Borne in Blood (7 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
“I know,” she said. “I’ve watched them.”
“From my laboratory,” said Ragoczy.
“Yes.” Her head came up sharply as if in anticipation of a reprimand. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Nor do I,” he said as they emerged from the cluster of trees onto a broad swath of flagstones that fronted on a large, hundred-year-old farmhouse slightly in need of repair. Halfway along the front of the house the midden steamed ripely in the morning sun.
“Will Herr Kleinerhoff be here?” Hero asked.
“He and his wife and mother, and his children. Today only his hired hands work in the fields, clearing weeds and preparing for plowing.” He approached the front door, made of thick planks of pine painted blue and banded-and-hinged in iron. An old bell hung on a rusted rocker with a frayed cord attached to the clapper; Ragoczy pulled this and set off an unmelodious clang. “One of the privileges of being head-man in Sacre-Sang.”
“I hope they won’t be offended by my presence,” said Hero in a sudden wash of uncertainty.
“Why should they be?” Ragoczy asked, expecting no answer, which was just as well, for before Hero could speak, the inner bolt was drawn back and Herr Kleinerhoff himself threw open his door, bowing respectfully and beaming with painful determination as he welcomed Ragoczy and Hero to his home.
His wife, a substantial woman with a sagging face that spoke of many hungry days, hovered in the arch between parlor and kitchen, flapping the ends of her long, embroidered apron, flushed with excitement. When her husband barked an order for wine, she hastened away, glad to have something to do.
“I know you foreigners like wine more than our beer,” said Herr Kleinerhoff.
“A glass for my companion would be welcome,” said Ragoczy, “but I, myself, do not drink wine.”
Herr Kleinerhoff’s expression showed that he did not believe Ragoczy, but he said, “If you would prefer beer? I’m afraid what we have isn’t the best—the harvest being so …” He gestured to show his disappointment.
“Neither is needed. Just the wine for Madame von Scharffensee.” Ragoczy looked around the parlor with the kind of tranquil curiosity that banished Herr Kleinerhoff’s embarrassment, so that when his wife appeared with two squat glasses of butter-colored wine, he gave one to Hero and kept one for himself without apology.
“Let me welcome you to my home, Comte.” Herr Kleinerhoff lifted his glass, but hesitated to include Hero in his toast.
“Thank you, Herr Kleinerhoff,” said Ragoczy. “Madame,” he went on to Hero, “I rely on you to express our gratitude for this hospitality.”
Hero smiled and lifted her glass to Herr Kleinerhoff. “Thank you,” she said, and took a sip; the wine was from late-harvest grapes, its flavor intense and sweet, its texture syrupy. She managed not to cough at its overwhelming sapidness, nodding to Herr Kleinerhoff to show her approval.
Herr Kleinerhoff was not so rude as to stare at her, but watched her out of the tail of his eye. “How kind of you to—”
Ragoczy held up his small, elegant hand. “Let us consider the politesse fulfilled, Herr Kleinerhoff, and get on to our discussion.”
“Of course, of course,” said Herr Kleinerhoff, bowing Ragoczy to the best chair in the room. “If you will?”
Ragoczy sighed as he sat, thinking that to refuse would offend his host, but also aware that the chair was Herr Kleinerhoff’s own. “This is quite comfortable,” he declared in cordial mendacity.
“I will take a stroll in the sunlight,” Hero announced as she set down her half-finished wine. “When you men have finished your business, call me and I will return.” So saying, she went to the door and waited for Herr Kleinerhoff to open it for her.
As soon as he had closed the door behind Hero, Herr Kleinerhoff bustled back into the parlor, his small, blue eyes shining with intent. “I had your note, Comte, and I must tell you, I was hopeful for the first time in well over a year. But reflection taught me that perhaps I had been too hopeful, and that your offer was other than you laid out in your note.” He sat on an upholstered stool, leaning forward, his elbows on his spread legs. “So I would be less than forthcoming if I said my hope was untrammeled. Your offer is so generous, so … reasonable, that I fear there may be more to it than I comprehend from what you wrote. Before I agree to accept your apparently most magnanimous offer, I would like to be certain of the terms. And I would like to know how far you would extend them within this district. Am I the sole recipient of your boon?” He stopped abruptly, as if his breath and courage had failed him at once.
“Very prudent,” said Ragoczy when it was clear that Herr Kleinerhoff would not go on. “I meant what I said. I know how bad the past two winters have been for you and your neighbors, and I know you have few reserves to carry you through another lean year. I am proposing to provide seed for planting and grain for feed for the next year, until we might all be certain that this spate of cold is over or at least lessening. I have stores of my own upon which I can draw for some time if necessary; I will use these for our mutual benefit. I am willing to extend this offer to all the landholders in the parish.”
“There,” said Herr Kleinerhoff, rocking back so that he nearly tipped himself over. “That is what most concerns me. How do you envision this mutual benefit for me or for my fellow-landholders?”
Ragoczy gave a single, sad chuckle. “Nothing to your disservice, Herr Kleinerhoff,” he said. “I will ask for ten percent of your first full harvest, that to be stored against another such hard time, the same provision to be made for five years from all those who accept assistance from me, assuming there is improvement in the weather.” He thought back again to the unrelenting hardships of the Year of Yellow Snow.
“But why should you do this? How can it benefit you?” Herr Kleinerhoff gulped the rest of his wine and stared at Ragoczy as he waited for an answer.
“Herr Kleinerhoff,” Ragoczy said distantly, in a tone that chilled the portly farmer to the bone, “I have traveled a good deal in my life, and I have seen what famine does. It is not starvation alone that kills in famine, it is disease and violence born of desperation. I do not wish to see these things come to this parish. Europe is just emerging from Napoleon’s devastation, and to have the weather add to his burden bodes ill unless something is done, and quickly, to prevent the depredation of famine and its handmaidens.”
Herr Kleinerhoff swallowed hard. “My own great-grandparents came here in a time of famine,” he said.
“Famine always brings refugees,” said Ragoczy. “As does pestilence, and war.”
“As we have seen,” said Herr Kleinerhoff. He sat upright. “Then, if it is your intention to spare us the suffering so many others endure, I will accept your offer, with the understanding that you require I store a tenth of my first full harvest and those of the next four years as provision against a return of famine. I will speak to my neighbors in this parish and see if any among them would want to join with me.”
“Thank you,” said Ragoczy.
“Some of them may be wary. A few still regard foreigners as enemies of this region.” He coughed apologetically.
“War and famine are relentless enemies of humankind, not I,” Ragoczy said, and saw Herr Kleinerhoff nod.
“They are the tools of the Antichrist. Our minister has told us that the End Days are coming, and we must prepare for travail. Your kindness will help us be ready.”
Ragoczy shook his head. “The End Days are always coming, Herr Kleinerhoff.” A series of images of men proclaiming the End Days, from the second Christian century to the present day flashed through his mind; he recalled their thundering dread and determined penitence with a touch of chagrin. “From the day the world began, the End Days were coming.”
“Amen,” said Herr Kleinerhoff.
“Of course.” Ragoczy suppressed a sigh. “Amen.”
Text of a letter from Cados Gaspard Adrien Rivage, business factor in Le Havre, France, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by hired courier and delivered in twelve days.
To my most highly regarded employer, Comte Franciscus, Cados G. A. Rivage sends his greetings on the 9
th
day of June, 1817.
th
day of June, 1817.
Four of your ships have returned from their voyages, three of them many months delayed but safe for all that. I must tell you that the
Aeolus
has lost part of her mizzenmast and will need substantial repairs before she can set to sea again, and the
Petrel
had half of her cargo of silks seized in Alexandria, and four of the men taken by the city on a charge that has not yet been made clear. The balance of her cargo is in very good condition. It is my intention to write to the customs officials in Alexandria to demand an explanation of their actions, but I doubt this will result in any return of men or of silks. On the other hand, I have received confirmation that the
Odysseus
is in Boston and will set out for Baltimore before returning to European waters later this summer. The
Epheginea
has sent back word from Australia that all is well, and she will be bound for India when the winter there is past.
Aeolus
has lost part of her mizzenmast and will need substantial repairs before she can set to sea again, and the
Petrel
had half of her cargo of silks seized in Alexandria, and four of the men taken by the city on a charge that has not yet been made clear. The balance of her cargo is in very good condition. It is my intention to write to the customs officials in Alexandria to demand an explanation of their actions, but I doubt this will result in any return of men or of silks. On the other hand, I have received confirmation that the
Odysseus
is in Boston and will set out for Baltimore before returning to European waters later this summer. The
Epheginea
has sent back word from Australia that all is well, and she will be bound for India when the winter there is past.
The
Sagittarius
is now the only ship unaccounted for. I have reports on all nineteen of the rest in hand, most of their information current as of four months ago, and I hope to provide you with more information as the month wears on. Now that winter is finally over, I begin to hope that shipping may once again become more regular.
Sagittarius
is now the only ship unaccounted for. I have reports on all nineteen of the rest in hand, most of their information current as of four months ago, and I hope to provide you with more information as the month wears on. Now that winter is finally over, I begin to hope that shipping may once again become more regular.
Captain Clairmont has asked to be relieved of his command for a year. His wife and three children are missing from his parents’ home in Charleroi and he is determined to find them. I have given him provisional leave with the understanding that he must maintain regular correspondence with me so that his whereabouts may be known. I realize he is one of your best captains, but he is distraught about his family, and will not be able to carry out his duties while their fate is unknown to him. His parents have said that they were taken by French officers last November, but who they were and what their true purpose was, they cannot say. His father was beaten by these men, and has lost the sight in one eye on its account, so you can understand why it is that Captain Clairmont might fear for the worst. If you are willing, I will forward true copies of his letters to you as they arrive.
I have received a payment from Darius Spiridion at last, brought by the
Hypolita
three weeks ago. Captain Rosenwald carried it in a sealed strongbox, so there is no question as to the total amount paid. It is not the full amount he owes, but a reasonable portion of it, and I will do as you recommend and continue to allow him to deal with Eclipse Trading Company for as long as he makes biannual payments on the debt. It is hardly his fault that his four warehouses burned with your cargos still in them, but he was responsible for it while it was in his care, and the amount you settled on for the value of what was lost is reasonable for both parties.
Hypolita
three weeks ago. Captain Rosenwald carried it in a sealed strongbox, so there is no question as to the total amount paid. It is not the full amount he owes, but a reasonable portion of it, and I will do as you recommend and continue to allow him to deal with Eclipse Trading Company for as long as he makes biannual payments on the debt. It is hardly his fault that his four warehouses burned with your cargos still in them, but he was responsible for it while it was in his care, and the amount you settled on for the value of what was lost is reasonable for both parties.
Some of the sailors have been spreading rumors that Napoleon plans to escape once again and summon his soldiers for a last attempt at reclaiming his title and conquests. I, myself, do not think this is likely, but I believe it is a good precaution to know what is being whispered in the taverns. I cannot imagine that France would allow more tragedy to claim her people again, but there will always be those who see this man as their deliverer, and who care nothing for the damage he may bring with his deliverance.
I await your orders in regard to the
Flying Cloud.
I would recommend scrapping her, since there is so much damage to the keel and the rudder has been badly damaged. She has lain in port now for ten months, and the shipwrights here are disinclined to spend any more time in attempting to make her seaworthy. I will, of course, do as you command, but in this instance, I hope you will let the shipwrights prevail.
Flying Cloud.
I would recommend scrapping her, since there is so much damage to the keel and the rudder has been badly damaged. She has lain in port now for ten months, and the shipwrights here are disinclined to spend any more time in attempting to make her seaworthy. I will, of course, do as you command, but in this instance, I hope you will let the shipwrights prevail.
Submitted in the honest performance of my duties and in accordance with the instructions issued to me on the day our contract was signed,
Most truly at your service,
Cados Gaspard Adrien Rivage
business factor
Eclipse Trading Company
Le Havre, France
Hyacinthie’s laughter quickly gave way to tears as she held up the package her uncle had given her: the small box contained an exquisite portrait cameo of her dead mother, certainly valuable as jewelry as well as a memento, but it seemed nothing more than a trivial thing, given the manner in which he had presented it—leaving it on her breakfast plate with only a length of embroidery floss to secure it. She flung herself down on her bed and let herself give way to her roiling emotions. “How
could
he?” she demanded of the thick goose-down comforter that lay folded at the foot. Pressing her face against the glossy satin, she pretended to muffle her sobs. The presentation note that accompanied the brooch dropped from her fingers and seemed to mock her from where it lay on the carpet.
could
he?” she demanded of the thick goose-down comforter that lay folded at the foot. Pressing her face against the glossy satin, she pretended to muffle her sobs. The presentation note that accompanied the brooch dropped from her fingers and seemed to mock her from where it lay on the carpet.
My dear niece,
On the occasion of your entering the age of marriage.
Your uncle and guardian
von Ravensberg
It was bad enough to be eighteen, but to be reminded so callously that she was single was intolerable. This rebuke—for it could be nothing less than a rebuke—was the harshest he had given her in four years of increasing rejection. How dare he slight her? Had he not pledged his devotion to her a decade ago? Had she been a fool to believe him; he had changed so much in the last four years that she felt she no longer knew him, nor he her. Now she sighed and put her hands together, her face stinging from her concentration and tears, and rolled onto her side, as guileless as a child. She wanted to strike back at him for this dreadful insult. Studying the patterns painted on the ceiling beams, she let herself contemplate how she might best be revenged on Uncle Wallache. One notion took her fancy and she smiled ferociously, certain she had hit upon the very thing that might wound him as deeply as he had wounded her: she should ask him to find her a suitor, someone rich and powerful, someone who would care for her as her uncle had when she was younger, someone who would devote himself to her pleasure and contentment. Then let him try to be indifferent to her. She let this happy notion carry her thoughts to far more pleasant realms than she had been dealing with. Her face softened again, and the hint of a smile that touched her mouth was no longer predatory, but tantalizing. Yes, she would have a suitor, and she would lead him a merry dance; Uncle Wallache would ache with Jealousy and need, and she would not feel anything but amusement at his plight.
She sat up and looked at the brooch again. Had her mother really looked like that? Her memory was uncertain: there was a resemblance, she was almost sure of it. On impulse she rose and took a fichu from her chest-of-drawers, pulled it around her shoulders, and secured it with the brooch. For a minute or two, she regarded herself in the mirror over her wash-basin, then nodded her approval. To complete her toilette, she took her bottle of violet cologne and daubed her temples and wrists with the fragrant liquid. With a deliberate little giggle, she flounced out of her room and went in search of her uncle.
A quick search of the Schloss brought her to Herr Arndt Lowengard’s office behind the library, where she found her uncle and his man-of-business deep in conversation. She stood in the half-open door, waiting to be noticed.
“—should arrive tomorrow or the next day: two sisters, Lowengard, six and eight. Rosalie and Hedda. They are cousins of my late wife, their parents are dead, and I know it is my duty to take them in.” He chuckled, a dry sound, like pebbles underfoot. “I can’t very well let the nuns have them, can I?”
“The provisions here are most generous for indigent relatives,” Lowengard remarked as he looked at the page in his hand.
“It is expected of me. Girls need protection that boys do not require. Their brother will manage for himself.” He rubbed the lapel of his Italian robe. “Rosalie and Hedda. We must make them welcome.”
From her place in the door, Hyacinthie curled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms like claws. Two girls coming? Indigent cousins? She wanted to scream but forced a smile onto her face and giggled.
Both men looked up. “Hyacinthie,” said her uncle. “I didn’t know you were there.”
She broadened her smile painfully. “I wanted to thank you for this brooch. It is so beautiful.”
“Good of you,” he said, losing interest.
She decided to take a chance. “You said something about two cousins?”
“You wouldn’t know them. My late wife’s cousins, once removed—their father was my wife’s cousin germane, so you and they are not related at all,” von Ravensberg corrected, losing patience with his ward. “They will arrive in a day or two. I expect you to welcome them as your sisters. Keep in mind that they are in mourning.”
“Of course,” she said, bobbing a curtsy, because she knew it was expected of her.
“You need something more to occupy your time than what Frau Schale gives you to study. These two girls will be just what’s wanted, filling your hours and preparing you for the married state and motherhood.”
Hyacinthie stared. “What do you mean?”
Von Ravensberg sighed and explained. “You have to think about your future, dear niece. What is going to become of you when you are twenty if you have no skills at those many offices that an intelligent man demands of his wife? I am in no position to continue to house you as a dependent, and your other relatives have daughters of their own to see established in the world. So it is fitting that you take advantage of the presence of these girls in order to show your aptitude for woman’s most sacred role: motherhood.”
This was too much for Hyacinthie to take in, but she continued to smile. “Then you will find me a suitor?”
“And a husband, I should hope,” said von Ravensberg, his voice filled with purpose. “I won’t have you dwindling into a spinster.”
A dozen retorts filled Hyacinthie’s thoughts, but she said none of them. “I want to be married, Uncle Wallache.”
“Good; good,” said von Ravensberg, motioning her away from him.
Lowengard’s neck and ears had turned deep red as he listened; now he coughed as if to remind the two of his presence.
Von Ravensberg took the hint. “So run away now, Hyacinthie, and let my man-of-business and me deal with the details of taking on the two girls. Take a turn about the garden, if you like. It is a fine day. I will see you at dinner.” Saying that, he put his hand on Lowengard’s shoulder. “We must be sure all is in order by the time the two arrive.”
Lowengard ducked his head. “As you say, von Ravensberg.”
“Ah, good. You remembered this time. Titles were what got so many high-born Frenchmen killed, a generation since. You may call me Professor, if you prefer, but von Ravensberg truly suffices. I cannot have all of us lost in the past.”
“No,” said Lowengard as the sycophant he was; he drew out another sheet of paper and handed it to von Ravensberg. “If you will review this? It is the same, but for Hedda, not Rosalie.”
Hyacinthie let herself out of the room as silently as possible. Her thoughts were in tumult, and she could not hold any one of them clearly for long. She hurried to the side door and let herself out into the walled garden, where flowers and herbs grew in profusion. It was warm in the sunlight but still a bit cool in the shadows, as if winter were touching summer, and the wind off the distant snowy peaks carried the promise of an early return to cold. Below the white, cloudy crests the mountains loomed around them, purple-blue in the hazy light. A large stand of rosemary stopped her, its small purple blossoms adding to the strong fragrance of the needlelike leaves. Ordinarily she would have enjoyed the odor, but now she slapped at the stalks with her fist, trying to break them. June twenty-third was supposed to be a happy day—
her
day. Now this. “Cousins!” she cried. “Rosalie and Hedda. Six and eight. And he takes them in for charity!” She felt an insect on her hand and angrily flung it away. “He took
me
in for charity, and he has discarded me!” Making her way down the flagged path, she stopped at the fountain—not yet spouting water due to damage on its mechanism during the winter—and scooped the shriveled brown leaves out of it stone embrace. “He told me to run away,” she mused as she sniffed at this ugly mélange. “I wonder if I should?” Surely, she thought, he would have to come and find me, and the two girls would be left to fend for themselves. Surely he wouldn’t put them before her. But she could not forget how he had ceased to visit her, and had been more and more occupied with his work. Would he be glad she was gone, and give all his attention to Rosalie and Hedda? Would he even notice she was missing? He’d probably be relieved not to have to care for her anymore, especially not with two children to hold his attention.
her
day. Now this. “Cousins!” she cried. “Rosalie and Hedda. Six and eight. And he takes them in for charity!” She felt an insect on her hand and angrily flung it away. “He took
me
in for charity, and he has discarded me!” Making her way down the flagged path, she stopped at the fountain—not yet spouting water due to damage on its mechanism during the winter—and scooped the shriveled brown leaves out of it stone embrace. “He told me to run away,” she mused as she sniffed at this ugly mélange. “I wonder if I should?” Surely, she thought, he would have to come and find me, and the two girls would be left to fend for themselves. Surely he wouldn’t put them before her. But she could not forget how he had ceased to visit her, and had been more and more occupied with his work. Would he be glad she was gone, and give all his attention to Rosalie and Hedda? Would he even notice she was missing? He’d probably be relieved not to have to care for her anymore, especially not with two children to hold his attention.
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?”
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.
Other books
Rock the Boat by Gia Riley
Chasing the Milky Way by Erin E. Moulton
Amore and Amaretti by Victoria Cosford
Jumping Puddles by Rachael Brownell
Brass Rainbow by Michael Collins
American Isis by Carl Rollyson
Trouble In Bloom by Heather Webber
El libro de los manuales by Paulo Coelho
The Infamous Rogue by Alexandra Benedict
Bait by Viola Grace
