by Gemma Holden
Lorelei was so naïve and innocent. There was no artifice to her like the other girls at court. He wanted to keep her safe. The world would judge her and try to correct her mistakes. They would insist she conform and wear her hair neatly pinned up. He didn’t want to see that happen to her. She could be herself as he could not be.
He went down to the stables. A groom hurried to saddle his horse. He swung up and kicked the horse into a trot. He rode along the cliffs before he reined in his horse and watched the ships and barges as they sailed down the Rhine. He wondered what it would be like if he went and found work as a sailor on one of them. No one would ever know that he was a prince. He could make something of himself and be judged by his abilities, not his titles. It would be a much simpler life. The townspeople seemed content with their lives.
He sighed. He turned his horse away from the river. He couldn’t sit here and daydream. He had responsibilities and Lorelei was now one of them. He had to keep her safe.
He was dreading the ball. It was time that he married and did his duty and produced an heir. He didn’t want to end up like the Counts of Katzenelnbogen and have his line end with him. But he wanted an equal partnership, like his parent’s marriage. He wanted someone that he would be able to share his worries and fears with. Someone to stand by his side, to make him laugh, to tell him when he was wrong.
As he rode up to the castle, Lorelei came out to meet him as she often did, her hair a waterfall of gold as it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, reminding him of the stained glass angel they had seen in the church. He swung down and handed the reins over to a groom.
“Would you like to go for a walk later?” he asked as they walked together back into the castle.
She beamed at him as if he had just said something wonderful. “Yes, I would like that.”
She said so little. He often wondered what she thought about on their walks together. Her memory had still not returned. Christian was beginning to fear that it never would. He wondered if she had a family somewhere waiting for her. Perhaps a husband or even a child. He almost wished that he loved her. She was so beautiful and sweet. It should be easy to love her. He liked her company, but she was like a child in how she behaved. He would spend his life keeping the harshness of the world from her and that wasn’t what he wanted in a wife. But then, he wasn’t sure what he wanted existed.
Chapter Twelve
Fournier sipped his wine, savouring the tartness against his tongue, and watched his friend who sat across the table as he finished off the last of his dinner. He and Ducasse had served together through revolution and war. But while Ducasse was now a general, Fournier was still a mere captain. Again and again, Fournier had been overlooked for promotion, while Ducasse had risen steadily through the ranks. He looked at the fine wine they were drinking and tried to keep his jealousy in check. All this should have been his. He had served in the army for thirty years and he was tired of being just a captain, tired of standing by and watching as men who were younger and less experienced were promoted over him.
“You have a sour look on your face, my friend,” Ducasse said as he cut up his roast beef.
Fournier set his glass down. “I want a promotion. I deserve a promotion. The Emperor is generous to everyone but me. I have always been loyal. I have always served France. But am I rewarded? No. I’m ignored and sent to ferry grain.”
Ducasse continued to cut up his dinner. “There’s a very simple way to secure a promotion.”
Fournier leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me.”
“It’s simple. You must do something to earn it.”
Fournier threw his napkin down on the table and pushed back his chair.
Ducasse laughed. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, waving him back to his chair. Fournier sat. “It’s not about what is fair. The Emperor is generous to those that win him victories. That’s all he cares about. Go and capture him something.”
Fournier estimated how much wine his friend had drunk. “I saw something in the river on my way here. Something that might be of interest to the Emperor.” He was reluctant to tell him what he had seen, afraid Ducasse would want it for himself.
“What did you see?”
Fournier leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I saw a mermaid.”
Ducasse coughed, choking on his food. He thumped his hand against his chest to clear his throat. “A mermaid? Like in the stories?”
Fournier nodded. “It was real. I saw her clearly. She was in the river near St Goarshausen.”
Ducasse put his head back and roared with laughter. He had to wipe away tears from his eyes with his napkin. It was several minutes before he had recovered enough to speak. “It’s a funny story, but I don’t think it will impress the Emperor.”
“I’m not joking. I saw one. It was as real as you or I.”
“You saw a fish. You thought it looked like a mermaid.”
“No, there was a girl, but instead of legs she had a fishtail. My officers saw it as well.”
“And how much wine had you drunk when you saw this creature?” Fournier remained silent and Ducasse smiled knowingly. “If you want the Emperor’s favour, you need to win a battle, not make up stories.” Ducasse shook his head, amusement still clear on his face. “Perhaps you should see a doctor.”
“I know what I saw.”
“Of course. If you say you saw a mermaid, then I believe you.”
He was still chuckling. Fournier threw down his napkin and rose. It was clear Ducasse didn’t believe him. His laughter followed him as he left.
The next morning, still furious from Ducasse mocking him, Fournier went to meet the other officers. They sat around a table filled with maps and the latest reports under a tent, the flaps tied back. As he approached, they started to laugh.
“Fournier,” Ducasse said, beckoning him over. “Come and tell them what you saw in the river.”
He accepted a cup of coffee from an aid and gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore their laughter.
“You will have to show us this mermaid of yours,” a lieutenant said.
“Perhaps you could find the Emperor a nymph or two as well,” another called.
They roared with laughter. His hand tightened on his cup. If it had been glass it would have shattered. He let them laugh. He knew what he had seen and he would prove them all wrong. They would regret ever mocking him.
~~~~~
Gaspard pulled out a chair in the inn where he was staying and signalled the innkeeper to fetch him a mug of ale. He had been in Koblenz for several days now, but so far his enquiries about Lorelei had turned up nothing. The girl was still a mystery. No ships had gone down in the Rhine in the days before she appeared; no royal family was missing a princess. The fact that no one was looking for her puzzled him. He had described the jewels that Lorelei had been wearing to several jewellers. One jeweller had known of a similar necklace. Made for Isabella, Queen of Spain, the necklace had been lost for centuries after the ship carrying the necklace had sunk. He had thanked the jeweller, but told him it could not possibly be the same one, and yet something told him it was.
There was one possibility that he didn’t like to consider; that Lorelei had stolen the jewels. But surely someone would be looking for her if she had. That amount of jewels wouldn’t have gone unnoticed had they gone missing.
He tensed as he felt someone approach behind him. He moved his hand down to the pistol concealed under his coat.
“I heard that you were asking about a girl.” The burly man - a sailor from his thick arms and calloused hands and coarse clothes - stank of stale sweat and cheap beer.
“I might be,” Gaspard replied casually.
The man sat down next to him. Although it was only midday, he was already a little drunk. “I saw a girl in the river up by St Goarshausen. But no one believes me when I tell them what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“You’ll have to buy me a drink first if you want to know.”
Gaspard signalled to the innkeeper to pour the man a drink. He put a few coins down on the table and pushed them across. “What was it that you saw?”
The man drank down his beer and wiped his hand across his mouth. “I saw a girl in the river, just like you said, with long brown hair.”
“Was she dead?”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Gaspard signalled to the innkeeper to pour him another drink. “Tell me what you saw.”
“You won’t believe me. No one believes me.”
“I will believe you.” He wasn’t sure that he would. The man was most likely drunk more often than he was sober, but he wanted to hear what he had to say if there was any chance that he had seen Adrianna.
He leaned forward. Gaspard resisted the urge to move away at the stench of his stale breath. The sailor put his face close and whispered. “She was a mermaid.”
The man moved away and drank down the rest of his beer. Gaspard wanted to sigh at the waste of money. For a moment, he had actually believed he might have seen her.
The man frowned. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. No one believes me.”
“Did anyone else see this mermaid?” Gaspard asked, feeling suddenly weary.
“I was the only one. I was watching the cliffs when I saw her. She came up for just a moment. She looked like a girl at first, but when she dived back under I saw her tail.”
“If you say you saw one, then I’m sure you saw one.” Gaspard didn’t want to upset him, not when he was twice his size. He kept his hand near his pistol.
“There’s a story of one that lives up by St Goarshausen. That one had golden hair in the story, but this one had brown like you said.”
“Thank you for the information,” Gaspard said solemnly.
The man nodded, his thick fingers closing around the coins. Gaspard let him take them and once he was gone, he signalled to the innkeeper to pour him a drink; a strong one. He had wanted information, but the only thing he had found was a ridiculous story.
Chapter Thirteen
The dancing instructor brought the stick down on the floor. “No, no, no,” he bellowed. “Start again.”
Lorelei went through the steps again, silently counting one, two, three, one two, three. Her Highness watched from the side of the room, nodding her head in time with the music.
If she had thought walking was painful, dancing was beyond agony. When she walked she stepped carefully, bracing herself for the pain as she put her foot down. When she danced, she had to move quickly from one foot to the other. There was no time to prepare herself. She could no longer feel her toes when she prodded at the lump. At night she stuffed a rag into her mouth when she unwrapped her feet to muffle her cries. The linen strips were now soaked in blood. She was surprised she didn’t leave a trail of bloody footprints behind her when she danced.
She remembered finding a wooden toy in the wreckage of a ship. The wooden doll had strings attached to its arms and legs to make it move and a wide smile painted onto its wooden face. She wore the same wide smile now on her face. She couldn’t speak; the pain was too much. She would nod and smile when Christian’s mother spoke to her. Her Highness thought that she didn’t understand. She did understand. She just couldn’t speak. If she opened her mouth she feared she would scream and scream. She danced. Agony coursed through her with every step, but still she danced.
Finally, Her Highness signalled her to stop. “That’s enough for today. You dance so beautifully.”
Lorelei smiled at her, but as soon as she left the room, her smile faded. Every step was unbearable. She forced herself to keep walking, placing one foot down and then the next. As she passed the door to the room they called the parlour, she saw Christian through the doors leading to the gardens. He had returned from riding and stood looking out at the river, his arms resting on the stonework, a brooding look on his handsome face. She pushed away from the wall and made her way to him. The pain suddenly became bearable when she was near him.
Christian smiled at her as she slipped out. “I see my mother has finally let you have a rest.”
She nodded shyly.
“You must be looking forward to your first ball.” She didn’t know how to answer. She looked down at her shoes. Christian stepped closer to her and gently raised her chin. “If you’re worried about the ball, you needn’t be. My mother will be there and Gaspard if he returns in time. I will make sure you’re not left on your own.”
He was so kind to her. Tears stung her eyes. She looked out at the river so that he wouldn’t see them. “I’m not sure that I shall dance at the ball.”
He frowned. “But why? You dance so beautifully.”
“I --”
She couldn’t say it. The words stuck in her throat. She stood there helpless, unable to speak.
Christian moved closer still and took her hand in his. “If you don’t wish to dance then you don’t have to. But I would like to dance with you.”
She looked up at him. Christian wanted to dance with her. Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Then I shall dance,” she said and was rewarded with a smile. He released her hand and she drifted back inside, letting the tears run freely down her cheeks.
In her room, she sank down on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she began to unwrap her feet. She peeled away the linen strips, trying not to gag at the smell. She prodded at the raw bloody lumps which had once been her toes. She tried to move them, but it hurt too much. Her entire foot looked like something she had seen hanging in a butcher’s shop in the town; raw pink meat. The skin had long since peeled off, leaving spongy flesh that seeped blood and pus. She would dance with Christian at the ball, but it would be the last time she would ever dance. She feared it would be the last time she would ever walk. But she would do it, for Christian.
~~~~~
Tired and travel stained, Gaspard swung down from his horse and had to cling to the saddle as his knees threatened to give way. He was getting too old for this. Instead of stopping for the night to rest, he had ridden hard to get back to the castle, eager to see Marie and Christian again and to sleep in his own much more comfortable bed. His feet had scarcely touched the ground before Christian came out, his long strides quickly covering the distance between them.
“I was worried you weren’t coming back.” He surprised Gaspard by embracing him. “Mother has missed you,” Christian said as he pulled away.
It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had missed him. “And I have missed you both.”
“What did you find out?” Christian asked “You’ve sent no word.”
“That is because I had no word to send. I found no trace of Adrianna. I fear she must be dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Christian looked around and then lowered his voice. “And what of Lorelei?”
“Nothing. There are no missing princesses. No ships went down in the days before she appeared. Before she was in the river, it’s as if she didn’t exist.”
“The ship might not have sunk. She could have fallen overboard.”
“I did hear one story.”
“What about?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
Marie came out, her hand outstretched, a smile on her face. He bowed to her and took the hand she offered and raised it to his lips.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, squeezing his hand tight for a moment. Her eyes, which were the same intense blue as Christian’s, told him she meant it. “We were just about to sit down to dinner. I will have the servants lay out another place.”
Lorelei stood behind her in the shadows of the castle, watching the reunion, her beautiful face showing nothing.
“Mademoiselle, you are still with us then,” he said, addressing her.
“Yes.” She seemed wary of him.
“Your memory has still not returned?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. I hoped I might have been able to help you. I made enquires while I was away, but I found nothing. Do you remember anyt
hing at all? The name of the ship you were on. Or perhaps you were not in a ship. Perhaps you were in a carriage and fell into the river?”
“I only remember being in the river and then coming here.”
“Of course. I’m sorry to upset you.”
He went up to his bedroom to wash away the dust and dirt from his journey and quickly change his clothes. Coming down, he found the others already seated in the great hall. He took the remaining seat across from Lorelei.
“Mother was worried you wouldn’t be back in time for the ball,” Christian said as the footmen began to bring out the first course.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Gaspard said, raising his glass of wine in a salute as he drank. “Especially, when I know how much you are looking forward to it.”
Christian shot him a dark look and Gaspard smiled.
“I’ve been teaching Lorelei how to dance,” Marie said.
“Do you enjoy dancing, mademoiselle?” he asked.
Lorelei looked up. She seemed different from when he had last seen her. Her violet eyes, which had once made him think of wildflowers, now reminded him of bruises.
“I don’t think I shall dance again after the ball,” she said carefully.
“She dances beautifully,” Marie said, smiling, but there seemed to be a hidden meaning to Lorelei’s words that made Gaspard feel troubled.
When they rose from the table, he saw the slightest expression cross Lorelei’s face, almost as if she was in pain. Christian didn’t seem to notice, but then he didn’t watch Lorelei the way she watched him.
After dinner, they retired to the drawing room. Lorelei sat on the footstool at Christian’s feet like an attentive puppy. The way she looked at Christian and no one else troubled Gaspard. But while her whole focus was on Christian, Christian seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. She seemed to think so much of him, and yet unless spoken to directly, he made no effort to speak to her.