The Swan King

by Nina Clare

  ‘He can have nothing to say of importance to me,’ Elisabeth replied.

  The baronin gave her an icy look. ‘You must know full well what he wishes to speak to you of.’

  ‘Obviously, as a highborn man, he will not be pressing me on any matter of importance so soon after my…loss. That would be disgraceful.’

  ‘As a gentleman of high position he is at liberty to press his matter of importance any time he sees fit, Elisabeth.’

  ‘I did not call him a gentleman. I called him highborn. A real gentleman would consider it disrespectful to impose himself on a girl so newly orphaned.’ Elisabeth raised her chin, trying to stare down her stepmother.

  ‘We have not the luxury of time for a long period of mourning,’ her stepmother replied, with slow emphasis. ‘That belongs to those who have the security of wealth. Your father left his affairs, and myself, in a dreadful position—no money, a mountain of debts, and his two dependent children.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Elisabeth said, her voice quivering with anger, ‘if you had not spent my father’s money beyond your means these past years such a situation would not exist.’

  There was a silence. Elisabeth expected either an outburst of fury, or a cold reply that included retaliation. To her surprise, the baronin tilted back her head and laughed.

  It was not a pleasant laugh. It was a laugh that signified a release of pent up emotion. It passed away, and her features resumed their usual composure, though her eyes glittered.

  ‘You are a silly child who knows nothing of such things. It is not your place to question anything I do in this house. I must do what I have to, or there will be no house, and where will your feeble little brother live then?’

  Elisabeth pushed herself away from the table and stood up to leave. But her stepmother was not finished yet.

  ‘I will not have you both hanging about my neck. The count has been most generous in offering to take you. He could marry far above a poor baron’s daughter, but for reasons of his own he has determined that none but you will do. In taking you, he will spread his wing of provision and protection over this house, he will repay all our creditors as part of the marriage contract. He will save us all, Elisabeth. If you care nothing for yourself or for me, or for the staff that will lose their positions, then consider your brother. If this house is sold, he has no inheritance, and no home.’

  She had been cornered. She could argue against nothing her stepmother said. She rushed away, feeling a little light-headed; feeling as though the world she walked in had tilted into a nightmare.

  The count’s carriage grated the drive promptly at noon. His four outriders awaited his return; Elsa wondered if they were his henchmen. They looked grim enough to deserve the title, sat upon their horses like four giant crows, in their black riding cloaks and hats.

  ‘You are very quiet, my lady,’ the count commented. Elisabeth sat at one end of a sofa in the drawing room, the count sat at the other, the baronin had just left them on the pretence of finding some papers she wished the count to look over for her. The sofa felt far too short. She tried to say something, but as usual she felt frozen in his presence.

  ‘I think I understand your reticence,’ he said. ‘Your mother has related to you my purpose in coming here today.’

  ‘Stepmother,’ she corrected.

  ‘You can have no surprise in what I have to say, my dear.’

  Her eyes snapped up at the words my dear. The hunger in his expression made her skin crawl. He moved closer and she inched away from him, but he reached out and took hold of her wrist and pulled her back.

  ‘Your modesty is commendable. I will speak directly. I ask you to gratify me by becoming my wife.’

  He was not hurting her wrist, but his grip was strong, and she knew he would not let her go until he had his answer.

  ‘I…’ she faltered. Her stepmother’s words were resounding in her ears. If she refused to marry this man, Alexis would have no home. But would he? Was the baronin telling the truth?

  ‘I…’

  ‘Say, I do. Two little words, Elisabeth.’

  ‘But… I don’t.’

  His hold on her wrist tightened.

  ‘If my father were here you would not dare ask me in such a manner!’

  ‘Your father,’ sneered the count. ‘Who left his family behind with a bankrupt estate?’

  The count’s voice was low and controlled; his words circled her like a stalking animal. ‘Do you believe your father would not wish for your brother to keep his inheritance and the degree of care he enjoys? Would your father see you cast into poverty and degradation, your house and everything in it sold, the servants dismissed, your brother stripped of all the comforts his weak, ailing body relies on?’

  ‘Things cannot be so bad as that!’ she gasped out. ‘I don’t believe it!’ She tugged her arm away, but he would not release her.

  ‘Oh, but they are. Your father was not wise in his business dealings. He made errors in recent years. He speculated where he should not have and failed to invest where he should. Your father has left you destitute, Elisabeth, and I, I am your saviour.’

  ‘There must be something that can be done. There must be someone who can help us!’

  ‘Such as his creditors? His business associates, his so-called friends, all of whom financed his latest failed scheme, and are now relying on me to recoup their loss? He has troubled far more families than merely his own.’

  She jerked her arm hard enough to pull free from his clutch, and leapt up, moving to a nearby chair and standing behind it, her hands gripping the chair back. Her wrist burned. If the count had not been sat between her and the door, she would have fled the room.

  ‘It’s too soon,’ she said, wanting to stall him. ‘I need more time.’

  ‘Time is what you don’t have,’ drawled the count. ‘Don’t be a fool, Elisabeth. I am offering you everything. And I always get what I want.’

  Her breath was coming faster now as if the pressure she was under was crushing her chest. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the baronin was right. Perhaps she was selfish. But she looked at the count, and she saw that hungry look, and remembered the poor groom who’d been beaten, and the stable dog who slinked away in fear, and she felt nauseous at the thought of being yoked to him day and night. The door opened, giving her a momentary respite from the tension. The baronin entered, looking keenly between the count and Elisabeth. What she saw clearly did not please her.

  ‘I hope you have enjoyed an interesting discussion in my absence?’

  ‘It has been enlightening,’ said the count, standing up from the sofa and tugging down his silk waistcoat.

  ‘Enlightening? In what manner?’

  ‘I understand how things stand.’

  ‘And…how do things stand?’

  ‘Your daughter is undecided.’

  ‘Undecided?’ the baronin repeated dully. ‘What is there to decide?’

  ‘Perhaps the young lady will tell you herself. I bid you goodbye for today. I will return in a couple of days perhaps. There may be some certainty when a little more time has elapsed.’

  ‘So long is hardly necessary. Come back tomorrow, my lord—you know how changeable young ladies can be.’

  The count bowed. ‘I have business farther south. I will return the day after tomorrow on my way home. We can drive to my estate where my local registrar can conduct the necessary ceremony.’

  ‘She will be ready,’ the baronin said, and curtsied as he passed her by. When the count had gone, the baronin strode swiftly across the room, grasped Elisabeth by the shoulders, and shook her.

  ‘You stupid, ungrateful, selfish little fool! How dare you spurn such a man!’

  Elisabeth staggered backwards when released. ‘I will not consent,’ she gasped out. ‘I can’t bear to be near him!’

  ‘Don’t be such an imbecile! What are you expecting? That some handsome prince will come and sweep you off your feet? In real life girls marry the man their parents decide is a good
match for them. As your only legal parent I say the count is an excellent match. You will never receive another like it. You will leave with him when he returns—’

  ‘No!’ The nightmare grew darker and closed in. ‘I won’t! I won’t! I won’t—’

  A stinging slap to the cheek shocked her into silence.

  ‘Get out of my sight. Stay in your room until you gain sense. Go!’

  Chapter 10

  Thwarted Schemes

  Elisabeth heard the key turning in the lock of her bedroom almost as soon after she reached it.

  She was ready for her stepmother’s entrance hours later. She sat near the window watching the sun set, but without seeing it. She had washed her face to remove all evidence of tears, had tidied her hair and smoothed her gown. Resolution brought some degree of calmness.

  The baronin’s black skirts rustled as she crossed the room. Elisabeth turned to face her.

  ‘I am glad to see you looking so composed, Elisabeth,’ she began. ‘You must have reached a decision.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Good girl.’ She moved closer, smiling and reaching out a hand to take Elisabeth’s. ‘Let me congratulate you, my dear.’

  Elisabeth put her hands behind her back. ‘My decision—’ She took a breath. ‘Is unchanged.’

  A pause. ‘Unchanged?’

  ‘I will not marry him. I don’t believe he will be a kind husband. My parents would not wish me to marry him on that account.’

  The baronin’s face darkened; she seemed to grow taller and weightier as she stood over Elisabeth, looking down with utter disdain.

  ‘Your mother and father would not wish it,’ she said, articulating the words as though they were disgusting. ‘Stupid, idiotic, fool—as much a fool as your father ever was.’

  This insult gave Elisabeth courage. She stood up, meeting her stepmother’s flashing eyes with defiance, half expecting to be struck, but not caring in that moment. But her stepmother did not raise her hand. She withdrew, turning away with a swish of her skirts. She paused at the door before opening it. ‘This is not the end of it. If you will not listen to reason, you give me no choice but to do what I must. For your own good.’ She left the room, locking the door behind her.

  There was no dinner brought that evening. Elisabeth was uneasy as she pondered what move her stepmother would take next. But what could her stepmother do? Starve and beat her into submission? The count could not make her marry him. He could not carry her away and force her. Could he? Fragments of stories she had heard the servants tell of came to her mind—stories of the count and his first wife. They said he had locked her up, did they not…?

  Such thoughts haunted her as she tried to sleep; she woke in the night gasping for breath—a dream of being in darkness, somewhere cold, as though in black water, and the count pulling her down, under the water, snarling in her ear that he would break her—drowning, thrashing, trying to gain breath and liberty—such a murderous look on his face.

  She lay gasping, staring into the dark with her heart hammering, wishing she had a candle or any kind of light. The fire had long dwindled out; no one had replenished the wood basket the previous day.

  Morning dawned. She was hungry, and her water jug was dry. She heard carriage wheels, and she flew to the window, her empty stomach lurching at the thought of the count returning earlier than expected. But the tall figure in black who entered the house was not the count. It was only the pawnbroker from München. What had he come to take away today?

  Footsteps sounded outside her room a while later; she hoped it was someone bringing water, but no one came. This was intolerable—she was being treated like an animal. She knocked repeatedly on the door, demanding attention until her hands grew sore, then took up a pewter candlestick, and hammered.

  There were voices in the hall. She put her ear to the keyhole to listen.

  ‘Please, let me go in to her. She wouldn’t be banging away so if she weren’t in need.’ It was Ziller’s voice.

  ‘Get along with you,’ said Brunn’s deeper voice. ‘It’s no concern of yours.’

  Ziller sobbed, and her voice and footsteps faded. Elisabeth took up her candlestick and began hammering again, but a great thud against the door startled her away from it.

  ‘Cease your racket,’ growled Brunn from the other side of the door.

  ‘I need water!’ she called back.

  ‘The mistress says you’ll get nothing till you stop that noise.’

  Defeated again, she laid down the candlestick and waited.

  Brunn came in. She thumped a tray on a side table, looking slyly at Elisabeth out of the corner of her eye. Elisabeth was not brought so low as to shrink before her impertinence.

  ‘The chamber pot in my dressing room needs emptying,’ she said. ‘And I need water for washing.’

  ‘I’ll send Ziller for the pot,’ said Brunn with a smirk.

  Ziller looked stricken at the sight of Elisabeth. She said nothing while Brunn stood watch at the door, but someone called Brunn’s name from the hallway; with a grunt of annoyance she turned away.

  ‘That was Nurse,’ Ziller whispered, ‘she’ll delay Brunn a few minutes so I can speak to you.’

  Elisabeth was about to reply, but Ziller put up a hand to silence her. ‘I’ve got to tell you,’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘Jank heard Brunn and the mistress talking about you and the count. When he comes back, he’s taking you with him, and you don’t have any choice—he’s just going to take you and the mistress and Brunn is going to help him!’

  Elisabeth stared at Ziller, absorbing the full meaning of what she was saying.

  ‘You have to get away, m’lady. You have to go before he gets here.’

  ‘But Alexi…’ she said, her thoughts going immediately to him.

  ‘Nurse will look after him. She’s not afraid of Brunn. And she don’t care if she isn’t paid, she wouldn’t ever leave young master for the world. You’ll be back when it’s safe.’ Ziller’s speech poured out as she hurried to say all she wanted to. ‘There’s laws about being forced to be wed, Jank and Cook says so. But you can’t let him carry you off, or Cook says you’ll be as good as wed forever, and only the parliament, or something, can get you out of it then, and they won’t get you out, ‘cause the count is in with them all—he’s in with everyone. He’ll get papers drawn up and stuff, and then you’ll be trapped with him forever!’

  Elisabeth’s mind raced. She heard Brunn’s voice down the hall and knew she would return any moment. Where would she go, and how would she get out? Her bedroom was on the third floor, she could not get out by the window.

  ‘I need a key, Ziller.’

  Ziller nodded. ‘Housekeeper has a spare set.’

  ‘Would she help me? She might get into dreadful trouble.’

  ‘We all want to help you, m’lady.’

  Elisabeth’s mind flew over all the people she knew. She had acquaintances in town, but none who had the power, or cared enough for her, to protect her against the count. She had but one relative who lived many miles away.

  ‘I’ll have to travel alone.’ That was a terrifying thought. She had never gone beyond the town.

  ‘I think I know who—'

  Ziller had no time to say anything more, for Brunn’s heavy tread approached, and Ziller took up the covered pot and left the room.

  All morning Elisabeth paced her room, thinking of what she should do and where she could go. She rummaged through her writing desk to find Tante Emmeline’s last letter, written in her pointy, eccentric script. Would her aunt help her? She had not seen her since she was a small child, when her mother had taken her north for a visit. But she was her only hope of aid. She needed somewhere safe to stay; with someone who might help her get legal redress against her stepmother’s plans.

  Brunn came a second time with a fresh jug of water, more bread, and a small slice of cheese for a midday meal. She set it down on the side table.

  ‘I’ve orders to change the bed linen,’ said
a voice from the doorway. It was Ziller, stood with an armful of folded sheets.

  Brunn looked at her suspiciously. ‘Whose orders?’

  ‘Housekeeper’s. Beds must be changed every seventh day without fail.’

  Brunn jerked her head to indicate Ziller could enter. ‘Be quick.’

  Ziller didn’t dare speak to Elisabeth; but as she gave one last smooth of the bedding, Elisabeth thought that she flashed her a significant look while her hand rested on a pillow, but it was so brief, she was unsure. Ziller picked up the candlestick Elisabeth had dropped on the floor, and set it carefully on the bedside table, giving Elisabeth another glance before gathering up the changed bedclothes. Brunn followed her out, locking the door behind her.

  Elisabeth stood regarding the freshly-made bed. She lifted up the pillow, turning it over; she ran her hands around the edges of the mattress, feeling for anything hidden; she checked the blankets, but there was nothing. Disappointed, she sat on her dressing-table stool, slowly consuming the bread and cheese, while eyeing the bed as if it might have a secret to tell.

  The baronin came later that afternoon. Elisabeth turned away from her; now that she knew her stepmother’s plans her anger seethed as she heard her silk skirts swishing like the flick of a serpent’s tongue.

  ‘There’s no use sulking, child,’ said her stepmother in a calm tone. ‘Tomorrow you will bathe and dress and meet the count with your acceptance. Then there will be an end to all this unpleasantness, and we can all forget it.’

  Elisabeth fixed her gaze on the picture hanging on the wall opposite. It was a small watercolour of a lake with blue mountains towering above it in a friendly, protective way; or so she had always thought. She had always liked the picture.

  ‘I trust I have your compliance, Elisabeth?’

  She would not answer. There was a rustle of silk and the baronin’s face thrust itself between Elisabeth and the mountain lake.

  ‘Answer me.’

  Her stepmother’s face looked strained. She was so close that Elisabeth could see the dark flecks in her brown irises, the stray silvery hairs at her temples, and the place on her nose and cheeks where her face powder had worn away since the morning.