Tempting Fate (26 page)

Ragoczy’s Italian was excellent, and he replied in that language. “No, Signorina, I don’t agree with you at all.” Then he resumed speaking German. “Have you Russian? My ward’s first language is Russian.”

Fräulein Mauser’s jaw became even more square. “I know a few words, but it has not seemed to be a language for serious study. Those authors who are worth reading have been given superior translations. For the rest, there is little scholarship in that language and nothing of culture.”

“And would you be willing to learn Russian?”

“Your ward will be learning Deutsch. There is no reason for me to become proficient in Russian. It would only encourage her to keep to her old ways,” Fräulein Mauser said at her most tolerant. “It is not wise to encourage laxity, Herr Graf.”

“Indeed it is not,” he interjected, his expression set into careful neutrality.

“It may also indicate lack of proper concern on your part if you encourage her.” She gave him a small, triumphant smile. “I will discuss the matter with you once I have observed the child more closely.”

Ragoczy shook his head. “I am desolated to have to disappoint you, Fräulein Mauser, but I fear I will have to forgo your superior services. Doubtless someone of a more traditional bent than myself will be delighted to have you teach his children.” He saw her dawning outrage, and went on most urbanely, “I have said that I will give you a proper reference as the result of this interview, and you may be certain that I will. My manservant will give it to you when he drives you to the train station in Hausham.” Again he did not rise, but his dismissal was pointedly clear.

“Herr Graf, I am at a loss for words!” Fräulein Mauser began as she got to her feet.

“Then pray do not exhaust yourself with a fruitless search.” He inclined his head and gave his attention to a stack of papers on his desk. He ignored everything but the violent closing of the door, which he acknowledged with a sardonic half-smile.

“Herr Pfahl,” Roger announced a few minutes later, and ushered the young man into the room.

“Do please be seated,” Ragoczy said to the young man, thinking that, from Herr Pfahl’s manner, Fräulein Mauser must have been able to tell him quite a lot in a matter of minutes.

“I think I would rather stand,” he said stiffly.

“If you prefer, by all means.” Ragoczy leaned back in his chair. “You specialize in Romance Languages, and—”

“I don’t know Russian!” the young man blurted out.

“I gathered that. It does present something of problem, though not, I trust, an insurmountable one. You obviously have a talent for languages, and—” He was not allowed to continue.

“I have no feeling for Slavic tongues. I am certain I would not be of use to you, or your ward.” His face had reddened and his eyes stared at the far wall.

Ragoczy sighed. “My ward is an unfortunate child, Herr Pfahl. She is very much alone in the world but for me. You must make allowances for my concern for her.”

“Yes. Of course. Very understandable.” He had taken one step back. “I have not worked with young students before, only those more advanced, preparing to enter the university. If I had known that your ward was not an advanced student, then I would not have sent an application for the position.” He looked toward the door. “I did not mean to put you to any trouble, Herr Graf. I won’t trouble you further.” With that, he turned and fled from the room.

Ragoczy examined the nails of his left hand, a hand, he told himself, that he did not like to have forced. He reached into one of the pigeonholes of the desk and drew out two sheets of fine paper. These he laid side by side, then reached for two fountain pens. Holding one pen in each hand, he began to write identical recommendations.

He was just signing them when Roger opened the door again. “Herr Bündnis, my master.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Ragoczy said as he replaced the lids of the pens and reached for blotters. “I will be with you in a moment, Herr Bündnis.”

“Whatever you wish, Herr Ragoczy,” was the prompt response.

“I trust,” Ragoczy went on, pleasantly surprised by the use of his name instead of his title, “that you are not going to tell me that you do not speak Russian.”

Herr Bündnis looked directly at Ragoczy. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. I have some Polish, however, and a little Czech.”

“Very enterprising,” Ragoczy said, waiting.

“I learned both from servants at households where I have worked before.” He added with sudden modest discomfort, “A few of the servants did not speak much Deutsch, and it was useful to be able to translate for them.”

“As much for your employers as for you, I suspect,” Ragoczy observed. He had the impression that he was being manipulated, and it was a thing he disliked. “Have you any theories on education, Herr Bündnis, or aversions to teaching one youngster?”

He hunched his shoulders and beetled his brow. “I believe in discipline, of course, and if your ward is a hoyden, we might not do well together. Still, the children I have worked with have been able to advance under my tuition. That’s something. My father was a teacher in the village where we lived for a time.” This admission made him even more uncomfortable.

“What village was that, Herr Bündnis?” Ragoczy asked, all attention.

“You would not know of it. He was killed in the war, in any case. My mother died of influenza last year.” His features were Strained. “This has little to do with my abilities as a teacher. I assure you that I have the necessary skill to work with your ward, if she is willing to do her part.”

“She is an intelligent child,” Ragoczy said quietly. “But not precisely like your other students. I shall expect to be informed of her progress as well as observing her for myself. Is that acceptable to you, Herr Bündnis?”

The tutor stared at him. “Acceptable?”

“There is also the matter of salary, housing, privileges, and the like, but I hope that you will give me a little time to work that out with you. When can you be ready to come here?” The questions were stern but his countenance was wryly humorous.

“Come here? Oh, by Friday. Yes. Friday,” Herr Bündnis stammered, and then forced himself to speak clearly. “I will be here on Friday if that is to your liking, Herr Ragoczy. I have two trunks and quite a few books, if that is allowable.”

“Natürlich. Tutors are supposed to have books.” He held out his small, beautiful hand. “It is agreed then?”

“Yes. Yes. Certainly!” His grip was enthusiastic. “Vielen Dank, Herr Ragoczy.”

“Gar nicht, Herr Bündnis.” He released the tutor’s hand and leaned back in his chair. “I will tell Laisha Vlassevna—my ward, Herr Bündnis—to expect you.” For an instant he hesitated, then asked, “What is your Christian name, Herr Bündnis?”

“Ah … David,” was the startled reply.

“David,” Ragoczy repeated. “Sehr gut. I will tell my manservant to meet your train on Friday.” He rose and strolled to the door. “If you care to come with me, Herr Bündnis, I will call Roger.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He followed Ragoczy hastily out of the study. As they went down the hallway, he gathered enough courage to say, “Will it be all right if I correspond with my aunt? She lives in Koln, and has no other relatives…”

“You may do just as you like, Herr Bündnis,” Ragoczy told him as he indicated a door on the left.

It was the music room, and at the moment four workmen were restoring the plaster to its original decorative forms. Roger stood with one of the men, reading over a set of architectural drawings. He looked up as the door opened.

“Roger, this is Herr Bündnis, who is to be Laisha’s tutor. If you can spare a moment to talk with him, it might be wise to arrange to meet him on Friday, when he is to come to us.” Ragoczy nodded to the workmen, raising his voice to say to the room at large, “You’ve done very well. I am quite pleased.”

One of the workmen gave a deferential wave for the rest, then returned to his labors.

Roger had already asked two quick questions of Herr Bündnis, and said, “There are trains at eleven in the morning—the one you arrived on today—and four in the afternoon. There is also another train in the summer, but that is not a consideration just now. Tell me which is convenient, and I will meet you.”

“The eleven-o’clock will be fine,” Herr Bündnis said nervously. “If you would prefer that I come on the later train…”

“It is of no concern, Herr Bündnis,” Roger assured him, and left the room to settle the matter of the tutor’s quarters.

Half an hour later, as the three tutors were getting into the Benz touring car to be driven to the train station, Ragoczy came upon his manservant again.

“Well, old friend, is it settled, then?” He spoke in Latin, in an accent that had not been heard for nearly two thousand years.

“It would seem so.” Roger’s blue eyes were curious.

“Yes. I think we had better learn a bit more about Herr Bündnis. This aunt of his in Koln—I would like to know who she is. And where his father taught. This has been a very neat maneuver, perhaps a jot too neat. You’re going to Zurich and Lucerne in a month or so, aren’t you?” He let the question hang.

“It might take me another four or five days to get the information you want,” Roger said. His voice was carefully schooled: their conversation sounded no more important than a discussion of household supplies.

“And the others?” Ragoczy said speculatively. “I’m curious to know where they next find employment. Fräulein Mauser will not be difficult to trace, if we must, but I think that Herr Pfahl is a more difficult matter. Perhaps a word or two to Professor Riemen might be useful.”

“I will be delivering your papers to him, in any case,” Roger reminded him.

“My thought precisely,” Ragoczy murmured. “A fine opportunity.”

Roger looked thoughtfully down the road, where the Benz was taking the first of four long switchback turns. “What do you anticipate?”

“Why, nothing,” Ragoczy said to him.

Roger had been with his master far too long to press him at such moments. Tactfully he turned their talk to different matters and shortly was pleased when Ragoczy excused himself to go work in the large stark room behind his cozy study.

Text of a letter from Herr August Kehr to the manservant Roger.

SCHWEIZERBANK

14 NACHHALTIGSTRASSE

ZÜRICH

March 26, 1919

Herr Roger

Hôtel Françias

Dortmundstrasse

Zürich

My dear sir:

I have in hand your employer’s authorization for the transfer of five hundred thousand Swiss francs to his bank in München. The situation there is, as you are doubtless aware, politically unstable. The Spartacists may have nominal control of the city, but with the Frei Korps tightening their position around the city, this cannot continue for long. As your employer has granted me certain discretionary options, I feel it would be of benefit to both this bank and your employer if we delay the transfer for a month or so until the political situation is less uncertain. For the moment, I am sending notification of the proposed transfer to the Bayerisch Kreditkörperschaft, to Herr Helmut Rauch, who Will handle matters on that end of the dealings. Herr Rauch has not been With BKK for long but has been spoken of most highly by his colleagues there. I have no doubt that Herr Graf Ragoczy may repose complete confidence in this man.

It is my understanding that the sums your employer has deposited with Rothschild are not to be touched. May I take the liberty of saying that this is undoubtedly wise, although I could wish more of Herr Graf Ragoczy’s funds were to remain with us.

As always, you may be sure of our continuing service and most confidential dealings.

On behalf of the Schweizerbank, it is my honor to be

Sincerely at your service,

August Kehr

3

By nine that evening, the party at Wolkighügel had divided itself into three uneasy parts. In the library Maximillian Altbrunnen had shut himself up with his cronies from München in open disregard for his sister’s wishes. There was a trio playing dance music in the large dining room, and those guests who were determined to ignore Maximillian’s churlishness were gathered there in the dogged pursuit of a pleasant evening. The smallest group of all sat in the conservatory, doing their best to be invisible. Gudrun set her mouth in a permanent meaningless smile as she made her way from one group to the other, wishing fervently that she had never decided on the party.

She had just asked Otto to open more champagne when the front knocker resounded through the front hall. “But who? At this hour?” Gudrun wondered aloud.

Otto shrugged and turned away to answer the door. “Good evening,” he said with a light nod to the figure on the threshold.

“And to you,” said Franchot Ragoczy as he stepped into the room, removing his black silken evening cloak as he did. His formal clothing was immaculate: full tails, exquisitely cut, a white silk shirt, white brocade vest with ruby studs, a neat black velvet tie fixed with a square-cut ruby stickpin. He pulled black kid gloves from his hands and gave them along with his cloak to Otto.

Gudrun stared at her guest, and for once did not quite know what to say. She realized who the man must be, but when he had not arrived for the dinner, she assumed that he would not attend. She blushed slightly, unaware of how this heightened color improved her looks.

“I fear I must apologize for my tardy arrival,” Ragoczy was saying as he started toward his hostess. “I am Saint-Germain.” He pronounced it in the French manner.

“Graf Ragoczy?” It could be no other, and the name of the Schloss was the same, but she could not entirely believe her good fortune. Gudrun held out her hand to him, thinking that perhaps her party would not be a total failure after all.

He carried her hand to his lips, bowing in perfect form. “Frau Ostneige?” His dark eyes smiled enigmatically into her pale blue ones.

Gudrun inwardly rebuked herself for the sudden attraction she had for this man. She reminded herself of Jürgen lying propped in his bed upstairs, unable to take part in the festivities, his once-magnificent body withered to the thinness and frailty of twigs. She had no right to look at this stranger so intensely.