Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Read online

  “You knew Henry Irving?” she asked as she came back with a second sheet.

  “I met him three times, I believe.” The first time, the great actor had been a clerk in a counting house, still John Henry Brodribb, a youth longing for an opportunity to act. He had been of great help to Ragoczy then.

  “Did you ever see him perform? I wish I had,” she persisted as she lifted the tracing paper, revealing the courtyard of a medieval castle starting to fall into ruin, a shadowy figure standing in a half-open door. “I had only pictures of German castles to work from.”

  Ragoczy nodded, and moved nearer to the easel. “That part of Hungary has few castles of that period; most of what they call castles are actually fortresses,” he said. “The German model is as good as any Stoker knew.” He regarded the work carefully, then stepped back, saying, “Yes, I did see Henry Irving perform. I saw his Faust, and his Hamlet .” He had also seen him as Romeo, his first major role, but that had been many years ago. “There was a great deal of controversy about his interpretation of the Dane, as I recall. I was introduced to Mister Stoker after a performance of Hamlet. As I recall, we spoke for half an hour or so, while Sir Henry got into his street clothes.” The big, red-haired Irish Jew had impressed Ragoczy with his energy and his unstinting admiration of Henry Irving.

  “My mother thought it was shocking when Irving was knighted.” She ducked her head as if to mitigate what Clarice had said. “The idea of

  Chelsea Quinn Yarhro

  an actor being made a knight offended her. She believed it compromised all titles to give one to an actor.” Quite suddenly Rowena laughed, and finally her nervousness fled.

  Ragoczy smiled at her for encouragement. “I notice you sign your work R. Saxon. Is that because of your mother, as well?”

  “It may seem that way, but I do it as tribute to my grand-father.” She indicated the room in a sweep of her arm. “I would not be here if it weren’t for his trust fund.”

  “And,” Ragoczy went on, “I would think you do not want to trade on your family’s name. You would prefer to make your mark on merit, not connections.” He knew he was right as she held out a hand to him.

  “Yes. Count, that is precisely right.” She put her hand briefly on his. “I do not want to be beholden to anyone.” Her expression grew troubled. “I am dependent on my grand-father just at present, but as soon as I can manage on my own, I will do so.”

  “A suffragette?” Ragoczy asked quietly.

  “In principle, of course,” she said, defiance lifting her chin. Her conviction shone in her golden eyes. “But it is more than an issue of votes. It is time women had real autonomy, a chance to make their way in the world without all the impositions of society and family. That is why I am determined not to marry, although my mother is pressing me to accept Rupert Bowen, since he is willing to have me. He is the one who watches me, in order to . . . ‘protect’ me.” She went to fetch two more drawings, and continued with increasing determination, “Marriage is nothing more than bonded servitude, reducing women to brood mares and unpaid housekeepers. It is only when women can cast away all the things that bind them that any of us will be able to accomplish all that is in us to do. I will not apologize for my stance.” She swept the next drawing onto the easel and lifted the tracing paper. She paused in her actions. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It is not as if we are friends.”

  “Do you think we might be?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

  She bristled at once. “I will not place myself in an inferior position, Count.”

  “Nor should you,” said Ragoczy, recalling the many times Olivia had railed at her lost rights and legal protections. “All women function at a disadvantage; I have long been aware of it.”

  “If you have, you are one of the rare few.” She moved away from the easel.

  Ragoczy struggled not to laugh as he saw the picture—Count Drac-

  Writ in Blood

  93

  ula making his way head-first down the wall of the castle. “I’m sorry,” he said at once, continuing with a trace of chagrin. “It is not your work, which captures the moment very well; I had the same response to the novel. You see, I have some difficulty in believing any creature, including a vampire, would be able to do that, or would want to.”

  “You mean climb down the wall of a castle like that?” she asked, becoming more intrigued.

  “Yes.” He felt more than saw her excitement kindle.

  “Why do you say that?” Rowena asked him, her curiosity greater than her affontery.

  “It is a conspicuously unnatural thing to do, and unnecessary in the context.” He knew she did not grasp his meaning; he went on, “Any vampire indulging in such behavior—if it were possible—would draw attention to his nature, and he would become more of an object of horror than is already the case.”

  “Where is the trouble in that?” Rowena cocked her head, trying to look at Ragoczy and her illustration at the same time.

  He stared directly at her as he answered. “It would set the vampire apart, more than vampiric nature demands. It makes the vampire more . . . unhuman, and therefore more alien, more monstrous.” His voice had dropped and he was now speaking as much to himself as to her.

  “But don’t you think vampires are monstrous?” she inquired, engrossed in what he was saying.

  “Do you?” he countered, his dark eyes meeting her golden ones.

  She gave her answer serious consideration. “I think they could be. Count Dracula is monstrous some of the time.”

  “And the rest of the time?” Ragoczy prompted, waiting for her answer.

  “The rest of the time he is ... is fascinating,” she admitted, gazing into Ragoczy s face. “It is the other side of being monstrous, don’t you think? I imagine vampires would have to be fascinating, if,” she went on, breaking away from the hold of his eyes, “they were real.”

  “Of course,” he responded at once. “If they are real.”

  Text of a letter from Sidney Reilly to “C”, sent in code using Key IT, from Saint Petersburg to London, delivered by courier 4 March 1910.

  My contact among the Czars staff has informed me that Ragoczys departure for Berlin was ordered by Nicholas, for a private telegram was sent by him to London last week, and not to Edward. It has been confirmed for me, quite inadvertently, by Ragoczys business agent here

  Chelsea Quinn Yarhro

  in Saint Petersburg. I assume this is another part of the Czars commission to Ragoczy, and represents the next stage in the process, whatever that may be: I have made a serious effort to determine it, but without conclusive success. No one on the staff seems to know for certain what the task is assigned to Ragoczy, although speculation is, as the saying has it, rife. In general it is assumed that the task given to Ragoczy is in some way related to the cooperation of the Royal Uncle and Cousins in some endeavor of which the Czars ministers, and possibly the Duma as well, would not approve. I cannot venture an informed opinion about what this may be, but I assume that co-operation is at the center of it.

  At the moment it is not convenient for me to leave Saint Petersburg, but if you are determined to send me there, I will find some cogent reason to go. Fortunately I have taken the trouble to establish the understanding that I have commercial dealings in Germany and France as well as Russia, not that any of them have become lucrative. If we must continue this farce of my retirement, I will have to be provided the necessary funds through one of the commercial enterprises I have embarked upon. It would not do to have too many questions asked about my activities that cannot be explained in terms of trade. Russians, as you are aware, are suspicious people, doubly so where foreigners are concerned. Any inquiry into my private affairs must be able to sustain scrutiny, or I may well find myself persona non grata without the protection of a diplomatic passport. I should think a thousand pounds would do for a start, as well as supporting invoices to account for the money.

  I will be able to leave for Berlin th
ree days after the funds are in place. I will endeavor to watch Ragoczy without revealing myself to him. I have some contacts in Berlin which might prove useful in this capacity as well, and at my first opportunity, I will do what I can to put their talents to work for me. My task will be much less obvious if I do not have to do all of it myself, which could result in unwanted attention. I have learned that Ragoczy keeps a house in Glanzend Strasse, off Knobels-dorffstrasse; I will begin by acquainting myself with his staff. In time I will be able to monitor Ragoczys actions without the cumbersome necessity of keeping him under constant surveillance, which a man of Ragoczys experience might well discern and thus avoid. As soon as I know what he intends to do in Berlin, I will inform you of it. In the meantime, I will prepare to depart while I await the arrival of the necessary thousand pounds.

  Sidney Reilly (Capt.)

  Nadezna swung around, away from the pair of dancers rehearsing on the small stage; the light-spill into the dark theatre made harsh planes of her face. She glared at von Wolgast as she struggled to contain her anger. “And you agreed to this without consulting me?”

  Von Wolgast was used to these outbursts from Nadezna, and so he pursed his lips and waited for her to finish. When she remained silent, waiting for his response, he cleared his throat, and said, “Well, are you adverse to the money? He is offering a great deal of money for the privilege of spending the night with you. His position in the world of business is very good. He has much to offer. And if you should learn anything of interest during your time with him, I will reward you for it, as well. You have said yourself that you do not wish to die a beggar.” He smiled at her. “It is only one night. You will earn as much as you did in a month at the height of your career. By tomorrow it will be over, and you will not have to think of him again.”

  She said nothing for a moment, calculating all von Wolgast had said, then asked, “And he would pay how?”

  “In diamonds, actually. He has eleven of them, with a certification from a Dutch firm of jewelers. They are yours upon his departure.” He had not actually seen this document but had been assured it existed; he leaned toward her, running the tips of his fingers along her shoulder. “I will have them checked here as well, if you would like. But it will insult Sisak.”

  “Yes,” she said, her temper under control once again. She turned back to the stage. “Axel, you handle her as if she were a sack of turnips. You are dancing to Chopin. You should have passion in what you do.” She put her hands on her hips. “Pretend she is one of your cherub-faced boys if you must, but make this convincing.”

  Axel snorted, but did his best to comply.

  “That is better,” Nadezna said a little later as the Etude finished. “Now do it again, and remember what I told you. You don’t want to disappoint the patron of this school, do you? He will arrive shortly, and he will judge you, and me as well. If he is not pleased, you may have to leave the school. You haven’t enough experience to find good employ-

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  ment yet.” This last reminder was for the benefit not only of Axel but the other dance students who waited to rehearse.

  She was about to start toward the stage when von Wolgast laid his big hand on her shoulder, and making his voice low, he said, “What you tell them is true for you as well: it would be wise to keep that in mind. You are still at the mercy of those who have paid for your . . . talent. Remember: you will need all you can earn if your patron ceases to fund your school.”

  “And you are not willing to become my patron yourself, of course, if Ragoczy should decide to withdraw his patronage,” was her rejoinder as she continued to watch the stage, doing her best to ignore the weight of his hand on her.

  “Consider our positions. If I were to undertake to sponsor your school, it would lead to questions neither of us want,” he said, but did not indicate what those questions might be.

  “Lilli, extend more. Stretch. You are filled with abandon.” She recited this as if reading from an unfamiliar page. “I want all the world to be thrilled when you reach the top of that lift. It is also easier for Axel to hold you if you do.”

  “But, Madame, how can I when he digs his fingers in so?” Lilli complained as she was lowered to the floor.

  “Axel,” Nadezna said as if to an ill-behaved five-year-old, “we have discussed this before. You are not to clutch at them, but hold them firmly. You are not a cat playing with a mouse.” She shrugged von Wolgast s hand off her shoulder and walked toward the stage, her full attention on the dancers, shutting out everything von Wolgast had said to her. “You are not in a contest but a partnership. Both of you will show to advantage if you assist your partner in doing well. If you attempt to make your partner appear awkward, it will redound to you.”

  “But she is a cow,” protested Axel. “Heavy and plodding. All elbows and knees.”

  “And he is spiteful! Make him stop,” Lilli cried, her hands on her hips. She stood in fourth position as if preparing for a place-turn. The lilting melody continued as counterpoint to their carping.

  The accompanist fell silent as Nadezna came up the steps onto the stage. “Neither of you is good enough yet to take on such airs. I am losing patience with your behavior. Watch carefully and learn.” She nodded to Hannes, saying, “Start again, please. Adagio.”

  Lilli and Axel moved aside to give Nadezna room to move, exchanging frosty glances as they did.

  Writ in Blood

  97

  “Now pay attention,” said Nadezna as the music began. With her arms in third position, she extended her leg in an attitude, turning slowly "as if drifting on the wind. She was not as effortless as she had been ten, or even five, years ago but she still managed to do it more wonderfully than anything her students had achieved. As she lowered her leg she began a series of buses, followed by a capriole to the rear, and then bourred to the rear, coming forward with a tourjete, turning forward with a sisson to each side ,jete, tourjete, completing the combinations with a pas du chat. As vigorous as the steps were, Nadezna gave no impression of being hurried, or of forcing herself in any way.

  Watching her, von Wolgast was, as always, transfixed by her extraordinary grace and air of excitement she generated when she moved, the fascination she exercised on anyone seeing her. No wonder, he thought, she had dominated the ballet stage for as long as she had. He licked his lips without realizing it; beyond all doubt, she was an amazing woman.

  “There. You see?” Nadezna demanded of Lilli. “You do not plod through it, or march. You are made of thistledown, young woman, light enough to float. You let the music carry you.” With that she walked to the front of the stage. “Begin. And Axel, enter on the beat this time.” Hannes began to play again, and Lilli did her best to live up to the splendid display Nadezna had just given. Unlike her teacher, she looked rushed and bothered by the steps of the dance. From time to time she counted audibly.

  Nadezna clapped her hands sharply to recall Lilli to her senses. “You must break that habit, child. Count in your head if you must, but do it silently, or you will be doing it during a performance, which is not acceptable.” As Lilli faltered, Nadezna ordered her to continue. “You must not let things distract you. Concentrate on what you are doing. Audiences are noisy. There are coughing and whispering and shuffling feet almost constantly. None of that should matter to you. You are here to dance, not to listen to them. If you cannot shut it out, you will never be a real dancer.” She pointed at Axel. “Now. Be ready.”

  Axel did his best to behave as if this were not a reprimand. He launched himself into a spectacular leap, landed a little too close to Lilli and almost bumped into her. Chagrined, he tried to recover his composure as he moved to support her tour attitude.

  “Sloppy,” Nadezna remarked, but did not interrupt the music. Only when the dance was through did she begin to itemize the various improvements she expected from her students. “You are not a credit to my reputation as you presently dance. I rely upon you to improve. You

  Chels
ea Quinn Yarbro

  have a week to reach a level of accomplishment that will not embarrass me.” She swung around to face the theatre, shading her eyes as she peered into the gloom. “Baron. Are you still here?”

  “Yes, cherished one. I am.” He stepped forward. “You can leave your assistant in charge for the time being, can’t you? We have an engagement, as you recall. I have a private dining room reserved for us.” It was assumed by everyone that von Wolgast was keeping Nadezna as his mistress, an assumption he was careful to maintain. He did not add there would be another member of their party joining them.

  All von Wolgast had said to her came back in a rush; her posture changed subtly, as if she had lost the lightness within her. Shaking off this despondency, she drew herself up straight and stared into the distance. “Very well. You”—she summoned her assistant, a tall Danish woman of about thirty-five, to her side—“will finish the rehearsal. Mind they practice no less than an hour.” She looked around. “Aasa is in charge while I am gone.”

  Von Wolgast was holding her cape for her as she came down from the stage. “You will want to change, of course,” he said, indicating the dancing costume she wore. “I know Sisak would be delighted to see you this way, but the Kreuzfahrer Hof staff would be shocked.”

  “The Kreuzfahrer Hof?” she repeated as she made her way up the aisle toward the rear doors. “Isn’t that a little out of the way? We will not get there quickly.” The hotel was luxurious, but it was also more than an hour outside the city, catering to the wealthy and important in search of privacy and discretion, as well as illusion.

  “It was Sisak’s request. And as he is paying for it, I saw no reason to refuse him. Besides, it is two years since I have been there.” He held the door open for her as she stepped into the street where von Wolgast s coach was waiting, Helmut driving.

  The day was cold enough that Nadezna was shivering as she climbed into the coach. Berlin, she thought, was miserable in winter, and spring was coming very slowly this year. It would be a month at least before the days began to warm. She sat back, content to watch von Wolgast settle himself opposite her. “Is this going to be an evening or an all-night affair? You said all-night, didn’t you?” she asked as the coach started off. “And when are you going to purchase an automobile?”