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

  “This,” said von Wolgast unnecessarily, “is Nadezna.”

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  “Ah, Baron,” she exclaimed in a deep little voice, her Russian accent as carefully maintained as her body, “We have been waiting for you.” She stood on tip-toe to kiss him.

  “My gracious Nadezna, how patient you are with us,” said von Wol-gast, disengaging himself enough to bow over her hand. He stared hungrily down at her, then recalled his other purpose for coming. “May I present Herzog Vaclav Persuic, Colonel of the Ninth Hungarian Hussars.”

  “Herzog Persuic,” said Nadezna, favoring him with a short curtsy. “No whiskers. Like one of the Child Dragoons.” It was not much of a joke, but the two men dutifully laughed.

  “Enchanted, Madame,” said Persuic as he bent over her hand. “And the Child Dragoons are Austrian, as are all Dragoon regiments. Hussars are traditionally Hungarian.”

  She reclaimed her hand, slapping playfully at him as she did. “I know that. I may be Russian, but I have lived in Berlin long enough to learn a bit about the military traditions. Although I can never recall which Hussar regiment has the red braid and which the gold.” She was canny enough not to remark on his Croatian name. She took each man by the arm, and walking between them, led the way into her reception room.

  It was a grand apartment, glowing with gaslight that showed the splendid murals off to advantage. The most spectacular was a fine allegory of the seasons, with four women arrayed in garments and colors appropriate to each; all four women resembled the mistress of the house in face and bearing.

  There were nine women waiting, as if providing a court to the aging ballerina, all of them in gowns similar to Nadezna s. The two fairest women were in black, the rest in wonderfully soft, greyed hues ranging from straw to tea-rose, to celadon. One woman, with a knot of Titian hair and a Renaissance face, was in a filmy gown of apricot lace over a peach underdress, with a wide golden silk sash just under her breasts, the short bodice embroidered with gold thread. Until two years ago she had been the featured ballerina at the Oper, when her career had ended abruptly in scandal. She caught Persuics attention at once.

  “That is Pier. She is from Belluno.” Nadezna saw Persuics interest at once, and signaled to the Italian.

  “Belluno is in Friuli, isn’t it?” Persuic said as Pier approached. “We are neighbors.”

  “It is in Veneto,” Pier replied as she offered her hand.

  “Then we are rivals,” was Persuic s gallant response.

  “Or possibly allies,” said Pier archly. “Against the Austrians.”

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  “We will have to determine which,” said Persuic, his eyes moving boldly over her body, as if he could see through the fabric she wore. “There is much to discover before we have a truce.”

  “I will give no quarter,” said Pier, undaunted by his temerity. “And I will ask none.”

  Persuic moved a little nearer to Pier and slipped his hand around her waist. “I think we both know the rules of engagement.” He gave a quick glance to von Wolgast, as if to be certain his wit was being appreciated. “If you do not, I will explain them to you.”

  “You must decide how that will be done.” Pier flashed a practiced smile.

  “Herzog,” said Nadezna, enjoying his title, “if it suits you, Pier could serve as your companion tonight. Would you like that?”

  “Most certainly,” he answered with alacrity as he placed his free hand possessively over Piers. He glanced around. “We are the only guests?”

  “Yes,” said Nadezna, with an inclination of her head in von Wolgast s direction.

  “A very generous act, Baron,” said Persuic, his eyes lingering on Pier. “I will remember it in future.”

  Von Wolgast bowed slightly, ignoring the cynicism he sensed in his guest. “A good omen, then, for our future dealings.” He pointed toward the open sliding doors on the far side of the room. “Supper is laid out, and the wine decanted. No reason to keep these lovely ladies waiting for their supper, is there? Go along with them, Persuic. I will join you directly.”

  “Gladly,” said Persuic, and went off with Pier, the other women following after.

  “Now,” said von Wolgast in a low voice when he and Nadezna were alone in the room. “What was so urgent that you sent me a note about it?”

  She disengaged his hand and moved squarely in front of him. “It is Ragoczy. I have had a telegram from him.”

  At the mention of her patron, von Wolgast stiffened, his face darkening. “Is he coming here?”

  “I think he may. He tells me the Czar is sending him to England. He is planning to stop in Berlin on his return. Why would he inform me of this if he didn’t plan to visit me?” Her annoyance made her angular features craggy. “I should send a response to England. He does business with a firm in London where he can receive messages. I have the name somewhere.” She scowled. “What do I tell him?”

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  “As little as possible, until we know more of the reason for his visit. If there is to be a visit. Do you think he is telling you this so you will understand why he cannot be reached in Saint Petersburg?”

  “I don’t know,” Nadezna admitted. “And I can hardly demand an explanation of him, and I may not be able to persuade one from him. I cannot afford to lose his support, not yet.” She folded her arms and stood before him, the embodiment of petulant rebuke.

  “Did he happen to say why the Czar was sending him to England?” Von Wolgast pulled on his lower lip, his brow beetled with thought; Nadeznas display was lost on him.

  “It is a private commission; that is all he told me.” Nadezna flung out her arms to show her dissatisfaction as she had done on stage to express despair. “Why does he have to come now?”

  Von Wolgast shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “And you think I do?” she challenged. “The school is still doing well enough, but if he found out about this place, I could say farewell to his support. I fear he would not understand why I have it.” She sighed. “Where will I find another patron willing to give so much and ask so few questions.”

  “Not in Berlin,” von Wolgast finished for her. “Why could he not have remained in Saint Petersburg?”

  “The Czar—” Nadezna began, only to be interrupted.

  “Yes. The Czar has sent him to England. Then damn Nicholas Romanov is all I will say.” He took two short strides away from her. “Did he tell you when you might expect him?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Well, he will not get to England overnight. That’s something. And if he is dealing with King Edward, it will take some time.” He rounded on her. “Do you suppose he will telegraph you before he arrives?” “He always has in the past. So that I can arrange a recital for my students.” She could feel heat mount in her face. “Luckily I have Ursula this year. He will be impressed with her.”

  “Ursula has a gift,” said von Wolgast carefully. He knew that any mention of a talented younger dancer could awaken many conflicting emotions in Nadezna; her mercurial temperament was most unpredictable in such instances.

  “Thank God for it,” she said. “He has already seen Axel and Lilli. He will want to see improvement in them both. I have given them more to do, but they are not yet at the point where they are entirely confident.” Again she made her irate, despairing fling of her arms. “And Magda isn’t

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  good enough yet. In a year, perhaps she will be ready She has some promise but she does not concentrate.”

  “She must learn that from you,” said von Wolgast with asperity. “You are not thinking at all; your dancers are not the issue here, your patron is.” Then he held up both hands to forestall an argument. “We haven’t time for disputes, Nadezna. We must decide how we are to deal with this.”

  “I will close this house to visitors while he is here, of course,” she said, her mouth pursed sourly. “And I will tel
l my girls not to speak of it. Most of them are afraid of me. They will do what I tell them.”

  Von Wolgast knew this was true, although he did not understand the power Nadezna exercised over her students. “Good.” He paced to the mural of Summer, with her flowing, vaguely Greek cerulean robes and a wreath of oak leaves and lavender in her hair. “If only he would tell you what his purpose is.”

  “He rarely confides in me,” said Nadezna, her face set. “I don’t know how to persuade him to talk to me. I’ve tried before.” It was an admission she did not like to make.

  “Seduce him,” von Wolgast suggested.

  “I . . . haven’t been able to.” She turned away from him, drooping gracefully. “He told me when he became my patron that he would not be my lover.” Her voice became more quiet. “He has never changed his mind.”

  “He’s mad. Or he’s keeping boys.” He chuckled with certainty. “That is why he loves the ballet.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Nadezna, touching her hair as if the gesture would restore her confidence.

  Von Wolgast shrugged. “Then he’s married to a demanding woman.”

  Nadezna frowned. “He has said nothing about a wife. Or children. Or mistress.”

  “Why would he?” von Wolgast inquired. “You are not—”

  “He would tell me,” Nadezna insisted, unable to conceal her vexation. “He would.”

  “It’s not worth discussing,” von Wolgast decided aloud. “What we must discover is why he is coming here and what he is doing for the Czar. Then we can decide how to deal with him.” He put his big hand on her shoulder. “You were right to tell me of this. I will give it my attention tomorrow, and when I have made up my mind, we wall arrange to receive Ragoczy on his return from England.”

  Although Nadezna’s face brightened a bit, she continued to look

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  apprehensive. “What am I to tell him? I will have to telegraph him in London.”

  Suddenly von Wolgast smiled. “You will tell him,” he said, relishing the idea as it filled his mind, “that you have three students who will need to prepare special material for the recital, and that you will need to know when to expect him so that they will be well-rehearsed. It’s reasonable enough. He will think nothing of it. He may even, in fact, be glad of your consideration. And we will know where we stand. I will find someone to help us deal with Ragoczy. That will be my contribution.” He bent and kissed her. “There. We can celebrate now.”

  “With that Croatian trouble-maker,” said Nadezna, her disapproval showing in everything about her.

  “My beloved Nadezna, my family manufactures artillery. Troublemakers are our source of income.” He ran his hand down the satin of her dress. “We will not have to endure him long. Let him get some wurst and some champagne into him and he will be looking for sport. He wall want to be alone with Pier or one of the others. Or perhaps he wall want to surround himself with women: he seems the sort who would. Then we will have our hour or two together. And we will not have to spend the time with any thought but pleasure.”

  She knew he expected her to be delighted at this prospect, so she kissed him before she tugged at his arm. “Come, then. The caviar is cold and I have eels in wine-and-pepper sauce. You like that, don’t you?” She gave him no opportunity to reply; he permitted her to drag him in to supper.

  Text of a letter from Horace Saxon of San Francisco to his granddaughter Rowena Pearce-Manning of Longacres, near Chalfont Saint Giles, Buckinghamshire, England.

  San Francisco, California, USA February 16, 1910

  Rowena Pearce-Manning Longacres

  My darling grand-daughter;

  I just got a note from your mother. It seems she’s all upset again about that painting of yours. She’s worried you’ll get a reputation for being fast if you keep up with it. 1 can’t see the connection, myself, but your mother’s convinced you’ll never get any kind of a husband if you go on much longer. I don’t mean to speak against your mother — she’s the only

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  child I got left, and I love her. Don’t you ever doubt that, Rowena. She’s got notions, though, and when she takes one, there’s almost nothing anyone can do to cut her loose of it. She was that way about your father. She made up her mind to get herself a title and an estate, damn the expense. Lucky for me I got more than enough to buy her your father six times over without pinching, or making much of a dent. He might not like having a father-in-law who made his fortune selling supplies to miners in the Gold Rush, but he’s not too proud to take the money I provide. I’d probably get along with him better if he did.

  I don’t suppose I’m going to come to England again, and not just because it’s a long way for a man of seventy-eight years to go. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble for an old codger like me, and I don’t mean just the trouble of getting there. Your mother isn’t interested in having me show up — I’d remind all her friends where she came from, and she’s worked so hard and so long to have them forget, it wouldn’t be kindly done of me. Besides, I get all the fog I can use right where I am. If you take it into your head to come to San Francisco, I’d be glad to have you. Or Augustus, or Penelope, for that matter. But I reckon you’re the one most likely to do it.

  Your mother wants me to talk sense to you, which is what I am going to do, but I doubt she’ll see it that way. I can’t get worked up about you the way she does, mainly because I’m real proud of you, no matter what. She worries that you’re not married, Rowena honey, and it’s eating at her, you being the oldest and all. She’s afraid you’ll be a spinster, which would be hard to explain to her friends. She tells me it would be a real hardship for you to remain single, the way things are in England. So I’m going to do what I can for you, but by my lights, not hers. You better throw this letter away, because if your mother sees it, she won’t be real pleased.

  If your brother hadn’t died when he did, she wouldn’t be so stuck about you. But to have him drown made her afraid that everything she’s wanted for so long would come to an end. When I heard about Arthur, it fair cast me down, too, and I know it was worse for Clarice. Your grand-mother and I lost three of our children, and each time it was worse than anything. You may be your mother’s oldest, but Arthur was her first son, and that made him real special in her eyes, a sign that she had arrived. To lose him was like taking Christmas away from a child. It took her so long to make herself feel like someone, and she wants to enjoy it. You can’t fault her for that. So she’s pushing for grand-children, and important in-laws. You can’t blame her. And I can’t complain, seeing as how I have you and your sister and brother.

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  Anyway, you coming twenty-five, you got her worried. She’s afraid you’ll run away to Pans or Rome or worse, San Francisco, to keep up with your painting, and husbands be damned. The trouble is, she’s been making plans for you since you were bom and they didn’t include you going off to paint. That would make poor Clarice have cat-fits. She means well, no doubt about it; she trying to do what’s best. And you’ll never get her to understand about the painting, not if you tried for ten solid years. But I’m telling you, if it’s what you want to do, you do it. That’s what your tmst fund is for, so you can do what you want, without being beholden to anyone. Your mother got to do what she wanted. She’s married to a man with an old, old name and that four-hundred-year-old house I paid to fix up for her. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same for you, not if you don’t want it. There’s no point to doing anything like that. You aren’t your mother, Rowena, and I know it even if she doesn’t. So I want you to have whatever you want, no matter what your mother says. I won’t go treating you any different than I did her. Fair’s fair.

  I’m going to write to the lawyers and tell them that you can have your monthly income starting now, and you can use it any way you want, in case your mother tries some stunt to keep you from having what’s yours. It’ll give you a good
hundred fifty dollars a month, nice and steady. It’s not lavish. You don’t need a fortune right now, and a hundred fifty dollars is enough to be comfortable, as a lady of your upbringing ought to be. Your mother might not like you painting, but she’d like it a damned sight less if you had to scrimp to do it. You’ll get lavish when I die, and you can worry about all those things heiresses worry about. For now, you won’t have to worry about the rent, or where your meals or your paints are coming from. You tell me where you want the money sent, and I’ll arrange it.

  That’s the best I can do for now, Rowena. I’ll be waiting to find out what your plans are. In the meantime, you keep painting, if that’s what you want to do. Don’t let anybody get in your way. Your mother might not like your doing it, but I’m pleased as a hog in a pit of acorns.

  Your loving grand-father, Horace Saxon

  P. S. Your mother told me you’re using Saxon to sign your paintings. She’s embarrassed, I know, but I’m proud to have you use it. I thank you for not forgetting this old forty-niner. Rowena Saxon sounds mighty fine to me.