is really too bad to be saved.”
“Then don’t bother.” Hyacinthie went to her armoire and studied what she had ready. Finally she chose a dress of cotton-lawn in an amethyst shade with an embroidered corsage edged in lace. “I think this will do.”
“A very nice dress,” Idune approved. “And a shawl? The evenings are becoming chilly.”
“The rose one,” said Hyacinthie. “And violet scent. Violets are so fashionable just now.” She lifted her arms and helped Idune to ease her arms into the fragile sleeves.
“That scratch on your elbow will need a poultice tonight,” said the maid as she buttoned up the back of Hyacinthie’s dress.
“Probably,” said Hyacinthie with extreme disinterest.
“And Rosalie? Where is she?” Edeltrude asked as she adjusted the drape of Hyacinthie’s skirt in the back.
“Um? What do you mean? She ran ahead after I fell.” This was Hyacinthie’s moment of triumph, and she relished it. “Surely she is in her room.”
“Not that I am aware of,” said Idune. “But she may have returned while I was at my sewing.”
“Very likely,” said Hyacinthie with no indication of worry or rejoicing. “If you want to run along and help Rosalie and Hedda dress, I can fend for myself now. I’ll change my shoes and fix my hair myself.”
“Jawol, Fraulein,” said Idune as she made for the door.
Hyacinthie was just finishing putting her hair up in a flattering knot when she heard the first calls of alarm. First Idune, then three other servants began to make their way through the Schloss calling for Rosalie. Humming a little song by Mozart to herself, Hyacinthie fastened a locket on a silver chain around her neck, draped her shawl over her arms, and prepared to descend for supper.
Text of a letter from Helmut Fredrich Lambert Ahrent Ritterslandt, Graf von Scharffensee at Scharffensee in Austria, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy, near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by Otto Gutesohnes.
To the Comte Franciscus, Saint-Germain Ragoczy, the Graf von Scharffensee at Scharffensee sends his greetings on this, the 8thday of October, 1817, through the good offices of the Comte’s messenger,
My dear Comte:
I have received your most unconventional offer to visit my home with my daughter-in-law, so that she may spend time with her sons. You state that you believe that all of them will grieve less for Annamaria if they are permitted to spend time together.
While I disagree with your concerns, I have no doubt that my daughter-in-law can be tedious about her children, and so I will welcome her for a three-day visit. Siegfried has returned to school and cannot be spared for her by the time you propose, but Bertram and Berend will be here. I will arrange for their tutors to spend only half-days with them while Madame von Scharffensee is with us.
You, however, I do not believe I can welcome to this Schloss, given your irregular relation with Madame von Scharffensee. You may well seem the usurper of their father’s memory in their mother’s life, and I will not subject the boys to such an insult. If you are willing to provide her transportation and escort in any case, then I will order a room prepared for her, and inform the twins that she will make a brief stay here, to see them.
The season of rain and snow shortly bearing in upon us, I would like to suggest that the visit be postponed, at least until late March, when the chance of being delayed due to snow in the passes is much reduced. I can almost pledge to have Siegfried here for part of the spring, which may suit my daughter-in-law’s purpose better than coming here in autumn, when the journey will be harder and the way dreary.
I will await your answer with every assurance that I will live up to all the particulars included in this communication, and I depend upon you, as a gentleman, to honor what I have charged you to do. My daughter-in-law is no more feckless than most women, but I know better than to impose these conditions upon her directly, for she would balk at them in the full tempestuousness of her Italian nature, which neither you nor I can want. I therefore urge you to exercise what influence you have with her to restrain her impetuosity and bear herself with dignity in these sad times.
Until I have your answer
I remain,
Sincerely,
Helmut Fredrich Lambert Ahrent Ritterslandt
Graf von Scharffensee
5
Augustus Kleinerhoff stood in the entry-way of Château Ragoczy, his hat in his hand, his double-caped cloak of oiled wool soggy and dripping. “I am very sorry, Comte, to have to call upon you in this way, but there has been trouble—serious trouble.”
Ragoczy, very elegant in his heavy black-silk twill coat with swallow-tails, black embroidered dark-red satin waistcoat over a white-silk shirt and a conservative cravat, black-superfine unmentionables, and side-button shoes, regarded his visitor sympathetically. “Herr Kleinerhoff. Come in.” He motioned toward the guest-parlor, signaling to Balduin to light the lamps. “The rain has turned the day dark, so we will need to provide some illumination.”
Staring at Ragoczy’s fine clothing, Kleinerhoff hesitated. “Do I interrupt? I apologize for coming unannounced, and if you—”
“You do not interrupt anything immediate,” said Ragoczy. “My first engagement is late in the afternoon.” He paused, then went on, making no mention of Reinhart Olivier Kreuzbach who had journeyed from Speicher and was presently at the best hotel—of three—in Yvoire. “I gather whatever brings you here must be important.”
“Important? I fear that it is, which also makes it most unfortunate, which is because it is important, and I dislike being the bearer of bad tidings, yet so it must be,” said Kleinerhoff, sounding a bit distracted. “I thought our differences in the village had been settled, that everyone was in accord, but I see now …” He followed Ragoczy down the short corridor to the parlor. “If the harvests had been only a little better, I think we could have avoided this.”
“I take it this has something to do with the harvest or the stores I have provided,” Ragoczy ventured, unflustered in spite of Herr Kleinerhoff’s dismay. As he entered the parlor, he saw Balduin finish lighting the lamps.
“Both, I fear,” said Kleinerhoff. He stood while Balduin relieved him of his dripping cloak; he turned abashed eyes on the puddle of water forming on the small Turkish carpet.
“I’ll just take this to the kitchen, Comte,” he said to Ragoczy. “We’ll do what we can to dry it out.”
“Very good, Balduin. And bring a large cup of hot buttered rum for Herr Kleinerhoff, if you would.” He put his whole attention on Kleinerhoff as Balduin left the room. “And something to eat. He’s had a long, wet walk to this château.”
“Thank you, Comte,” said Kleinerhoff, “but I do not deserve your good offices.”
“This is hardly more than standard courtesy,” said Ragoczy, and motioned his steward away; the purr of the rain on the windows filled the handsome chamber, reassuring in its steadiness. “So what has become of the harvest and the stores?”
“Become of them—a third of each has been stolen, or almost a third. More of the grain was taken than seed, but still—” Kleinerhoff admitted miserably. “Yes, more grain than seed, which is better than if the seed were gone.”
“A third,” said Ragoczy, surprised by the large amount. “How did it happen?”
“I have … a report,” Kleinerhoff ventured.
“Which I gather you do not entirely believe,” said Ragoczy, watching Kleinerhoff’s discomfort.
“No, not entirely.”
“But you have not entirely convinced yourself that it is completely mendacious,” Ragoczy said, his past experiences reminding him of other, similar incidents.
“Not entirely,” said Kleinerhoff.
Ragoczy nodded. “Well, give me the gist of this report, and you and I can decide what credence to attach to it.”
“All right, Comte,” said Kleinerhoff, and launched into the account he had been provided. “This is what I have been told: It was late last night, after most of the villagers had retired for the night. A party of armed men came into the … the village hall and forced the guards to load up two gun-wagons with them. Did I say it was late at night? The report said the clock had struck midnight, but …” He kept himself from going on with some effort; he cleared his throat. “Herr Staub and Herr Quelle had the watch at that hour, and it is from them that I have this report: they said the men were armed with guns and swords, possibly soldiers from the recent wars. There are many such men about.”
“That they are,” said Ragoczy. “As travelers have cause to know.” He thought a moment, then asked, “Did either guard notice anything else about the men? The kinds of horses they rode? What their clothes were like? their accents?”
Kleinerhoff shrugged. “They didn’t mention either to me. They said it was late, all was dark, and the men were armed. They also said the rain was just starting, and that most of their trail, if they left one, would be washed away by now.”
“How did the guards know the vehicles were gun-wagons?” He looked only curious, but he was concentrating on every nuance of Kleinerhoff’s report.
“Herr Quelle spent some time in the army, a decade ago; he lost two fingers and was sent home. He was familiar with gun-wagons.” Kleinerhoff sighed unhappily. “It has occurred to me, as it must do for you, that these two men may have more knowledge of the thievery than they have admitted.”
“Yes,” said Ragoczy gently. “It had.”
“Well, that’s hardly surprising,” said Kleinerhoff. “They knew what to take, they knew where to come, and they were gone before anyone knew they had been there.”
“It is the last that troubles me the most,” said Ragoczy thoughtfully. “The place where the stores are kept might be learned by spending an hour or two in the tavern, given how the villagers talk, but this smacks of broader knowledge than what might be picked up in an afternoon. That they were prepared to take certain amounts is not astonishing, either, since the account says they had only two wagons. But how they left without raising any alarm—that concerns me, for it suggests that these men have spies in the village, or allies.”
“Or both.” Kleinerhoff went toward the window. “And how many others in our village are with them? Is it just this village, or are others involved? I have asked myself these questions since Herr Quelle came to my house last night.”
Ragoczy sat down in one of the two grandfather’s armchairs on either side of the fireplace. “How many men were involved, did either guard mention that?”
“Quelle said there were eight of them, and Staub said nine, when pressed. He claims there was one who stayed with the gun-wagons while his comrades came into the town hall to take their prizes.” Kleinerhoff sighed deeply. “It is a terrible loss, no matter how many there were.”
“It is,” said Ragoczy. “But it is also most curious that such a group attracted no attention. Had a stranger come to your house, Behemoth would surely alert you. Surely one of the farmers would have provided a dog to the guards?”
Kleinerhoff made an impatient swipe of his hand. “I said we needed a dog to guard with the men, but Madame Bruell said that it would disturb the guests at the tavern, to have a dog barking all night.”
“How often has she guests at the tavern?” Ragoczy inquired politely.
“Market days, some end up at the tavern all night,” said Kleinerhoff. “But once the summer is gone, very few travelers stop here—not with Yvoire so near. I believe she has two men under her roof, one a tinker who comes twice a year, and another who is unfamiliar to Madame Bruell, and to some of the rest.”
“So you have had only your neighbors and near-by farmers staying at the tavern on most occasions, and rarely in large numbers. This must trouble you: no one has mentioned noticing unfamiliar men about, aside from the single man?”
“No,” said Kleinerhoff. “I have heard nothing of strangers, aside from him. With the rain, he is planning to stay on two days more.”
“That makes all this the more perplexing,” said Ragoczy. “If these armed men knew of the grain and seed, they must have been told about it, or have seen it for themselves, which leads to the inescapable conclusion that there was collusion in arranging the theft.”
“I didn’t want to think of it in that light,” Kleinerhoff admitted dejectedly. “The village is depending on the grain and seed for next year.”
“As head-man of Sacre-Sang, who can blame you for your apprehensions?” Ragoczy said, expecting no answer.
But Kleinerhoff punched his fist into his palm. “That is what is most distressing—that our village will suffer no matter who perpetrated the crime, or for what gain. Sacre-Sang may not be an important place, but it is our market and our home.”
“Nine houses, a tavern, and a hall,” said Ragoczy. “Enough to matter to many people; certainly all the farmers in the region depend upon your village for many things.”
“Those in Yvoire think nothing of us,” said Kleinerhoff. “But they eat our cheese and cabbages and apples, and our pigs and fowl.”
“All the more reason to discover who stole the grain,” Ragoczy said.
“Yes.” Kleinerhoff glowered at the shutters. “It is a loss for all of us.”
“But I wonder who benefits,” Ragoczy mused.
“How do you mean?” Kleinerhoff asked, growing a bit pale at his own question.
Ragoczy answered in a level voice without a trace of rancor, “I mean that we are agreed that a local person had to be part of the robbery; therefore someone local must plan to profit from the theft, and profit handsomely, or why take the risk? Under the circumstances, it would be remiss not to consider that Herr Quelle and Herr Staub might be more closely connected to this crime than is apparent, or know who is.”
“They wouldn’t do such a dreadful thing,” Kleinerhoff protested. “The donation you made helps them as well as all the rest of us.”
“But not enough to try to keep the grain where it was,” Ragoczy pointed out.
“Everyone agreed on the hall as the place the grain and seed would be safest.”
“Someone may have had ulterior motives for supporting that decision.” Ragoczy contemplated the middle distance. “In retrospect, the arrangement was designed to make theft easy.”
“Armed men, Comte. You can’t expect a pair of farmers to stand against armed men,” Kleinerhoff pleaded. “They are not soldiers. They had a single pistol between them. I don’t know if they had charged it or not.”
“Odd, for night-guards not to be better armed,” said Ragoczy, and indicated the roll-back frame-chair by the window. “Sit down, Herr Kleinerhoff. You look worn.”
“I am. This has shocked me very much, Comte, very much.” He dropped into the chair. “Very modern. Very handsome,” he approved.
“More to the point, it is comfortable,” said Ragoczy. “Take what ease you can. We may be here yet awhile.” He pointed to the clock on the mantle. “I am at your disposal for the next three hours.”
“Three hours!” It was more than he expected and he was taken aback. In order to gather his thoughts, Kleinerhoff glanced about the room and noticed that he had left muddy footprints on the beautiful scroll-and-rose carpet. “Comte. I am sorry. I apologize. I should have—”
“The mud can be cleaned, and in this weather, everyone will be tracking it,” said Ragoczy gently.
&n
bsp; “This is most distressing. Shall I go and remove my boots?” Kleinerhoff asked.
“There is no reason to do so, not now.” Ragoczy took a firmer tone. “Remain where you are. Once the mud has dried, it will be taken care of.” He turned his dark eyes on the head-man of Sacre-Sang. “You and I have more important matters to consider.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “We do.”
“So, if you will, turn your thoughts to who among your villagers would have good reason to take a risk so great as this one?”
“Great risk,” scoffed Kleinerhoff. “You cannot think this was a risk at all, not with these robbers taking their booty without so much as a challenge to their theft.”
“Exactly what we must assess,” said Ragoczy patiently.
Saint-Germain 21: Borne in Blood: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 19
