Borne in Blood (42 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
In conclusion, I recommend that the personal records of Arndt Lowengard be copied and entered into this record along with the transcriptions of the accounts of those already stipulated.
As to Graf von Ravensberg’s insistence that his ward be hanged for her crimes, I recommend that such ravings be disallowed, in recognition of the role his behavior has played in this most tragic event.
Submitted by
Radbert Bonifac Schmidt
Magistrate of Eichenbrucke
Austria
(seal of the court)
Summer was waning, but the day was quite warm this first week in September, and the air was heavy with the scents of the first harvest. From the open windows of the Château Ragoczy it was easy to see the field-hands at their work, and to hear the activity in the kitchen yard and around the barn. The bake-house was cooling after its early morning use, and firewood was being loaded into the bath-house in preparation for the evening’s bathing.
Walking a bit unsteadily, Hero had descended from her room, handsomely dressed in an elegant walking-ensemble of a dark-tealgreen more suited to Vienna or Paris than Château Ragoczy. She wore a dashing hat that held the heavy veil that covered her face and throat. “I am so excited,” she said to Ragoczy as she entered the smaller of the two withdrawing rooms. “I must thank you again, Comte. I never thought you would actually be able to arrange this for me. I still don’t quite believe it’s happening. I am most deeply obligated to you.”
Her formality saddened him, but he knew he could do nothing to change her withdrawal from him, that attempting to restore their intimacy would now lead only to greater alienation. “It is my honor, Hero.” He came across the room and kissed her gloved hands, retaining them in his own for as long as she was willing to permit it.
“You have always been generous, and kind, always so kind, and I am aware of it, and I thank you …” She was becoming flustered at her own effusion.
“Hero, Hero,” he said gently. “There is no need for you to thank me; if you must, a single merci will suffice.”
But Hero had to finish. “I know you have reservations about this, about my taking the child in, but there is no reason you should be worried. I have had several months to think it out, and I am satisfied that neither Hedda nor I will suffer because of this.” She stared directly at his cravat. “I promise you, I do not expect this child to be a substitute for Annamaria. I do know they are not the same. But Hedda and I should be able to find some comfort in each other.” She slipped her hands out of his and looked toward the window. “What time did the messenger say the coach should arrive?”
“He estimated it would be here before noon; Gutesohnes was planning for a departure after Mass,” Ragoczy replied. “You have two hours at least.”
“I wonder if I should have gone to Eichenbrucke and accompanied her back here?” She started to pace, trying her best to limp as little as possible. “We could have had leagues and leagues together, and several evenings in good posting inns. She and I would be friends by now. Will she think the less of me for not going to get her?”
“I believe it is better that she travel with Oberin Josepha; Hedda knows her, and it will ease her fears, and the fears of the nuns. Think how it must seem to her, to be thrust into a new household about which she knows nothing, in a place she has never been. Such changes frighten grown men, and she is a nine-year-old girl. Hedda has already been deprived of her family twice, and she will not embrace a third one too quickly; give her the opportunity to bridge the gap with a familiar companion,” Ragoczy said, not wanting to remind Hero that she was not yet ready to make such a long journey; the move to the newly restored castle at Obenzemmer would be difficult enough.
“The poor child must be terrified.” Hero sat down suddenly. “That’s what worries me: that she will be too frightened to—” She would not let herself go on.
Ragoczy considered his words before he spoke. “She would be most unusual if she had no fear, or lacked optimism for this new direction her life has taken. Since her parents died, she has had much to endure.”
Hero swallowed to stop her tears. “I want to make her happy, if I can. She ought to be happy.”
Ragoczy went to her side and lightly touched her shoulder. “I know you would like to spare her any more misery, and to provide her with everything she has missed, but it will take time. All changes in her life for the last three years have been for the worse. Do not expect her to be too jubilant, Hero; she is likely to be reserved: you are kind-hearted enough to respect that. She has been through so much—”
“Something I can understand,” Hero interposed. “She and I have had so many losses. It will give us a bond.”
“I hope you will find that it is a satisfactory one.”
“As soon as we can set up at Obenzemmer, I think we should be able to make our lives together, on our terms.” She looked up at Ragoczy through her veil. “Do you think Hyacinthie really killed her sister Rosalie?”
“I think Hyacinthie believes she did,” said Ragoczy carefully.
“But did she?” Hero persisted.
“It does seem possible,” he said with great regret, remembering Csimenae again, and Srau.
“Do you suppose Hedda knows?” Before he could answer she went on, “Surely no one would tell her such a dreadful thing.”
“She most certainly knows, whether she has been deliberately told or not. Servants gossip, children reveal secrets, nuns whisper: she will have heard several versions by now, I should assume, and she will have chosen one of the versions to believe. Whichever version that may be, it will be the one she expects to hear from you.” He felt her move back from him; he removed his hand. “She will likely ask you what you know.”
“But how can I tell her that Hyacinthie claims she killed Rosalie? It would be too cruel.”
“She will have heard worse by now, Hero; if you make light of her knowledge, you will find she will feel slighted.” He touched her shoulder again. “If you tell her what you know, she will respect you, dreadful though your information is.”
“I couldn’t tell her anything so heinous,” said Hero. “Hyacinthie’s demeanor alone would be too painful to describe. It is all too painful for any child.” She stared at her hands as if she could see through the gloves. “I hope she will not ask to see my face, or not until she is used to me.”
He dropped down on his knee beside her, speaking earnestly, “Let me advise you not to dissemble. Any modification of the truth may be held against you. Children have a sense about prevarication, no matter how well-intentioned. The child will not trust you if you offer her any mendacity.”
“How will she know?” Hero asked. “I could soften what I have learned—make it less dreadful. I wouldn’t have to lie.”
Ragoczy waited several seconds, then said, “I know very little about children, except that they are often quite absolute. The few I have known have taken a strict view of the adults around them. If you fail this child now, she may well think that you are like all the others she has known, and she will not trust you.” He held out his hand to her, but she did not take it.
“I will find a way to make that up to her,” said Hero in a burst of purpose. “She and I will have a lot of time to help her put such misfortunes behind her.”
“I hope you will succeed,” he said, rising.
“Do you think I can’t?” she challenged.
“If I thought that, I would never have arranged for you to adopt Hedda,” he said matter-of-factly.
Emboldened, Hero asked, “About that: why do you do it, Comte?”
“Help you adopt Hedda?”
“All of it.” She hesitated, then plunged on. “Why did you try to fix my face? Why did you bother to search for me at Ravensberg? Your shoulder still pained you, but you didn’t hesitate, or so I was told by Serilde. Why did you plead for mercy for Hyacinthie, after all she has done?”
The ticking of the grandmother clock seemed suddenly loud as he composed his answer. “If you had the wealth, and the time—especially the time—that I have, would you not do the same? Time is the operative notion here: had I died the True Death when I was executed, I would be nothing more than a very minor Bronze Age prince, hardened by battle, conquered by invaders, forgotten to history, no more brutal than my kith and kin, and no less so. Time has changed that.”
“How could you call yourself brutal? You are the most cultured, educated, capable man I have ever met,” she protested.
“That is what I meant by time. Nearly four thousand years of undead living has taught me to value life in all its brevity, and all that comes with life.” He knew this was insufficient, so he added, “Vampires are often loathed, when we are believed in at all, and for some of us, this brings a terrible bitterness, corrosive to their undying lives and destroying all chance at retaining humanity.” He looked away from her, down his long memories. “I have some experience of bitterness, centuries ago, and I know how it venomous it is.” His smile was swift and sad. “Compassion is preferable to vitriol. Both can be painful, but compassion builds bridges and bitterness destroys them. Even the loneliness is preferable to rancor. Where there is deprecation and contempt, there can be no intimacy, and for me intimacy is the heart of vitality, and the substance of life; without it my life would be utterly desolate; I could survive, but as a tiger survives, or a jackal. So if I love you—and I do love you; I love you and I know you—then it is my privilege to do what I can to offer you any fulfillment I can, to ease your burdens and lessen your pain.” It was more than he intended to say, and he realized he may well have said too much.
She inhaled to speak, then let the air out slowly, not quite sighing, but measuring her response. “Then, if you are willing to ease my burden, I will do the same for Hedda, and do all I can to ensure she has a decent life from now on.” Behind her veil, her eyes were very bright.
“I have no doubt of that,” he said, and sensed that she was near weeping. “Let me ring for Balduin and have some chocolate brought in for you.”
As if recalled to herself, Hero said, “Oh, yes, please. If Uchtred wouldn’t mind. I know he is planning a special dinner.”
“It is mid-morning and his meats will be turning on the dinner spits in an hour. He can make chocolate for you while he supervises his new assistant. You will not impose upon him.” He tugged on the bell-pull by the mantle, and waited until Balduin knocked on the door. “Madame would like a cup of chocolate. And I hope the little pastries will be ready for the child’s arrival?”
“So Uchtred tells me,” said Balduin. “I should mention there is a coach approaching from the gate—not one of yours.”
Ragoczy was a bit nonplussed. “Do you know whose it is?”
“I will in five minutes,” said Balduin.
“Then you had best warn Uchtred that there will be guests—bread, cheese, apples, and beer should suffice to offer them.” Ragoczy glanced over at Hero. “Do you want to greet the visitors?”
She shook her head and touched her veil. “No.”
“Then if you will excuse me? I will be back with you before Hedda’s coach arrives.” He hoped this would be the case; he opened the door.
“Go on,” she said, waving him away.
Balduin was filled with activity, all but bouncing on his toes. “This is a most important day, isn’t it, Comte?”
“It is,” said Ragoczy. “Go off to the kitchen to inform Uchtred of Madame’s order, and mine for my guest. Tell him some dispatch is needed, for the girl is expected before mid-day, and with any luck, the visitors will be gone by then. I will go out to greet them.” He walked quickly to the front door and went out onto the broad step; a light breeze fingered his fashionably trimmed hair and plucked at his star-burst cravat, but no slight disorder in his clothing could lessen his air of urbane elegance, or so he hoped, having no reflection with which to reassure himself. As he stared down the drive, he thought, How inconvenient it is to have Rogier in Obenzemmer, supervising the installation of the staff there, but this could not be changed. He heard the rumble of the coach and the steady hoof-beats from the pair pulling it, and tried to guess who was coming.
The panel of the coach bore the device of the Magistrates of Yvoire, and Charget was driving; as the pair were drawn up in front of the entrance to the château, Ragoczy saw that Magistrate Lindenblatt was its sole passenger. “Comte,” he called out as he opened the door and let down the steps.
“Magistrate,” said Ragoczy, stepping down to shake his hand and to offer a sketched salute to Charget on the box. “Welcome, Magistrate. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“I have some news—good news,” said Lindenblatt, his visage a mask of worry. “I trust it is good news.”
“Thus your present delight?” Ragoczy asked, indicating the open door. “Well, whatever your errand, come in and take a little refreshment.” As they entered the château, Ragoczy saw Dietbold hovering, and said, “The Magistrate and I will be in my study. Please bring a refreshment tray for him.”
“Merci, grand merci,” said Lindenblatt, a bit out of breath. “I have had a very busy morning, and it isn’t over yet.”
“What has happened?” Ragoczy asked as he ushered Lindenblatt into his study.
“It is a little … a little difficult …” He waited until the study door was closed, then said, “We have discovered who it is who has been aiding the highway robbers.” As if this announcement had deprived him of his energy, he sat down abruptly.
“And have you ascertained that your information is accurate?”
“Lamentably, we have,” said Lindenblatt. “The source is unimpeachable.”
“That is a welcome development, after so many months of depredation; I am curious to learn why it should also be lamentable,” said Ragoczy. “I know the region will be relieved to know their harvests and stores will stay their own through this year, and that travelers will not be set upon.” His enthusiasm was expressed mildly, for he could see that Lindenblatt was still distressed.
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