“Have your refreshments,” Hero recommended to Hyacinthie. “I don’t care for sweet biscuits, and the lemonade was requested for you.”
Hyacinthie picked up the glass, saying, “I am of an age that I prefer wine,” before she took a sip. “I’m sure you prefer wine, Comte.” This last was accompanied by a sidelong glance at her host.
Ragoczy was busy selecting a trimmed quill for his pen, so it took him a short while to answer. “I am afraid I do not drink wine.”
Hyacinthie blinked. “Never?”
“Not since I was a very young man,” he said, his memories of his long-ago breathing life flitting through his recollections; he retrieved the ink-well from its drawer, setting it in the rack provided for it.
“Oh.” She picked up one of the sweet biscuits, broke it in half, and chose the larger of the two to set down again. “Your cook makes these?”
“Yes, he does,” said Ragoczy, continuing to write.
“Wine doesn’t agree with him,” Hero explained.
“Oh,” said Hyacinthie again, and took a bite of her biscuit.
“We will be leaving shortly, as well,” Hero went on. “I share your aversion to long hours in a coach, but I prefer it to the same hours on a horse or on foot.”
Hyacinthie nodded. When she had swallowed, she said, “It is so hot in the coach. But it is probably just as hot riding or walking.”
“Hotter, I fear,” said Hero. “When I traveled with my father, I often longed for a coach. We were lucky to have open wagons to transport us and our things.”
Hyacinthie stared at her. “Your father was with the army?”
“No, my father is a professor of antiquities. He has been on many expeditions into Ottoman lands; I have accompanied him when I was younger.” In spite of herself, Hero found Hyacinthie’s fascination flattering. “Before I was married, I sometimes traveled with him.”
“Into Ottoman lands?” Hyacinthie’s voice rose four notes. “Truly? What was it like? Did handsome Turks seek to woo you? Did you walk in perfumed gardens surrounded by beautiful birds and pet tigers?”
“It was dusty,” said Hero, feeling she owed it to the child to divest her experiences of any tinge of romance. “Often hot, sometimes windy. When we were among Muslims, we were forced to go swathed and veiled as their women do, and the people most often avoided us because we were from Europe. Many times we had poor food and brackish water, and no means of gaining other supplies. The local villagers would not sell food to us, and there were no hostelries for us, so we lived in tents. My father could find no tobacco for his pipe. The Muslims do not drink wine, just as the Comte doesn’t, so no wine was to be had.”
“How exciting!” Hyacinthie gulped down half of the lemonade. “How grand! Not the lack of wine, of course, or the other problems,” she added, “but everything else. How wonderful!”
“How hot and inconvenient,” said Hero, correcting her. “You wouldn’t enjoy it at all. I didn’t.”
“But you must have,” said Hyacinthie in astonished reproach. “You must have known that what you were doing was extraordinary. Didn’t you?”
Hero thought a moment. “Well, yes, from a certain point of view, it was. But in terms of how we lived, it was far from pleasant or remarkable, except for the discommodation. I would have traded half of the wonders for a reliable bath, a chance to wear my own clothes, and freedom from flies.”
“But … you must have liked some of it,” Hyacinthie protested, then added, “Well, flies, yes. No one likes flies.”
“And we lived in tents that were stifling in the day and cold at night, and filled with dust.” Hero smiled briefly. “I am glad to have seen as much of the world as I have, but I do not claim that the experience was delightful.
Again Hyacinthie nodded. “It may be that you didn’t appreciate all he had done for you.”
“I believe I did,” said Hero. “At least sufficiently to know it wasn’t the way I wanted to live all my days.”
Hyacinthie drank the last of her lemonade and said with determination. “I would never slight such a splendid adventure. I would thank my father for providing so much for me, even if I were sometimes uncomfortable. I would not be ungrateful. I wouldn’t ignore my obligation to my father; I would make myself useful to him at every opportunity.” She almost got to her feet while she struggled with her growing indignation.
“My dear Fraulein Sieffert,” said Hero quickly, holding out her hand to her guest. “I had no intention of distressing you.” She sat a bit straighter. “I am deeply grateful to my father for including me in his expedition. I don’t think I could have endured having to stay in the care of relatives or the nuns. But that doesn’t mean that all was unalloyed delight and wonders, or that it was an experience that I am eager to repeat, for that would not be the case. I am content to remain in Europe for the rest of my days rather than face the demands of an expedition in Ottoman lands. Most of what we did was drudgery, as daily life is for almost all of humanity.”
“You must not speak against your father, you know,” Hyacinthie said forcefully. “He has done you a great honor by permitting you to go with him on his travels.”
“My father is a remarkable man, very learned. He has lectured in France and England—he gave me an English name because he liked it better than the Italian version—and he has published eight books, three in Italian, one in English, three in French, one in German.” She made no attempt to disguise her pride in him. “I am a fortunate woman to be his daughter.”
“Very fortunate,” said Hyacinthie darkly.
“And I was mindful of all the opportunities he provided me, before I was married.”
“Yes. My uncle told me you were a widow. That’s sad.” Hyacinthie regarded her in sudden concentration, as if she were seeing Hero for the first time. “Your husband was a soldier?”
“An engineer, but part of Napoleon’s forces, and committed to social reform. He was primarily employed in assessing fortifications that had been damaged, with the intention of recommending repairs or demolition. He didn’t live to see his idol come to his inglorious end.” She said this so calmly that she felt a bit shocked; a year ago she could not have spoken so tranquilly of Fridhold. “He was injured in his work six years ago, and the fever that followed killed him.”
“That must have been very upsetting for you, losing him in that way,” said Hyacinthie in apparent indifference.
To her astonishment, Hero heard herself say, “It spared him the Russian Campaign.”
Hyacinthie blinked. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But he died, so why does the how of it matter?” She looked toward Ragoczy, to see if he was listening.
“Fraulein!” Hero exclaimed.
At this point Ragoczy intervened. “You know how hard it was when your parents died, Fraulein Sieffert. This was just such a loss for my friend and her children.” He blotted the answer he had just completed very gently, taking care not to smear the edges of the note.
“You have children?” Hyacinthie asked.
“Three sons and a daughter. They are with my husband’s father.” She stopped herself from revealing anything more.
“Three sons and a daughter,” marveled Hyacinthie. “Tell me about them.”
“My oldest son is eleven, then twin boys who are nine, and my daughter, who is eight,” said Hero.
“They must provide consolation for you,” said Hyacinthie because it was expected of her, and because she sensed that Hero missed her family.
“When I see them,” said Hero distantly. “Siegfried will soon be going off to school. He’s the oldest.”
Ragoczy folded the note and wrote Graf von Ravensberg in his neat hand on the envelope. “I thank you for serving as the messenger for your guardian, Fraulein Sieffert. If you will extend your goodness and take this to him on my behalf? Thank you.” He reached for the sealing wax, and struck the hanging flint-and-steel to light the wick embedded in the wax.
Hyacinthie beamed at him. “It is my privilege.
” She could not keep the satisfaction out of her voice.
As the wick flared, Ragoczy turned the stick of wax, encouraging a small drop to fall onto the back of the envelope. “I hope your uncle is satisfied with his book now.”
“He said the necessary corrections had been made,” said Hyacinthie.
“Then I hope he will be gratified by the discussion it engenders when it is published,” Ragoczy said, pressing his signet-ring into the wax and leaving an impression of the eclipse. He waved the envelope twice to be sure the wax was cool.
“And I hope you will have a pleasant journey back to Ravensberg,” added Hero.
“It is a long journey to make,” said Hyacinthie, rising to take the sealed envelope Ragoczy held out to her. “I don’t know when I shall see Amsterdam again.”
“Let us hope you may come here before too many years have passed,” said Ragoczy. “It is a city that improves with revisiting, more so now that the Netherlands have become a proper country again.”
“Will you come here again, Comte?” Hyacinthie asked so coquettishly that Ragoczy had to stifle a laugh as he exchanged a quick glance with Hero.
“I have business here, so it is very likely that I will,” said Ragoczy. He bowed slightly to Hyacinthie. “Would you like one of my servants to accompany you back to your hotel?”
“It isn’t far, and I want to purchase some muslin and lawn on my way. But thank you for your concern.” She tilted her head and achieved a shy smile. She slipped the envelope into her silver-link reticule. “I will hand this to my uncle the instant I see him.”
“You’re most kind,” said Ragoczy as he moved toward the open parlor door. “Convey my greetings to the Graf.”
Hyacinthie was reluctant to leave, walking slowly and sighing once. “Thank you for the lemonade and biscuits.”
Ragoczy bowed once more. “A pleasure, Fraulein.”
Kuyskill appeared in the entry-hall as if conjured from the air. He guided Hyacinthie toward the door, opened it for her, and stood watching her open her parasol and descend to the street. Only then did he close the door and say to Ragoczy, “She is up to mischief, Comte.”
“Not mischief, but she is after more than a note for her uncle,” said Ragoczy. He was about to go back to the secretary when Kuyskill went on.
“Rogier is back from the docks and has an inventory for you. Shall I send him in?”
Ragoczy looked at Hero. “Will you excuse me a moment?”
“I will excuse you as long as you need,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “I have to write to my children before we leave, and now is a good time to do it.”
“Thank you,” said Ragoczy, falling in behind Kuyskill.
“You should have sent a servant with that young woman. She shouldn’t be out on the streets alone like that,” said Kuyskill, making no apology for addressing his employer so critically.
“I do not disagree, but she refused escort, so what can I do?” Ragoczy countered. “Her guardian is careless with her; I cannot offend him by forcing my servant upon her.”
Kuyskill nodded slowly. “Probably so,” he allowed as he opened the door to Ragoczy’s study where Rogier was waiting. “I still don’t like to think of her, unaccompanied.”
But Hyacinthie was not alone on her erratic course back to the hotel: Otto Gutesohnes was at her side, deferential and gallant all at once. He had donned a long duster-coat and threaded two lashes through the buttonhole to show off his occupation, and carried his wide-brimmed coachman’s hat in his hand; he stayed by her side as she dawdled past shops and vendors’ stalls.
“So you must tell me: how long have you driven for the Comte?” Hyacinthie asked as Gutesohnes escorted her over a narrow bridge; she spoke in German and she smiled provocatively as she asked.
“I haven’t worked for him very long. I am his courier. His coachman broke his leg so I am taking his place until he is healed.” He returned her smile.
“Courier? You carry messages for him?” She knew the answer but wanted to keep him talking.
“Messages, dispatches, books, whatever he asks,” said Gutesohnes.
“That means you travel alone?”
“From time to time,” he answered cautiously, not sure what she intended and not wanting to spoil such a promising flirtation.
“He must trust you, to send you on such missions.”
“He has allowed me to prove myself,” said Gutesohnes.
“How far have you gone for him?” She twirled her parasol.
“Oh, to Heidelberg and to Koln thus far, with stops along the way in both instances.” He waited. “I may be sent to Praha in the fall.”
“Would your travels, perhaps, bring you to Austria—to Salzburg, perhaps?” There was no mistaking her intention now. “My uncle is often preoccupied with his studies, and I might be able to slip away to the gamekeeper’s cottage, if I knew I could meet you there.”
He had not expected such a direct invitation, and so he walked on in silence for a short distance. Finally he said, “I would not want to compromise you in anyway, Fraulein.”
“No one would know,” she said. “I can send you a note, telling you where the cottage is, and—you do read, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m no scholar, but I am not a dolt, either.”
She beamed. “Then we can write to one another.”
“But your guardian wouldn’t approve, would he,” said Gutesohnes, halting as three dogs came trotting up to them, noses busy.
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll give you the direction for my governess; she will receive notes for me.”
“And she’ll tell your uncle,” said Gutesohnes, ever more certain that this was too reckless. He coughed discreetly. “You shouldn’t be involved in anything clandestine.”
She slapped playfully at his arm. “You’re much too discreet for that, aren’t you?”
Gutesohnes shook his head. “I fear for you. It isn’t fitting that you should engage in anything that would smirch your reputation, particularly not at your age, when the Graf is seeking to find you a husband.”
“Smirch my reputation?” she mocked, thinking of all the nights she had passed with her uncle in her bed. “If no one knows,” she said patiently, “it means nothing.”
“But a rumor could ruin you,” he cautioned her.
“I don’t care,” she announced.
“You should care,” he said. “You can throw away all your happiness in the world in a foolish gesture.” He knew this was true, but he was flattered that she would take such a chance on his behalf. “Save your acts of defiance for a man who is worthy of your hand.”
Her laughter was high and harsh. “You don’t know, do you?” She glared at him through a smile. “No, you don’t know.”
Startled at her change in demeanor, Gutesohnes hesitated. “Know what, Fraulein? I don’t understand.”
“No,” she said, ignoring him. “You have no notion. None at all.”
“Notion about what?” he pursued, confused and nonplussed.
“Nothing! You wouldn’t understand in any case,” she declared, and walked more quickly, forcing him to hurry after her along the street that bordered the canal until they reached the Majestic Hotel, where her uncle was preparing to depart. At last she slowed and was willing to look at him once more, this time with her seductive smile firmly in place. “You’ve done your duty. You can report back to the Comte now; tell him I thank him for his concern, and that I look forward to seeing him again,” she said with an ill-concealed smirk as she went up the marble steps.
“But he didn’t—” he objected, wanting to convince her that his company had been his idea, not an order from his employer; he received what might have been a blown kiss for his efforts.
Text of a letter written in Greek from Ismail al-Rachad in Antioch, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Château Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by private courier.
To the most highly regarded Comte Franc
iscus, the greetings of Ismail al-Rachad on this, the 2ndday of September, 1817, by the calendar of you Infidel dogs,
I have received the gold you were good enough to send to me not two days since, and I have spent a third of it already, may Allah be praised for magnanimity. The cargos of your three ships held in harbor will be released and the ships permitted to set sail by the 10thof this month, which would not have been possible without the money you have provided. It is truly as you observed in your letter: gold and license keep close company. The sum I have paid—which I will not demean by calling it a bribe—has made me keenly aware of how readily the local authorities may be persuaded through indulgence. This was not unknown to me before, but it has been demonstrated with such stark clarity that I can only marvel at how openly these men abuse their offices.
I am sorry to report that the Daystar has had an outbreak of fever among her crew, and before she can sail, a dozen sailors must be replaced. Through the mercy of Allah the lives of most of these men has been spared: there is a good physician here, and he has said that the crew has contracted inflamed livers from poor water. The water-barrels are all going to be replaced and those men too ill to sail will be taken into the physician’s care until they are dead or sufficiently recovered to return to the sea. I am working with Captain Irkul to find men to sail with the ship on or before the 10th.
I am doing my utmost to secure a safe passage to Egypt for the deMontalia woman. As she is of your blood, I am obligated to arrange such for her, but I must tell you that it is not very prudent to permit a young woman to travel alone in this part of the world. There are many dangers that threaten her, most of which I doubt she comprehends or is prepared to deal with. I trust you know what you are asking for her when you charge me with the duty of getting her the passage she seeks.
Saint-Germain 21: Borne in Blood: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 14