Hotel Transylvania (19 page)

Saint-Germain had risen at her approach, and now held the chair he had vacated for her. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, not allowing his eyes to linger on her face too long.

She gave Saint-Germain a brittle smile. "Good evening, Comte. I suppose I must thank you for the chair. I have seen so little of you that I think I must stand on ceremony with you, out of strangeness."

Saint-Germain let this pass. "Will you allow me to bring you some supper, Mademoiselle? Undoubtedly you want to speak with your aunt—"

Here de la Tourbèdigue interrupted, very eager to please. "No, pardon me, Comte, but it would be my honor to serve Mademoiselle. You have already had the pleasure of serving the aunt; you must allow me the privilege of serving the niece." He flourished a bow and went off before Saint- Germain could object.

"Who is that puppy?" he asked, as soon as de la Tourbèdigue was away from the table.

Madelaine turned to Saint-Germain, and her words were sharp. "He is my admirer. My devoted admirer."

"Ah, Madelaine," her aunt said, shaking her head at this.

"No," Saint-Germain said with a rueful smile, "I deserve your severity, Mademoiselle. But I fear your mockery of a man of my age when you are sought by so many much younger and more acceptable gentlemen." He gave Madelaine a swift, speaking look and saw the answering fire in her eyes.

"You may not be as young as most of Madelaine's suitors," Claudia d'Argenlac observed, "but you have twenty times their address."

"At least that," Saint-Germain agreed with a wicked chuckle. He looked once more at Madelaine. "I am desolate that my affairs will not allow me to join you at Sans Désespoir, but I find that I must be away from Paris for a few days." He stepped back and had almost made his leg to the two women when Madelaine stopped him.

"Oh, Saint-Germain, I wish you were going to be there. I have missed our musical afternoons."

"Rest assured that I am busy, with some new works for your fête." He looked across the room. "See, here is your devoted young Baron returning, Mademoiselle. I must leave you, but he will certainly entertain you."

Madelaine turned her pleading violet eyes. "But I was hoping to see you."

He gave her an enigmatic smile, and relented a little. "Perhaps you will," he said softly.

Text of two letters from le Comte de Saint-Germain to his manservant, Roger, and his majordomo, Hercule, respectively, written simultaneously with the left and right hands, dated October 25,1743:

My dear Roger/Hereule:

I find that I must be away from Paris for three or

possibly four days. This is a matter of some delicacy, and I must attend to it in all privacy. To that end, I will travel alone, going on horseback, and without companion or escort.

Should my absence be commented on, you may say that there is good reason for it, but that you are not at liberty to divulge it for fear there be embarrassing repercussions in high places.

If I do not return to Paris within five days and you have had no word from me, or if word comes without my sigil on it, I authorize you to begin a search in the manner known to Roger. You may use Sattin and Domingo y Roxas to assist you, but on no account will you ask help of anyone else. Police and clergy alike are to be avoided.

My Will and instructions for my interment are in their usual place. You may open such if my absence is longer than twenty-one days.

I charge you to carry out my orders as you hope for salvation.

Saint-Germain
 

(his seal, the eclipse)

Chapter 6

Even the overcast sky could not detract from the joy of the afternoon hunt. The park and preserves adjoining Sans Désespoir were full of the richness of autumn. Leaves covered the ground, crackling under the horses' hooves as Gervaise led his guests in pursuit of a young stag, though almost none cared if they did not run it to earth.

Madelaine took the third jump ahead of everyone, her riding habit of burgundy velvet flying and her eyes alive with joy. She was mounted on a big, rawboned English hunter that ate up the distance with unflagging speed. She steadied him for the long gallop to the next fence, and felt her heart lightened. It relieved her of the nagging loneliness she had felt since she had left Paris three days before. She told herself that it was the city she missed, and not Saint- Germain.

Behind her, the rest of the party had cleared the jump, save for Gervaise's cousin, le Chevalier Sommenault, whose horse had balked at the fence and had sent his rider hurtling through the air over his head, to land, winded but unharmed, in a drift of beech leaves.

"Ahi!" shouted de la Sept-Nuit as he spurred his big Hanoverian bay up beside Madelaine's mount, matching its stride with her hunter's. "You take the shine out of us all. Such style! Such courage!"

She held her horse firmly, her gloved hands sure on the reins. "Pray do not crowd me, Chevalier. The path is very narrow."

"Crowd you? I'd have to catch you to do that." He showed her a smile as free from malice as he could make it. "You're a splendid horsewoman."

"You should offer your compliments to my father: he taught me." She did not like de la Sept-Nuit, and found his nearness grating. She wanted to be rid of him, but knew that unless he was tossed on a jump there was no way for her to escape.

De la Sept-Nuit's smile broadened. "You need not be modest, Mademoiselle. You are most praiseworthy." He held his horse back a little as the trees grew denser, letting her move ahead of him.

Madelaine ground her teeth. She had found in the three days she had been in de la Sept-Nuit's company that she wanted nothing to do with him, with his elaborate courtesy and his greedy face. The very thought of the flattering offer he had made to her aunt for her hand made her ill.

Gervaise thundered by them, perilously close to their horses, his big chestnut stallion tossing his head at the bruising pace his rider set. Le Comte d'Argenlac was a reckless rider, and only his great skill kept him from killing himself in the saddle. He yelled something incoherent to de la Sept- Nuit, waved hugely, and spurred past them.

Far ahead, beyond the trees, the young stag leaped a fence and bounded over the stream beyond, onto the holdings of le Duc de Ruisseau-Royal, headed for the dense forest that stretched away into the north.

"That will teach us a lesson." De la Sept-Nuit laughed, raising his voice enough to carry to Madelaine. "Is your mount up to it? Take care, or you'll come to grief."

"I trust he is sound," Madelaine said through clenched teeth, not so loudly that her unwanted companion could hear her. She was glad now that she had not insisted on riding her Spanish mare, for this grueling pace would have sapped her strength dangerously.

They were out of the trees now, crossing the open meadow to the fence that marked the limits of Gervaise's land. Already the owner himself was across it, and was wisely fording the stream beyond, holding his sweating horse on a direct point to the opposite bank.

Now Madelaine felt her English hunter gather under her, and she tightened her leg on the hom of her sidesaddle. The horse surged upward, and Madelaine leaned forward against the neck of her hunter; then, as he crested his jump, she stretched backward in her saddle, her head almost brushing the horse's rump. Immediately the horse had touched all four feet to the ground, she came up straight, shortened her rein, and urged her mount toward the stream.

De la Sept-Nuit's Hanoverian was right behind her, and le Chevalier shouted to Madelaine, his enthusiasm getting enough ahead of his judgment that his horse almost stumbled, and de la Sept-Nuit had to collect his mount to keep him from going down on his knees.

Gervaise was quite out of sight in the wood now, and the rest of the hunt had fallen behind. A crisp breeze had come up, rustling the leaves around them and sending the heavy clouds scudding across the sky.

Madelaine glanced around swiftly, and felt a twinge of fear, worried that she might be caught alone with de la Sept- Nuit. Her horse was into the stream now, and she held him on course to the far bank. She found herself wanting to spur the hunter hard into the forest, to get a great deal of distance between her and the young nobleman who was still less than two arm lengths away. There was a resounding crash from the fence, and two more riders parted company with their horses. Madelaine felt her fright congeal in a solid lump at the base of her throat.

Over the stream at last, she pushed on toward the forest, but knew that Donatien de la Sept-Nuit was enjoying the chase now, playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse. For a moment she considered challenging him, demanding to know what he wanted of her, but then dismissed the thought almost as quickly as she had formed it. She had no desire to put herself at such a great disadvantage, for it would be a simple thing for de la Sept-Nuit to compromise her, and then there would be no choice but to marry him.

The trees were quite near, and she sank her spurred heel into her hunter's flank, and felt satisfaction as she drew away from de la Sept-Nuit's Hanoverian. Once in the woods, she would have a chance to put more distance between them. She ducked her head in anticipation of the many low limbs that waited in the waning light

It was cold under the trees, and she was forced to rein in to a canter. The ground here grew rougher, more uneven, and her hunter was beginning to labor under the furious pace. Madelaine set her hands on the reins, grimly determined to ride the hunt out. She knew that Gervaise was ahead of her, and she told herself that her aunt's husband would not refuse her the protection she so ardently sought.

A swift glance back over her shoulder told her that she was indeed pulling ahead of de la Sept-Nuit. She could hear the steady pound of his horse's hooves, but he was far enough behind her that she began to hope that the track would offer her a chance to be free of him. She looked about her, ready to take full advantage of any opportunity the woods presented.

The track wound deeper into the forest, and began to lose its clear markings. Huge pines and ancient oaks commanded the view, dominating the dusk they themselves created. Here the track became more tortuous, winding among the formidable old trees.

Ahead, the track forked, one branch leading up a slope and away from the marked pathway. The other branch kept to the lower way, a little broader than the other, clearly marked, and free from rocks. The disturbance on the second path showed that several horsemen had come that way no very long time before.

Madelaine did not hesitate. She dragged heavily on the rein, tugging the hunter toward the upward path. The big English horse faltered, then raced up the narrow way, flecks of sweat foaming on his neck as he bounded over the tumbled rocks.

At the top of the rise, with a screen of trees between her and the main track, Madelaine reined in, holding her restless, panting mount still while she listened for de la Sept-Nuit to pass. She had almost convinced herself that she wanted to follow him when she recalled the many hoofprints on the track below.

In vain she told herself that it was another hunting party, that she was letting her apprehension overwhelm her, that her aunt's husband would be waiting for her, solicitous of her well-being.

Tired, worried, far from Sans Désespoir, Madelaine took stock of herself. She knew she could return to the main track and follow it to where Gervaise and de la Sept-Nuit were, but something told her she must not do that. After a moment, she slipped out of the saddle, twitched the reins over her horse's head, and began to lead him along the lesser track, wondering where it might go. She knew that she would have to walk the hunter a way, for the big horse was too hot; his mottled gray coat was dark with sweat, and his breath came in great heaving gusts. She tugged on the rein, and began to walk.

It was awkward going, for the long train of her habit was forever catching on things, and the hunter was restive. She began to wonder if she would find her way to safety that night, or if she was fated to spend the time wandering the forest. The wind, too, was stronger, and the trees moaned to one another, lashing the limbs like flagellants doing penance. Where the sky was visible through the branches, there were threatening clouds, growing darker now that the afternoon was so far advanced.

She had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when she heard the sound of hoofbeats not far behind her. She paused, and put her hand to the hunter's nostrils to keep him from whinnying. It seemed a ridiculous precaution for her, since the moment before, she had been anxious to be found, but now there was a grue down her spine, and her heart beat more quickly.

Listening carefully, Madelaine was sure she heard four or five horses. With the three casualties, that was the number of riders who had set out on the hunt. It could not be those horsemen who came after her.