Iron Butterflies (2 page)

She crumpled the hem of her apron now. “I got a feelin’, child, jus’ a feelin’.”

I knew Letty's feelings. Too often in the past they had turned out to be warnings. But this time—if it was the messenger— I shook my head at her and she went with a sigh.

As I entered the room I saw only my visitor's back, for he stood at one of the deep-set windows looking out into the garden. He was tall and his well-cut coat of dark green set so smoothly over his shoulders it was like a second skin. But there was a stiffness in his attitude, as if he were a military man about to spring to attention.

“You wished to see me—?” I must have entered very quietly, for until I spoke he did not turn. Now he did swiftly, with an ease which belied his posture of a moment earlier. I had expected a seafarer or one of the merchants who visited the manor at my grandmother's bidding. This was a different class of man entirely.

His face was brown enough to suggest that he did spend much time out under the sun, but the sharpness of the glance with which he favored me was that of a man well used to command. I could not at that moment have declared him either plain or handsome, but there was a character in his face which impressed. His hair was dark and one unruly lock curved down on his forehead not quite far enough to conceal the seam of a scar, one end of which cut his left eyebrow, raising it, to give him a distinctly quizzical look. Now he bowed.

“Miss Harrach?” His voice was deep, carrying the faintest hint of accent.

“I am Miss Harrach.”

“I am Pryor Fenwick.” He paused as if I should recognize the name. Then he must have guessed from my expression I did not. With a hint of frown he continued:

“Did not Madam Harrach advise you of my coming?”

“As she was dying, sir, she mentioned a messenger she was expecting. The reason was not given me.”

“Then you were not told that I was to be your escort to Hesse-Dohna?”

It was my turn to stare. “My grandmother left no such instruction, sir. As for going to Hesse-Dohna—why should I consider such a journey?”

Something in his assurance aroused irritation in me. In fact he had an affect which I could not understand, and one which I distrusted. Now he came toward me and I had to force myself to remain where I was when I wanted nothing more than to retreat.

“How much of the situation do you know?” His question was an abrupt demand. I resented him at that moment with a heat which another part of me found astounding. Unless, as Letty, I was indulging in prophetic “feelings.” At that moment, inwardly distraught by these odd feelings, I replied to his question evasively.

“Sir, I must ask you to be a little more plain.” I schooled my voice, hoping my composure would appear outwardly unruffled. “Just what am I supposed to know?”

He looked impatiently at me. His frown was now close to a scowl.

“When I spoke of Hesse-Dohna, you showed no surprise. I will wager you know the rest well enough, Miss Harrach.”

Pryor Fenwick he had named himself. ‘P. F.’—My grandmother's correspondent who was so discreet as to use initials only?

“Sir.” I clung to caution, remembering my grandmother's rule of never acting on impulse. “Are you the P. F. who wrote from Axelburg on the tenth of November last?”

He nodded.

“If that be so, in what manner have matters changed since then? Oh, please, be seated, sir.” I waved him to a chair and was glad myself to drop upon a small settee nearby, folding my hands quickly in my lap like a school miss, lest they betray me to what I judged a very acute eye by their slight tremble. Was all my grandmother
had fought for during the past years come closer to hand now?

“The Electress Caroline died in January.” My visitor did not seat himself, rather he rested his strong brown hands on the back of the chair, his dark eyes so searching my face that I had to force myself to meet his gaze with a difficulty which had not moved me in the presence of any man I had met before. “The Elector is in poor health. It has long been his wish to—”

Because he made me so uneasy I interrupted him.

“To right the old wrong, Mr. Fenwick? In what way can he do that? Will he produce another paper inscribed with official seals to admit he did have a lawful wife, a son who was no bastard? Have you been sent to bring me such a paper, Mr. Fenwick?” My voice carried some of the heat of my inner anger,

“He has sent for you, Miss Harrach, having had brought to him the fetter from your grandmother. He is old and ill, and he wants to see you—”

He paused as if awaiting some quick agreement from me. But his mention of a letter written by my grandmother struck me silent. Why had she done this—humbled herself (or so it seemed to me then) to write to a man who had so foully and callously used her? It was not in her to do such a thing—I would not believe it. When I made no answer he continued.

“I know that in this country the position of your grandmother was made difficult—”

“How perceptive of you, Mr. Fenwick!” I flared. Was he, a man plainly used to the giving orders, now at a loss because he could not be in command of the situation, that that lay in
my
hands?

“My grandmother, sir, was labeled, after the desertion of her lawful husband, a discarded mistress, his son a man without a name. This was the ‘position’ in which your Elector chose to place those in which he should have taken pride. My grandmother's father was forced to defend her good name in a duel, he died a cripple as the result. This is
our
position and has been
for nearly fifty years. Now why dares he send for me? Also, what is your part in all this?”

Visibly he controlled what was plainly a hot temper. I marked the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tightening of his lips before he replied.

“I am the Elector's Colonel of the Guard, his trusted messenger, to answer your last question first. He delegated me to correspond with your grandmother—for the situation was such that he could trust but few of those about him. He perhaps chose me because my family came originally from his country, and he believed that this being so the task might be easier. You cannot understand, positioned as you are”—now he was plainly lecturing me—“the demands of duty. The Elector had a duty to his House, to his people—”

“But not to his family?” I interrupted. “You are most informative, Colonel Fenwick. But, having made his choice in the past, why alter it now? How does the death of the Electress change matters?” The strength anger gave me stopped the trembling of my hands. I suddenly realized that they clutched each other so tightly that I was in pain from my own grip.

“As long as Her Royal Highness lived, the Elector could not communicate—” Fenwick half turned from me, I think he was seeking words to force my understanding. “Intrigue flourishes in any court. He—he did what he had taken oath at his father's deathbed to do. Now he is free—but also he is ill. His doctors are not hopeful. But his force of will is such that I think he shall defeat their foreboding—at least long enough to see you.

“The position is this, Miss Harrach. He has not the power to give you any succession to your rightful rank. But he has a private fortune which is his to bequeath where he wills. Most of all he wants to see you because you are what you are—his granddaughter.”

“So you propose, sir, that I immediately set forth to meet, overseas, a man I do not know, and of whom I hold no high opinion, to garner a fortune. Sir, thank you for this estimation of my character—I have not
heretofore believed greed one of my more pressing sins. A pretty suggestion, sir, and one I find quite insulting!” I arose. “I pray you forgive my leaving you, but this conversation is highly distasteful. Shall we bring this interview to an end?”

He loosed his hold on the chair and made an impatient gesture.

“Miss Harrach, I seem to have presented the case badly. It may be that I was not the proper advocate to be sent. The truth is that I am perhaps the only one in the Elector's confidence concerning this. Since his illness, he has had to depend on others, and court loyalty is a chancy thing. I can tell you only the bald truth, that circumstances over which even a ruler can have no control forced him in the past into actions he bitterly regretted. Now he is free, he needs—he is old, he would make his peace.”

There was such a note of intensity in his voice now that I was prevented from voicing my first answer. There flashed into my mind oddly enough the memory of that paper wound about the necklace—its odd effect of a voice crying out in pain.

“But what you ask—that I undertake such a journey with you—”

Again he made that impatient gesture, brushing away my objection.

“Of course we do not travel alone. Graf and Grafin von Zreibruken await you in Baltimore. The Grafin is a distant cousin of your own. Now Miss Harrach I must ask
you
a question— What was the abiding purpose of your grandmother's life?”

I drew in my breath sharply. “But you cannot promise that—that she be recognized—openly—respectfully-”

From within the breast of his smoothly fitting riding coat he brought out a folded paper, or rather a sheet of parchment. He held it out, and such was the force of his gaze, I found myself accepting it, reading what was written in formal script.

“My grandmother—but why does this speak of her as a Countess of the Holy Roman Empire? This—”

“Is the first step in establishing her as an equal in rank at court.”

“Suitable to be an Elector's wife?” I hoped he caught the sarcasm in my voice. “Unfortunately it comes too late—”

“The title descends to you, since you alone are her heir. The Elector obtained this three months ago, he was not aware she also was ill—or near death. He hoped—” Fenwick shrugged. “Time and fate have never favored him.”

I refolded the parchment, recalling that other one in the casket—one took away, one gave. The title would not have meant anything to Lydia Wyllyses—an honorable name was more. Still she had asked this of me— the clearing of that name. What choice did I have anyway? The man was old, ill, and some could stretch it that I had a duty to him. His fortune—that meant nothing. But what might come from the parchment was another matter.

Perhaps my face was more expressive than I wished, or perhaps the Colonel believed that any female was easily brought to the right point of view if a man insisted. For now he said briskly: “It will be necessary to make hast, Countess. The Elector cannot wait long. There is a ship waiting in Baltimore—it will sail in five days—”

“Sir—! What you suggest is impossible!”

“Madam,” he snapped, “it is not only possible, it must be, I have said—the Elector is near dying. That is the truth!”

The force with which he spoke then underlined the urgency he apparently felt. Suddenly I was a little breathless, as one being whirled along by a natural force one could not hope to control. A matter of expediency. But five days—! For a moment I felt as helpless as any female who had no control over her own affairs. The Colonel bowed and now did move toward the door.

“I shall speak with your man of business, Mr. Wes-ton. Arrangements for your comfort will be made.”

Perversely I wanted to say I would have nothing to do with his “arrangements,” that I had no intention of sailing for Hesse-Dohna. Yet I also knew I had already committed myself to this wild adventure.

Chapter 2

I
went about the business of settling affairs temporarily
at the manor, for, though I knew I was to sail for Europe and the unknown, yet I had no intention of remaining there once my duty to my grandmother's memory was paid in full. Letty demanded to go with me, but I had to point out to her that the difficulties of her traveling where she could not speak the language, where those of her race were not commonly known, were insurmountable. For I knew, through the forceful comments of Madam Manzell, the German governess at my late school, a vast gulf existed between classes in her native land. One of her favorite (and, to me, horror) tales had been of a Grand Duke who had calmly shot a peasant before the eyes of a visitor in order to prove that he
did
have arbitrary life and death powers over all his subjects.

That I myself might be exposed to caste and rank
problems I also expected. My only barrier against such would be the parchment Colonel Fenwick had left in my hands. I had the first taste of what lay before me when, two days later, in the prim and stuffy front parlor of James Weston's home in Baltimore, I met the other two who were to be my traveling companions, the respectability of whom the Colonel had so assured me. The Grafin interested me the most, since I was supposed to share kinship with her. Madam Manzell's stories had made so much of the self-importance and arrogance of those associated with any court I did not look forward to our introduction with any warmth of feeling.

The Graf wore the plain clothing of a gentleman. However, so ramrod stiff was his stance that one expected to hear the faint clink of a sword at every movement, a rattle of the spurs with which his civilian boots were not equipped. He was tall, a beanpole of a man, with bristly, close-cropped gray hair. Equally bristly sideburns made stiff brushes before each ear and well down along the chin line. While his nose was like some hawk's rapacious beak, his chin retreated in a weak line back to his cravated throat. He entered a step or so in advance of his wife, gave me a sharp bow, his dark eyes not quite meeting mine.

His lady, however, was very different. In the first place she must have been near to me in age, much younger than her gaunt husband, and as vivacious in manner as he was stiff and aloof. She was small of stature, her figure tending toward the buxom. Curls, as bright as a gold piece straight from the mint, bounched below her beplumed and ribbon bonnet, clustering also around a face wherein blue eyes were wide and would-be innocent. Her small mouth was as round as an unopened rosebud, pink-red. She gave the room a quick glance, as an actress might make herself aware of the stage, and then equalled my curtsy.

“Countess—” Her voice was sort, her English only a little accented. “We are honored to be of service—·”

I had no delusions concerning what might be my
reception by the court of Hesse-Dohna. There had been no need for Colonel Fenwick to warn me that there might be more enemies than friends. So, I must from the start, assume the status my grandfather had given me. My curtsy was therefore a shade less deep than hers. And, to her apparent surprise, I replied in German. Her eyes widened as we exchanged polite nothings. I noted, however, that the rigid Graf and his lady waited for me to be seated before they themselves took the chairs I indicated.

Colonel Fenwick, who had escorted them to make the introductions, again took a place near a window, half turning away, as if he would like to escape. I drew my shawl close, feeling again a chill such as I had on the day of my grandmother's death. But I had made my choice and must abide by it.

The Colonel and the Graf remained only for a few minutes and then asked permission to withdraw, leaving me with the Grafin. She was apparently one of those women whose waking hours must be ever filled with conversation, to whom silence was a dire thing. For she prattled on now, not as one nervously striving to fill up a silence, but because that was her nature.

Her conversation dealt with the ship on which we were booked to sail, the nature of its accommodations. I discovered speedily that it was only necessary for me to murmur at intervals a yes or no or to nod. However, she finally came to fewer words and looked at me more directly and critically—or so I believed her stare to be.

“Lady von Zrebruken”—now I used my native tongue—“you will excuse me in that I find my situation now to be “most strange and unusual—perhaps even a little frightening—”

She nodded vigorously until the magenta plumes on her plum velvet bonnet (her color choices made my eyes ache—if what she wore was high court fashion I feared my wardrobe would be indeed counted drab) swayed back and forth.

“Therefore”—now I prepared to play the role I had planned for myself during those few days since this
action had been forced on me—“I shall depend upon you for assistance. Colonel Fenwick has told me that we are in some way kin—?”

Her answer came in a gush, by all appearances she was delighted by my attitude.

“But of course.” She, too, now spoke English. “My father was of the Family.” Her smile, it seemed to me, for I watched her closely, was no longer that of a pretty, frivolous woman, instead it held a shadow of slyness. “Of the family,” she repeated. “His Serene Highness, Prince Axel, was my mother's protector, you understand. He was the Elector's brother who was killed at Waterloo.”

So the Grafin was also the result of an irregular alliance. It would seem that the ruling House of Hesse-Dohna was given to such. I nodded as if this fact had already been known to me.

“It was most kind of the Elector to choose you to make Buch a lengthy journey in order to accompany me.”

“To do so is not only our duty, my lady, it is a pleasure. Ach, you shall like our country, so beautiful, the people so kind—Axelburg such a fine city! We have the opera, the fine gardens—the Treasure House of His Highness. He allows even the commoners to visit that on feast days to see the splendor of his collection. You will not believe such exists until you see it!”

I would believe nothing concerning Hesse-Dohna until I saw it for myself, I decided. During the two days that followed, the Grafin was never far from my side, though I did not see much of the Graf, nor of Colonel Fenwick. To my astonishment—and dismay—I found myself regretting the absence of the latter. To me he was a figure of sane security in my quickly changing world.

On the day we embarked I was still unhappy from my parting with Letty, with the life I had always known. I could not but be aware that this was a reckless venture and I had no real friend at hand. The Grafin insisted that I share the attentions of her own sourfaced
and silent maid, averring that as soon as possible I must have a proper attendant.

But I wanted none of Katrine's breed, her very presence in my small cabin could dampen my spirits. Nor did I, on deck, watch the last of my country. I doubted my courage at the crucial moment. Rather I faced downriver toward the sea, and so became aware of someone beside me as I felt the deck swing under my feet and strove to adapt my body to that surge.

“A brisk wind, perhaps too chill for you, my lady—”

Brisk it was. I had to hold to the rim of my bonnet. But I managed to turn my head a fraction to look at Colonel Fenwick. He had put aside the high-crowned hat of fashion, wore a knitted cap pulled down about his ears, and the jacket of a seaman. Now he looked more at home and at ease than I had ever seen him.

Too cold? But this is my first time a-sea and I would not miss the beginning of a new adventure.”

He looked at that moment even more quizzical than his scar gave him reason, and I had a sudden suspicion that he might deem me using some trick of flirtation. Again anger flared in me. The Gräfin's chatter and her lord's stiff silence had made me yearn for some easy exchange of conversation, but now I would not allow myself to think that I might find such with the Colonel.

“You have a taste than for adventure, my lady?” His voice was as chill as the spray which now and then touched a fingertip to my cheek.

“Does not everyone, sir? You must allow that this is an adventure to me—”

He no longer met my eyes, staring instead moodily at the sea.

“Watch yourself!”

Those two words came from his lips with a force as if they had been torn forth against his will. Before I could frame a question he was gone, his long strides taking him aft.

Surprisingly the Grafin proved to be a better sailor than her husband. While he kept to his cabin she fluttered about, enjoying heartily the special delicacies our
party had brought. I learned not only to endure her constant chatter, but from the flow of trivia strove to pick out information concerning Hesse-Dohna which might be of value to me.

It was plain that the late Electress had not been beloved. She combined, to a high degree, irascibility, pride of blood, and a dislike for being the consort of a relatively minor prince. She had done her duty though, produced an heir and two daughters, of whom she took little notice. When her son had been killed, her chagrin had made her take to her bed. Not, I gathered, from any excess of grief, but in sheer rage that the title would now pass to a junior branch of the family she despised.

In spite of his wife's notorious temper the Elector had always treated her with courtesy. The fact that he had not installed any favorite had been remarked upon as an oddity of character unique in his class. Instead he spent his energies on the gathering of what the Grafin termed his “treasure.!’ A tower of the palace in Axelburg had been gutted, its interior rebuilt in the form of a single large room on each floor. These became the repositories for the wonders which were either created by his orders, or acquired by his agents roaming Europe.

There was a lacquer room, its walls covered with panels providing niches which housed figures of precious metal, ivory, gems. A silver room was next, to display the plate which had been gathered by his predecessors and added to by his own efforts.

All these the Grafin dwelt upon greedily. Her fingers sometimes moved as if she actually fingered the riches, while her absorption with such details made me remember the strange butterfly necklace my grandmother had left me.

If the Elector Joachim possessed such riches, why had he sent his American wife a piece wrought of the most common of metals? Not wishing to reveal to the Grafin what I now carried in a secret pocket sewed into
my petticoat, I strove to word a question which might in some manner solve that mystery.

My answer came during her tales of the Napoleonic period, of how the court had had to flee, and the treasure had been successfully hidden. For she launched into the description of how in many of the courts, their treasuries drained empty (though nothing of course was done to destroy the superb Hesse-Dohna collection), an urgent appeal had been made to the women of the nobility. Those who turned in their jewelry to fund the common cause received in return iron jewelry specially designed by artists, each piece bearing the notation I had read on the pendant. These were worn with great pride, as a man might display a battle decoration.

Was it because of this “honor” that my grandmother had received the necklace, a furtive recognition of her meaning to the Elector? Or had he been sure she would never have accepted from him any real jewelry of price?

Besides this dwelling on the Elector's treasure, I gathered from the Grafin a picture of the court which was in no way reassuring. Exaggerated formality of manners when dealing with inferiors in rank, mingled with sottish behavior of men who had few curbs placed upon their wills. Intrigue and spying, maneuvering to better one's position or secure the downfall of an enemy appeared to be the major occupations of all concerned.

I had to fortify myself many times over with the thought of my grandmother's appeal to my sense of duty to keep me from planning to cut short this journey and return to my own country before I ever saw the boundaries of Hesse-Dohna.

So distracted I was by this distaste for what might lie ahead that I did not really heed the first time the Grafin introduced the name of Von Werthern into her conversation, though she began to repeat it so much that I was forced finally to listen more carefully to her comments upon the amazing virtues of this member of the inner court circle.

It would appear from the Grafin's summing up that this young man possessed every known attribute of a romantic hero. So fervent were her praises that I began to suspect her own interest in the Baron was perhaps more than just that of kin as she professed herself to be. He was so handsome as to command instantly, upon first meeting, the full attention of every female, his manners (to me) sounded like those of a well-experienced seducer. But it seemed that he was also a fighting man, a noted horseman, hunter, duelist—a paragon such as would send any female of sensibility into sighing and swooning.

That she would express her preference for him so openly and so often surprised me a little. Was she in love with him to the point that she
must
discuss him merely to satisfy herself? Was she thus infatuated to the point that she would not care if I were to repeat some of the remarks made to me?

On the morning we at last landed after a tedious voyage and were setting out on the last stage of our journey, she produced with a coy affectation, as I thought, of secrecy, a miniature of this Apollo.

The painted face was handsome enough, though to me the eyes did not have a very pleasant expression. He was clothed (the miniature was a bust portrait) in an exceedingly ornate uniform, with a number of orders among the gold lace and cords which rivaled the bright yellow of his hair. I managed to voice a few generalities in answer to the Grafin's demands for my opinion, but to me he was lacking in appeal.

I was still reluctantly holding this miniature, which she had pushed into my hand, when Colonel Fenwick came with the message our traveling coach was ready. Glad of an excuse, I offered the painting back to my companion and then saw the Colonel glance at it. His face was without expression for a moment. Then he directed at me a look which made me feel, in an odd and disturbed way, as if I had been judged and found wanting. Perhaps he believed that I was encouraging the Gräfin in her infatuation. Certainly
he
had made
no attempt to know me better during the voyage, keeping to himself, while the Grafin had been ever at my elbow. To him I could be just another empty-minded female—just a responsibility he would be glad to be rid of as soon as we arrived.