The Blue Diamond

by Joan Smith

  “I left before he came home. He is out of the house most of the time, Auntie. I wonder what he is doing.”

  “He has certainly got a new chère amie. Rosetta von Rasbach, would it be I wonder? She is between beaux, and her mari is abed with influenza, so she is not amusing herself with him.”

  Who Kruger spent his afternoon with was not known, but he entered the Prussian party with Chabon. When he took a step towards the Countess and his daughter, Her­mione turned abruptly away and hailed up Moncrief as he passed, kindly handing Maria over to him before the other gentlemen reached her.

  Maria’s thoughts were so full of the mystery that she no longer thought of beaux, was even coming to forget Anton. When Moncrief smiled at her, she saw not a pos­sible suitor, but a potential source of information about the mystery. It was he who had first raised a question about the business of Cécile's having the ruby. Her incli­nation was to believe Mademoiselle Feydeau. To discover whether an outsider shared the girl’s poor opinion of Tal­leyrand, she decided to see what she could discover from Moncrief. But of course some courteous banalities must be exchanged first.

  “I have been meaning to call,” Moncrief said.

  “You must do that soon. You have been neglecting us lately.”

  “Has your father carved that beautiful piece of lavender jade he bought a short while ago?”

  “No, it takes ages. He was designing a subject—a bowl of some sort I believe, but it progresses slowly. He is very busy lately.”

  “The Congress makes slaves of us all. And what has Miss Kruger been filling her days with?”

  “Social frivolity. Not a good word to be said on my own behalf, Sir. We are quite spoiled with so much gaiety. But at least we have a chance to practice up our languages.”

  “Quite so. We shall be as well spoken as the French king of yore before it is over—able to speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to our horses. Oh dear—an undiplomatic remark to make to a German lady, but I lay it in France’s dish.”

  “I assure you Germany is honored, Sir. We know well enough an Englishman’s horse rates higher with him than any lady, and are privileged he reserves our language for that of which he has the highest opinion. The French king, you will notice, did not find English fit to speak to man or beast. I daresay he kept it for rebuking inanimate ob­jects, which could not object to such harsh utterances.”

  “And here you speak it to me. Very well, too, I might add.”

  “I shall be happy to switch to French if you prefer, but pray do not reply in Italian. It is one tongue that is quite unknown to me, yet I like the sound of it better than any of the other languages we hear. So mellifluous it is.” Eager to get on with her real interest, she soon was using Tal­leyrand’s presence as an excuse to ask Moncrief, “Do you suppose he is half as sly a rogue as everyone says?”

  “The slyest man at the Congress, if you want my secret opinion, definitely not to be repeated, especially within Castlereagh’s hearing. He would like to believe himself the slyest of the pack, you know, but he don’t hold a candle to Talleyrand. He makes monkeys of them all. Not that they need a deal of help.”

  “You are hard on them. About Talleyrand, he has a poor reputation then, amongst the delegates?”

  “Oh no, I did not say that, or mean to imply it. Not at all.”

  “But his checkered career—belonging to every party for a day—you cannot think him a man of high principles? He always looks out for himself. Self-interest is what motivates him, don’t you think?”

  “Not in the least. What motivates him at this time is a desire for peace, with of course France being returned to all her former glory. His theory of legitimacy is a sound one. We cannot hope to maintain peace with such artificial boundaries as are discussed. Rivers, mountains, the lan­guage spoken, religion and history must be taken into account. He seems more aware of that than the others. Europe is not a cake, to be cut up, and let the crumbs fall where they may.”

  “I expect it is his own reputation he looks to bedizen with this theory you speak of.”

  "It is popular to call him an opportunist; he is a good deal more than that. An outright opportunist would have taken better advantage of the many opportunities he has had. He was made a bishop, and handed the crown back to the church. He made an injudicious marriage, and at the worst possible time for himself. He always rises to the top of every system that comes along, as cream will do, but once there, he spikes his own gun in some manner, and not through carelessness, certainly not through stu­pidity. He does it on purpose, willfully. He would like to be an opportunist, I think, but his principles keep getting in the way. A thoroughly fascinating gentleman.”

  “You don’t think he would—you know—steal, or do . . ."

  A bark of laughter was the response to this disjointed speech. "Steal—Talleyrand? Good God no! Steal a crown for someone perhaps. Not money, if that is what you mean. He does not deal in such vulgar commodities.”

  “Oh,” she said, and was unaccountably dashed to hear it. Her own comprehension of politics and the great men of the day was not deep. She knew Tsar Alexander to be a rake, and was well aware of the gossip surrounding them all, but a real assessment of their characters had not pre­viously come her way. Looking at Moncrief, then across the room to where Talleyrand, kept from dancing by his being crippled, sat surrounded by sycophants, she could see no reason for an Englishman to praise a Frenchman unless he meant it. She knew Moncrief was spoken of as being a man of good judgment, so there was no reason to think him mistaken.

  “It cannot be your new friend Chabon who gives you so poor a reading of Talleyrand’s character,” he said.

  “No, Chabon speaks no ill of him, certainly. How should he, when Talleyrand is his patron?”

  “Who then? I come to fear you have fallen amongst Prussians.”

  “Or Bonapartists,” she added, smiling.

  “They are pretty scarce animals, since Boney is caged.”

  “Yes, as scarce as Bourbon supporters before he was sent into exile.”

  “Fräulein Kruger,” he said, adopting a tone of mock severity, “is this curst Congress turning you into a cynic?”

  “No, but it is opening my eyes to a few things,” she admitted wearily.

  They chatted on till the dance ended, then Maria was claimed by another partner, and Moncrief walked around to see what foolishness the Palgraves were up to. Across the room, he glanced again at Maria. She was not her usual arrogant, saucy self this evening. Something trou­bled her. There were also a great many things troubling Moncrief. Castlereagh’s wish that he seize the crown jew­els of France had proved impossible of carrying out. It was not possible to steal something you could not find, and his best efforts had not turned up the cache.

  Mademoiselle Feydeau had been followed faithfully on those few occa­sions when she had left her apartment. Her destinations had proven such innocent haunts as walks, a little shop­ping, and visits to churches. Her apartment was never left empty. She and her dragon did not go out together. Wragge had attempted to gain entry under cover of darkness one evening through a window, and made such a mess of it that this means was forgotten. Harvey called on her occasionally—not often enough to prove a lover, and not seldom enough to indicate a loss of interest in buying the diamond. It had been determined that she had some con­nections with the little band of Bonapartist supporters who were watched vigilantly, though she was by no means one of the more active members.

  As the year drew to an end, there was a spate of parties to honor the festive occasion. Moncrief observed the in­creasing intimacy between Chabon and Kruger, and won­dered that an impecunious Frenchman was being encour­aged to dangle after Kruger’s daughter. He knew, of course, of Eynard’s death, and he had heard a few discreet rumors of Maria’s involvement with the Countess Poron­ovitch’s diamonds. The time seemed judicious to rekindle the friendship with the Krugers, but politics were heating up at this time, and he was much involve
d with the details of the new treaty being constructed between England, Austria and France, who were becoming nervous at the aggressive stance of Prussia.

  The last day of 1814 saw a minor tragedy: Count Razumowsky’s palace, one of the most opulent in the city, burned to the ground. It was not long mourned at Minoritenplatz. On January 1, 1815, word was received that the war with America was ended, giving England greater latitude. Throughout January there were many meetings to consider England’s changed position. The affair of the blue diamond faded into the background, nearly forgotten.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  “The news has finally come,” Castlereagh said, waving a letter under Moncrief’s nose. His listener sat tense, wait­ing to hear whether they discussed war, a settlement of the boundaries, the escape of Napoleon or some less im­portant matter.

  “I am to return to England. Wellington is on his way here to replace me. I shan’t be sorry to get home, I can tell you. I have had enough of this business—more than enough—to satisfy me; You will report directly to the Duke. I shall brief him before I leave, of course, but I want you to give him all the help possible. You will let him know from day to day who is not speaking to whom, and so on. He comes at a poor time.”

  “How is that?” Moncrief said.

  “Why, with Lent about to begin, the Waltzing Duke will not be so lavishly entertained as we are accustomed to. But then he does not come to dance, but to work.”

  “The parties are getting out of hand—it’s time to let up on them. Metternich’s sleighing party was a joke in poor taste. Velvet upholstery and gold fringes and gold sphinxes and ostrich plumes—it was more like Astley’s Circus than anything else.”

  “We have overstayed our welcome, certainly, in the view of the common people here.”

  “Having their wages taxed to the tune of fifty percent to pay for it all was bound to have that effect. When do you leave, Sir?”

  “I’ll stick around ten days or so to break Wellington in. I mentioned that blue diamond to him in my last dispatch, and he is concerned about it. Whatever else you do, Mon­crief, for God’s sake don’t let it be sold to foot the bill for Boney’s return. You had no luck in getting hold of it?”

  “None—I am still working on it.”

  “Good,” Castlereagh said, but Moncrief knew as surely as he sat there that his new boss would not be so easily put off. The Iron Duke was not one to waste time. He would expect results.

  “Oh, by the way,” Castlereagh went on, “I have got that report on Chabon. Little is known of him. He appears to have popped up from nowhere to ac­company Talleyrand to the Congress. They say he was included because he speaks half a dozen languages, and had an aunt who knew a prince, and so on."

  “No family history of dealing in gems?”

  “No family history at all so far as Hager could discover. A bit of a playboy, companion to actresses, sometime gig­olo. That sort of thing.”

  “Pretty high company he is keeping—the Krugers. I wonder the old boy tolerates his dangling after his daugh­ter.”

  “Oh as to Kruger, he hasn’t two pence to rub together either. Von Rossner has no use for Chabon. It would not surprise me much if Kruger were running some rig in tandem with Chabon. It was before your time, Moncrief, but I was discussing Kruger with Clancarty the other evening, and he mentioned an affair that had quite slipped my mind. Some years back, Kruger palmed a forged paint­ing off on Lord North. Called it a Rembrandt. It was dis­covered, and he made up some plausible story to account for it, but that sort of thing, you know . . ."

  “Yes, I have heard the story.”

  “There must be some reason why Rechberg dropped the girl like a hot potato, too, don’t you think?”

  “It is no secret Rechberg is flat busted. If Kruger can’t pay the piper till he comes into his estate, then that would explain it.”

  “In any case, don’t let that cousin of yours cause us any trouble with regard to the diamond.”

  “Right.”

  It was not long after this meeting that Moncrief went around to Palgrave’s mansion to see what he could ferret out. He was met at the door by a butler and a monkey, both wearing the blue livery of the Palgrave family. It was the monkey who reached up for his hand, to draw him into the saloon, carefully picking his way around the var­ious impediments scattered in their path: a pair of Harvey’s boots, a book, and a well-chewed bone left behind by one of their dogs. Harvey was not at home, but the Divine One was there, entertaining a gentleman caller, whose identity was not immediately determined, due to his face being buried in his hostess’s bosom.

  “Good morning, Lady Palgrave,” Moncrief said. Then as the man’s head jerked up, he added, “Monsieur Chabon. Nice to see you again.” Moncrief walked to the window to chat on blandly till the lady had got her gown reassembled, and Chabon could tidy his hair. “Turning quite cool, is it not? Still, they tell me this is the warmest winter they have had here in several years. Warmer than home, I think.”

  “To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Googie asked, in a tone of heavy irony.

  With a wintry smile in Chabon’s direction, he replied, “Sorry if my timing was inconvenient.”

  “Not at all!” Chabon said.

  “Odd. I had the distinct impression, when first I en­tered, that I was heartily wished at Jericho.”

  “You need not bother being satirical, Tatt. Monsieur Chabon is here on business. He came to see Harvey, but unfortunately he is out.”

  This had the earmarks of an excuse for the lover’s pres­ence. One would assume a Frenchman would have the savoir faire to accept it in silence. Chabon’s stuttered objection gave rise to a suspicion. He doesn’t want me to know he has any reason to see Harvey, Moncrief thought.

  Harvey was perfectly innocent of politics. A gentleman come to see him on business had some other business in mind. In fact, Harvey’s real employment was spending money. He was not spending so much as usual, but even his modified expenditures had earned him the sobriquet Der Verschwender—the Spendthrift, after the farce by Raimund. After Castlereagh’s comments less than an hour before, the natural question was whether it was the blue diamond Chabon wanted to talk to Harvey about.

  “Actually it is your husband I have come to see as well. Any idea where I might find him, Lady Palgrave?”

  “I was just telling Monsieur Chabon that he will be home shortly. That is why he stayed,” she explained.

  “I’m afraid he is taking longer than I can spare. I shall return another time,” Chabon said, arising to take his leave.

  “Going so soon?” Moncrief asked. “I was about to ask a favor of you, Monsieur."

  “Very happy to oblige you if I can.”

  “I’m sure you can. I have my eye on a pear-shaped diamond old Binder is trying to sell me. Since Eynard’s death, I am at a loss where to get a good second opinion on it. My own feeling is that it is overpriced. Will you come along with me and have a look, at it?”

  “At the moment it is impossible. Already I am late at a meeting. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

  “Excellent. Shall we meet at Binder’s place at, say, ten?”

  “I shall be there. Bonjour, Lady Palgrave, milord.” With a flourish, he was off.

  “Sorry to have disturbed your tête-à-tête,” he said to Googie, when they were alone.

  “Don’t be horrid! He is not my lover. In fact, he is very cold for a Frenchie. I have met much more interesting men at dear Countess Zichy’s dinner parties. Everyone goes. Schlegel, Gentz, the Secretary to the Congress you know—what an old flirt he is! You’ll never guess who was there last night, Tatt! Zacharias Werner—the horrid old poet or priest or whatever he is. The one who gave the sermon about ‘that tiny piece of flesh’ that causes all our sins. The congregation sat enthralled when he threatened to expose it, right in the church where he was preaching. A famous lecher before he turned holy man, of course. I was there with Flora Wrbna. We were so shocked, we nearly died laughing. I had
to share her vinaigrette, and was still sure I would swoon. But then he only stuck out his tongue. That was the sinful piece of flesh. What a take-­in! He is monstrously amusing. I adore him.”

  “Is Harvey seeing much of Chabon?”

  “More of Mademoiselle Feydeau, if you want the truth,” she said, with a touch of asperity.

  “That too is business, I presume?”

  “No such a thing. He first went to try to get my blue diamond from her, but she has seduced him.” She raised her white hands to flutter, indicating a change of thought, with the detail of her husband’s defection already forgot­ten. “We had dinner at the French palais with Talleyrand, Tatt. Did anyone tell you? I am determined to get Carême from him before we leave. I never tasted such divine food. Twenty-three entrees, imagine! La matelote au yin de Bor­deaux! Epatante! Harvey has ordered a couple of hogsheads of the wine at a great bargain. And les poulardes à la Perigueux—wunderbar! Words fail me.”

  “Try some English ones,” he suggested.

  “Harvey has offered him five hundred a year. Carême, I mean, and he laughed in his face, but Harvey thinks perhaps the fellow don’t understand English.”

  “The word around town is that Prinney is negotiating for Carême’s services, which is bound to push up the price a couple of hundred.”

  “We’ll offer a thousand,” she said at once, not to be outbid by a mere reigning monarch.

  It was impossible to hold her to the chosen topic. He had to hear of her latest discovery, a Polish modiste who could cut a gown lower and more revealingly than any Frenchie. Servants ran in and out of the room, being ordered to dust and bring cocoa and to see if her ladyship’s riding habit was pressed. Before many such interruptions, Moncrief arose and took his leave.

  “See you at Bagration’s masquerade, shall we?” she called after him.

  “I trust so.”

  “Save me a waltz. I am as bad as the Tsar. I too have the danseomanie, but at least I don’t make an indecent suggestion to everyone who stands up with me, like he does.”