The Blue Diamond (8 page)

Kruger had six dozen times regretted having let his apartment to the young French girl, who turned out to be not all that he expected when she first came begging, with her big bedroom eyes suggesting all sorts of things that never transpired. Or so he had interpreted her solicitations. He had to confess himself an optimist with regard to women. He frequently misread their words, gestures, and suffered the consequential embarrassment. “Yes, yes. I heard of it. That business is settled satisfactorily, I trust?”

“It seems to be,” Moncrief answered evasively, seeing no reason to broadcast his fears.

"Perhaps next time you call, it will be friendship that brings you; not business. We have things in common, you and I. I refer to a love of art,” he explained with a smile. “I recall very well your gracious Prince Regent spoke highly of your knowledge and skill in that field, when I was in England. He was kind enough to compliment me as well. I gave him my opinion on some Dutch paintings he was adding to his collection, and in return he added a carving of jade to my collection. A Chang Kuo-lao it was, or so he believed,” he added, with a meaningful laugh.

“I’m afraid a knowledge of jade is not amongst my accomplishments. I did notice some interesting pieces in your entrance hallway, however.”

“My inferior pieces I keep there. I have a wide collection, locked in a special cabinet in my study. I am always on the lookout for a new person to show them to. Humor an old man, and come and let me show them off to you one day, Moncrief. I would be delighted. If jade is not to your taste, I have some paintings too that might interest you."

“That is very kind of you, Sir. I shall avail myself of your invitation very soon.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it. Ah, there is the King of Württemberg, looking as though he would rather be home in bed. I shall cheer him up with some salacious stories. It is the only way to amuse us old men. We are too old to be active in the fray, but enjoy to reminisce.
Au revoir
.” He bowed and left, having achieved his aim.

Later that same evening, Lady Palgrave sought out her husband’s cousin for a waltz. “I am drunk and dizzy, Tatt,” she said, running her fingers through her Portia do. “Do England a favor, and stand up with me, or I shall disgrace the nation. I think I made an indecent suggestion to the Tsar. Or perhaps he made it first to me. In any case, Emily Castlereagh gave me a great snub, and called me a jade.”

“A jade, eh?” he said, as she floated into his arms. “I know the very gent who would be interested in you then.”

“Is it that Frenchman with Miss Kruger you are speaking of? Isn’t he a gorgeous specimen? I am dying to meet him. He keeps leering at me in the most amusing way. I know he has been trying to meet me all week, for we keep bumping into him everywhere. We have achieved a bowing and smiling basis. Chabon I believe his name is.”

“That’s not the gent I meant.”

“Do you know him though?”

“No, he’s too shy to have himself presented to me as well. We aren’t even on nodding terms.”

“What a slow top you are! I would know everyone if I had been here as long as you. There are so many interesting bits of gossip to keep up with I am busy all day long. I heard the most shocking thing, Tatt darling.” She smiled and drooped her lashes at him, warning him she was feeling amorous, and would soon be trying to seduce him. Or someone. He looked around for Harvey, or failing the lady’s husband, some harmless stand-in.

“Did you know,” she asked, snuggling her head on his shoulder, “Bagration’s daughter Clementine is named after her Papa. You’ll never guess who that is! Metternich! Can you credit the brass of her, naming the girl that. Really these foreigners are up to anything. At least we put a good face on it at home, and don’t go flaunting such things in the world’s face. And he has a legitimate daughter of the same name, and after all that, now he makes love to Bagration’s worst enemy, the Duchesse de Sagan. It is better than a novel.”

“Shocking!” he replied in a bland tone.

"You’re not shocked, naughty boy!” she said, tilting her head back and smiling at him in a bold, suggestive way. “I bet you wouldn’t be shocked at anything. Even making love to your cousin’s wife.”

“Who told you about me and Claudia?” he asked, naming another cousin’s wife. Then he laughed, to show her he was joking.

“You know I didn’t mean Claudia,” she said, and put on her baby-talk face. “Googie means herself,” she said, and pouted furiously.

“Googie is drunk,” he answered, looking desperately about for help.

“Whee! Googie’s drunk!” she laughed, rather loud. “Do you like my new hairdo, Tatt? The Prince de Ligne adored it. He said he thought I was Harvey’s brother. Only fooling of course. He’s ill, by the by. Serves him right, but I hope he makes a rapid recovery, for he is so amusing. Oh dear, I must sit down. Take me out, darling Tatt. Find us a nice dark corner where we can be alone.”

She was close to staggering, but it seemed to be the heat and crowd that caused it rather than the wine. When they got out of the dancing hall, she regained her stride, and looked about for a dark, private corner. Her attention was diverted to a flock of black coats. Following her glance, Moncrief saw Chabon to be amongst the pack. Googie let his arm drop and walked towards the Frenchman, as though in a trance. As this new personage was featuring in his life now—Googie’s beaux were bound to devolve on him in some manner at this period of international turmoil—he strolled forward to make Chabon’s acquaintance.

Lady Palgrave was at her most killing, with her seductive eyelids at half mast, her lips open to reveal her white teeth, and her bodice cut low to display her bosom, which vied for attention with a splendid diamond pendant of pear shape. It was impossible to know which feature the throng of gentlemen were admiring, but certainly their eyes were below her neck. She adopted a modified version of her baby talk, usually reserved for serious seduction. The words were adult, the lisping accent was childish, as Moncrief presented her. It was the merest chance that he knew one of the gentlemen, and could initiate introductions. When finally they got round to Chabon, Googie said, “Wicked Harvey! He had known Monsieur Chabon all along, and didn’t tell Googie.”

Chabon, though French, was uneasy at the lady’s flagrant manner. He looked to Moncrief with a question in his eyes. “I had the honor of meeting Lord Palgrave at a party shortly after his arrival in Vienna.”

“That is the likeliest place to meet Palgrave,” Moncrief replied unhelpfully.

“Googie likes parties too,” Lady Palgrave said with a winsome smile. “Googie likes waltzing. Waltz with me, Monsieur,” she ordered, and latched on to his arm, to draw him into the ballroom, with a triumphant look over his shoulder to Moncrief, who hunched his elegant shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. Pity the wench wouldn’t be satisfied with her French lover, and forget about blue diamonds for the duration of the Congress.

Chapter Eight

The subject under discussion as Moncrief sat with his English colleagues was what section of Saxony might feasibly be preserved without completely alienating Prussia and Russia. Castlereagh had mixed emotions on the matter. A strong Prussia would prove a good ally and rival to Austria, but on the other hand, General Blücher was itching for war, and must not be given too large an army. Talleyrand was advocating a much weakened Prussia, in the interests of French national safety. The squabble reminded Moncrief forcibly of the infighting for Cabinet positions that occurred from time to time at Whitehall. When the discussion was finished and the gentlemen going off to their various duties, Castlereagh said, “Stay a minute, Moncrief. There’s a matter I must discuss with you."

“What is it?”

“Charles tells me your cousin is borrowing money. I would be happy if you would discourage your and his mutual friends from lending him any.”

"
Palgrave
borrowing money?” he asked, with a blank stare. It were as though India were borrowing people, or the Arctic asking for the loan of ice.

“Yes, he has hit up a couple of his friends for a short-term loan. It takes time to get funds across from England, of course. I know to my dismay the demmed length of time it takes for messages to get through—three weeks each way. It seems he has not given up on that blue diamond we spoke of. I thought it was at an end. If you can manage to get a tourniquet on funds for him, we might be saved some embarrassment. Do what you can.”

It was neither easy nor palatable to accost one’s friends on such an errand. Palgrave’s credit was not in question. He was foolishly generous, and would offer a tempting rate of interest. A better way of impeding the purchase was to deal with the seller. His only lead was Mademoiselle Feydeau. With this reason, or excuse, in mind, he walked around to her apartment, to find, after a prolonged bout of knocking, that there was no one home. Not even a housekeeper. His knock was not answered.

He turned away, disappointed, considering what to do. Without a single thought in his head of Kruger, he rounded the corner to pass the front of the house. Kruger was just driving up in his carriage. He descended, looked up, and smiled.

“Ah good! You have taken me up on my offer. Come in. Come in, Moncrief. I have got something here I wish to show you. A fine piece of purple jade from Burma—a lovely lavender shade. Uncut—exquisite! You will advise me what to do with it.”

Moncrief’s interest in jade was slight at best. He could admire a fine carving, but to advise on an uncut stone was beyond him. As Kruger was intent on furthering their friendship, however, he entered. The thought lurked at the back of his mind that he might discover Mademoiselle’s whereabouts. He was curious as well to learn why Kruger had suddenly developed this interest in him. The man filled no official capacity in the proceedings of the Congress. Still, any friend of any delegate might be used in an unofficial capacity. A suggestion, a hint, a word of advice sometimes came better from one with no official status to worry about. These unofficial friendships were encouraged by all the embassies. One never knew when a gentleman such as Kruger, with certainly Sagan’s and possibly Metternich’s ear, might be useful.

“Purple jade? I thought it was green or occasionally white,” he answered.

“Brown, yellow, all shades of green, gray-black, even blue. Infinite variety—it shares that quality with a woman,” Kruger answered, holding the door wide.

Won’t you come into my parlor
flitted through Moncrief’s mind. Something in the man’s eyes gave rise to the thought. A calculating, assessing look. What was the wily old gent up to?

Kruger chatted on in his genial, rambling way. “Wine. We shall have a glass of wine to become better acquainted,” he said, and passed the order to a servant. Moncrief was shown into a wood-paneled study, where leather-bound tomes covered two walls. Interspersed between the rows of books were small statuary, porcelain, objets d’art of all sorts. His eyes, making a quick examination of the things, found much to admire. Kruger's interest was all on the piece of silver paper in his hands, however. He unwrapped it tenderly, smiled covetously down on a chunk of purple jade about the size and roughly the shape of a baby’s head. “What do you think of that, eh?” he asked proudly.

“Nice,” Moncrief said, feeling the compliment inadequate to the possessor’s enthusiasm. But really, what did one say about a purple stone? “Where did you get it?”

“From old Eynard, the jeweler. He can find you anything.”

“What will you have done with it?” he asked next.

“Oh a bowl, I think. It is large enough for a small bowl, or vase. With careful cutting I might manage another trinket from the excavation. A beautiful piece, is it not? Lightly veined with a bluish-green bit here on the side. It will be interesting to see how the vein develops inside, whether it peters out, or widens.”

“I had not realized there were good jade cutters in Europe. I thought the pieces were brought in already carved from the east.”

“You are looking at one of the best of them,” Kruger said proudly. “Eynard taught me. He is one of the last Renaissance men. He can do anything—I speak of the lapidary arts only. He does not paint or do anything of that sort. He learned diamond cutting in Amsterdam, jade carving in the east and, as for mounting the stones in beautifully original ways, I expect he learned a few tricks from your Hamlet, though he does not confess it. I worked with him when I was a young man—a hobby merely, but it occupied many hours when I ought to have been otherwise employed in making my fortune.”

"Oh yes, I know Eynard.”

“Here, come to my curio cabinet and see my friends,” he invited, with a deprecating smile to show he joked. “I make you an offer, milord. I carved three of these pieces you are looking at. Guess two of the three, and I will give you a small jade medallion I am presently working on. A tablet, to be inserted in gold for a lady’s pendant.”

He went to the glass-fronted cabinet and looked at several shelves of statuary. There were figures of people—magicians and ceremonial figures of all sorts; there were animals, flowers, and several small bottles and bowls covered with all manner of lotus flowers, dragons and abstract designs. Kruger opened the door to hand him various statues, mentioning dynasties whose names meant little to Moncrief.—Shang, Sui, Ming—they sounded Chinese and old, and nothing more. While he spoke, the man caressed his “friends” with the hands of a lover. “Feel how cool and smooth it is to the touch. Note the veining here.” After ten minutes, Moncrief professed himself at a loss and gave up.

With an air of triumph, Kruger reached in and pointed out three pieces that rested right beneath his nose. They appeared to be as well done as the others.

“Done with my own hands,” he said. “Jade is a very difficult medium to work in—so hard. You have no idea how hard till you try it. Amazing how well it was done in the old days with virtually no tools—a reed drill perhaps. Many, myself included, feel the older carvings are better done than what we get today. There were no bad carvers in olden times they say. They took the time to finish with a hand rubbing, as I do myself. But here, take a look at this elephant,” he went on, handing one of his own pieces to his guest. “You will see no rough edges, no cutting errors. It took me three years to carve this fellow. In my spare time, you understand,” he explained, as Moncrief widened his eyes in disbelief at so lavish a disbursal of time with so little results.