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

  “When they are as reliable as my Oberlanders,” he said brusquely. His distrust of motor cars was well-known, and sprang from the conviction that if anything went wrong with an automobile there was nothing one could do but wait for help, whereas with a team of horses, there were always at least two or three animals which, in an emergency, could

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  be ridden. He folded his arms, staring hard at Nadezna. “If you have objections to this arrangement, tell me now.”

  “I merely dislike being given so little notice. I have other engagements and appointments, you know,” she said petulantly; it was not entirely the truth, for what she disliked most was being treated like a prostitute, available at a mans whim. “What if I had my courses upon me—what then?”

  “But you don’t. Pflaume told me. He knows when you are not available to men, and keeps me informed.” He beamed at her startled look. “Come, come, my dear. You did not think I would be unaware of such things, did you?”

  “I. . . ” she faltered, not able to think of a sufficiently crushing reply to his temerity. “It never occurred to me that you would intrude so. It is not the sort of thing I thought you wanted to know.”

  “Why would I not?” he responded quickly. “You would like it even less if I importuned you during your courses, would you not? I am making it possible for us both to avoid that unpleasantry.”

  “How thoughtful,” she said sarcastically.

  “It is, though you may not think so now.” He reached over and laid his hand on hers. “You are a clever woman, Nadezna, and you will know how to make the most of this opportunity.”

  “You mean I will find out things you want to know and receive more than diamonds for my trouble?” She glowered at him, her rehearsal clothing suddenly seeming terribly inadequate; she wished she were fully dressed and able to show reserve convincingly. “Since it is a settled thing, I will want the diamonds as soon as we arrive. He might forget them if we wait until morning.”

  “I am not as gullible as you think, my dear.” He withdrew his hand. “I have informed him that I will want to have the diamonds and the jeweler s certificate upon our arrival at the Kreuzfahrer Hof. He agreed.” “You said that I would have them upon his departure,” she reminded him sharply.

  “And so you shall. I will hold them for you until then.” He wagged one finger at her. “You do not want them with you, surely? He might decide to take them back, and what then? No, no. It is safer if I keep them for you.”

  She again had to shake off the unpleasant sensation of being whored. Until recently, her ventures into the realms of supplying pleasure had seemed a sensible way to shore up her financial future, as well as giving those dancers who had passed the point of keeping up with the demands of the profession some way of augmenting their dwindling

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  savings—if, indeed, they had any. Now she felt she was becoming a commodity, a trophy for von Wolgast, to be exhibited and lent out as suited his purposes. Suddenly it became more important than ever that Ragoczy continue to support her school, for without his support, she would be wholly dependent on von Wolgast: it was not a prospect to reassure her. As she gazed out the window at the traffic, she a felt an intense pang of loneliness. She had come so far from Zitomir, from her youthful wonder at Kiev, and the certainty that she would never see a grander city anywhere. What age had she been then? Eight? Nine? How proud her parents had been to have a child enrolled in the dance school there: a bakers daughter, to dance in Kiev. Her father had boasted to all his friends that Nadezna Sychenko would be famous one day. “He was right,” she murmured. It had been more than twenty years since she saw him last, and then he was an old man, his fingers gnarled with age, his eyesight failing, but still rising before dawn to make the dough for morning bread.

  “Who was right?” von Wolgast said, cutting into her reverie. He waited for her answer with more attention than usual.

  “Oh, no one,” she said, making herself smile. “It was something from long ago. It came to mind, as such things occasionally do. He is probably dead by now, in any case.”

  Von Wolgast pursed his lips, his eyes crinkling. “We never do forget our first lovers, do we?”

  She turned to face him, shocked. Then she managed to restore the smile to her lips. “No, I suppose we do not.”

  At her house she ordered Pflaume to fill her bath and have Charlotte, her maid, set out the burgundy satin, with gloves and her diamond necklace with the baroque pearl drop. “And see the Baron has some of that goose-liver pate while he waits.” With that, she rushed up the stairs, trying to choose which perfume would be most seductive.

  Her bathroom was modern, white tile on walls and floor, her bathtub standing on ball-and-claw feet, the fixtures in gleaming brass. The brass hot-water heater stood beside it, the blue eye of a gas flame showing through the grille at the bottom. Steaming water was already pouring into the tub, wispy clouds of it beginning to obscure the mirror over her sink.

  Calling for Charlotte, Nadezna flung aside her cloak and began to peel off her clothes, noticing that she stank like a sweating horse. All dancers did; it was part of the work. She looked up as Charlotte came in from the bedroom. “Good. There you are.”

  “I’m setting out the burgundy satin, as you asked.” Charlotte Milch

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  was of undetermined middle age who had been Nadezna’s dresser at the ballet until age crabbed her spine. Now she tended Nadezna in her home, grateful for the work.

  “Very good,” she said without much interest. “Now tell me, jasmine and what else? Sandalwood? Roses? I can’t make up my mind.”

  “Jasmine and sandalwood are always satisfactory,” said Charlotte, her voice neutral as always. “I will make a sachet of it for you, if you like.”

  “Please; after you put the oils in the bath.” She was naked now, and she stretched as sensually as a cat, trying to work the tightness out of her body, and knowing that this time it would not be an easy thing to do. “You choose which shoes will be best. And I will want my seal coat, I think.”

  “Fve already taken it out, Madame.” She bobbed a clumsy curtsy before going to the tall, white chest beside the door, opening it and taking out two small vials. At the tub, she poured a few drops of each into the water before turning off the taps. The fragrances welled up around her; she paid no heed. “I will be waiting to help you, Madame, as soon as you have finished your bathing.”

  Nadezna gathered her hair on her head, fixing it in place with two long hairpins, then got into her bath, reveling in the hot water. She reached for her sponge with one hand, her soap with the other. When the sponge frothed with lather, she set about washing herself thoroughly. If von Wolgast was going to make a whore of her, she would do it as well as she could. She would not let him make her despise herself. As she scrubbed at her long, lean body, she wondered what else von Wolgast might demand of her. The possibilities slipped away from her like the bar of soap adrift in the tub; never quite within her reach but always present, nudging against her flank or her thigh as she washed.

  Charlotte brought her a towel and shook her head as she looked at what the steam had done to Nadezna s thick, black hair. “I will have to make a knot of it,” she declared. “If we had more time, I could make proper curls, but ...” She finished her thoughts with fussy plucks at Nadezna s hair.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Nadezna, preferring the knot in any case. “Use one of the jeweled combs, and it will more than suffice. I don’t mind.”

  “Perhaps you do not mind,” said Charlotte, preparing to guide Nadezna back into her bedroom for dressing, “but I do. You have en-trusted your appearance to me.”

  “And you maintain it admirably,” said Nadezna, going into her bedroom with Charlotte. “I regret that I must leave so soon.” She hoped

  that the full intent of her words was not apparent. “But you know what the Baron is.”

  �
��Oh, yes,” said Charlotte bleakly as she reached for the corset set out with the gown. “I know.” Without revealing her thoughts further, she added, “Fve packed you a case for morning. Pflaume will give it to the Barons coachman. You will not have to come home in an evening dress.”

  Forty minutes later Nadezna descended the stairs, a striking figure in the splendid gown of burgundy satin with short frilled sleeves, a valentine neckline, a high waist accented with a wide beaded belt, and a long, sleek trumpet skirt in three layers. Her shoes were made of black satin with spangled bows; her silk stockings had designs worked into them. Long burgundy-dyed kid gloves reached almost to her sleeves. Her diamond necklace and earrings glittered as she moved. Her face was meticulously made up, with her eyes rimmed in kohl, her mouth glistening red.

  “As always, my dear, you take my breath away,” said von Wolgast with the ease of long familiarity. “And in good time, too; I was afraid you would need much more time to get ready, and then we should be late. I know Sisak will be delighted.”

  Pflaume appeared with her seal-fur coat, holding it for her to don. She permitted him to slide it onto her shoulders, thanking him in an off-handed way. “I will be back tomorrow. Tell Aasa to begin the rehearsal without me.”

  “Yes, Madame,” said Pflaume, holding the door to permit von Wolgast to escort her out to the coach.

  Helmut gestured his relief at the sight of them. “I don’t like keeping them standing so long, not as cold as it is.” He looked at Nadezna. “I have your case, Madame.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” said von Wolgast, ignoring the last, in a tone intended to put his coachman in his place. “Kreuzfahrer Hof.”

  “I know where you are going.” Helmut was not impressed with von Wolgast’s arrogance. With a practiced snap of his whip, he set the Ober-landers moving down the alley toward the narrow street.

  They turned past the Hedwigkirche, bound for Friedrichstrasse and the bridge over the Spree. Carts, automobiles, carriages, wagons, and delivery vehicles of all sorts made their way through the streets. The clatter and rush of traffic made conversation difficult, and Nadezna was grateful that she had more time to think, to try to discover how she had allowed von Wolgast to gain such power over her that she was now permitting him to sell her body in this appalling way. To be at the beck and

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  call of von Wolgast and his associates was demeaning. Not that she had been a model of chastity in the past—for that was hardly the case— but she had chosen her lovers before now, and had made them grateful for the privilege of catering to her whims and demands. It had been that way with von Wolgast at first: he had fawned and panted like the others, presenting her with gifts, lavishing demonstrations of his devotion upon her in the forms of evenings out, bouquets of roses in winter, her portrait in oils by Gustav Klimt, hanging now in her private drawing room. She had taken it all, never realizing that this was a honied snare, that he was not her willing servant as he had claimed, and she was in no position to protest his plans for her, not if she wished to keep her house and her jewels. Galling though it was, she knew she had to comply with his wishes. She sighed in exasperation, as much with herself as with von Wolgast.

  “Something troubles you, my dear?” von Wolgast asked, leaning toward her solicitously.

  “Nothing in particular.” She knew he would not be satisfied with this, and so went on, “It is Axel. Try as I will, I cannot persuade him to . . . I despair of ever teaching him how to express an emotion he will not feel.”

  “Desire for women?” von Wolgast guessed. “You have known such men before. Your old partner, Rene Kranz, was such a man. Or so you have told me.”

  “Yes, he was,” she said, grateful to have him to speak of. “But he was able to dance as if he longed for a woman. On the stage it did not matter that he went home to Dietrich.” She drew her sealskin coat more tightly around her.

  “What did he die of, your partner?” asked von Wolgast, trying to encourage her conversation.

  “Pneumonia, as I recall. It began as a cough and he got steadily worse. Poor Dietrich was beside himself.” She shook her head once. “Dietrich moved to Paris after Rene died. I suppose he is still there.”

  “He had a show here, didn’t he? I seem to recall one,” Von Wolgast did not actually care what the answer was; he wanted only to shake Nadezna out of her pensive mood before they reached their destination.

  “Yes; five years ago. Most of it was sculpture in bronze, although there were a few works in wood, and one in stone.” Thinking back, she had to admit most of Dietrich’s work was not very good. At the time she attributed this to Rene’s death, but now she began to suspect that Diet-rich was not a very innovative sculptor.

  Chelsea Quinn Yarhro

  “How did you manage with Rene? Would it work with Axel?” von Wolgast asked, hoping her explanation would restore her good humor.

  The carriage lurched as Helmut narrowly avoided an altercation between the driver of a horse-drawn van and a man in a Benz motor car. The vehicle swayed precariously, then thunked solidly onto all four wheels again.

  Nadezna all but slid from her seat. As she recovered herself, she remarked, “I do not know what to tell you. No one had to explain to Rene. There were things he was born knowing. He understood what the dance was supposed to show, and he did it. He enjoyed it, as if his personal taste were his favorite secret.” She was more ruffled than she let von Wolgast see. “I don’t know how such things are taught.”

  “But you intend to try,” said von Wolgast. “In order to impress that patron of yours.”

  “I must,” she said simply. “If I do not, he may decide to cease his patronage.” And then she would be completely in von Wolgast s toils. Since that was intolerable to her, she felt a grim determination to convince Axel of the necessity of his achieving a semblance of passion for Lilli.

  “You expect him soon?” asked von Wolgast.

  “In five or six days,” she confirmed.

  “You will be able to do it, a woman like you.” Von Wolgast s voice was heavy with implications that made Nadezna want to scream.

  She made herself gesture dismissal of the matter. “There is nothing I can do now, in any case.”

  “Yes, my dear. I want you to put your mind on Sisak. Think of ways to indulge him. You’re good at that. I want him begging to kiss your feet, so that he will be willing to divulge anything we wish to know.” He put his big, thick hands together with a delicacy that seemed impossible. “He is venal. You may have to show some . . . how shall I describe it? imagination in what you do with him.”

  Without revealing the alarm she felt at this, she said, “What, exactly, do you mean, Baron?”

  Von Wolgast regarded her with the air of one contemplating an approaching storm. “I mean, my dear, that he will not become your lap-dog as readily as other men have. You will have to do more than tell him how to please you. This time, Nadezna, you will do the pleasing, no matter what it means to you.”

  She knew her face was darkening; she could feel the vein in her neck pulse with anger. “You are ridiculous!”

  “No, my dear, I am not. I am making the gamble of my life and I will

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  not let any scruples or vanity of yours stop me from achieving what I must have.” He took her chin in one hand, his fingers hard against her skin. “You will be compliant and gracious to this man, or you will have to deal with me, and I will not be willing to make allowances for your pride. If you fail me, I promise you, you will regret it bitterly.”

  Nadezna was not so shocked that she could not speak, but she was able to hold her tongue. She stared down at her hands, wondering if she ought to demand to be taken home; it was tempting, but she hesitated, knowing how much greater would be her despair if he should refuse. Better to wait, she decided, reminding herself she had never been to the Kreuzfahrer Hof and had long been curious to see this legendary retreat.

  Vo
n Wolgast recognized the signs of capitulation and said, relishing the moment, “You have always been a sensible woman, Nadezna, not to be swayed by the emotions that so cripple other women.”

  “You are too kind,” she rejoined icily.

  They reached the Kreuzfahrer Hof twenty minutes later, having exchanged less than a dozen words during that time. As the carriage lumbered through the massive stone archway into the wide, cobbled courtyard, von Wolgast nudged Nadezna with his arm.

  “We have arrived at our destination; this is Kreuzfahrer Hof,” he told her as Helmut drew the horses to a stop and clambered down from the box to open the door and let down the stairs for them.

  “So I see,” she responded with dignity, preparing to descend from the carriage. It was still and cold, making the vast stone building look like an image emerging from a dream of vanished knighthood: there were turrets at each comer of the octagonal courtyard, and one tall spire above the main part of the building. It was someone’s vision of the Middle Ages, rendered comfortable and clean. Incongruously bright electric lights made the windows stand out from the stones.

  “Reception is this way,” said von Wolgast, taking her by the elbow and guiding her into the cathedral-like interior. They trod up the wide, deep-red carpet to the front desk, a massive wooden structure with elaborate wood carving in medieval motifs ornamenting it. The man behind it was in a monkish robe with a large black Maltese cross square on its front, and he welcomed von Wolgast in sepulchral tones.

  “Good evening, Baron. Mister Sisak is waiting for you in the dining room. He has reserved private room number nine. Wemer will escort you,” the desk clerk said as von Wolgast signed his name, adding and guest for Nadezna, although he was fairly certain she was recognized.