The Blue Diamond (17 page)

“It is no secret Rechberg is flat busted. If Kruger can’t pay the piper till he comes into his estate, then that would explain it.”

“In any case, don’t let that cousin of yours cause us any trouble with regard to the diamond.”

“Right.”

It was not long after this meeting that Moncrief went around to Palgrave’s mansion to see what he could ferret out. He was met at the door by a butler and a monkey, both wearing the blue livery of the Palgrave family. It was the monkey who reached up for his hand, to draw him into the saloon, carefully picking his way around the various impediments scattered in their path: a pair of Harvey’s boots, a book, and a well-chewed bone left behind by one of their dogs. Harvey was not at home, but the Divine One was there, entertaining a gentleman caller, whose identity was not immediately determined, due to his face being buried in his hostess’s bosom.

“Good morning, Lady Palgrave,” Moncrief said. Then as the man’s head jerked up, he added, “Monsieur Chabon. Nice to see you again.” Moncrief walked to the window to chat on blandly till the lady had got her gown reassembled, and Chabon could tidy his hair. “Turning quite cool, is it not? Still, they tell me this is the warmest winter they have had here in several years. Warmer than home, I think.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Googie asked, in a tone of heavy irony.

With a wintry smile in Chabon’s direction, he replied, “Sorry if my timing was inconvenient.”

“Not at all!” Chabon said.

“Odd. I had the distinct impression, when first I entered, that I was heartily wished at Jericho.”

“You need not bother being satirical, Tatt. Monsieur Chabon is here on business. He came to see Harvey, but unfortunately he is out.”

This had the earmarks of an excuse for the lover’s presence. One would assume a Frenchman would have the savoir faire to accept it in silence. Chabon’s stuttered objection gave rise to a suspicion. He doesn’t want me to know he has any reason to see Harvey, Moncrief thought.

Harvey was perfectly innocent of politics. A gentleman come to see him on business had some other business in mind. In fact, Harvey’s real employment was spending money. He was not spending so much as usual, but even his modified expenditures had earned him the sobriquet
Der Verschwender
—the Spendthrift, after the farce by Raimund. After Castlereagh’s comments less than an hour before, the natural question was whether it was the blue diamond Chabon wanted to talk to Harvey about.

“Actually it is your husband I have come to see as well. Any idea where I might find him, Lady Palgrave?”

“I was just telling Monsieur Chabon that he will be home shortly. That is why he stayed,” she explained.

“I’m afraid he is taking longer than I can spare. I shall return another time,” Chabon said, arising to take his leave.

“Going so soon?” Moncrief asked. “I was about to ask a favor of you, Monsieur."

“Very happy to oblige you if I can.”

“I’m sure you can. I have my eye on a pear-shaped diamond old Binder is trying to sell me. Since Eynard’s death, I am at a loss where to get a good second opinion on it. My own feeling is that it is overpriced. Will you come along with me and have a look, at it?”

“At the moment it is impossible. Already I am late at a meeting. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

“Excellent. Shall we meet at Binder’s place at, say, ten?”

“I shall be there. Bonjour, Lady Palgrave, milord.” With a flourish, he was off.

“Sorry to have disturbed your
tête-à-tête
,” he said to Googie, when they were alone.

“Don’t be horrid! He is not my lover. In fact, he is very cold for a Frenchie. I have met much more interesting men at dear Countess Zichy’s dinner parties. Everyone goes. Schlegel, Gentz, the Secretary to the Congress you know—what an old flirt he is! You’ll never guess who was there last night, Tatt! Zacharias Werner—the
horrid
old poet or priest or whatever he is. The one who gave the sermon about ‘that tiny piece of flesh’ that causes all our sins. The congregation sat enthralled when he threatened to expose it, right in the church where he was preaching. A famous lecher before he turned holy man, of course. I was there with Flora Wrbna. We were so shocked, we nearly died laughing. I had to share her vinaigrette, and was still sure I would swoon. But then he only stuck out his tongue. That was the sinful piece of flesh. What a take-in! He is monstrously amusing. I adore him.”

“Is Harvey seeing much of Chabon?”

“More of Mademoiselle Feydeau, if you want the truth,” she said, with a touch of asperity.

“That too is business, I presume?”

“No such a thing. He first went to try to get my blue diamond from her, but she has seduced him.” She raised her white hands to flutter, indicating a change of thought, with the detail of her husband’s defection already forgotten. “We had dinner at the French palais with Talleyrand, Tatt. Did anyone tell you? I am determined to get Carême from him before we leave. I never tasted such divine food. Twenty-three entrees, imagine!
La matelote au yin de Bordeaux! Epatante
! Harvey has ordered a couple of hogsheads of the wine at a great bargain. And
les poulardes à la Perigueux—wunderbar
! Words fail me.”

“Try some English ones,” he suggested.

“Harvey has offered him five hundred a year. Carême, I mean, and he laughed in his face, but Harvey thinks perhaps the fellow don’t understand English.”

“The word around town is that Prinney is negotiating for Carême’s services, which is bound to push up the price a couple of hundred.”

“We’ll offer a thousand,” she said at once, not to be outbid by a mere reigning monarch.

It was impossible to hold her to the chosen topic. He had to hear of her latest discovery, a Polish modiste who could cut a gown lower and more revealingly than any Frenchie. Servants ran in and out of the room, being ordered to dust and bring cocoa and to see if her ladyship’s riding habit was pressed. Before many such interruptions, Moncrief arose and took his leave.

“See you at Bagration’s masquerade, shall we?” she called after him.

“I trust so.”

“Save me a waltz. I am as bad as the Tsar. I too have the danseomanie, but at least I don’t make an indecent suggestion to everyone who stands up with me, like he does.”

He let himself out, then had to return to push the monkey, who had slipped out after him, back into the hallway. It seemed hard to him that of all the people in England, he had to have for a cousin Harvey, and that Harvey had to marry that silly Googie Donaldson. He signaled to his groom to take his carriage away, to let him walk. Walking aided his thinking. He paced briskly along the street, mentally toting up what facts he had, then proceeded to try to splice those facts together to form a pattern.

Harvey was seeing Feydeau, which indicated the woman led him on with regard to getting the blue diamond for him. Chabon was seeing Harvey (and/or Googie), which suggested to him that Chabon was also interested in the sale of the diamond, as a Frenchman on Talleyrand’s staff would naturally be. That surely was Chabon’s involvement, despite Castlereagh’s hint that he was more deeply involved. The logical deduction he made was that Kruger was helping the French people to trap Feydeau. Inasmuch as they were all after the same thing, why should they not work together?

He turned his steps towards Kruger’s house, still thinking. But on the other hand, what if Kruger really was broke, and what if Chabon was after the Blue Tavernier for himself, and what if—most worrisome thought of all—what if Mademoiselle Feydeau was perfectly innocent, sitting like a fly in a trap, with Chabon and Kruger planning to use her . . . . His steps speeded up, unnoticed by him.

And then—what about Maria Kruger? Where did she feature in the case? That romance old Kruger had tried to foster between himself and Maria—it had fizzled out to nothing lately. He was no longer urged to call, to dangle after the girl. She was often seen with Chabon, but her face showed no trace of being in love.

Another point that roused his curiosity was the absence of the Countess von Rossner from Kruger’s company lately. If Kruger had been trying to arrange profitable matches for himself and his daughter, what had happened to change his tactics? Was money no longer required? If so, there was a very recent reason for it. Rechberg had called off because of a lack of ready cash. Did the Blue Tavernier have anything to do with this new wealth?

At the beginning of February, Wellington arrived and threw the delegation into a pelter with his complaints and questions. He was but little interested in fairy tales of a blue diamond, and worked instead on arrangements to coerce Prussia into accepting the Allies’ terms for peace. When this was accomplished, there was much optimism in Vienna, and many parties, but there was not much excitement of the intriguing sort to appeal to the Iron Duke. Castlereagh returned to England, and Wellington turned his attention to Moncrief’s little problem.

"There is little enough to be done here,” he said in a fit of boredom. “By all means, get back on to your case, and see if you can get the business settled.”

It was impossible to know, but Moncrief thought there was a ray of hope in the Duke’s keen eyes, a hope that Boney would come back to enliven matters.

Chapter Sixteen

How long had it been since he had called on the Krugers? Long enough to require explanations? Probably, but then the press of business . . . Really he had intended to call sooner, but it would sound insincere to say so. The last time he had stood up with Maria at a ball, he had taken the idea she was worried. Her old arrogance, her self-assurance, had deserted her. She looked distracted somehow. The newly emerging Miss Kruger was more appealing to him than the old. She had stepped on his toes twice during the waltz, and excused herself very prettily, with a becoming blush. She had once spoken German amongst a party of Englishmen, due to inattention. She was too well bred to have done it on purpose. Certainly something was preying on the girl’s mind.

He was admitted at the door to hear the hallway filled with the delightful, whirling music of the waltz. Méhul’s best waltz from the ballet,
Danseomanie
it was, taking him back to the presentation of this work at the beginning of the Congress. “Is there a waltzing party in progress?” he asked the butler. “I shall return another time.”

“No, milord. Miss Kruger plays the piano. I shall inform her you are here.”

“Don’t! I shall sneak up on her. She plays so delightfully, I do not wish to interrupt the music,” he replied. The butler indicated a doorway ahead.

Moncrief was a lover of music, and of the piano in particular. All his female acquaintances played, most of them badly. It was an instrument that was played either excellently, or execrably. One false note, one hesitation in beat ruined the whole. On top of dexterous fingering, a feeling for the music was required. A waltz must roll, it must cascade, whirl and make you dizzy, or it was not well executed. The sounds issuing from the doorway ahead made his feet want to move. He wanted to take a woman in his arms, and circle down the passageway till his head spun. He walked softly to the opening of the room, so as not to disturb her.

Maria sat bending forward over the keyboard with a faraway look on her face. A sad look it was, though the music was so gay. Her graceful, arched neck was partially concealed today by a lace fichu tucked in at the neck of her gown, lending an unaccustomed air of modesty. Her dark curls were pulled demurely back from her forehead, after Mademoiselle’s directions. She looked younger, more innocent than usual. Just at the end of a particularly beautiful rippling passage, a discordant note sounded.

“Damn!” she said angrily, and played it over again, too hard, too quickly, with too much determination, but hitting all the right notes. Then she looked up. “Oh Moncrief! Good morning. You come at the worst possible time, just as I massacre Méhul’s finest melody. Do come in, or I shall end up turning this waltz into a march. I always do when I hit a sour note, and lose my temper.”

“I am sorry to have interrupted you, you play so beautifully.”

“I play for the galleries,” she replied, with a dismissing smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is an Austrian joke, designating inferior execution. When Beethoven’s
Fidelio
was poorly received—a resounding flop in fact, his patron mentioned the galleries were empty. Beethoven replied he did not write for the galleries. Well, I play for the galleries. I satisfy the undemanding, in other words.”

“You satisfy me, and I consider myself a very demanding listener. Though upon consideration, I must confess I took no particular delight in that part of
Fidelio
Beethoven resurrected to play at the Empress of Russia’s birthday party.”

“No more did I, but we lightweights may take our music seriously too. I am not listed in the
Jahrbuch der Tonkunst
, but I have played at the Mehlgrube Hall, and once at the Augarten, a duet with Baroness Prokech. She took the good part, and left me to beat the time. Papa once played at the Kavalierskonzerte with Beethoven himself. He plays the flute rather well, Papa.”

“Is everyone in Vienna a musician?”

“Every single one, and most of us are also actors. It is one's patriotic duty. In Austria, when we win a battle, we celebrate it with music. It is our way of life. Hayden writes us a symphony, Shakespeare writes you a play, or Byron a poem. Papa says it is because the English are turned inwards, not expansive, like us.”

“Amateur theatricals are very popular, however,” he pointed out.

“Let us have coffee. You like it with schlagobers, served the Viennese way?”

“I am an addict. If your city gave us nothing but wonderful coffee and whipped cream, it would be enough.”

They strolled into the wide hallway, where carved paneling was hung with Brussels tapestries, a huge mirror framed in silver showing a reflection of their passing. On small, low japanned tables, Chinese pots and fresh flowers reposed. It was hard to credit that Castlereagh was correct in thinking the Krugers broke. His eye fell on the little Rembrandt at the end of the hallway, and he looked at it more closely. It seemed to lack life today. He felt that if he had to look at it for long, it would pall on him, in the manner Kruger had described early in their acquaintance. He looked at his partner and smiled, while wondering how to begin quizzing her for clues.