The Last Baron

by Saber Vale

  I found one, and started to flip through it.

  There were descriptions of sex acts and made-up stories, drawings and sketches, even photographs. I found three photographs of Caroline, tied up, gagged, spread eagle on the bed that Cormac and I had slept in two nights before, and then one of her in a silk dress, laying back on a couch.

  She was beautiful. Dark, wavy hair, round, petite face, a voluptuous figure, much like my own, that seemed to promise sensual delights.

  She had eyes that seemed, in the black and white picture, to be dark and lit from within. She looked like someone who wanted a lot from life, like someone who was driven and unafraid. I stared for a long time at the photo, wondering who Caroline really was, where she was. She could have, I realized, died as recently as my grandfather- she would have been closer to his age, after all.

  Flipping through more, I found one small, black and white picture of Sophie. White blond hair, slender, angelic face, full, sensual lips, she truly did look like a quintessential pastoral Bavarian farm girl, other than the eyes. Her eyes were knowing, needful, striking, like she knew exactly what she was doing as she lay back on the bed, her soft, delicate body and small breasts marked with what looked like whip marks.

  She smirked slightly, as though she was proud of her bruises and lashes, like she was showing them off.

  Knowing her fate, the photo was disturbing, even shocking. I set it down and kept reading.

  The last entry of the journal said “June 24, 1935, Sophie came to me with some interesting news. The surprises in life never cease to amaze me.”

  After that, every page was blank.

  I sat for a long time, looking over the lake, until the sun began to set. Who was Caroline? Who was the Baron, really? By the time he was writing these entries, my grandfather (who he never seemed to mention) was already in college, in America, and my mother wouldn’t be born for almost twenty-five years.

  It was so far in the past, but the more time I spent at the castle, around the belongings of those involved, the more it felt like it had just happened, like Caroline and my grandfather could walk back through the front door any moment.

  “Hey,” Cormac’s voice startled me, and I jumped, turning to look at him.

  “Hey Cormac, what’s up,” I said, composing myself.

  “Are you getting any writing done?” he asked.

  “No, of course not,” I sighed, “this… mystery, as you call it, is pretty… distracting.”

  “Yeah, I actually drove into town to do research on Caroline,” he said.

  “I found some evidence she existed, some census data, but not very much, and no death date or anything. I called around, too. What’s weird is that her whole family seemed to die with her, none of them show up after the 1930’s. There’s no one in the U.S. I could have contacted about her.”

  “Ok…” I said hesitantly.

  “What did you find in your great-granddad’s journals? I know you were up here reading them…”

  “Well, there’s nothing after Sophie died, and before that, there’s just… sex and business, I guess…”

  “He really lived the life, didn’t he?” Cormac said, flopping down on the deteriorating leather couch.

  “We have different definitions about what constitutes a ‘life,’” I muttered, “did you find anything else?”

  “Not a lot,” he said, “I took care of some personal stuff, I’m really avoiding a lot of work while I’m here, but I tried to catch up.”

  “Maybe you should go back,” I casually suggested.

  “No, actually, my architect is coming tomorrow,” he said, “I was making arrangements for them.”

  “Are they staying here?” I asked, instantly furious.

  “They said they’ll probably stay in town, if only for the Internet, though I did order a satellite system that should put us online by next weekend.”

  “I… I can’t stand this, Cormac,” I said, “this is a place I grew up coming home to… it’s the closest thing I ever had to a real home, you can’t just take it from me!”

  All of the anger I’d been suppressing seemed to bubble up at once.

  “I’m not taking it from you, Astrid, it’s already mine,” he said, still somehow maintaining his affable, friendly air.

  “Stop it, stop acting like it’s just no big deal,” I cried.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he said with a shrug, “everything ends, your family’s reign, for instance, over this castle, ends with you, no matter what you do…”

  “I’m not going to give up,” I insisted, “I’m not moving out, and I’ll… I’ll really sue you! You can’t make changes without my approval…”

  “How are you going to hire an attorney?” I asked, “without selling some of the stuff in this castle?”

  “So I’ll sell some of the wine…”

  “Which I am entitled to half of the proceeds of, and I can keep you from selling…” Cormac reminded me, “not to mention I have a stable of attorneys who will make this impossible for you every step of the way...”

  Cormac smiled at me. His smile was gentle in stark contrast to the words he was saying, words that were breaking my heart.

  “Astrid, if the plans weren’t already in motion maybe I’d pull back, but that’s not really my personality, and I really don’t have a choice. I finish what I start.”

  “Let’s go make dinner,” I said with a huff.

  “Astrid, we have to talk about this, I’m meeting with an architect tomorrow who specializes in rehabilitating and modernizing spaces like this one. They’re top of the line, really, restores things to better than they were originally…”

  “That’s impossible,” I said, tears springing to my eyes, “I love it here as it is! I don’t… I don’t permit you to have the architect on the property…”

  “You can’t ask that,” Cormac said, “I can bring anyone I want on the property, and you’ll have to sue to stop construction, which I know you can’t afford to do.”

  “Be quiet!” I said, putting my hands over my eyes.

  “I’m telling you this because I really… like you, Astrid, I really respect you!”

  For a moment I thought he was going to say that he loved me. I realized in a humiliating flash that I’d wanted him to.

  “You like sleeping with me,” I cried, “you don’t like me, you don’t even know me!”

  “What do you want me to know?” he asked, throwing up his hands, “you’re a history writer, you seem pretty brilliant, you’re interesting and passionate, you like to fuck, you like to play rough, why do we need to make things complicated?”

  “Because one day one of us has to leave, and I don’t want it to be me.”

  “Ok, well, you can stay then, I’ll build you an apartment and…”

  “No, this is my castle!” I shouted indignantly , like a spoiled child,“I am… I am the baroness now!”

  “I didn’t think you cared about that,” Cormac said mockingly.

  “I… I… it’s all I have, I don’t have a family, I don’t have…”

  “You don’t need a title, or for that matter, this castle, to give you purpose, you’re so much more…”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, as my eyes began to sting.

  “I know I’ve never had a noble title and I still feel pretty good about myself,” he said.

  “You’re the child of a billionaire,” I shouted.

  “So what? We’re both our own people, neither of us are anything like our parents! That’s a good thing!”

  I shut my eyes and shook my head.

  “You’re going to take away the only connection…”

  “Let’s go into town for dinner,” Cormac interrupted me.

  “I don’t want to sit across from you,” I snapped, “I’m going to start sleeping in the servant’s quarters.”

  “There’s no food here, Astrid, you need to come with me, we should be talking about this like adults. Anyway, you said you�
�d sleep with me.”

  “Fine,” I said, covering my face with my hands, “but I hate this, I hate this so much.”

  Cormac laughed.

  “Can I promise you something, Astrid?”

  “What?”

  My voice sounded broken. I felt hopeless.

  “I promise, when this is all over, you may not get what you want, but you’re going to get what you need.”

  “How the fuck do you know what I need?” I hissed.

  “I don’t,” he said with a shrug, “but I know that in the end most of us get what we need, even when we don’t get what we want. For you, I’ll make certain.”

  I sighed and shook my head.

  Chapter 11

  “We’re going to Edvard’s tonight, so you need to wear a real dress, not just jeans and a hoodie,” Cormac said as we parted ways in the West tower.

  “I didn’t even bring a dress,” I said with a laugh, “we can’t go to Edvard’s.”

  “I’m not eating at that cafe again,” Cormac said, “I’m sure you can figure it out. Go borrow something from Caroline if you have to…”

  At first, the idea was ridiculous to me, even offensive, then it became strangely appealing. I knew her clothes probably wouldn’t fit, were probably moth eaten and ruined by time, but I slipped over to the East Wing anyway, to her chamber, to see what I could find.

  When I opened her wardrobe for the second time and really looked, I realized that her clothes were in excellent condition, almost perfectly preserved. They’d been kept in cedar chests and wardrobes covered in canvas, so it shouldn’t have been a shock. She had lemon-yellow, cotton day dresses with billowing sleeves, slinky beaded evening gowns with a mermaid fit, and seersucker rompers to wear down to the beach.

  When I laid my hands on a silk cocktail dress, slim fitting and knee length with a wide, open neckline and a black, glass beaded trim, I knew I’d found my dress. It was simple, elegant, even contemporary. Like all great fashion, it would look classic and current in any era, anywhere.

  Of course, it was tissue-thin silk.

  I would need lingerie.

  I found panties and bras still in their boxes, never worn. I found a set that would look beautiful, discreet under the dress. It was black as well, crafted by artisans in Paris, hand sewn silk as thin and delicate as a spiderweb. I slipped out of my jeans, my hoodie and t-shirt, my wet socks, and into the bra that made my tits look perky and alluring, heaving as I breathed.

  I slipped on the panties, black but almost transparent they were so tissue-thin, so that as I stood in front of the mirror I could see my little patch of pubic hair showing through.

  Finally, I pulled on a long, slippery pair of black silk stockings and a garter belt, feeling the cool silk slide against my skin. I pulled the dress on over my head, and then slipped on the ruby necklace I’d carried down in my pocket before sliding on two diamond cocktail rings, one on each hand, and spritzing on a little bit of perfume from an amber bottle.

  I’d brought what little makeup I usually wear over to the East Wing with me, and applied eyeliner, mascara, a dab of dark lipstick, and then brushed out my hair, almost always in a ponytail, into a dark cascade over my shoulders.

  Looking in the mirror, I had that same strange, exhilarating feeling creep over me, that I was a different person and the same person. I smiled, lowering my eyes and spinning slowly in front of the mirror.

  “This will work perfectly,” I purred in a voice I hardly recognized.

  All of the anger from earlier had dissolved. I’d figure it out somehow, I knew. Cormac would not take the castle from me.

  I met Cormac out in the front courtyard. I guess he’d spent part of the day working on the Aston Martin, and he pulled up to the huge door where I stood waiting for him with a quiet, steady rumble of the car’s powerful engine.

  “You have a new toy,” I said, as he jumped out to open the door for me.

  He was wearing a suit like the one he’d wore when we met, sharp, closely fitting, elegant.

  “Astrid, you look…” he said almost nervously, “you look phenomenal, really…”

  “Thanks, Cormac,” I said, smiling smugly as I sat down, “you look great too…”

  My usual humility, embarrassment over getting attention for my looks, was gone. I felt confident and in control.

  I knew I looked incredible.

  We drove into town with the sports car’s engine roaring. There was something strangely thrilling about riding in that car, about our clothes, about everything. I felt like we’d gone back in time, we were real socialites and not just the forgotten scions of failed empires and bitter businessmen.

  When we arrived at Edvards, there were a few other expensive sports cars parked in the street out front, but none as flashy and stylish as ours. When we pulled up to the valet, a group of well-heeled, silver-haired people turned to stare at the car, and then at us as I let Cormac take my hand and lead me out. They looked at us like they were trying to figure out who we were, like we had to be somebody.

  We were sat immediately at an intimate table underneath a painting of Griffenberg, and right away Cormac ordered a bottle of fine champagne.

  “What are we celebrating,” the server asked.

  “Our three year anniversary,” he said with a sly smile.

  I smiled back and, after the crisply dressed waiter poured a glass for each of us, we made a cheers.

  “To a hundred more, my darling,” he said.

  I giggled girlishly, something I never do, and closed my eyes.

  Why did he have to be so charming?

  Cormac told me more about his surfing trips, I told him about my work, the backpacking trips I’d taken across Europe doing research as an undergraduate (for which I was still in debt…). We were both pretty well-traveled, but in such wildly different ways. While he was sunning on remote beaches in Bali, I was shivering in Scottish castles taking notes on illuminated manuscripts.

  Our meals came, veal and a roasted duck, two decadent, old-world dishes that smelled like heaven on a plate.

  We ate, we drank, we talked about travel. Finally, the subject turned back to our parents, two people we’d hardly known in some ways, who had died together.

  “I don’t hate my dad,” Cormac said, “he was very… traditional, he was older, I was never close to him, and I could resent him for plenty of things, but at least he taught me to be my own man…”

  “Yeah, I guess I learned the same lesson,” I said, feeling heady and drinking my champagne, “if you can’t count on the person you’re supposed to be able to count on the most, you become pretty independent no matter if you want to or not.”

  “I know it couldn’t have been easy, but it seems like it worked out well for you, Astrid, you’re fearless…”

  “I’m also broke…”

  “Well, you’ll figure that out.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I groaned.

  Cormac laughed.

  “You give me such a hard time, but I’ve worked for every penny I have…”

  “Says the guy who rose through the ranks in his father’s business…”

  “First, it was my mother’s business, my dad just took it over and acted like he’d worked his way to the top, and second, like I’ve told you, nobody knew who I was and I’m very aware of how privileged I am. Honestly, I think of the two of us, you’re the one who takes things for granted.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m still fighting for what should belong to me…”

  “I am too,” Cormac said, “do you think my mother intended to keep my family’s wealth away from me? That was her family’s fortune… I could be fired as CEO any day…”

  “You could just get married,” I said, “just make an arrangement…”

  The thought of Cormac marrying someone else made me feel terrible, but of course I didn’t say anything.

  “That’s not my style,” he said, “I don’t lie… a marriage of convenience like that would make
me feel… I don’t know, gross, I guess, like I was being… dishonorable in some way.”

  “Ok, fine,” I said grumpily.

  “Anyway, back to our mystery,” Cormac said, “what do you think really happened?”

  “Honestly? I’ve studied history enough to think the usual explanation is typically the most boring. I think the baron accidentally killed Sophia, the end.”

  “What about Caroline, though?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe she’d left to visit home and didn’t ever come back… I might not, if my lover killed someone, even if it was an accident.”

  “I guess that’s all plausible…”

  “I’d say probable.”

  “But what about the missing diary pages? Why tear them out if nothing… weird happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “maybe something weird did happen, but it didn’t rise to the level of murder… maybe the police took the pages and they’re in some file somewhere as proof that the death was an accident…”

  “They wouldn’t tear out pages, they’d take the whole book…”

  “Ok, I don’t know, but I don’t think it necessarily means anything…”

  Cormac nodded, and then seemed to get lost in thought. He was, it seemed, more enthralled with the mystery than I was. I wondered why.

  Chapter 12

  We both seemed to be in a contemplative mood as we left the restaurant. I was thinking about what he’d said about my privilege and he was thinking, obviously, about the baron, Caroline, and Sophie. We slipped into the Aston Martin and he made the engine roar with the flick of his graceful wrist.

  The chemistry between us seemed to build as he drove the powerful car over the countryside back towards the castle. The only lights were the high-beams from the car, making it seem like the entire world had disappeared other than the little stretch of road that unraveled in front of us.

  “You wearing her clothes is so…”