by Andre Norton
“Sir, I will be most obliged if you do or say what you have come to do.” I made stiff reply.
His next move startled me, for, having sent a distinctly quelling look in my direction, he crossed the room, not with those exasperated strides which he had earlier made, but with a lightness of step I would not have thought possible. One hand closed on the latch of the door, and he actually set his right ear to the panels, plainly listening.
Back he came with the same noiseless tread, passed me to unfasten the long window giving on the outside. Then he gestured that I was to join him, stepping aside to wave me onto a balcony which overhung a small walled garden I had not even known existed. When we were both outside he closed the window door with a snap.
My antagonism had been momentarily lost in a need for understanding. It was plain that he believed we might be overheard or spied upon while inside. But if the Gräfin had been selected for my traveling companion and present chaperon, why should her home be a place of lurking suspicion?
“You have reason to mistrust anyone within this household, sir?”
His hand closed upon the balcony railing so close to mine that his cape-dolman brushed my shoulder.
“If you are wise, my lady,” he spoke English now, “you will mistrust every place—and everyone—within Axelburg!”
“Including you, sir?”
He made no answer to that, instead he spoke swiftly, as if he must say the greatest number of words in the least possible time.
“I do not know what you may have been told of what is happening here. The Elector has had another stroke— it has left him speechless. What he would communicate he must write, convey by signs. As yet those about him are mainly wary and dare not contradict his orders— his direct orders. However, as I have said, much can be done to thwart him by misunderstanding, forgetting—As long as I have access to him, and he still insists that be so, his wishes can be carried out. There is a good chance that I may soon be barred from his presence.
“Have they said anything to you about the Princess Adelaide, she who was appointed an Abbess?”
“The Elector's daughter? Yes, the Gräfin spoke of her.”
“She is attempting to take charge, has brought in two nursing sisters. They could keep him wholly incommunicado if she succeeds. She is still a little afraid of him—or his authority—and so far has not taken the final step. I am doing what I can to arrange a meeting for him with you. It must be very soon, he is failing. Perhaps even another day—or night—and he will be too sick to withstand those vultures—they will have him prisoner in his own apartments, every door guarded. Therefore we have decided upon tonight!”
“But how—do I just drive up to the palace—?”
He made one of those gestures of impatience I had come to know so well.
“Make some excuse—do not dine with the family. Have a headache—cannot all you females summon a headache at will?” His voice was as impatient as his hands. “I have a man under my command who comes from the same village as your maid, he knows her well. She will admit him. Wear a cloak with a hood, draw that up to hide you well. Kristopher will show you this.” He twisted a ring on his finger so that I could see the dark red gem of its setting was carved intaglio with a design. “You will follow his instructions—”
This might be one of those improbable romantic novels, still I could see that he was entirely serious. I found myself actually nodding agreement, as if he had done no more than suggest a sedate ride through a park.
“And—” He pointed to my throat.
Remembering my recent experiments, my hands flew to my collar. It was still lacking the top two buttons closed, so that part of the necklace must be visible.
“Be sure, my lady,” he was continuing, “that you wear that.”
What did he know of the necklace which had been the hidden possession of my grandmother for so long? Or was it, like the ring Fenwick himself had just shown me, meant to be a passport of identification?
“Very well—”
He had not waited for my words of agreement. Instead he flung open the door behind us and, I think, would have manhandled me within with the same vigor which the Gräfin had used to draw me away from the display in the treasure tower had I not been more nimble in withdrawing into the parlor. He closed the balcony door not a moment too soon, for the opposite door opened and the Gräfin swept in.
Her full lips shaped a smile, but the eyes above those appeared to me both narrowed and watchful.
“Colonel Fenwick! I am most sorry I was not informed that you had come. I must speak most sharply to Franz for being so remiss—”
“Gracious lady,” he dropped into the usage of the honorific terms, but there was, I believed, something mocking in that salutation, “I came here to inform you all that what was done today was most unwise. As you are well aware, the Countess”—he indicated me with the slightest of nods—“was not to appear in public until after His Highness made clear his decision concerning her. If you had been recognized—if you were recognized—who knows where this story has already spread.”
She pouted, but I could have well told her that Colonel Fenwick was not the man to be impressed by any airs and graces. “No one save you, and I, and Ulrich, know she is here. Who could have known her for who she is?”
“You and the Gräf, and Baron von Werthern.”
She turned her face a little away. For all the roundness of her chin its present lift expressed stubbornness and she passed him with deliberation to seat herself, folding her hands in her lap.
“Dear Konrad is my cousin, he is not only in the favor of His Highness, as well you know, Colonel, but he is also in a way kin to Amelia. He has shown the greatest discretion—and he was made aware of this matter some time ago.”
“There are far too many aware,” the Colonel snapped. “As for today—I have been sent with orders.”
“And those? Also are they verbal only? It is said that His Highness has suffered new afflictions and must now write his wishes. Do, for your own sake, make sure of any orders, Colonel, lest you be forced to answer for your actions at a later period—to those not at all sympathetic with your methods.”
“The orders are from His Highness, you may take my word, or disregard that at your own peril.” His voice was smooth and cold. “The Countess is to remain in seclusion until he gives instructions otherwise. There are to be no more such imprudent actions as that of today.”
She glanced at him quickly and then away again.
“One will, of course, obey His Highness's commands. But when will Amelia be granted a meeting then?”
“That is His Highness's decision only,” the Colonel replied quellingly. “By your leave, ladies.” He sketched a bow which was hardly enough to express civility and was out of the door before the Gräfin could speak again. We heard now only the ring of his spurred boot heels on the floor of the hall without.
The Gräfin made a face. “Such a boor as he is! Or perhaps he wishes to show us how strong he thinks he may be against the day when the Elector can no longer protect him. What is Fenwick but an adventurer who sells his sword? Why does he believe he may stamp about ordering this and that as if we were conscripts on parade before him? Do not allow yourself to be disturbed by him, dear Amelia, he is not one of us, nor can he ever aspire to be more than he is today—a messenger. And soon he will be less—”
On her full underlip her pink tongue tip showed for an instant. I did not need much sensitivity to understand that strong emotions did abide under the Gräfin's doll-like surface and that some of these were concerned with Colonel Fenwick.
“It is strange—oh, do come and sit down here, my dear. You stand there so tall and straight-backed you also remind me now of the Colonel!” She patted the settee in invitation I thought better not to disregard. “Yes, it is strange that His Highness has not already sent for you. If his health is as precarious as rumor tells us—and Konrad has heard some disturbing things— then it would seem he must desire to
see you as soon as possible. I do not like this—someone may be making mischief!” She stared straight into my face as if trying to read some answer there. Undoubtedly she could well suspect, having found the Colonel with me alone, that I had learned more than her Baron had told her, and from perhaps a far more reliable source. When I said nothing, the Gräfin continued.
“She has been very much at the palace—the Princess Adelaide, bringing all those black-robed females to look down their crooked noses and squawk their pious prayers aloud like crows. She is not going to stay in her abbey nos—no, she pushes to see her father make due repentance for his sins, mainly those which affect her the most! I have never trusted her—ready to thrust that long nose of hers into all private affairs, mainly those which do not in the least concern her!” She spoke so hotly that I was sure the Gräfin had had her own difficulties with the Princess and still smarted from some passage at arms before or since that redoubtable female had entered the bosom of the church.
“But if it is she who is making trouble— No, there are plenty at court who will not take kindly to her meddling. If only His Highness would send for you and settle it all!
“He will—he must. Konrad is busy about the matter now—and he has influence. Yes, Konrad will have a solution.”
I noticed that she never mentioned the Gräf as one to be consulted in difficulties. But neither did I put any dependence on Konrad von Werthern. Never before had it been so necessary for me to consider my own words and acts with such care. The Colonel's suggested headache might become real, I decided, before this day was entirely over.
But now I sat and listened to the Gräfin's continued string of speculations—sometimes making as noncommital a comment as I could summon. Her various outlinings of this peril or that, or some to-be-hoped-for resolution flowed steadily on. I tried to make myself attend to her words, hoping to sift out what might be of future benefit to me. Only I found my thoughts turning more and more to the action the Colonel had ordered me into that night.
He had never asked my agreement to his plan, he had simply stated that this was what I must do. Now I framed in my mind several very sharp and telling rebuttals to his arrogant assumption that I was under his orders. Those came too late, I was committed to the venture, though a sensible female would have retired to her chamber, locked her door, and stayed voluntary prisoner until morning. The trouble was that I was, in some ways, no longer a sensible female.
At last I interjected into the Gräfin's monologue my excuse of a headache, and then had some trouble extricating myself from an instant reaction of solicitude, though once within my chamber I was grateful for the suitable-for-an-invalid tray Truda brought, for I found myself most healthily hungry.
I did have in my wardrobe just such a cloak as the Colonel had mentioned. It was a shabby thing, faded in color to a uniform drabness, but I kept it for its excellent protection in bad weather.
How else did one dress to meet an unknown grandfather who was also a reigning monarch? My sober collection of half-mourning gowns seemed, as I examined them one by one, most inferior to such an occasion. That the court was used to elaborate toilets I knew. But—the fact that I was in mourning—that so the memory of my grandmother was ever in sight, as well as in my mind—perhaps that was the best move I could make now.
I chose a dress of cream white trimmed in black ribbons. The night was sultry and if I were to go muffled in a cloak, I did not want to smother. I sought my sewing bag and, using my embroidery scissors, I cut the stitches which held the high-necked guimpe in place. With that gone the dress appeared far more in the formal fashion, though I felt very bare of neck and shoulder after I had hooked myself into the bodice. The iron necklace helped a little and its effect was startling—I looked someone very different from Miss Harrach of Wyllyses Hundred. I might not be clad in brilliant satin with an overflow of jewels, but I did have something— For the first time I realized that perhaps a pretty face was not the only thing to attract another's eyes.
I am not given to blushing, but now the direction in which my unruly thoughts had turned did bring color to my cheeks. I caught up the cloak and, with that across my lap, seated myself out of the range of the betraying mirror to wait.
Waiting, for me, has never been easy; now, in this room, it made me fidget. I kept feeling that I was under observation from some unseen source and I had to summon all my composure not to rise and pick up one of the candles, pull aside the curtains of the bed, peer into each and every pool of shadow to assure myself that I was entirely alone. I gave a start and a little cry when a scratching at the door announced Truda's long-awaited arrival.
She told me that the Gräf and the Gräfin were at dinner and most of the servants so busied with the serving of that that she could guide me out. We went down a smaller hall to a narrow staircase. There I had to keep close hold on the rail, so steep were the steps. There was another hall to traverse, then we came out a very small side door into what was plainly a corner of the stable yard.
There a figure loomed out of the dusk and held one hand into the limited beam of a single lantern—just long enough for me to see the Colonel's ring. Truda vanished before I followed the stranger among a number of smaller buildings, to pass through a second gate. Beyond that I was handed into a closed carriage, the curtains of which were tightly drawn.
It seemed to me that the drive was a long one, surely when I had gone with the Gräfin this afternoon we had not made so many turns. I tried to guess from the sounds I could hear if we were cross the square of the market again, but those which reached me were so muffled they meant nothing. At long last the carriage came to a stop, the door opened, the steps were let down, and I was handed out.
Here there was not even a lantern to give a light. The moon was rising, but its rays did not reach into the shadows where we were. Another figure came from the dark, a hand was slipped beneath my right arm. I again was startled and gave a gasp which was answered by an angry whisper and there was no mistaking the note of authority in that.
“Hold to me for guidance,” the Colonel ordered. “We cannot show any light here.”
I surrendered to him as we crossed a strip of pavement against which pressed a wall of darkened brush. There was another door waiting—slightly ajar—then I was inside where there was the odor of polish, a trace of tobacco smoke.
“Stairs here.” Again that authoritative whisper.
I had already discovered that by stubbing a toe somewhat painfully against the first one. We went slowly, I having to be confident that my guide would not allow me to stumble. We made a turn and now I sighted a faint glow above which gave me the power to press on a little faster.
So we reached a wide hall. Some distance away was a table on which sat a four-branched caldelabra all candles aflame. In the light of that stood a sentry. The man stared straight ahead—in his utter motionless stance he might have been one of the wooden toys much favored by small boys. He did not even blink as the Colonel, without a glance at him, opened the guarded door.
Within was a blaze of light, so sudden it dazzled me a little. My cloak was swept away from my shoulders, and I could be glad of that for the heat of the room was as great as if I had stepped directly onto a hearth before a roaring fire.
“The Countess von Harrach!” Colonel Fenwick's voice was hardly above the whisper he had used since our meeting below, yet it seemed to ring both in my head and in that stiflingly hot room.
My bedazzled eyes had adjusted. If I had thought that my bedchamber in the von Zreibruken house was large and imposing, this chamber was twice its size and certainly three times its peer in magnificence. Nor were the hangings here shabby and the furniture out of place.
I faced directly the great bed, tented with a crimson canopy now looped back. It was set on a two-slep dais, and between me and its foot was a carven, gilded railing, as if to further emphasize the importance of its occupant and the necessity that he be set apart from all inferiors.
Pillows had been heape
d high to support that occupant, and, as I looked directly at him at last, the rest of the room vanished from my attention. Curiosity had brought me here, now something else, more urgent and important drew me forward of my own accord, until my hands rested on the top of the balustrade and my eyes saw only the man who was watching me in turn with such a burning, demanding gaze that I could not have broken that eye bond between us, even if I had wished.
Chapter 6
I do not know what I had expected to see when I at last confronted this man who had shamed my family, made my grandmother the formidable and stern woman she was. By sheer will I kept my horror to myself—or hoped that I did in that moment. My grandmother had met death her noble face unmarred, her carriage that of a triumphant queen. What I looked upon was the wreck of what must have been once a handsome and commanding man.
One side of his pale face was flaccid, the muscles so changed that the eyelid was drawn nearly shut, the mouth loose. From the corner of that dribbled moisture. He wore no nightcap and his hair, near the color of the pillows which supported him, was still abundant. The upper part of his body, muffled in a rich robe of crimson gallooned with gold, must once have been powerful; now his shrunken flesh and outthrust bones under that show of rich color would have given the lie to those who still thought him to be a force in the world—if it were not for his other eye with its piercing gaze.
Slowly, as if he must fight for every fraction of an inch, he raised his right hand from the spread of fur-bordered velvet lying as a coverlet across his inert body. Seeing that gesture made with such infinite struggle, my first shrinking from him vanished. I found myself wanting to give him aid. Still I sensed that there was in him the same determination and need for independence which my grandmother had shown. He would use what he could of his ailing body to the end.