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

  It is still my most heartfelt wish that the rush toward war be slowed, if not halted, so that men of good will and governments with integrity will be able to reason with one another to the mutual benefit of all. You may say as much to my Cousin Wilhelm, and remind him that I am no longer a naive young man on a yacht. His notion of honorable treating is not an example I seek to emulate. You may also tell him this, if it will advance your purpose there.

  I have been asked by Stolypin to extend the land reform he initiated a short while ago. I will give him no answer, not yet, preferring to see how much you can achieve, for if the threat of war is not as pressing as it has been, it is my hope that he will not demand such drastic reforms in so littletime. Of course it is important to return land to the peasants who work it, but not in this abrupt way. There are legal and traditional considerations that ought to be considered, so that in giving the land to

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  its people, we do not create greater inequities than they have suffered in the past. I have said something of this to Stolypin, and he pretends to agree, but I can tell he is not inclined to accept any delay in these measures, for he is afraid there may still be another outbreak of violence by the people. There are so many firebrands about, stirring up the people with their rhetoric, and this troubles the Duma and Stolypin as well. My suggestions for gradual changes go largely unheeded.

  You remarked to me once, some years ago, that the French Revolution failed to achieve its reforms because it fell into the hands of the most extreme radicals, men who were unwilling to endorse any power but their own. Such is the clarity of hindsight. Unfortunately I can see a similar disaster overtaking Russia if we do not now prevail in the cause of sense. Peace is a pragmatic good for all of us. Why is it so difficult for the world to grasp this simple truth? We have just begun to taste the fruits of progress: if war comes it will all be sacrificed to the generals. I have sought to do those things that will make peace not only achievable but desirable, and it seems that my intentions are everywhere misunderstood, not only in my homeland, but among the members of my family. I would not like to discover at this juncture that you are as cynical as the rest and have abandoned any hope for peace.

  1 look forward to the news you have from Berlin. Once Edward is in better health, he will most certainly be willing to let you speak to him again on my behalf. For the time being, I urge you to continue on your course with Wilhelm. If only I were in a position to enlist Franz Josef in our cause as well, we might hope for a just and lasting peace by 1915. As it is, I am determined to see this task accomplished by no later than 1920. With your genuine efforts, this should be within our grasps.

  Most sincerely, Nikolai Alexandreivich Romanov Czar of All the Russias of that name the second

  8

  As Geoffrey Pearce-Manning rose to welcome his visitor, he said, “What a fine surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until Friday evening.”

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  Rupert Bowen took the hand extended to him and shook it forthrightly. “I hope I am not intruding,” he said diffidently, accepting the offer of a chair in front of the library hearth, where the beauty of the park beyond could be glimpsed through the four tall windows which had been one of the many changes wrought at Longacres with Saxon millions. “I wanted to speak to you before Rowena arrives, and I understand she’s expected later this afternoon.”

  At the mention of his oldest daughter, Geoffrey frowned. “Yes. She’s driving herself down from London.” This rankled with him, and he allowed himself to complain of her, aware that Rupert Bowen knew the worst. “It’s her grand-father’s fault, of course, letting her have all that money. Well, you know what she is. Ever since she bought that Daimler, she has been racketing about the country in a most...” He let the criticism trail off. “Yes, she is expected before six.”

  It took Rupert a long moment to realize he was expected to speak. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair; had he been standing he would have shuffled. “This is rather a delicate matter, in regard to Rowena. Pray do not hold it against me if I cannot summon the eloquence I need.”

  “What eloquence is that?” Geoffrey asked, although he had already grasped the drift of Rupert’s intent.

  “I . . . this is very difficult for me . . . You see, I ... I want to obtain your permission to ask her to marry me.” Now that he was over the first hurdle, he went on with what he had rehearsed. “I am sincerely attached to your daughter, and have been for well over a year, which I suppose has not escaped your attention, sir.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” said Geoffrey Pearce-Manning.

  Rupert swallowed hard and plunged on. “You know my family, of course, and you must be aware that although I am not yet established, I have excellent prospects, besides what I will inherit from my grandfather—not that I live on expectations—which is more than a competency, though nothing like the fortune I understand Rowena and her brothers and sister will inherit.” He stared down at the toes of his shoes. “Not that I am doing what they used to call ‘hanging out for a rich wife.’ That would be unacceptably crass, and I hardly need to do that.” His chuckle was a little too high and rushed to be as convincing as he wanted it to be.

  Geoffrey Pearce-Manning gave Rupert a nod of encouragement. “I am a younger son; I know how such things stand.” He made a quick gesture. “Not that I am not fond of my wife. Clarice is a wonderful woman, and, frankly, I would have been in the soup without her father’s

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  generosity; I am thankful that we were able to make the arrangements we did.” He coughed once, and directed his stare at the glossy paneling between the tall, glass-fronted bookcases. “I would not fault you if you had Rowena’s fortune in mind, providing you did not intend to treat her shabbily.”

  “Oh, no; never that; I would not think of it, I assure you,” said Rupert, his fair skin flushing so that his neat moustache seemed suddenly out of place on such a youthful visage. “She is a most wonderful girl.” “And she is something of a handful,” said her father, as if admitting to poor conformation in one of his hunters.

  Now Rupert’s laughter was more confident. “As to that, I am sure it is only the want of an establishment of her own, and her own family, that gives her such starts.” He cocked his head. “She may want to continue with painting for a time, and I have nothing against that.” “You’re a generous fellow, Rupert Bowen. Not many men would be willing to marry a ... girl who has shown herself to be so ... headstrong as Rowena has.” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning sighed. “It’s her grandfather’s influence, I’ve no doubt.”

  “That’s as may be,” Rupert allowed, “but once she is married and has her own hopeful children, she will think her grand-father less romantic than she does now. Not that I intend to cast aspersions on him, for then she would be duty-bound to defend him, and I do not want such a rift in the family.” He gazed into the fire, his green-hazel eyes seeing the domestic success he anticipated.

  “She will still have that trust from Horace Saxon, no matter what husband she chooses,” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning warned Rupert; seeing the slight surprise in the other man’s face, he explained, “Old Horace set it up so that her control over the money will remain in place no matter what her married state might be. He said he does not want any of his grand-children dependent on anyone for their support. The Married Women’s Property Act will uphold the terms of the trust.” He made a gesture of annoyed resignation. “I would like to think that you will not try to break the terms of the trust, for then there might be difficulties in the property settlements.”

  Troubling though this revelation was, Rupert felt his hopes raise. “Then you will not object to my proposal?”

  “My dear young friend, if I objected we would not be having this conversation.” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning smiled faintly. “Of course, you will have to persuade Rowena, for neither her mother nor I have the means to compel her to marry you or anyone. Mores the pity.” He rose, holdin
g out his hand, “I wish you every success in doing so, Rupert. I

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  think you are just the man to exercise a steadying influence on my daughter. With the wisdom you can bring to her, and the guidance, she will certainly come to a more realistic ... It would be a privilege to welcome you to the family.”

  Rupert scrambled to his feet, wringing Geoffrey Pearce-Mannings hand gratefully. He struggled to find the words to express his gratitude and satisfaction. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I say, this is most encouraging. I can’t say how awfully happy this makes me.” Selfconsciously he released Geoffrey Pearce-Mannings hand. “It means a great deal to me, your approval.”

  “As to that,” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning said as he went to the small bar set in the middle of a case of leather-bound travel books, “I am most relieved that you did not think the lot of us as harum-scarum as Rowena can be.”

  “Her spirits are what drew me to her in the first place. There is so much vitality in her, so much . . . verve. And she is a true beauty, beyond pretty, and with more countenance than some women twice her age. She’s not one of those pale, eager young things one sees everywhere, only on the lookout for a husband and a name, ready to endorse anything if it will serve the purpose of acquiring a suitable alliance.” He blushed again, this time less like a schoolboy and more like a man with a nasty secret. “Rowena would never stoop to such banality. And yet she isn’t one of those suffragettes. She confines her activities to painting.”

  Geoffrey Pearce-Manning had finished pouring two brandies and held one out to Rupert. “Here. Shall we drink to your acceptance?” he suggested as Rupert took the snifter.

  “I should think!” Rupert exclaimed, lifting the snifter before carrying it to his lips. “First rate.”

  “Another benefit of Horace Saxon’s influence,” said Geoffrey Pearce-Manning, an edge in his pleasant voice. “The cellar is the envy of half the neighbors.” He took a long sip of the brandy. “If Horace offers to pay for the wedding—and he will: Rowena’s his favorite—let him.”

  “I don’t know... It may be premature to consider...” Rupert sputtered over the rim of his snifter. “It would have to be ... ”

  “I will deal with the particulars, if you prefer,” said Geoffrey Pearce-Manning. “For the time being, you convince Rowena to marry you. Once that’s done, then we will see about enlisting her grand-father’s help. The old man is richer than Croesus, and with no one to leave it to but Rowena, Augustus, and Penelope. He has all the papers completed and filed.” He set his snifter down on the mantel and directed his gaze to the fire. “Sometimes this concerns me, knowing my children

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  will have so much wealth to command. Augustus is not the sort of boy who will squander his money, but Penelope, she is . . . well, a bit reckless in that regard.”

  “When you say wealth, what do you mean?” Rupert inquired, adding quickly, “Not that this is a factor in my interest in Rowena.”

  “It should be, if you are going to marry her.” He said nothing for a short while, then told him, “Each of my children stands to inherit about twelve million dollars. Given Horace Saxons investments, it might well be more.”

  Rupert calculated swiftly. “I had no idea. That’s more than one million, seven hundred thousand pounds,” he declared, “at seven dollars the pound.”

  “Yes,” said Geoffrey Pearce-Manning numbly, “I know.” He drank the rest of his brandy in a single gulp, then stepped away from the hearth, his demeanor cordial and reserved. “You’ll have your dinner with the family, of course. And when Rowena arrives, Clarice and I will arrange for you to have some time together.”

  “That’s very good of you, sir,” said Rupert, also tossing back his brandy. He set the snifter down on the end table by his chair. “Let me assure you that my feelings for her are profound, and my nature is constant. I have never met a girl who so moves me as Rowena does.” “Yes, yes,” said her father with a touch of impatience. “I know what you want to say. I was a suitor once myself.” He was getting ready to leave the room, but stopped, looking squarely at Rupert. “Not that your situation is anything like mine. I know it is not.”

  This admission of Geoffrey Pearce-Manning’s previously straitened circumstances was more embarrassing to Rupert than anything else they had discussed. “I am sure your affections were engaged when you married Lady Pearce-Manning.”

  “Oh, yes. She was such a fetching, refreshing girl. I didn’t mind her American ways—calling us Mister and Missus instead of Lord and Lady, having the generator installed for electric lights, buying phonographs and telephones and all the rest of the American gadgets—but occasionally I find her enthusiasms a trifle hard to take. She is determined that Penelope have what she calls a real education; that’s her most recent decision. She has said that it isn’t possible for it to happen in Britain, not to her satisfaction, in any case.” He shrugged. “Penelope doesn’t want to go to America to attend university, but she is beginning to talk about being a journalist.” He made a single, grim nod. “She is young enough that this does not worry me. Two years ago, she wanted to go on the stage, but the impulse passed.”

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  “Its her youth, and her mothers indulgence,” said Rupert with all the understanding of his twenty-six years.

  “Oh, yes, and the freedom a fortune can give.” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning began his march to the door once again. “Not that I despise the money; far from it. But it can cause certain difficulties you may not suppose now could arise.”

  Rupert tagged after him. “I should think so. Having the purse strings in the wife’s hands is never easy nor is being beholden to the distaff side of the family for . . . ” He recalled he was describing Geoffrey Pearce-Manning’s situation. He broke off and resumed with more restraint, “That is why I hope to convince Rowena to put her money in trust for our children and grandchildren, following her grand-father’s excellent example. She is sensible girl. She will see the advantage in the plan.” He paused while Geoffrey Pearce-Manning pulled the draperies across the windows.

  “Perhaps. But she might not like that notion,” Geoffrey Pearce-Manning warned him. “She is certain that she can direct her fate for herself.”

  Made confident by her father’s approval and brandy, Rupert said, “I think I will be able to show her otherwise.”

  They stepped out into the corridor and made their way to the main hall, Rupert still a few steps behind his host. The shell sconces glowed with the steady brightness of electricity, and the fine carpet underfoot had been installed less than two months ago, a belated Christmas gift from Horace Saxon.

  Clarice Pearce-Manning had just changed for dinner, although the meal was more than two hours away, and the hour unfashionably early for her clothes. She was clad in a lovely damask-silken frock of a deep claret color, with a beaded, square-necked bodice, raised waist and long sleeves that flattered her figure and complexion; her hair was expertly coifed and she wore a topaz ring on her right hand. She smiled at Rupert, holding out her hand to him and regarding him expectantly. “There you are; I was told you had arrived.” She smelled of lily of the valley and roses. “It is very good to see you, Rupert.”

  Rupert bowed over her hand, prepared to flatter her if necessary. “It is always delightful to be here, Madame.”

  Clarice laughed. “Madame indeed. You are not going to take that tone with me, young man. You will call me Clarice, as you have done this last year.” She gave him an arch glance. “And I assume that I am to consider you more than a visitor tonight? Waithe told me he had put you in the Hunter Room—he has a high regard for you.”

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  “When a man is well-thought-of by the staff, he has reason to be happy,” said Rupert, falling in beside Clarice as she began to make her way to the other side of the house where sherry would be waiting for them.

  “You are seeking more than the favor
of servants, or you may call me a Dutchman,” said Clarice. “I know you and my husband have been talking.”

  Rupert found this direct speech disconcerting, but endured it with good humor. “I would not want to disagree with a lady,” he said gallantly.

  “Especially now,” she agreed, doing her best to tease him affectionately.

  This time Rupert did not know how to make a recovery. He looked to Geoffrey Pearce-Manning for guidance.

  “Don’t tweak him, my dear,” said Geoffrey Pearce-Manning in a laconic way as he ambled along behind them. “He is marshaling his courage for the contest to come.”

  “Geoffrey,” his wife chided him, “you make it sound as if he is going into battle.” She looked up at Rupert through her lashes. “Not that Rowena cannot be a challenging girl when she chooses.”

  “That she can . . . Clarice,” said Rupert, wishing that the subject would change.

  “We are expecting her within the hour,” said Clarice with ruthless good humor. “Not that she will be on time.”

  Geoffrey Pearce-Manning finally came to Ruperts rescue. He went into the salon, his manner unruffled, and reached at once for the bellpull. “Then let us discuss something else, or we will run out of conversation well before Rowena arrives.”

  “Whenever that will be,” said Clarice darkly.

  There was a sudden squeal from the door as Penelope, decked out for dinner in a frock of pale peach organdy in a style about three years too old for her, rushed into the room, going directly to Rupert; she was tall for her age and came up almost to his shoulder. “It is you! Waithe said you were here, but I didn’t believe it. Oh, how wonderful!” She nearly threw herself into his arms, but held back at the last instant in response to a loud click of her mother’s tongue. She responded at once with the assumption of proper manners. “It is good to see you, Mister Bowen.”