Borne in Blood (11 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Occult & Supernatural, #Guardian and Ward, #Vampires, #Nobility, #blood, #Paramours, #Switzerland
The head groom was already emerging from the stable, half-running toward Ragoczy’s carriage, two other grooms following in his wake. “Comte,” he said, not quite bowing as he came to a halt.
“The wheeler has a loose on-side front shoe. Other than that, they’ll need to be walked for a quarter hour, then brushed. Have Joachim tend to the shoe after they’re fed, and he has had his supper.”
“He’s in the smithy. I’ll tell him,” said Clement.
“And do you know if Gutesohnes is in his quarters?”
“He is tooling the spider around the orchard, working in the young English bay,” said Clement. “He said he was getting ready for the journey to Amsterdam, loosening up his arms.”
“Will you tell him I would like to see him in my study when he returns?” Ragoczy asked.
“Of course, Comte,” said Clement.
“Thank you.” He got down from the box, assisted Hero out of the carriage, and watched while Clement attached a lead-rope to the chin-strap of the lead gray’s bridle. “There may be a thunderstorm this afternoon, so keep this pair in the exercise arena in the stable; turn out any horse who gets restless into the arena with them until the storm passes. I do not want them to kick their stalls to flinders.”
“We’ll attend to it.” Clement, who was half-a-head taller than Ragoczy, deferred to him automatically, whistling to the grays as he led them away, the calash rattling along the flag-stones that marked the front of the château.
“What shall we do now?” Hero asked, putting her hand through the crook of his arm.
“You will want to compile your list for Rogier; I will make sure the household prepares for our absence. Decide whether Wendela or Serilde will accompany you, and have her choose a portmanteau for her clothes. I will join you after you have supper, and we can spend a private evening in the bath, if you like.”
Her smile broadened. “That would please me very much, especially the bath,” she said, as she furled her parasol and allowed him to open the door and usher her into the château. “I will attend to the lists and other matters of travel before supper, do not fear. And while I dine, I will decide which of my maids will accompany me. I will look for you in the antechamber of the bath after sundown.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “And I promise I will think about what you said just now.”
“I will be at your service, after sundown,” he promised her, and went off to his study, where he received Otto Gutesohnes some ninety minutes later, just as the sky began to darken and the clouds took on a lurid, bruised light.
Gutesohnes was covered in dust and his brow shone with grimy sweat, but he was smiling as he accepted Ragoczy’s offer to sit down. “That English bay works well between the shafts. I wouldn’t have thought he’d do well as a single horse, but I’ve changed my mind. Keep him for the lighter carriages and the lanes, and he’ll give real satisfaction.”
“Very good to know,” said Ragoczy. “I had hoped he might prove good for solo harness.”
“He should. It would be wise to have a horse for these hilly roads; you can’t take the calash everywhere.” He clapped his hands and a small cloud of dust erupted from his gloves. “I wanted to thank you for those hearty Spanish horses you provided me on my last ride to Praha. I was doubtful about them at first, but after my third remount, I realized I would save a day on each side of the journey. They’re strengthy and they’ve got excellent wind, and light mouths, all of them.”
“Very good. I will continue my orders for the Andalusians for my courier. You will find them at posting inns from Calais to Roma, and from Praha to Barcelona, all in my name,” said Ragoczy, reflecting that ten years ago most of his courier’s horses had been confiscated by Napoleon’s armies for his cavalry and aides-decamp; Ragoczy continued in the same tone, as if the loss meant little to him. “Tomorrow I am sending you riding postilion into Yvoire with the liver sorrels to fetch the new traveling coach. We will leave at first light on Saturday morning, and at the end of the day, we will find an inn where we can spend Sunday as well, so the horses will be fresh on Monday. I want to use them all the way to Amsterdam if it is possible.”
Gutesohnes considered this. “I imagine I can keep up a good pace without exhausting them. Where the roads are flat and in good repair, we will go at a trot, and otherwise at a walk. That should keep from wearing them out.” He grinned suddenly. “After this journey, I should know the way to Amsterdam in my sleep.”
“So long as you are awake when you drive,” said Ragoczy. “We will break the journey at Zemmer, to inspect the work being done on my holdings there, and we will have a full day in Liège so I may consult with my trading company there. I will stay in Amsterdam for about ten days. I will give you four days’ liberty while there, and I will provide you spending money, so that you may make the most of the liberty. I depend upon you to be sure the horses are properly cared for during our stay. I have decided that Osbert Nadel will drive the servant’s carriage, and that they will have the four Nonius geldings in harness. They should be able to keep up with us without trouble.”
“From the horses, no, but Nadel is lazy,” Gutesohnes warned.
“He will not learn to be less so unless he is given work more demanding than driving the hay-wagon and the buggy. He must begin to expand his knowledge or he will stay on this mountain for all of his life, which he claims not to want to do.” Ragoczy folded his arms and said, “Give him a trial, if you like: have him ride postilion with you tomorrow when you go to get the coach.”
“If you think it best,” said Gutesohnes in a tone that barely escaped insolence.
Ragoczy ignored his manner. “You will have the opportunity to correct his faults while you are with him. Try not to demoralize him completely. He is only seventeen, and a youngest son.”
“Seventeen is old enough to have some purpose in life,” said Gutesohnes. “But I will do as you instruct, Comte.”
“I thank you for that,” said Ragoczy, just a tinge of sardonic humor in his dark eyes. “I will expect you to tell me how the coach handles when you return tomorrow, and to make note of any problems you may have with it so they may be addressed before we are on the road. It is easier to fix an anticipated problem than a realized one.” He considered for a few seconds, then added, “I think it best if the servants travel in the Bohemia; it may not be completely fashionable, but it is sturdy and it can carry a heavy load without being much slowed by the weight. Also, it drives well.” He had driven it before on two occasions, and both times the Bohemia had performed better than he had hoped.
“Does Nadel know which coach he is to drive?” asked Gutesohnes.
“No; I will inform him before supper,” said Ragoczy, giving Gutesohnes another long, measuring stare. After a minute or so, he asked, “Would you like to return to coaching, or do you want to remain my courier when this journey is over? Have you a preference? You may be candid in your answer.”
“I do like driving a coach now and then—especially well-made vehicles with fine teams—but I much prefer being a courier. The work is more varied, fewer things can go wrong, and I have a greater aptitude for it.” He pulled off his gloves. “I must go wash. I’ll be cased in dried mud if I don’t.”
‘The bath-house has been heated, if you want to use it,” said Ragoczy.
“On such a warm day? No, I’ll wash down behind the stable with the others. When it turns cold again, I’d welcome the bath-house. For now, the washrack will do as well for me as it does for the horses. Two buckets of cool water and a good scrub with a brush and I’ll be fit for company.” He rose from his chair and nodded to Ragoczy. “About tomorrow: I’ll be off to Yvoire shortly after dawn, and should be back in time for dinner.”
“Very good. I will look for you then.” As he spoke, a flick of brightness came and went. “The storm is gathering. You’d best hurry if you want to get washed before the”—he stopped as thunder trundled overhead—“storm begins.”
Gutesohnes touched his forehead and left the study, whistling as he went as if defying the elements to overwhelm him.
It was another hour before the rain began, accompanied by dramatic crashes of thunder and sudden eruptions of lightning, often so close together that they seemed to be in the same instant. The windows of the château rattled, the heavens let down their bounty in profusion, and half the household kept to their quarters, waiting for the tempest to pass; Ragoczy sat in his study, unperturbed by the display the storm provided, although the abundance of running water made him a bit uncomfortable. As the light dimmed, he did not bother to light the lamps but continued to make entries in his notebook, his dark-seeing eyes unhampered by the fading day. After a while the aroma of roasting boar filled the château, and while the sunset began to delineate the break-up of the clouds, the household of Château Ragoczy gathered in the servants’ dining room for their supper, and Hero ate in solitary state in the smaller withdrawing room above-stairs.
As night came on Ragoczy left his study and went out to the bath-house; the air was clear, the ground was wet, and the sky was luminous with the last vibrant glow of sunset. He stood at the bath-house door for a minute or so, taking in the end of the day, then he stepped into the vestibule and began to remove his clothes, hanging them on pegs before retrieving a large, square Turkish towel, which he wrapped around himself before he stepped into the steamy room where the three large, water-filled wooden tubs waited. The room smelled of damp and witch hazel, and was lit by six lanterns set in glass-fronted wall-niches. Ragoczy went to the bench at the foot of the largest tub, dropped his towel, and went to climb up the steps and into the oblong tub. Quite warm water rose to the middle of his chest, made pleasant by his native earth under the tub, and the advantage of advancing night. He lay back, letting the water support him while he waited for Hero to arrive.
It was twenty minutes later that she came into the room, her towel in one hand, her dressing-gown wrapped around her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t get away until just now.”
“No matter. The holocaust keeps the water warm.” He held out his hand to her. “Come in.”
She folded her towel and took off her dressing-gown; she laid this on top of the towel, then removed her slippers before climbing into the tub to join him. “I wish I knew how you managed to keep hot water flowing through these tubs—probably another Roman technique,” she said, adding, “but don’t explain it to me now. Tell me later.” She slid into his arms and his embrace with ease, delighting in their kiss. “I have been waiting for this all evening.”
“How kind you are to my vanity,” he said lightly, his hands trailing over her with the movement of the water.
Her laughter was low and delicious. “You have less vanity than any man I have ever known. All your centuries of life have burned it out of you, I think.” She pressed up against him and with one hand loosened the knot of her hair, so that it cascaded around her shoulders and fanned out around her in the water. As she tossed the two ivory pins out of the tub, she murmured, “
Such locks will then/Ensnare the hearts of men.
”
Such locks will then/Ensnare the hearts of men.
”
“Petrarch was right,” Ragoczy whispered as he stroked her hair, following down the wonderful curves of her flesh beyond it.
She kissed him again, taking his hand and moving it to her breast. “Start here, if you would.”
He cradled her breast in his palm. “And go where?”
She let his arm hold her up as she stretched out in the water. “I leave that up to you,” she said, and gave herself over to the passion he ignited in her, and the gentle embrace of the water.
Text of a letter from Wallache Gerhard Winifrith Seifert von Ravensberg at Munchen, Bavaria, to his banking factor, Herr Luitpold Oskar Sporn, in Salzburg, Austria, carried by private courier and delivered three days after dispatching.
To Herr Luitpold O. Sporn, the greetings of Graf von Ravensberg on this, the 10
th
day of August, 1817, from the city Munchen,
th
day of August, 1817, from the city Munchen,
This is to inform you that my journey has begun well. We have made good time on the roads and have been able to put up at superior inns. I commend you for all the care you devoted to my travel, for there have been no difficulties encountered through any failing of yours.
My ward Hyacinthie has found travel tiring, but has not complained overmuch, and although we have endured the heat as best we can, she is troubled because she is not in her best looks at present, and it is important that she present a very good appearance.
We will spend some days at Trier and then proceed on to Amsterdam. My publisher there is expecting me, and I have said I will make a stay of at least a week. If I receive attractive invitations either for myself or for my ward, I may extend my stay for up to a second week; I shall inform you of any changes in plans.
During my absence I rely upon you to keep yourself informed on the conditions at Ravensberg, most specifically on the health and condition of my two young wards, Rosalie and Hedda. I have authorized my man-of-business, Herr Arndt Lowengard, to serve as their guardian in my absence, but I task you, as well, with concern for their well-being. Having become orphans, they are at the mercy of charitable relatives, and in that capacity I have undertaken their care. I would not like to think that anyone working on my behalf would not do his utmost for those two unfortunate girls.
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