The Dead Travel Fast (6 page)

At length I was aware of Cosmina, watching me and waiting for me to make her a reply. “You are well and truly delivered,” I told her. “And I am glad of it for your sake. One hopes he will discharge his duties by his people as their count. And when he is gone to Paris again, we will have many a quiet night to enjoy the peace of his departure.”

The pretty face was wreathed in smiles. “Do you promise? You will stay, even though I am not to be married? I had not hoped my company enough would be sufficient to keep you.”

“Of course I will stay,” I promised. “I am quite charmed by the castle and the village, and I mean to write my novel.”

“You will have all the peace and solitude you could want,” she vowed. “I will leave you to your work, and when you wish society, you have only to find me and I will be your amusement.”

We concluded the visit by making plans for the rest of the autumn and into the winter when the snows would blanket the mountains.

“Who knows? Perhaps the snows will be too thick and we will keep you here until spring,” she added mischievously.

“Perhaps, although I think my sister might well come and take me back to England with her should I stay gone for so long.” I brandished the letter I had written. “I have been here a day and already I must write her to say I am arrived.”

Cosmina put out a hand. “I will see it is delivered for you. We may not have many of the modern comforts here, but we do have the post,” she told me with a little giggle. I wondered then how long it had been since she had truly laughed, and I was suddenly glad I had come.

She sobered. “And do not worry about Andrei. He behaves badly, but I promise you, I will not permit him to harm you, my friend.”

She looked stalwart as any soldier, and I smiled to think of her, fierce in my defense should I have need of her.

“You need have no worry on my account, Cosmina. I rather like to catch people behaving badly. It gives me something to laugh at and fodder for my stories.”

She slanted me a curious look. “Then there will be much here in Transylvania to inspire you.”

5

The evening meal was a more formal affair than I would have expected given the quiet and isolation of the castle. But I dressed with care in my one evening gown of deepest black, a slender ribbon of black velvet at my throat as my only adornment. I arranged my hair in the customary heavy coils at the nape of my neck, and as I did so, I thought again of the count reaching past me in the library, his warm breath skimming over the skin of my neck, his hands sliding over mine in the warm waters of the washbasin.

“Do not think of it,” I warned myself severely in the looking glass. “It cannot be.” Whatever my inclination towards the count, Cosmina’s confidences had persuaded me he was not to be trusted, and I freshened my resolve to think upon him only as my host, as an inspiration for my work and nothing more.

The others, including the count, were assembled in the great hall when I arrived. I was pleased to see the countess among them, for her health must be improved if she could rise to dine with us. She was dressed in a beautiful gown of deep green velvet, a little old-fashioned in its style but still magnificent. Perhaps the colour did not suit her, for I thought she looked very pale, and when she rose from her chair she gave a little cough, then mastered herself to greet me.

“Good evening, Miss Lestrange. I hope you will forgive my absence today. I was unwell, but I am better now. Our cook has prepared her very best dish in your honour.” I returned her greeting and nodded to the others in turn. She instructed Florian to lead me in to dinner. She took the count’s arm herself, and Cosmina and Frau Amsel were left to shift for themselves.

“I shall have to acquire more gentlemen,” the countess said lightly as we were seated. “Or the pair of you will have to keep a lady upon each arm, like Eastern potentates.”

The count made some rejoinder in a low voice, but Florian said nothing. His expression was unaltered, and I was struck again by the aura of sadness that surrounded him. His mother seemed unaware of it, or perhaps merely reconciled, for she seated herself with a mien of pleasurable expectation as a dog will when it smells a bone. Whatever disappointments Frau Amsel had suffered in her life, she seemed to have consoled herself with food.

I glanced about the room, recalling the count’s remarks from the morning’s tour of the castle. I noted afresh its splendour, for it was the most luxurious and lavish room he had shown me. The walls were panelled in gilded wood and hung with enormous oil paintings in heavy gilt frames. The table itself was inlaid in an intricate pattern of birds and flowers with no cloth to hide its beauty. The chairs were of a medieval style, with lion’s paws for feet and great high backs upholstered in scarlet velvet. A series of sideboards ranged along the walls, each more elaborately carved than the next with hunting scenes, and heavily laden with pewter and silver marked with the Dragulescu crest. Even the carving set was large in scale and impressive in both design and execution. It depicted a stag chased by wolves, a masterpiece of the silversmith’s art. The lines of it were blurred by use, and it had clearly taken pride of place in the dining hall for many generations.

In all, it was a grand and impressive room, and for a little while it was possible to forget the decay elsewhere in the castle. The candlelit gloom concealed the tarnish and moth I had detected by daylight, and the fire burning in the tremendous hearth and the great dog lounging beside it lent an air of medieval grandeur.

The food itself was excellent, rather heavy and Germanic in flavour, but wonderfully prepared. The conversation proved less palatable. Frau Amsel did not speak, preferring instead to apply herself to the array of dishes set before us, tasting each with a resounding smack of the lips. The count seemed distracted and spoke little, and even then only to a direct question put to him by his mother. Perhaps there was an unspoken rule of etiquette, for I saw that the others did not address him, and as he did not notice them, they took no liberty to engage him. Cosmina darted a glance or two at him, her expression watchful, but when he did not speak, she seemed to give a little sigh and relax. I observed him looking at me curiously once or twice, but apart from that he seemed sunk deep in his own thoughts, drinking his wine and occasionally pushing his food about on his plate but eating little. The countess—who took only a tiny portion, refusing everything but a slice of roast pork and a warming plate of consommé—attempted to compensate for his silence by putting to me questions about my impressions of Transylvania and the castle itself. Her pride in her home was apparent, and I was careful to praise the natural beauties of the place. I remarked to her also that I had made the acquaintance of Dr. Frankopan and found him quite charming.

“Ah, Ferenc! Yes, he is quite a prop to me. I could not manage without him. He has known me from girlhood, and sometimes it is good to be with someone who knows one best,” she told me. Frau Amsel frowned and studied her plate as the countess continued. “Of course, I have my devoted Clara as well. We were at school together, did I tell you, Miss Lestrange?”

She had, and I wondered anew how Frau Amsel had come to work as companion to her former school friend. Had the countess climbed so far above her raising or had Frau Amsel fallen so low? She must have married to have borne Florian, yet there was no mention of Herr Amsel, and it suddenly became clear to me that widowhood had likely reduced her circumstances and driven her to take a post in this remote and distant place.

The countess chatted on, mentioning a few diversions I might enjoy during my stay. “There is a passable inn in the village where you might take a meal. Florian could show you, some morning when he is not occupied with his duties or his lessons with Cosmina.”

Florian had glanced up at the mention of his name, but upon meeting my eyes, he flushed deeply and fixed his attention upon his roast pork.

“He is a very talented musician,” the countess explained. “He had just won a place in the conservatory in Vienna when Frau Amsel decided to make her home here. He was but twelve years old, and yet he had already studied for a number of years and was quite accomplished. He plays for me sometimes to soothe my nerves and he gives lessons to Cosmina on pianoforte and harp.”

“I am afraid I try his patience,” Cosmina said with a graceful drop of the head. “I am passable with the pianoforte, but the harp makes me quite stupid.”

“No, indeed,” Florian put in hastily. “It is only that I am a poor teacher.”

I noticed then that the count was watching this exchange with interest, his eyes agleam with speculation. For myself, I wondered at the capricious hand of fate in Florian’s life. To have secured a place in any conservatory in Vienna spoke to both his talent and the habit of hard work. He might have become a great composer or musician, playing to the crowned heads of Europe or the crowded concert halls of the capitals. Instead he had come to live in the distant Carpathians, put to work as a steward with ledgers and books in place of strings and bows. I could not imagine that his occasional performance for the countess or his lessons with Cosmina could satisfy any artistic temperament. Perhaps this was the source of his sadness, I mused.

With a start I recalled myself to the conversation and Cosmina’s protest that she was an indifferent student. The countess put in matter-of-factly, “Of course you are stupid on the harp, Cosmina. You do not practise. One must work to improve oneself, is that not so, Miss Lestrange?”

I framed my reply carefully. “It is hardly fair to appeal to me, madam. I am a Scot. It is a point of national pride to prize work above all else, to our detriment at times.”

The countess seemed intrigued by this, for she left off speaking to Cosmina and focused her attention upon me. “And do you work, Miss Lestrange?”

“I am a writer. I earn my keep by my pen.”

The countess snapped her fingers and I noticed then the jewel she wore, a great pigeon’s blood ruby, shimmering in the candlelight. “Of course. Cosmina has told me of this. But I spoke of self-improvement, Miss Lestrange, not employment. Work must be undertaken by everyone according to his station for the development of proper character, but it is not fitting for the dignity of a gentleman or a gentlewoman to accept pay for his or her efforts.”

“It is if the gentleman or gentlewoman wishes to eat,” I countered too hastily, immediately regretting it. I was not surprised the countess believed work was vulgar; I was only caught unprepared that she should speak of such things so freely, and before so many of us who were bound by circumstance to make our own way in the world. And then I thought of her son, heir to a great estate but determined not to make a success of it, and I felt a rush of anger heat the pit of my stomach. I pushed away the plate of roasted pork, so delectable only a moment before.

But the countess, either from her own good breeding or perhaps an easy temperament, did not take offence. Rather, she smiled at me, a warm, deliberate smile, and for the first time I felt the strength of her charm. “Of course, Miss Lestrange. You speak of necessity, and I meant something quite different. Ah, here is Tereza with dessert. Miss Lestrange, you must like this. It is a rice pudding, flavoured with caraway and other spices. I would know what you think of it.”

I dipped a spoon into the pudding and took a bite. It melted, creamy and luxurious against my tongue, the comfort of a nursery pudding dissolving into something quite exotic and otherworldly. What had been bland and uninspiring in Scotland here was mysterious and almost sensual. It seemed a fitting metaphor for the place itself, I decided with a flick of my gaze towards the count. I dipped my spoon again and gave myself up to the pleasures of the table.

After the meal was concluded, the countess’s energy seemed to flag and Frau Amsel roused herself to overrule the countess’s suggestion of an impromptu concert.

“You did not sleep an hour last night,” Frau Amsel told her in a gently scolding tone. “You must be put right to bed. If you have a good night and keep to your bed tomorrow, perhaps you may stay up tomorrow evening. Florian will prepare something special for your amusement.”

At this she threw a look of significance to her son, who responded promptly. “Of course, madame. It would be my pleasure. But I have nothing prepared tonight and would disappoint you, I am certain.”

“You play like an angel,” the countess rejoined. “But I will play the little lamb tonight and go where I am led. I confess I am just a bit tired.”

She seemed nearer to exhaustion, for her eyes had sunk into shadows during our meal and her cough had worsened. She leaned heavily on Frau Amsel’s arm and waved the count away when he stepped up to assist her.

“No, dearest. I have my Clara to help. And Cosmina,” she added. “I think I should like to hear more of the book you began reading to me last week, Cosmina, if Miss Lestrange can bear the loss of your company.” The countess turned to me. “I am longing to hear the conclusion, and unfortunately my dear Clara does not read French. You will not mind an early evening, Miss Lestrange?”

“Of course not, madame. I am quite content to retire to my room and do a little writing.”

She nodded her thanks and we moved as a party into the great hall. Tereza and her sister appeared with candles for everyone to light their way to bed. I took mine up hastily, realising that the count and I should be left alone as soon as the others departed.

“Good evening, sir,” I said, giving a quick nod for the sake of politeness. I scurried from the hall, but not before I caught his expression, mildly amused it seemed, but I did not stop to wonder why. I hurried to my room and closed the stout oak door behind me.

Tereza, or perhaps Aurelia, had made up the fire, and the room was warm enough, but I was too restless to retire. I sat for a little time in the embrasure of the window, watching the stars rise above the great craggy peaks of the mountains. One in particular shone with a brilliant silver light, illuminating the valley below almost as brightly as the moon might have done. I regretted that I had not thought to wish upon it, but no sooner had I thought it, than I heard a noise outside my door.

It came again, and I realised it was the sound of footsteps approaching. I moved closer to the door and pressed my ear upon it, straining to hear through the thick oaken planks. Another footstep, and this time I knew it was the sound of someone climbing the tower stair. I believed I lodged alone in the tower, for the family wing where I had later visited Cosmina was far to the opposite side of the castle. My fire had been made up, my bed turned down. There was no call for the maids to come. Who then approached, each footstep ringing closer upon the stones, striking with the same rhythm as the beating of the blood in my ears?

Seizing my courage, I grasped the handle of the door firmly and jerked hard, thinking to surprise whoever lurked upon the stairs. Instead I reeled back, startled to see the count.

He raised his brows. “Are you quite all right, Miss Lestrange? You look as if you had seen a ghost. Or rather, you look as if you
were
a ghost. You have gone quite pale.”

I was conscious of my hand, flown to my throat, and I dropped it. “I am perfectly well, only startled. I thought I was quite alone in the tower, and I remembered the tales I have heard of bandits in these mountains.”

He did not smile at this absurdity. “And monsters in the castle? There are no bandits here, Miss Lestrange—at least not the sort who would dare to enter my castle uninvited. And you are not alone in the tower. My chamber is directly above yours.”

This piece of intelligence was both comforting and unsettling. Comforting because it was a relief to know that another human being rested within the sound of my voice should I have need of him; unsettling because it was the count. I knew not what to make of him, and as the only other inhabitant of this part of the castle, I fell even more within his power than I had realised.

Suddenly, he put out his hand. “Come with me, Miss Lestrange. I wish to show you something.”

I hesitated and he reached further. “There is no call for reluctance. I was not entirely honest. I do not wish to show you something. I wish to see something, and I would rather not be alone. Your presence would be of service to me, and I think you are too gracious to refuse your host,” he added with the slightest touch of imperiousness.