Iron Butterflies (5 page)

The woman to whom this array of gifts was being offered wore, in beautiful cream and gold-tinted enamel, a faithful representation of the court dress of more than a hundred years earlier. Her small face had a proud, almost sullen cast (how very gifted had been the man who had fashioned her figure, for I felt that I would have recognized her immediately had I met her in life). She sat with her hands lying loosely on the golden billows of her full skirt. A stomacher of diamonds, so small that they could only have been chips of chips, was only part of her jewels. There was a circlet of delicate filigree, set with the same stones, on her fair head, a necklace about her long throat, lying across shoulders and breast nearly bare in the extreme décolleté fashion of that day.

Below the two rulers, and beyond those bearing gifts, were gathered members of the court, plus soldiers at stiff attention. However, one was hardly aware of them, for one's eyes returned to the two on the thrones. There was something oddly appealing in the attitude of the man. His shoulder-length curled hair fell forward but did not entirely shadow his face. If the woman was perfect in her frozen poise of boredom, the artist had not so flattered the king or prince. His features were harsh, and again must have been faithful representation of a once-living man. I had a queer feeling that though he was attempting to win his lady with gifts (perhaps he had already learned the unpleasant lesson that she was best so approached), he was clumsy and maladroit, that he was unhappy and to be pitied. It was so real—this miniature court—

Again the Gräfin tugged at my arm. “The birthday of the Electress Ludovika.” Her voice pulled me out of the fantasy which had begun to build within my mind. “Her last birthday—”

“Did she die so young—?”

The Gräfin's hold upon my arm became a pinch, so hurtful I gasped. She did not let go but rather pushed me past the table. I could not shake free without arousing the attention of those about us. She, too, glanced
hurriedly right and left, as if she had feared my innocent question had been overheard.

We had reached the turn point at the stair gate and I caught a glimpse of movement beyond that. As I looked more intently at the barrier I met eyes I knew. Colonel Fenwick, wearing a most elaborate uniform jacket, in spite of the heat a befurred dolman slung cloaklike over one shoulder, stood there. His hand went up on the grill as if he wanted to jerk it open, and the look on his face was so grim that it startled me as much as had the pinch the Gräfin had delivered. There was no mistaking his anger.

But he did not speak, and I had no intention of doing so. I hurried past, propelled by the urging of my companion, into a side corridor. Here were no bars to keep us in line and the crowd thinned out, so we walked a little apart. I made an effort and disengaged myself from the Gräfin's clutch.

“What is the matter?” I demanded with some force. Had she seen the Colonel? I believed not, at least she had given no sign of having done so.

Instead she looked about her, as if fearing notice still. Then she shook her head emphatically, so that I gathered I was not going to receive any answer at present, though perversely I determined upon having one. There was something about that fantastic court display which seemed to have disturbed her—or else my question had. Yet that had been the most common and reasonable one. The Gräfin had announced that it was the scene of some Electress's last birthday. But the woman on the throne had been quite young—so she must have died. How could a fact which must lie a hundred years or more in the past seem so upsetting?

I was certain by now she had not sighted the Colonel. No, she had been so intent on getting me away that she had never glanced toward the gated stairway. The colonel himself? His anger had been plain—I could almost have said I felt the flame of it through his gaze at me. He had been both surprised and furious at our appearance there.

We wasted no time strolling through that portion of the gardens which had also been opened to the public on this holiday. Once we were in the carriage, though the horses had to be kept to a walk, such was a press of the crowd, I turned to the Gräfin and asked with firmness:

“What happened?”

She did not pretend not to understand, but she was very sober of face. I think at that moment she wished nothing more than to forget my question. Since it was plain that I must have a reply, she said after a long pause.

“To speak of the Electress's death—that is not done—ever! Any one hearing you ask such a question would know you were not of Hesse-Dohna. Her story— it is very well known—it is retold to every girl—it is flung into the face of every wife by her husband sometime during marriage as a warning—a dreadful warning—”

The Gräfin was very serious, more so than I had ever remembered having seen her since our first meeting.

“She was very beautiful, the Electress Ludovika. It was well know that her marriage to Konrad-Axel was not of her choosir. . . He was a soldier, a man who cared nothing for the things she enjoyed. He was older, not handsome, nor soft and charming of speech. To him she was all beauty and goodness, though anyone with true sight could see that she hated him, hated Hesse-Dohna, longed only to escape.

“It was said that she dared to exile him from her bed, using the assurance of her physician, or her favorite lady, that she ailed. But she was also a woman of strong passions, you understand. What she would not give the Elector, as was her duty, she granted elsewhere. This, too, was a whisper which grew louder and louder.

“She had her creatures, also, people who kept to the shadows, who obeyed only her orders, no matter what those might be. Twice those in high places who would have opened the Elector's eyes died—very quickly and
not without pain. It was said that one of her people was a true hexenmeister and knew not only powers of evil he could summon to protect her, but worse lore— that of vile plants and other substances which could kill. So she went her own way, doing as she wished. The Elector was much away with his troops and did not know.

“At last she grew so free of any fear of him that she openly took, before all the court, a new favorite. He was an Italian, a worker in gold—not even of noble birth. It was he who fashioned that birthday scene. They say that he was so handsome that common women thought him an angel come out of heaven. But it was also true he did not want the Electress's favor, he had a wife which he loved. Then that wife died.

“Perhaps losing her sent him mad, or else, as it was afterward hinted, the Electress had him fed a potion which was to bring him to her bed, but which, instead, disordered his wits. For when the Elector returned from his campaign, this man sought him out and told his story. At first Konrad-Axel deemed him only a madman and would have had him shot for besmirching the name of his lady. But others, having gathered courage, added to the goldsmith's story. He died, yes, but his story did not die.

“The Elector moved quickly. His men, soldiers loyal to him, not corrupted by the fears of the court, took prisoner all the Electress's creatures in a single night and put them to the question. Under such torture they broke and spoke of murder and evil, though the hexenmeister was defiant to the last and died cursing Konrad-Axel when they burned him for the warlock he proudly said he was.

“Ludovika, screaming, was dragged from her apartments in the palace. She could not be put to death, though she was certainly a murderess many times over. But her birth was too high, she had kinsmen the Elector could not stand against should they choose to defend her. Thus he passed a sentence of death-in-life on her. They took her to the fortress castle of Wallenstein and
therein she disappeared from the world. Outside the walls below one tower they built a scaffold as a warning that she was dead for her crimes as far as the world was concerned.”

I shivered. It was a story which held a kind of horror and the Gräfin repeated it in a voice lacking her usual affections, rather as if she were reciting something she had memorized from some roll written long ago.

“But why did the Elector keep that scene, reminding himself and all who saw it? I should have thought he would have had it destroyed!”

“Not so! He very much wanted that the memory of her would be kept ever before himself and his people as a warning. It was to him a pledge of justice that not even one who was royal was above punishment. His marriage with Ludovika was dissolved. He married again—he must have an heir. But when his new wife came to him he kept the birthday scene on a table in her chamber, so she must look upon it daily. However, she was of another nature and such a lesson was not needed, for she was a Wratenburg of a most pious line. In her time all the pleasures of the court disappeared and they say that all who were in the palace went to church once a day and kept Lent at the table near all year round.”

“So now the scene is part of the treasure—”

The Gräfin did not make any comment. I wondered if a part of the tale she had just told had not carried an implication which might be striking home concerning her own conduct. If she was, as I had come to suspect, unduly interested in the Baron, then perhaps the example of the fate of the murderous and adultrous Electress might well mean something more than an unpleasant story.

“They say she still walks—”

Her words broke through my train of thought— For a moment I did not catch their meaning. Then—a ghost! Surely in this enlightened age one did not believe in haunting! Such ideas could only be found in novels— say one of Mrs. Radcliffe's, with the bleeding nuns,
secret passages, and skull-headed tormentors of beautiful and luckless heroines.

The Gräfin looked down at her hands and those were clasped so tightly that the kid of her gloves stretched dangerously taut across the knuckles.

“What did she feel?” My companion's voice was barely above a whisper, yet the words reached me over the clamor in the streets. “What did she think? Shut up there—in the dark and the cold?” The Gräfin shivered. “There was that sentry last year—Wallenstein is still partly garrisoned—and he swore he saw her face at the tower window. She dabbled in evil things. They say that she even had that hexenmeister to her bed and that is why he served her to the death. There were things she might have learned from him—”

I refused to allow such tales to disturb me. Though I could well believe that such stories might grow up about Wallenstein after the days of Ludovika. Witches had indeed been burned in this blood-soaked land—and there were other evil tales—of man-beast interchanges, for example. No, this was the nineteenth century! I refused to plunge back into the shadows of the past!

“She is long dead,” I pointed out. “There are no witches. Come, Luise.” I hesitated over her name but used it to draw her out of that strange mood which seemed to hold her. “You and I both know this is nonsense.”

For a moment there was a sullen droop to her lips, as if she resented my common sense. Then she laughed.

“Yes, but you have not seen Wallenstein.” Once more she shivered. “It is such a place as one can believe houses ghosts and witches. But—as you say, it is not of our concern. Tell me, Amelia, what did you think of the treasure? It is a pity we could not ascend to the silver room. Perhaps the Elector was visiting that today. They say that since his illness, he often has his chair wheeled along the upper corridors and sits sometimes for hours looking at his collection.”

I thought of the Colonel on the stairway leading to the upper section of the tower. She might be right in
that guess. So I had been that close to the grandfather I did not know? When would we ever really meet?

Chapter 5

It was as if the telling of the Electress Ludovika's story
had in some manner changed my companion. Her usual vivacious chatter was stilled. She stared straight before her, not as if she saw outwardly at all, but rather regarded some grim picture her own thoughts supplied. By the time we had returned to the Von Zreibruken house she spoke only to plead a headache and left me in the great hall, wondering about the state of her own conscience.

I followed her upstairs at a slower pace and, as I put off my bonnet in the chamber, which, even in the full glow of the sun, had far too many lurking shadows, I looked into the somewhat cloudy surface of the dressing table mirror.

Not that my reflection interested me. Rather I was recalling the details of that marvelous work of art— the birthday of the Electress. The words the Gräfin had uttered haunted me. What
had
it meant for a woman so indulged and pampered, so sure of her charm and power to be immured for life in an ill-omened fortress? Perhaps execution would have been by far kinder. How
long had she dragged out a miserable existence there, memory always with her? The shadows of this room here and now were in keeping with my thoughts, seemed to draw in closer behind me.

I must push aside such fancies! They were induced by this room, by Axelburg itself. These shadows might not be the ghosts of common ignorant report, but still they chilled one.

Resting my chin upon my fists, I resolutely fought my imagination. Until I had come here I had always believed myself a sensible person, not to be seduced by any fancy. Yet now—no, I was not some superstitious fool!

I would not look at shadows— My face in the mirror seemed overpale. Though why should that not be so? It had now been weeks since I had been in the full sun, riding out each day to oversee the manor work, having the healthy color of one living a well-regulated life. I reached through the slit in my skirt, seeking that inner pocket where I carried my packet. From it I freed the butterfly necklace.

The miniature Electress Ludovika had been offered gems beyond counting. I had only this chain of iron. On impulse I pulled loose the prim-cut, fine muslin collar set modestly about the throat of my dress. Rolling that back to an indecorous degree (such display of breast and shoulder as was no more than common with the Gräfin), I fastened the necklace. The chain showed very black against my skin, the filagree butterflies leaping to the eye as if they were real insects poised to fly at any moment. On the warmth of my breast and throat the metal felt cold and harsh, yet I did not remove it.

Rather I examined what I saw with an intent survey quite unlike my usual checking upon my clothing to make sure I was neat and properly attired. The sleeves of my dress ballooned properly, if not to the exaggerated width of the fashions I had seen this afternoon. My waist was small, my bell-shaped skirt flared. Perhaps
this dull color did not become me—I might have looked better in rose or green—but that did not greatly matter.

Why—I saw my dark brows draw together in such a frown as a governess might turn upon some flighty miss in her charge—why was I now so conscious of my appearance? Was it that black chain about my throat, the pendant well down between the beginning curves of my breasts, which made me more aware of my shortcomings of person? I did not envy the Gräfin in the least—but I wished—

There was a flush rising on my too-pale cheeks. I would not allow myself to face what had caused that flicker of thought.

A scratching at the door startled me. I swung away from the mirror forgetting my disarray of clothing. At my call Truda came in. She dropped a curtsy as she said:

“Will the gracious lady be pleased to receive a visitor? He urges that it is very necessary that he speak with the Countess at once—”

She was plainly flustered, even a little apprehensive, as if she expected some blame in the matter. Nor did I need to be told the name of who waited me. Perhaps I had unconsciously been prepared for this ever since I returned to the house. I hurriedly rebuttoned my muslin collar, and stowed the packet away into hiding, I would wear the necklace, even in hiding. It seemed to me to be as much a pledge of identity as the parchment. Yes, I would wear it now, not only to bolster my pride, but to build my courage. Head high, I went swiftly through corridors, down the stairs to the yellow room.

Colonel Fenwick did not stand by the window this time, and he was much more dramatic figure in his regimentals—still wearing the crimson and gold of his court uniform. However, above the stiff collar of his jacket his face was as grim as it had been when I had caught that sight of him in the palace. I wondered briefly if the Colonel ever did smile and what he would
look like if he were not always prepared to berate some unfortunate mortal for an error of judgment, behavior, or both.

“You have a message for me?” It could be that what he brought was the summons I had so ardently expected since my arrival in Axelburg.

“Whose idea was it for you to appear at the palace today?” He ignored my question, demanded an answer to one of his own. As if all which mattered in the world was his own affairs.

“Does it matter? There is no reason for my identity to be known here at present.” I summoned my coolest tone. As usual his effect upon me was disturbing. My hand actually twitched. I realized, with amazement at my own feelings, that my first desire had been to slap his flint-hard face, make him aware of me—me, a person—not just a piece to be played in some royal intrigue. That realization of my wholly alien reaction shook me so I must have missed some of his reply.

“—your presence here is already known—where it may do the most harm! We do not know who is responsible for loosing that information, but this is a delicate business and must not be bungled. As long as the Elector remains so helpless and dependent upon others we have to take the greatest care.” Now the Colonel went striding back and forth across the flower garden of the carpet, not regarding me at all.

I seated myself with what composure I was able to summon. Now that I believed I had my own strange emotions under control, I was better able to see that he was indeed greatly concerned. He ceased pacing and swung around.

“To have to depend wholly on others, and some he fears to trust. Do you realize what that can mean? A message can be circumvented, changed, conveniently forgotten—if it is given to the wrong person. There are those who would do anything to prevent his seeing you.” He stopped and rubbed his fingers across his chin. Though his eyes were still on me, I was sure that I was not what he saw. Was he weighing in his mind some
new revelation, or warning? As the silence lengthened I was uneasy enough to be the first to break it.

“Because of the treasure?” I wanted to add that I had no desire to possess what I had seen that day, that all that splendor had no meaning for me. It was too rich to belong to any one person. I could accept all my grandmother had willed me and take pride in my American possessions, for I understood them. But the vast wealth displayed in that tower was meaningless.

“The treasure.” He repeated my last words with a contemptuous curl of lip which again made me tightly rein in my temper. “So that is it—you wished to see what might be your dazzling inheritance—”

I arose swiftly to face him. “There is no reason for such an exchange of unpleasantries between us, sir. It is plain you have come here for some definite purpose. If it was to berate me, then I question
your
authority to stand in judgment upon either my manners or my motives!”

One of his fists clenched tightly and I saw a muscle in his cheek twitch. His jaw was set as if restraining what I guessed might be an outbreak of a hot temper. Then, after another long moment of silence, his fingers uncurled and he shook his head. Again not at me, I believed, but at some thought.

“Countess.” His words were chill and delivered with a formality which gave them extra weight. He could not be really doing what I had challenged him that he had come for—to deliver judgment—or was it in part a warning? “Countess, it is true that you cannot know what lies behind”—now he gave a quick glance around the room as if its pretty fripperies disgusted him—“the surface of what you have seen here. Let me make plain what is of the utmost importance—”

“Sir, I will be most obliged if you do or say what you have come to do.” I made stiff reply.

His next move startled me, for, having sent a distinctly quelling look in my direction, he crossed the room, not with those exasperated strides which he had earlier made, but with a lightness of step I would not
have thought possible. One hand closed on the latch of the door, and he actually set his right ear to the panels, plainly listening.

Back he came with the same noiseless tread, passed me to unfasten the long window giving on the outside. Then he gestured that I was to join him, stepping aside to wave me onto a balcony which overhung a small walled garden I had not even known existed. When we were both outside he closed the window door with a snap.

My antagonism had been momentarily lost in a need for understanding. It was plain that he believed we might be overheard or spied upon while inside. But if the Gräfin had been selected for my traveling companion and present chaperon, why should her home be a place of lurking suspicion?

“You have reason to mistrust anyone within this household, sir?”

His hand closed upon the balcony railing so close to mine that his cape-dolman brushed my shoulder.

“If you are wise, my lady,” he spoke English now, “you will mistrust every place—and everyone—within Axelburg!”

“Including you, sir?”

He made no answer to that, instead he spoke swiftly, as if he must say the greatest number of words in the least possible time.

“I do not know what you may have been told of what is happening here. The Elector has had another stroke— it has left him speechless. What he would communicate he must write, convey by signs. As yet those about him are mainly wary and dare not contradict his orders— his direct orders. However, as I have said, much can be done to thwart him by misunderstanding, forgetting—As long as I have access to him, and he still insists that be so, his wishes can be carried out. There is a good chance that I may soon be barred from his presence.

“Have they said anything to you about the Princess Adelaide, she who was appointed an Abbess?”

“The Elector's daughter? Yes, the Gräfin spoke of her.”

“She is attempting to take charge, has brought in two nursing sisters. They could keep him wholly incommunicado if she succeeds. She is still a little afraid of him—or his authority—and so far has not taken the final step. I am doing what I can to arrange a meeting for him with you. It must be very soon, he is failing. Perhaps even another day—or night—and he will be too sick to withstand those vultures—they will have him prisoner in his own apartments, every door guarded. Therefore we have decided upon tonight!”

“But how—do I just drive up to the palace—?”

He made one of those gestures of impatience I had come to know so well.

“Make some excuse—do not dine with the family. Have a headache—cannot all you females summon a headache at will?” His voice was as impatient as his hands. “I have a man under my command who comes from the same village as your maid, he knows her well. She will admit him. Wear a cloak with a hood, draw that up to hide you well. Kristopher will show you this.” He twisted a ring on his finger so that I could see the dark red gem of its setting was carved intaglio with a design. “You will follow his instructions—”

This might be one of those improbable romantic novels, still I could see that he was entirely serious. I found myself actually nodding agreement, as if he had done no more than suggest a sedate ride through a park.

“And—” He pointed to my throat.

Remembering my recent experiments, my hands flew to my collar. It was still lacking the top two buttons closed, so that part of the necklace must be visible.

“Be sure, my lady,” he was continuing, “that you wear that.”

What did he know of the necklace which had been the hidden possession of my grandmother for so long? Or was it, like the ring Fenwick himself had just shown me, meant to be a passport of identification?

“Very well—”

He had not waited for my words of agreement. Instead he flung open the door behind us and, I think, would have manhandled me within with the same vigor which the Gräfin had used to draw me away from the display in the treasure tower had I not been more nimble in withdrawing into the parlor. He closed the balcony door not a moment too soon, for the opposite door opened and the Gräfin swept in.

Her full lips shaped a smile, but the eyes above those appeared to me both narrowed and watchful.

“Colonel Fenwick! I am most sorry I was not informed that you had come. I must speak most sharply to Franz for being so remiss—”

“Gracious lady,” he dropped into the usage of the honorific terms, but there was, I believed, something mocking in that salutation, “I came here to inform you all that what was done today was most unwise. As you are well aware, the Countess”—he indicated me with the slightest of nods—“was not to appear in public until after His Highness made clear his decision concerning her. If you had been recognized—if you
were
recognized—who knows where this story has already spread.”

She pouted, but I could have well told her that Colonel Fenwick was not the man to be impressed by any airs and graces. “No one save you, and I, and Ulrich, know she is here. Who could have known her for who she is?”

“You and the Gräf,
and
Baron von Werthern.”

She turned her face a little away. For all the roundness of her chin its present lift expressed stubbornness and she passed him with deliberation to seat herself, folding her hands in her lap.

“Dear Konrad is my cousin, he is not only in the favor of His Highness, as well you know, Colonel, but he is also in a way kin to Amelia. He has shown the greatest discretion—and he was made aware of this matter some time ago.”