Hotel Transylvania (29 page)

"Had I ever been a father," Saint-Germain said with a gentle smile that equaled Robert de Montalia's in beneficence, "I would wish that my child had the same high courage and inquiring mind that Madelaine possesses."

Robert de Montalia was relieved. He realized that Saint-Germain's kindness to his daughter sprang from his own childlessness. "To be sure," he said, and turned to address a remark to his sister, when yet another figure appeared in the doorway.

The gray-green, reptilian eyes met le Marquis de Montalia's for one derisive moment as he strolled into the entry hall. "I beg you will excuse this late arrival, but your husband's invitation did not reach me until my evening meal." He bowed over Claudia's hand. "Enchanted, Madame, I promise you."

Every line of his bearing revealed his contempt. His cloth-of-gold coat, by its very finery, mocked them. He flourished a handkerchief of Venetian lace as he bowed to Madelaine's father. "I trust that even as old an acquaintance as I may take this opportunity to renew a neglected friendship."

Claudia shot an anguished look toward her brother, who had turned as pale as linen. "Mon Baron," she faltered, trying to imagine what could have inspired Gervaise to invite her brother's greatest enemy to the fête.

"You need not introduce me," he said easily, "I have seen Mademoiselle on other occasions, though I cannot remember being formally presented to her. But my old association with her father has long made me perceive a certain link with her." He took Madelaine's hand. "I feel sure we will know each other better before the year is quite out."

"Alas, that there are so many people in Paris, Baron. I wonder if I can spare the time."

For once his daughter's alarming speech brought no rebuke from her father, who stood as if turned to marble, disaster in his ice-blue eyes.

"And, Saint-Germain..." Saint Sebastien went on, turning to le Comte. "I heard of your little contretemps at Hôtel Transylvania. Certainly an odd setting for a duel, but foreigners like you are always odd."

Madelaine's face paled, for she had not heard much about the encounter Saint-Germain had had with d'Islerouge.

"And now," Saint Sebastien went on musingly, "the young man is dead. Curious how these tilings happen. I cannot dream how you might benefit from his demise, yet you must forgive me for speculating about it." He feigned embarrassment. "A thousand pardons, Comtesse. This is not the style of talk suitable for so festive an occasion. My apprehensions have got ahead of my manners." He bowed his deepest, then paused to regard Saint-Germain once more.

"You must excuse me, Comte, but I confess I was surprised when Beauvrai described the duel to me. I had, until then, been of the opinion that you were unwilling or perhaps unable to defend your honor."

Saint-Germain inclined his head graciously, murmuring. "It is strange how one may be deceived by appearances, mon Baron."

"Yes," Saint Sebastien agreed, drawing out the word. He held his handkerchief to his nose as if shutting out a noxious odor, but his eyes were narrowed in unpleasant speculation as they rested on Saint-Germain. Then, when the entryway was quite still, Saint Sebastien turned and sauntered off toward the ballroom.

The entry hall was quiet for some few moments longer, becoming almost unbearable before Robert de Montalia turned his horrified pale face to his sister. "What is the meaning of this? Claudia? How dare you have Saint Sebastien here? You knew I forbade it!"

La Comtesse spoke in a stifled scream. "I did not know, Robert, believe me. Gervaise invited him. I had no idea—"

"He is evil! Unutterably evil. The thought of his hand touching my daughter sullies her in my mind, Claudia. He defiles us all. He might do... anything." As fast as his anger had risen, it fell. His shoulders drooped, and there was all at once a noticeable tremor in his hands. "Merciful Mother, what have I done?"

"It is not that bad, father, indeed it is not." Madelaine had rushed to le Marquis de Montalia's side, her throat strangely tight with tears. "You must not allow that terrible man to ruin my fête." She turned her desperate eyes on Saint-Germain. "Will you help me, Comte? It distresses me to see my father so much upset."

Saint-Germain's magnificent eyes rested on her face, and there was an unreadable expression in them. "Very well,

Madelaine, if you wish." He said to le Marquis, "Would you care to come with me, sir, while I see to the setting of the stage and the placing of my musicians? You might want to hear one or two of the airs that will be sung."

"I thank you, but no," le Marquis said with formal stiffness.

Instead of accepting this obvious and straightforward cut, Saint-Germain smiled affably. "But come, de Montalia. When will you be able to hear the great Ombrasalice practice again? There are few castrati who can compare with him."

Robert de Montalia stood uncertainly, as if poised for flight. He took Madelaine by the arms, saying violently, "You do not know what I have done. I should not have let you come. Why did I allow it? I knew the danger. Do you understand that, child? I knew. I
knew
even when I pretended that it did not exist. And Saint Sebastien knew, or why did he come back to Paris? Why is he here, if not for you?"

There was fright and more than a little anger in Madelaine's face. She pulled back out of her father's grasp. “This is not the time or the place!" she said sharply. "If I do stand in some danger, I beg you will not advertise it to the world."

Before de Montalia could say more, Saint-Germain touched him gently on the shoulder. "Marquis, your daughter is quite right. Surely what you have to say to her can wait until you are able to be private with her. In the meantime, may I suggest that we see to the musicians? Perhaps if you tell me of what you fear, together we may work out a solution."

He let himself be pulled away from the door, but said to Saint-Germain, "You are a dilettante. You know nothing of what may become of my daughter."

"Then I hope you will enlighten me." He had taken le Marquis away from the entry hall, and now led him down a hall toward the library, where the musicians were waiting. "Turn your thoughts away from your worries for the evening, I beg you. If not for your sake, for your daughter's." He held open the door to the library and was greeted by a rush of sound that came to a ragged halt as he closed the door behind him and Robert de Montalia.

A tall, soft-featured man in splendid dress stood by the fireplace, an expression of intelligent concentration on his smooth face. "Saint-Germain," he said in a voice of great sweetness, as high as a boy's.

"Good evening, Aurelio." He turned to his reluctant companion. "May I have the honor to present Aurelio Ombrasalice to you, my dear Marquis? This is le Marquis de Montalia, the father of the woman our little entertainment honors."

There was a general murmur among the musicians, and a woman whose ugliness made her stunningly attractive came forward and curtsied respectfully to Robert de Montalia.

"This is Madame Inez Montoya, who will sing the
Persephone
tonight; I trust the theme of Persephone and the God of the Underworld will not strike you as improper fare for your daughter."

Le Marquis, who was looking at the musicians, made an abstract gesture. "It is not too dreadful a topic. But there is an abduction, isn't there?" He scowled.

Saint-Germain met this reservation with a charming smile and the full power of his eyes. "I will ask Ombrasalice to sing that for you now, and if you find anything in it to offend you, he will not sing it.” He turned quickly and said, "Aurelio, will you do that for me? I know you are engaged only to sing a performance, but I would count it as a favor."

The tall singer graciously nodded. "I will sing that one aria. But softly."

"Thank you, my friend. I appreciate this greatly." Saint-Germain motioned de Montalia to a seat and waited while the ten musicians tuned their instruments, an inscrutable expression on his face. He did not think that Robert de Montalia would hear the message in the aria that was meant for Madelaine alone. When the instruments were tuned and the players had given an expectant look to Saint-Germain, he explained, "The aria, mon Marquis, is in two parts, a largo, and then a passage for the violins, followed by an andante espressivo. Gentlemen, any time you are ready."

The brief introduction in D minor went through the strings in descending triads, ending in two chords played pizzicato. Aurelio Ombrasalice stood away from the fire and sang in his strong, high voice:

In my realm of shadows
 

Unravished by the sunlight
 

I raged And I knew not why.
 

Your laughter in the meadows
 

Demented me as it flew and surged
 

Assaulting the sky.

Oh, Persephone, I am undone by love
 

And what my love must have!

The strings began to modulate into the major, and picked up tempo. Saint-Germain watched Madelaine's father, and realized his message was undiscovered. He nodded once to himself as Ombrasalice began the more difficult second half:

In darkness burning for your light
 

That, burning, casts away my night.
 

The fire that burns for you, my own
 

Gives light no one will ever ever see

The wind that blows through time, my own

Will never blow to me, will never blow to me.

The strings capped off the aria with a lingering restatement of the second theme, then slipped into the minor again to end the piece. Aurelio Ombrasalice looked rather critically at le Marquis de Montalia, and when the musicians had stopped playing, said, "I would not like to give up the aria, Marquis. It is very good for me."

"It is somewhat unorthodox," Robert de Montalia said at last. "I am not familiar with the meter or the harmonies."

“They are based on Greek poetry and song," Saint-Germain said, thinking of the ancient times when flute girls performed in Athens. "The story being Greek, I felt such a conceit was appropriate. But if you find the piece too disturbing..." He left the rest unsaid and did his best to ignore the anger in Ombrasalice's face.

"No, no, I cannot see that it would disturb Madelaine. It is perfectly within the bounds of propriety, and I must say," Robert de Montalia added handsomely, "that your entertainment is a most flattering gift. I am sure that Madelaine is deeply complimented." He rose, and was about to leave, when Saint-Germain said, "Stay awhile, Marquis, and I will bear you company."

He did not wait for a reply, but issued a few final instructions to the musicians, then went to the door, closing it firmly.

"Now, mon Marquis, I had best tell you that I know you are in some trouble relating to Saint Sebastien." He put up his hand to stop de Montalia's protests. "Whatever that may be, I want you to believe that I am yours to command at any time."

Le Marquis de Montalia had become somewhat stiff again. "I thank you for your concern, Comte, but I cannot imagine that there is any trouble in my family that requires attention other than mine to remedy."

"Of course." Saint-Germain had almost reached the ballroom, but paused to try once again to gain de Montalia's confidence. "If it should happen to be otherwise, you may call on me at any time. I would be deeply honored if you would."

Robert de Montalia felt a twinge of alarm; then an idea came to him as he remembered his own hatred of Saint Sebastien. "Is it that you, too, have a matter to settle with le Baron?"

Saint-Germain opened the door to the ballroom. "Yes. I have a debt I would like to pay."

"I see." Robert de Montalia nodded. "I will keep your offer in mind, Comte." He bowed once and turned away into the gorgeous assembly, and it was not until the fête had ended that he spoke to Saint-Germain again.

"A great success, Comtesse," le Comte was saying to his hostess as he bowed over her hand. In spite of the late hour, he was still absolutely precise in dress, and his powdered hair was neatly in place.

Claudia smiled warmly at him. "If it was, you must certainly take much of the credit, Saint-Germain. The
Persephone
was a triumph."

"Thank you, Comtesse, but I fear it is a rather trivial work." He obviously did not expect her to disclaim, for he had said this with such complete candor that there was no way to contradict him.

"It was very much enjoyed. Madelaine was in raptures."

"Was she?" Saint-Germain smiled secretly. "Then I am amply rewarded."

Le Marquis de Montalia overheard this as he came into the entry hall, and he added, "I fear she will grow too much in her own estimation, Comte. But it was a pleasant work, and you have afforded us all a unique pleasure."