Red Magic (20 page)

The basin had struck the wide board floor
and broken, sending soapy water everywhere. Goran had Josefa by an arm but she
was fighting hard, trying, in fact, to kick the one good leg of the old soldier
out from under him.

Rushing up behind, Cat caught Josefa by the
glossy nut-brown braid that always trailed down her back. A hard yank elicited
a shriek which pleased Cat, who'd been longing to have an excuse to do that for
a long time.

"Thank you, Grafin," said Goran,
for between the two of them they had quickly established control. "Now if
you would put your hand into her bosom, you will find what she has
stolen."

"I didn't steal it," cried
Josefa. "I was taking it to wash as the Herr Graf asked."

As Cat hesitated, Josefa added with all the
dignity of tone she could muster, "Just let me go and I will show you what
I have."

"She does not do the laundry nor empty
dirty water, Grafin. This one's far too fine for that," Goran's sneered.

"I wash and iron the Graf's shirts and
stocks. All the time—whenever he is here," Josefa protested.

"Let her go, Goran," said
Caterina.

When he did, Josefa shook herself and
stepped back several paces.

"Croat dog!" she hissed.

"Enough," Caterina commanded. She
had moved with Josefa, but had not let the braid go. Now, to remind her, she tugged
again.

Josefa rounded on her in a swirl of skirt,
ripped the braid free. Her brown eyes blazed. Cat stayed with her.

"Come on! Hit me! Try it!"

"Here," Josefa cried, hurling out
the thing she'd concealed. "The Graf asked me to wash it." A rumpled
white muslin neck piece trimmed in lace landed by Cat's feet. "He says
that Hanna scrubs the life out of them and then no amount of ironing gets them
right."

"A funny way to
carry dirty laundry," Goran observed.

Josefa turned scarlet, and that was when
Cat understood. "Go out, Hauptmann, and wait for me," she said with
an imperious wave. "Fraulein Josefa and I are going to have a talk."

Goran lifted a scanty brow, but he nodded
and then thumped his way out into the hall.

"Um, Mistress?"

Cat had completely forgotten Elsa, who had
watched the whole scene from the doorway.

"Go find someone who can carry a
message to the stables," she said. "Have them ask Herr Rossmann to
see to Star this morning."

Elsa went out the other way, passing
through her mistress' room to a hall door. She had a perfect horror of her
master's bedroom and wouldn't enter it for any reason, not even to retrieve
sealing wax from his writing desk. Cat thought it must be the bed curtains. She
herself had a hard time keeping her eyes off them—all that libidinous
romping—whenever she was there.

After all the doors closed Cat said,
"You are in love with the Graf."

The dark eyes flashed. Josefa's round
cheeks went red. She
was,
Cat thought, quite pretty,
just the sort of plump, dark haired creature her brother Theo fancied.

No answer to her question was forthcoming,
so, lifting her chin, Cat bluntly asked, "Has the Graf had you?"

There was no answer to this either, but the
dark eyes boldly lifted. An almost audible 'Wouldn't you like to know?' hung in
the air between them. Somehow or other Caterina managed not to slap her,
although the fingers of her right hand drew into a fist.

"I could dismiss you."

"I am the Frau Amtmann Walter's
sister."

"And I," Cat drew herself up to
every inch of her considerable height, "am Caterina, Grafin von
Hagen."

"The Amtmann," Josefa replied, a
quaver of uncertainty entering her voice, "is necessary to the Herr Graf.
He would take it hard if I were dismissed."

"Ah, but you will not be
dismissed," said Cat. Her mind worked furiously. "You will be sent to
the house of—of my brother," she said with sudden, cruel inspiration,
"Herr Theo von Ployer of Passau."

"I—I do not wish to go to Passau, Grafin." The
woman's voice quivered.

Knowing that she had Josefa on the run at
last, Cat was inspired to continue spinning the web she'd begun.

"In Passau," she said with decision,
"there are many noble families with servants who have comfortable and
secure places. There are craftsmen and guildsmen too. It would be easy for
someone like
yourself
to find a good husband there.
I'm sure," she added, almost laughing aloud at the blow she was about to
deliver. "The good Amtmann and his wife would be delighted to see you
marry well."

There was a pregnant pause. Josefa humbly
bent to pick up the crumpled stock.

"I really was supposed to wash
it."

"Go do it, then. Bring it to me
tomorrow morning before breakfast, ironed and folded."

"To you,
Grafin?"

"To me, Josefa," Cat replied
firmly. "Now go out and send someone to clean this mess."

"I will do it."

"No, send someone else. I don't want
you inside the Herr Graf's room again."

The first proper curtsy Josefa had ever
given her was dropped. Then the young woman, richly red faced, ran through the
door.

There
was the sound of
Josefa's feet
trotting down the hall and next came a baritone chuckle.
Through the door which led to Caterina's room came Christoph.

"A wonderful
performance, Grafin."
Apparently he had
been on his way to practice saber, for the weapon gleamed at his side.

"What have you done to her?" Cat
swirled to face him

"Nothing.
Nothing at all."
He lifted his hands
in denial.

When Cat made a face of disbelief,
Christoph cupped both hands around the pommel of the saber.

"I swear on this sword," he said
deliberately. "Not a kiss. Not a hug. Not a wink. Not even a pinch,
although she does have a charming backside."

"You swear?" Cat thought it best
to overlook his last remark.

"Yes, Grafin.
On my sword.
She has, however," her
husband said, "on several occasions made her willingness known to me. I
assure you, Caterina, I was not and am not interested."

"You liked her sister well
enough."

"I did."

"Does Josefa look like her?"

"Not very."

While Cat turned this over in her mind, her
husband remarked, "But this is the source of the trouble. Most women don't
take a rebuff lightly, no matter how politely it is delivered."

"How did you know what was going on up
here?"

"I saw Elsa dashing downstairs and she
told me of the impending battle. I came through your rooms and got here just in
time to hear that threat to send her to Theo.
A witty
solution."

"I'm ashamed of myself," Cat
replied. "It's just that she has been so nasty to me from the very first
day I came. It was high time she and I had it out."

"Well, Lady von Hagen," her
husband said as he opened the door and bowed her into the corridor, "That
was a performance worthy of your lady mother. Josefa took what I'd asked her to
do as encouragement. From now on someone else will bring me water and for
everyone's peace of mind, Hanna may beat my stocks to death with the rest of
the laundry."

Cat gave him her arm. They walked to the
stairs, very much the lord and lady.

"I will speak to Walter,"
Christoph said. "I know that he has had a matrimonial offer for her from a
widowed cousin of his, a master mason of Passau."

"Oh, no," Cat exclaimed, halting
their progress. "I would hate, I would never be one to force—"

"A marriage?"

"Yes." Cat met the knowing humor
in his eyes with determination. "Walter is crazy if he thinks a pretty
girl like that will settle for some old pot belly."

"I am inclined to agree with you, but
not every woman is as lucky as you, Grafin."

Cat confined her commentary to a roll of
her eyes. Chuckling, he tightened the arm around her waist, gave a quick
squeeze followed by a kiss on the cheek.

"Are you certain you haven't done
anything to her?"

"Neither to her nor with her," he
said, once more halting their progress down those steep stairs. "And how
often do I have to say it? Whatever you've heard, the simple wearing of a skirt
is not sufficient, even if Josefa is a pretty woman. Even at my worst I have
never been, as you once so delicately put it, a dog who jumps every bitch he
gets near." He let go of her hand. "Now, excuse me, Grafin. I want to
get this talk with Walter over."

He went down the stairs. At the bottom, he
moved briskly towards the Amtmann's rooms, not once looking back. Cat knew her
distrust hurt him, but she also knew that it had been necessary to her to
provoke and to witness his reaction.

* * *

Cat loved to drive the trotters. She had at
last convinced both her husband and Rossmann that she was competent to handle
them. At least once a week she and Elsa would drive them down to Heldenruhe and
back. They were never allowed to go alone, but always went with a young
cavalryman riding behind. Cat couldn't believe that the forest was so very
dangerous, although there was much talk of robbers among the servants. The
village was a destination which delighted Elsa, who loved to visit her friend
Maria and her great Uncle Leopold, but Cat was bored. It was the drive and not
Heldenruhe which delighted her, the strength, skill and concentration it took
to handle those two frisky horses.

Every now and then letters came to the
Kleine Post in the village for the manor, letters for Cat from Lady von Velsen,
or from Oncle Rupert or the Landrat for Christoph. Twice there were letters
from Christoph's commander, General von Reischach.

One day, on their way back, the cavalryman
asked if he might try his hand with the trotters. Having often admired his
skill with horses, she agreed.

"Only if you take it slow, Herr
Schenk," she said with a knowing smile. "If we have a wreck, it will
be my head as well as yours."

"Never fear, m'Lady." The Ensign
smiled and happily received the reins.

The naughty mares, feeling a change of
driver, acted up at once, but Schenk, with little difficulty, soon got them
under control. Cat leaned down to pick up the mail pouch. Looking in, she saw
an astonishing quantity of letters—four!

Idly she turned them over to see the covers.
Although the steady swaying of chaise made it a bit wobbly she could see that
all were for Christoph.

She recognized the handwriting of three of
the senders, but the fourth was a mystery, although the script was unmistakably
feminine, round and down sloping. It said "Only for the eyes of Herr Graf
Christoph von Hagen."

A chill shot through her. Carefully,
surreptitiously, praying that no one would see, Cat slipped it into her pocket.

* * *

Later, sitting in the gloomy great room
with a fire and a tray of tea and cakes before her, Cat carefully worked a
small knife under the seal of the mysterious letter. She had seen her sister
once do this when they had been visiting the von Hagen's, an occasion when
jealousy had got the better of the otherwise charitable Wilhelmina.

Cat knew she had to lift the seal in such a
way that she could put it back in one piece. The seal was ornate, a figure of
some antique god holding a lyre. Cat heaved a sigh of relief as it came up
intact. Swiftly unfolding, she saw the same childish hand that had written the
address. It was dated almost six weeks ago, the usual turtle's pace from Vienna. The message was
brief and cryptic.

* * *

A Saint's Anne's boy,
Dear Sir.

~~With Respect, Konstanze

Cat pondered. She knew Saint Anne's day was
close to the end of July. It was now almost October. The woman had apparently
kept her own counsel for some weeks after the child was born, and then,
suddenly, had decided to tell Christoph. And why should he care about a
birthday—unless—he was the father?

A noise in the hallway brought her back to
herself. Elsa, who she'd sent off on an errand, might return at any moment.
Picking up a stub of red sealing wax and a fine bit of reed, Cat set about
getting the angle right. Next she fired the reed from the candle and heated the
wax, praying that coordination of hand and eye would carry the hot blob to just
the right spot. As soon as the drop fell, she gently pressed the seal down. A
little of the new wax spread out brightly on either side, but the delicate
original did not entirely melt.

Not perfect, but good enough! After giving
it a moment to set, Cat lifted the other letters in the pouch and set the
letter from Konstanze carefully beneath them.