Iron Butterflies Read online

  As I drank the thick chocolate Truda poured me, I wondered if their masters and mistresses must not sometimes appear to them as dolls, to be dressed and then set into another world altogether. Used as I was to the manor, where the most minute details of daily life were open and known, this stiff separation made me uneasy. Whereas Letty, as she bustled about my room, would have had a tongue busy with reports on a dozen or so small matters she deemed it necessary for me to know, this girl crept as noiselessly as possible, flushed when I spoke to her, took on a ghostlike character I found disturbing.

  She had already unpacked my clothing, hanging my gowns in the wardrobe, dealing efficiently with my other belongings. Now she stood not too far away, ready to raise the cover from the plates, to display bread cut into finger-sized bites and already buttered, a small pot of dark red jam, a selection of pastries. I thought longingly of the good home-cured ham and other more sustaining viands which would have been served me usually, provider meant to sustain one through a busy day.

  How did a Countess of the Holy Roman Empire spend her days? Certainly, I decided, not at a desk writing out a series of instructions to men of business, nor in riding around fields to check the crops, visiting dairy, kitchen, still room, the hands’ quarters—all those duties I knew so well. Would boredom itself conquer ray sense of duty? I was never meant to sit with idle hands and empty mind.

  My watch reported the hour of nine. At home I would have been already two hours busy. But here— In my survey of the room I had not seen a single book, nor any other aid to finding employment.

  Cup still in hand, I went to the nearest window, curious about Axelburg, or what I might see of it. I already knew from the Gräfin's chatter, that the Elector Adolf (my great-grandfather, that is) had torn apart with ruthless energy his ancestral palace and rebuilt it, by vast labor at untold expense, in the style of an inferior copy of Versailles, so that it stretched out from the old city (the VERY old city) in the form of a fan.

  This morning I could see beyond a cluster of gabled roofs and some towers which must mark churches the rise of the palace. Notable as a part of that were two towers, totally at odds with the rest of the roofline, one at either end of the structure.

  Those were all that remained of the original building and the Grafin had explained the reason for their survival. Elector Adolf—though he had prided himself on foward-looking views and had patronized several men of the newer learning—had also sheltered a certain Count Ladislaw Varkoff of mysterious origin. He had acted the part of the Elector's private prophet and several of his predictions had proven surprisingly accurate. His main claim to fame had been a stern warning that, were either of the ancient watchtowers of the previous castle-palace destroyed, the ruling family of Hesse-Dohna itself would come to an abrupt end. Thus the towers remained to frown at the frivolities which the Elector used to decorate his new home.

  The Grafin had pointed out that my grandfather's gutting of the interior of the west tower had indeed been followed by the death of his only direct heir. Now the rule would pass to a cadet House of supposedly inferior standing.

  I became aware of Truda hovering nearby and asked what she wanted.

  “What gown does the gracious and highborn lady desire? The Gräfin awaits her in the gold room—” This was the longest speech she had made and one she voiced so hurriedly that her words slurred. I half expected her to give a visible sigh of relief as she ended.

  What gown indeed? For the first time I seriously considered the contents of that wardrobe. Though my grandmother had made a point of seeing that we were dressed in the best of fashion available, by the time any style found its way from Paris or London to Baltimore it was already probably well out of date. Judging by the Grafin's daily wear, I already appeared most drab and dowdy. I had not missed the glances she had turned upon me when she believed herself unobserved. However, I had no intention of spending any of my guarded secret store of money on dress. I could use my plea of being still in mourning to cover my deficiencies yet awhile.

  “The gray silk with the lilac ribbons—”

  Now I was sure of Truda's questioning side glance.

  “I am in mourning,” I said flatly. Perhaps the high-born ladies of her experience would have given no explanation, but such came natural to me. There were times in the past when I had had heated arguments with Letty over the suitability of this or that gown.

  The gray silk was produced and I had some difficulty in persuading Truda I was not a doll to be dressed but could put on garments by my own efforts. The gown was indeed plain, with a ruffle of discreet lace high, about my throat and only a procession of small, precise bows down the bodice, and narrow puffed-ribbon banding to weight the flare of the skirt. In this stately room I was now a stray from another world, perhaps a humble governess peering daringly into the mirrors of her mistress.

  Under my orders Truda coiled up my hair in the sensible crown of braids I always wore. My reflection told me I looked neat and respectable. Only, was either term the proper one to be applied to the granddaughter of a ruling prince? Neatness was a virtue, but respectability in my present surrounding was, by the Grafin's hints and lively comments, not an attribute much cultivated at court.

  A lackey, with powdered hair and a crested coat bearing bunches of ribbons on either shoulder, bowed me out and ushered me as a guide though several corridors, down the main flight of stairs again, to bring me at last to a door he threw open with a flourish.

  The sun was very bright across a thickly Deflowered carpet which set a whole garden underfoot. There was no gloom here, the furniture was all white and gold, covered with golden velvet. The carvings on the wall panels had also been gilded, so that the wreaths of impossibly plump fruits glittered.

  In contrast to the spill of brilliance around her the Gräfin appeared in a light shade of blue. To my eyes that dress was more elaborate than any which might have been worn to a Maryland ball. The neckline was very low and the guimpe which filled it was only a hint of modest covering, being of a fine net which concealed nothing of the rise of her full breasts.

  She wore a heavy necklace over this gauzy shield and there were jeweled drops in her ears. In addition a sparkling buckle latched a ribbon belt which accented the smallness of her waist, meant also, I presumed, to draw attention to those higher mounds where nature had been so generous. To my eyes there was a vulgarity in such a show which made me vow inwardly that if she represented the high fashion of Hesse-Dohna, then I would remain a down by choice.

  “Dear Countess!” She jumped up as might a vivacious girl, hurrying toward me with both hands outstretched, as if I were her dearest friend. I did not miss the shadow of dismay in the blue eyes which surveyed me from head to foot. “I trust you rested well. Does Truda satisfy you? She has been well instructed, I assure you. She knows even the latest styles of hair dressing—”

  “She is most deft and pleasant.” I could not escape the stab of irritation at that suggestion that I was no good advertisement of Truda's skills. “But, as you must remember, Grafin, I am in mourning—”

  “But you cannot keep to that—not here!” Her sharp protest startled me. “It is not the way of the court. Private mourning must not exist when one goes into public. You will come to understand our ways soon.”

  “When I meet the Elector?” I wanted to know just how soon I could carry out the purpose which had brought me here. “Just when can that be arranged, Grafin?”

  “Please,” she pouted, “let us not be always so stiff with one another. We are kinswomen, I want us to be friends also. Let me be Luise—not always ‘Grafin.’ It will be so pleasant, as you shall see. His Highness”— her face turned sober—“your meeting with him must be most carefully arranged. He is ill, his doctors forbid excitement for him. There are others who might make trouble. We must wait—”

  Her words now did not agree with what Colonel Fen-wick had told me of the need for haste, his insistence that the Elector's health was so precarious that I must trave
l at bone-racking speed to reach the bedside of a dying man before it was too late. I had not seen the Colonel since my arrival. Of course he was not a member of this household, but I had thought that he would keep in closer communication with me—some message— It struck me then that I had no idea at all how I might get in touch with him should the need arise.

  “We shall be told at once when it is possible,” the Grafin continued. ‘This is a most private matter, you understand. Only a very few people close to the Elector know of his earlier marriage at all—fewer still that he has moved now to have it declared a legal morganatic one—”

  I looked at her steadily. “By the laws of my country he has had only one legal marriage—that which united him to my grandmother. My father was his single legal heir—”

  The Grafin threw up her plump white hands in a gesture which might express either surprise, or some exasperation at my dullness. “The laws of your country mean nothing here, that you must understand. Also”— there was a very distinct sharpness in her tone—“there are those who would not wish the Elector to show any favor, even at this late date to—” She hesitated.

  “A dubious descendant?” I finished for her.

  “But that you truly are not—you are of the Blood!” She nodded her head emphatically. “Has not the Elector already procured for you the title of Countess of the Empire? As such you can take a high position. But you have to fear the will of the Princess Adelaide. She is his only remaining daughter, and she never married. She was too much of a Wittlesbach to take a lesser match than a ruling prince, and no greater one was offered. Though”—she laughed maliciously—“when they hastened to marry off King George's sons so that there might be a heir, she fancied her right to be one of those choices. Now she has consoled herself with religion and has been appointed Lady Abbess of Guern— though she spends more time at court striving, as she avers, to convert her father to pious ways, than she does at her abbey.”

  I wondered why the Grafin had never been moved during her babbling concerning the court to mention before this particular obstacle in my path. I was about to break my self-imposed rule of not asking blunt questions when the door of the golden room opened and one of the lackeys announced:

  “Baron von Werthern.”

  The man, who entered with the ease of one perfectly at home, indeed bore some resemblance to that miniature the Grafin had so coyly displayed. But the artist had flattered him by thinning down the pouchiness of his jowls, setting his small eyes farther a part. He might be termed good-looking, or possibly so—in a coarse way; and he carried his thick body with more grace than one would expect. Also the uniform he wore lent him eye-catching attention. He crossed the room in a stride far heavier than that of Colonel Fenwick and raised the Grafin's hand to thick lips.

  “Konrad! But we thought you on maneuvers.” She became all fluttering eyelashes and smiles. “What a magnificent surprise!”

  Surprise it was not, I was sure. She was already turning to me.

  “Grafin von Harrach, may I present Baron Konrad von Werthern.” She spoke as if calling my attention to some treasure as great as any guarded in the Elector's famous tower.

  “Gracious lady.” Now he bowed to me. His English was guttural, far more accented than the Grafin's. “We have been waiting impatiently for your arrival.”

  I curtsied as I would to any gentleman upon introduction. But I did not extend my hand. I felt distaste at the very thought of having his lips touch my flesh. He was eyeing me in a bold way which I disliked almost as much.

  Having lived most of my life in such a reclusive fashion, I had very little knowledge of the ways of men, and I certainly never expected to awaken instant admiration in a stranger. Neither had I thought to be surveyed as if I were a slave on an auction block— which was the only way I could describe the look which the Baron turned on me. I withdrew to the settee and met that stare coolly with I hoped some of my grandmother's quelling cast of countenance.

  The Grafin broke into feverish chatter, as if the result of this introduction was not what she had expected. Did she believe her friend so completely overpowering in his person that I would goggle at him bemused? I was perplexed now as to whether it would be considered the discreet action for me to withdraw, leaving her to entertain her favored guest in private.

  Before I could put my desire into effect, as if she sensed my intention, she was on the settee beside me, one of my hands caught in hers as an anchorage. Perhaps I was to serve as a chaperon, or maybe it was my drabness she desired to enhance her own sparkling affinity with that vividly bright room!

  I wag given little time to dwell on either suggestion, for the Baron deliberately moved a chair close to my side of the settee, seating himself, and leaning a little forward to address a series of pompous and dull questions.

  Had I found our traveling unduly fatiguing? What was my impression of Axelburg? Each time he waited for my reply as an instructor might wait for the proper answer from a dull pupil. I was certain that he was playing some sort of a role and his real emotion was that of boredom. The Grafin kept glancing from one to the other of us as she might watch some absorbing action in a play. Nor did she appear in the least irritated that her cavalier was focusing his full attention on me.

  I replied shortly concerning the bare facts of our journey. As for Axelburg, I spoke the entire truth.

  “Of that, sir, I have seen so little I have not gained any reliable impression of it.”

  He appeared to brighten a little. “That can be changed, Countess. It would give me, for one, the greatest of pleasures to make known to you our city. A city of which we are justly proud.” His stilted speech had the ring of sarcasm to me, and I did not like the way he kept leaning farther and farther forward in his seat as if to give the impression that we two were speaking privately. I felt rather than saw Grafin Luise stir. Was she now about to call her cavalier back to his rightful allegiance?

  “It would be of all things a great pleasure for you, Amelia.” (For the first time she used my name familiarly and I resented it.) “So we shall arrange it. But, of course, not at present. Remember Konrad, the Countess von Harrach must remain in—or rather shall we say stay here quietly—until she has been received by His Highness and his will be known.”

  It came to me as sharply then as if the gemmed dagger ornament which pinned up the Gräfin's tall topknot of curls had been drawn and presented as a weapon in truth. Foolishly I had walked into this house, this city—this—trap!

  I had been so intent upon my own reasons for coming here that I had never, until this moment, seen what might lie on the other side of my plan. This was a strange country in which I was unknown, of which I was ignorant. Could I accept anything which had been told me? Perhaps in parts—to someone— The Elector— maybe—I was of value, or Colonel Fenwick and the von Zreibrukens would not have been dispatched to bring me. But had I value as a tool, a piece to be played in some intrigue? My first fear was heated by slow anger—not only at those about me—but at myself—and my folly. I had to use full control not to rise and go to the door, strive to pass through it and out of this old house, just to see if I could in truth be allowed that freedom. Out of my gathering anger I answered the Grafin with all the care I could summon and in the calmest tone I knew.

  “Since I am unknown, what would it matter? If I chose to see something of the city, who would recognize me?” It was a test question, the best I could devise at such short notice.

  I saw the edge of her white teeth show as they closed for a second or two on her full underlip. She gave the appearance of one thinking deeply, but not as if my suspicions had any roots.

  Then she laughed. “But you speak the truth, Amelia! Who indeed would recognize you here. It is true, is it not, Konrad, that our secret has been very well kept? That you have heard no rumors, no speculations? Has that hen-witted lady who waits on our Reverend Abbess asked any questions lately? You will discover, Amelia”—she swung back to me, not waiting for any answers from hi
m—“that the court lives on rumors as hungry men seize upon meat. Dullness is our greatest burden, we hold it at bay with tittle-tattle, whether it be true or not. A story can run the length of the city as swiftly as a swallow flies. So—Konrad, reassure us— what has been said—what may you have heard?”

  He smiled. “Ah, Luise, there is no rumor as yet. The secret has been so well kept that I could almost be led to believe that someone has invoked the aid of a potent hexenmeister to seal lips—”

  She shivered and, to my surprise, looked decidedly sober and shaken, even if this was the very answer she had wanted, but the Baron was continuing.

  “It is truly accepted by all that our so-worthy Colonel was summoned to attend a dying kinsman in the land from which his family was exiled, while you and the Graf went south to consult a noted physician concerning his gout. You, at least, have been sorely missed, dear lady, the dullness of which you have just complained has been like a gray cloud in our sky. I will not deny there have been some—shall we say—speculations, which as a gentleman I could not think of repeating to you. But of your real errand no, no hint at all!” He had begun his speech in a tone which might have been meant to be lumbering playfulness, but his ending was soberly emphatic, and he was gazing earnestly at the Grafin as if it was very important that she believe his reassurance.

  She put on her lighthearted airs again. “So—then if I have brought a new-made friend back with me, why should it not be right and proper for me to show her some of the sights? If my friend is in mourning, she will not be expected to accompany me into society as yet. Does it not arrange itself to our wishes after all?”

  “Well enough.” But the Baron did not smile. “However, it is to be wondered what the worthy Colonel might say to your plans.”