Borne in Blood (14 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
“That child is back,” said Hero as she looked out the window of the reception room at the front of Ragoczy’s Amsterdam house. “Walking unattended, at the height of the morning when half of Amsterdam is abroad, and without a carriage to accompany her.” She frowned. “No—wait; she’s not alone. Gutesohnes is with her.”
Ragoczy, at the secretary on the far side of this sunny chamber, continued to review the pages in his hands. “Is he.”
“I don’t know if his being with her is better or worse than if she were walking alone. Silly, isn’t it? Her own coachman would be more than acceptable, but I don’t think Gutesohnes is. The Dutch aren’t as strict as the Austrians, but this is still beyond the acceptable bounds of what young single ladies may do,” said Hero. “Not that I am for all the limitations imposed on women: I am not. Yet it is folly to flout them, or to fly in the face of convention. For girls like her, some allowance may be made for high spirits. Still, if she wants to be careful of her reputation …”
“That seems to be a concern of her guardian, and one for which he is strangely lax,” said Ragoczy, thinking back to the way Hyacinthie had behaved two nights ago, making a display of herself while her uncle entertained four booksellers and Ragoczy in anticipation of the publication of his book.
“Her uncle, if I may say so, pays little heed to Hyacinthie. He is far more concerned for his book than for her.”
“Without doubt,” said Ragoczy.
“It must be difficult for her,” said Hero musingly. “To be attractive and yet to live in the shadow of her uncle’s study.”
“And to live in the isolation of Ravensberg—no wonder she flaunts herself here, while she has the opportunity.”
“She is a flirt,” Hero declared, watching Hyacinthie twirl her parasol as she looked up at Gutesohnes.
“Hardly surprising: she is young and her uncle is determined to sell her to the highest bidder or most high-born—to that extent he is concerned for her at all.” Ragoczy frowned as he said this, his sympathy going out to the young woman even as he considered her predicament. “She is attempting to secure herself.”
“If that is the case, she would do better not to flirt with the coachman.” Hero laughed, a little sadly. “But I understand you—she is practicing, isn’t she?”
Ragoczy put the pages aside and came to the divan where Hero was sitting. He lifted the curtain. “Ah. I see what you mean,” he agreed. “Practicing, indeed.”
“Such a pretty child,” said Hero. “But so determined to ensnare every man she sees. That may yet bring her to grief.” She rounded on Ragoczy. “She will probably try to engage your attention.”
“She already has, upon two occasions at least,” said Ragoczy with a single shake of his head.
“She has?” Hero said, not entirely surprised.
“Yes,” he responded. “I was certain you had noticed: once at the reception we attended, and once when she came with her uncle to Eclipse Press. I would not be astonished to learn that her uncle encourages her.”
Hero pulled the curtain out of his hand and settled back on the divan. “She’s coming this way.”
“Paying a visit?” he ventured, and went on in a singularly neutral tone, “How … how charming.”
She gave him a short, uncertain look. “You’re displeased.”
“I am uneasy,” he said as he heard the knocker sound, and Kuyskill go down the hall to open the door.
“Do you suppose she will—” Hero began, then fell silent as she heard Hyacinthie ask for Comte Franciscus.
Ragoczy held up his hand in caution, and moved back to the small secretary where the pages he had been examining were stacked.
“—from my uncle, Graf von Ravensberg,” Hyacinthie’s raised voice sounded from the entryway; she spoke in French.
“I do not know that the Comte is home to visitors. I will inquire.” Kuyskill’s tone made it clear he disapproved of young ladies paying visits without escorts. “If you will wait?” Giving her no time to answer, he left her standing on the front steps and came into the reception room. “Comte,” he said apologetically, “there is a caller, who claims she brings a letter from the Graf von Ravensberg. Shall I admit her or send her—”
“Admit her, by all means,” said Ragoczy. “And bring a glass of lemonade to her. On a warm day like this, she must be thirsty.”
Kuyskill pokered up, but nodded. “Of course, Comte.” He turned to leave the room.
“You see what I mean; the servants will call her a hoyden,” said Hero quietly.
“All but Gutesohnes,” said Ragoczy, equally softly.
“That will only make it worse,” said Hero, and rose to welcome Hyacinthie to the house.
Hyacinthie, her flower-patterned parasol furled, stood in the doorway, resplendent in a fashionable walking dress of sprigged muslin in a pale shade of lavender accented with knots of blue-green floss at the neck and cuffs. Her bonnet was abbreviated, showing more of her dark-blond hair than was thought fitting for her age and position in society. She bobbed a polite curtsy to Ragoczy, then to Hero as Kuyskill announced her in disapproving accents. “Good morning,” she said when the steward had withdrawn from the reception room.
“And to you, Fraulein Sieffert,” said Ragoczy, using French for everything but her title and name. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I have a note from my uncle that he charged me to bring to you.” She held out her lace-mittened hand, proffering a small envelope of cream-laid paper on which Ragoczy’s name had been written with a flourish. “He instructed me to wait for an answer.”
“It is urgent, then?” Ragoczy inquired as he took the envelope and broke the seal.
“Yes. We are leaving the day after tomorrow, you see,” she said with a blinding smile. “We return to Ravensberg.”
“A considerable journey,” said Hero. “You must be busy, making preparations.”
“The hotel is doing everything for us. My uncle and his valet are supervising. I was in the way until I was given this task to perform.” She looked a bit forlorn. “I will miss Amsterdam.”
“I should think so,” said Hero. “It is exciting to see new places and meet new people.”
“Especially when I do not often get to receive guests or travel.” Hyacinthie sighed. “Visitors come rarely to Ravensberg. Except for the people who call in so my uncle may study their blood, we go from year to year seeing the same twenty faces. And the servants, of course.”
“Not an easy thing for a young woman,” Hero sympathized.
“Not what I would prefer,” said Hyacinthie in a rush. “It would be
so
much nicer to go to parties and balls in Vienna, or even Salzburg. But my uncle cannot spare the time or the money from his research.”
so
much nicer to go to parties and balls in Vienna, or even Salzburg. But my uncle cannot spare the time or the money from his research.”
Hero had sat down again, and now indicated the chair at the end of the divan; she did her best to make the girl feel welcome. “Do have a seat, Hyacinthie, and tell me more about yourself. We haven’t had much of an opportunity to become acquainted. The Comte will finish reading your uncle’s note and he will prepare an answer for you to take back to him.” She smiled encouragement even as she noticed Hyacinthie’s ill-concealed disappointment at not acquiring all of Ragoczy’s attention. “For how long have you lived with your uncle?”
“There is little to tell about my life,” said Hyacinthie. “My parents died when I was seven and my uncle took me in. He has cared for me ever since.” Under her gentle words there was an implacable note, something hard that turned her remark bitter. “Now he will find me a husband. He says he has to do so. He has two other wards, younger than I am, to care for.”
Hero was spared the necessity of responding to Hyacinthie’s revelations by Kuyskill coming into the reception room with a glass of lemonade and a plate of sweet biscuits on a tray. He bowed as he put this on the occasional table between the divan and the chair, then withdrew, radiating disapproval.
When the steward was gone, Ragoczy said, “The Graf has kindly invited me to attend a celebration for the publication of his book in November. I am going to request that he send an invitation when he has set the time of the festivities, and if it is possible, to do my utmost to attend, weather and business permitting.” He drew a sheet of fine rag paper out of a shelf in the secretary and moved the stacks of paper aside so he could write a response to von Ravensberg.
“Have your refreshments,” Hero recommended to Hyacinthie. “I don’t care for sweet biscuits, and the lemonade was requested for you.”
Hyacinthie picked up the glass, saying, “I am of an age that I prefer wine,” before she took a sip. “I’m sure you prefer wine, Comte.” This last was accompanied by a sidelong glance at her host.
Ragoczy was busy selecting a trimmed quill for his pen, so it took him a short while to answer. “I am afraid I do not drink wine.”
Hyacinthie blinked. “Never?”
“Not since I was a very young man,” he said, his memories of his long-ago breathing life flitting through his recollections; he retrieved the ink-well from its drawer, setting it in the rack provided for it.
“Oh.” She picked up one of the sweet biscuits, broke it in half, and chose the larger of the two to set down again. “Your cook makes these?”
“Yes, he does,” said Ragoczy, continuing to write.
“Wine doesn’t agree with him,” Hero explained.
“Oh,” said Hyacinthie again, and took a bite of her biscuit.
“We will be leaving shortly, as well,” Hero went on. “I share your aversion to long hours in a coach, but I prefer it to the same hours on a horse or on foot.”
Hyacinthie nodded. When she had swallowed, she said, “It is so hot in the coach. But it is probably just as hot riding or walking.”
“Hotter, I fear,” said Hero. “When I traveled with my father, I often longed for a coach. We were lucky to have open wagons to transport us and our things.”
Hyacinthie stared at her. “Your father was with the army?”
“No, my father is a professor of antiquities. He has been on many expeditions into Ottoman lands; I have accompanied him when I was younger.” In spite of herself, Hero found Hyacinthie’s fascination flattering. “Before I was married, I sometimes traveled with him.”
“Into Ottoman lands?” Hyacinthie’s voice rose four notes. “Truly? What was it like? Did handsome Turks seek to woo you? Did you walk in perfumed gardens surrounded by beautiful birds and pet tigers?”
“It was dusty,” said Hero, feeling she owed it to the child to divest her experiences of any tinge of romance. “Often hot, sometimes windy. When we were among Muslims, we were forced to go swathed and veiled as their women do, and the people most often avoided us because we were from Europe. Many times we had poor food and brackish water, and no means of gaining other supplies. The local villagers would not sell food to us, and there were no hostelries for us, so we lived in tents. My father could find no tobacco for his pipe. The Muslims do not drink wine, just as the Comte doesn’t, so no wine was to be had.”
“How exciting!” Hyacinthie gulped down half of the lemonade. “How grand! Not the lack of wine, of course, or the other problems,” she added, “but everything else. How wonderful!”
“How hot and inconvenient,” said Hero, correcting her. “You wouldn’t enjoy it at all. I didn’t.”
“But you
must
have,” said Hyacinthie in astonished reproach. “You must have known that what you were doing was extraordinary. Didn’t you?”
must
have,” said Hyacinthie in astonished reproach. “You must have known that what you were doing was extraordinary. Didn’t you?”
Hero thought a moment. “Well, yes, from a certain point of view, it was. But in terms of how we lived, it was far from pleasant or remarkable, except for the discommodation. I would have traded half of the wonders for a reliable bath, a chance to wear my own clothes, and freedom from flies.”
“But … you must have liked some of it,” Hyacinthie protested, then added, “Well, flies, yes. No one likes flies.”
“And we lived in tents that were stifling in the day and cold at night, and filled with dust.” Hero smiled briefly. “I am glad to have seen as much of the world as I have, but I do not claim that the experience was delightful.
Again Hyacinthie nodded. “It may be that you didn’t appreciate all he had done for you.”
“I believe I did,” said Hero. “At least sufficiently to know it wasn’t the way I wanted to live all my days.”
Hyacinthie drank the last of her lemonade and said with determination. “
I
would never slight such a splendid adventure.
I
would thank my father for providing so much for me, even if I were sometimes uncomfortable.
I
would not be ungrateful.
I
wouldn’t ignore my obligation to my father;
I
would make myself useful to him at every opportunity.” She almost got to her feet while she struggled with her growing indignation.
I
would never slight such a splendid adventure.
I
would thank my father for providing so much for me, even if I were sometimes uncomfortable.
I
would not be ungrateful.
I
wouldn’t ignore my obligation to my father;
I
would make myself useful to him at every opportunity.” She almost got to her feet while she struggled with her growing indignation.
“My dear Fraulein Sieffert,” said Hero quickly, holding out her hand to her guest. “I had no intention of distressing you.” She sat a bit straighter. “I am deeply grateful to my father for including me in his expedition. I don’t think I could have endured having to stay in the care of relatives or the nuns. But that doesn’t mean that all was unalloyed delight and wonders, or that it was an experience that I am eager to repeat, for that would not be the case. I am content to remain in Europe for the rest of my days rather than face the demands of an expedition in Ottoman lands. Most of what we did was drudgery, as daily life is for almost all of humanity.”
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