Читать книгу The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Two: A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires - G.D. Falksen - Страница 8

Chapter Four

Over the past year, Ekaterine had developed a perverse fascination with English Society. Whatever facade of gentility it preferred to hide behind, it was a ruthless place, a wilderness of rumor and gossip. As a foreigner with little foreknowledge of local customs, Ekaterine was at a distinct disadvantage. It was the sort of challenge she enjoyed. And over the passing months, she had advanced herself from a foreign curiosity to a proper fascination. Being the sister of a Russian prince helped tremendously, but she had forged her social position herself. She felt almost giddy at times. It had been her first real infiltration of a foreign society, and it was proving successful.

For centuries, her cousins had done the same throughout Russia, Persia, the Empire of the Ottomans, a few even as far as India and France. The Shashavani needed eyes and ears across the world lest the security of their hidden valley and the waters of life that it sheltered be threatened. But this was her first independent enterprise, and it was progressing. With a little more practice, she might even be able to return in a few years and pass herself off as wholly English. She had little wish to do so, but the ability to do it made her proud.

That evening, she made her rounds. She chatted with people of distinction, she exchanged pleasantries with friends and enemies, and she accepted a bevy of requests to dance like any proper lady should. Her dance card always seemed to be full at these events, which she supposed meant that she was doing something right, though she had been obliged early on to purchase gowns with unusually thick layers of fabric in the bodice to create the tactile illusion of a corset. She had no intention of wearing one of those beastly garments, but if men were going to place their hands on her back or waist, she required some means of holding off suspicion.

Feeling a little parched, she decided to make for the refreshment room. She ought to have had a chaperone—her “sister-in-law” Varanus, perhaps—but she thought little of it. She had found that charm was a great soother in such matters. The Shashavani had always managed to talk their way around eccentricities and breaches of etiquette, and she intended that she would not be an exception.

In the refreshment room, she helped herself to a small plate of sandwiches, yet another one of those peculiar English things that amused and delighted her. As she nibbled, her ears caught a voice that she had not heard since spring the previous year—a voice that should not have been anywhere in the vicinity of England.

Ekaterine turned and saw a tremendously tall man dressed in a hussar’s uniform of crimson and black. He was slender and strong, well formed, with high cheekbones, sharp features, and the same fiery auburn hair as Varanus.

He was Friedrich, the Baron von Fuchsburg. Varanus’s son. And he was supposed to be back in Germany. Ekaterine had been there when Varanus had put him on the train for Paris. It was for his own safety as much as for anything else. In France, the family of the Count des Louveteaux, great rivals to the Varanuses, had kidnapped and attempted to kill him. Varanus would not be pleased to learn that he had left the safety of his Rhineland barony.

Friedrich was speaking to Lady Eleanor Wodesley, daughter of the Earl of Twillingham. Ekaterine was well acquainted with Lady Eleanor. The girl was charming enough and certainly rather pretty, but she was not of towering intellect. And from the expression on Friedrich’s face, Ekaterine saw that while he was enjoying the attentions of an attractive woman of means, he was equally bored. Ekaterine felt herself smiling a little. She would have to rescue the poor boy.

She approached with the utmost poise and from such an angle that she was seen before her arrival. At the sight of her, Lady Eleanor’s eyes lit up. Friedrich, however, looked at her in shock. This was to be expected. When last he saw her—France, a year and a half ago—she had been in the guise of Varanus’s maidservant.

“Lady Eleanor,” Ekaterine said, smiling pleasantly. “Good evening.”

“Princess Shashavani,” Lady Eleanor replied, bowing her head. “How wonderful it is to see you. I am so pleased that you could attend.”

“But of course,” Ekaterine said. “How could I miss such a delightful event?”

Lady Eleanor motioned toward Friedrich and asked, “Are you acquainted with the Baron von Fuchsburg?”

Friedrich opened his mouth to speak, doubtless to answer in the negative. Ekaterine preempted him:

“Why yes,” she said, giving Friedrich a polite nod. “The Baron and I met in France some time ago, sadly under unfortunate circumstances.”

“The funeral of my grandfather,” Friedrich said, not missing a beat. He looked at Ekaterine, his eyes searching her face as if asking: What are you playing at?

Lady Eleanor’s face fell with sympathy and she said, “I am so dreadfully sorry for the loss.”

“But let us not dwell on such a subject,” Ekaterine said. “It is hardly fitting for a ball.”

“Indeed,” Lady Eleanor agreed.

“And of course, the Baron and I have a familial acquaintance,” Ekaterine continued. “You see, I am his aunt.”

Lady Eleanor opened her mouth in surprise and said, “Oh?”

The surprise was to be expected. Despite her age, Ekaterine realized that she must look no older than Friedrich and quite possibly younger.

“His aunt-in-law,” Ekaterine clarified. “I am the sister of Prince Iosef Shashavani, the Baron’s stepfather.”

Friedrich’s eyebrows arched as he realized what she was doing. Smiling, he said, “Alas, I was in Fuchsburg when my mother remarried. I was not afforded a chance to meet Auntie Ekaterine in person until last year, when she and Mother went to France.”

“Well, I am most pleased that both Princesses Shashavani have seen fit to join us in England for a time,” Lady Eleanor said brightly. Suddenly a thought occurred to her and, in a mild panic, she grabbed at the dance card dangling from his wrist. “Oh no! What is the next dance?”

“Umm…” Friedrich said.

“Polka, I believe,” Ekaterine answered.

Lady Eleanor looked at her dance card and went pale.

“I do apologize, please forgive me,” she said. “I must return to the ballroom.”

“Good evening, Lady Eleanor,” Ekaterine said, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Good evening,” Friedrich echoed, bowing.

When Lady Eleanor had gone, he turned to Ekaterine and studied her, eyes twinkling, his mouth smiling. Ekaterine caught his gaze lingering upon her lips, her throat, her bare shoulders, and upon her bosom exposed by her gown’s décolletage—she could not say that she approved of how revealing these English evening dresses were. But mostly, he looked into her eyes, finding there something that pleased him.

It was the same way that he had looked at her in France: admiring her, desiring her, intrigued by her. The ardor of it all made Ekaterine smile a little. He was so very handsome—just like his father, Varanus had said. And charming, if brash and impulsive. And she wasn’t really his aunt, not even in-law.… But no, he was so very young compared to her, whatever her appearance might imply. And he had the same fiery shade of auburn hair as Varanus, his mother, who was as a sister to Ekaterine.

No, it was simply impossible, unthinkable, however flattering.

“I do believe she means to marry you,” Ekaterine said, more than a little amused at the idea.

Friedrich answered with an especially polite and genteel sigh of disinterest.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “Her father’s idea, no doubt. I suppose that socially it is a rather good match. She may be English, but she is the daughter of an earl while I am merely a baron.”

“And do not forget,” Ekaterine added, “that the Wodesleys are a particularly distinguished family as earls go.”

“Quite,” Friedrich said, noncommittally.

Ekaterine ate a bite of sandwich before adding, “It must never come to pass. It would be a terrible match.”

“You truly think so?” This seemed to relieve Friedrich.

“Beyond a doubt,” Ekaterine said. “I fear the girl lacks a certain severity that I suspect a man like you desires in a wife.”

“Well, we are of a mind on this point,” Friedrich said. “The woman I am to marry must have singular qualities.”

Friedrich turned sideways, as if to regard something of interest on the refreshment table, when really it allowed him to take another step closer to her. Ekaterine felt like shaking her head at him. He really was incorrigible.

“Singular qualities?” Ekaterine asked. She turned in place to exchange nods with a passing acquaintance and used the opportunity to move a pace back from Friedrich, counteracting his advance. “What sort of singular qualities?”

Friedrich smiled. He had noticed her maneuver but did not seem angered by it.

“Subtlety,” he said, “grace, intellect, and wit. And above all, a challenge.” After allowing the statement to linger for a moment, he changed the subject of conversation: “I was not aware that you were a lady.” He seemed rather amused by the revelation. “Though I did suspect it. I knew that you were no servant.”

“How clever of you,” Ekaterine said.

“Why would one do such a thing?” Friedrich asked.

What to tell him…?

Ekaterine smiled slightly and replied, “A private joke at the expense of the French.”

“One can never have too many of those,” Friedrich said. “And how do you find yourselves here, in England? I would have thought my mother would wish to return home to Russia straight away, especially in light of.…”

His voice trailed off, but Ekaterine knew something of what he meant: the kidnapping, when a group of ruffians in service to the des Louveteaux had assaulted Varanus, gunned her down, and dragged Friedrich away to be sacrificed in some pit beneath their manor house. He had nearly been killed, and Varanus would have died from her injuries had she been mortal. After the night’s conclusion, Ekaterine suspected, both Varanus and Friedrich had been keen to get the other safely back home. It was not at all reassuring to be reunited with one’s long lost mother or son, only to have them either kidnapped or nearly killed the same evening.

But concern went both ways.

“I should ask you the same question,” Ekaterine said. “I was there when your mother put you on the train to Paris. From there, you were to return to Germany where you would be safely away from the reach of the des Louveteaux. Your mother will not be pleased to learn of this.”

Friedrich shifted his stance uncomfortably, but he kept his smile and did not relent.

“In Paris, I realized that it did not please me to return to Germany,” he said. “And so, I decided to travel.”

“Where did you go?” Ekaterine asked.

“I went to America,” Friedrich said. “It was…interesting.”

“Interesting?”

Ekaterine could tell that he was hiding something.

“Yes, interesting,” Friedrich repeated. He did not elaborate. Instead, looking over Ekaterine’s shoulder at something behind her, he added, “And I met some very interesting people. Including.…” He made a beckoning motion and called, “Doctor Thorndyke, a word! There is someone I should like you to meet!”

Ekaterine turned slightly and looked behind her. She saw a middle-aged man in evening dress, his hair slightly graying, his face adorned with a Van Dyke beard and moustache of tremendous size. The man stood just inside the door, looking awkward and more than a little out of place. But at the sight of Friedrich waving, his face lit up, and he hurried to join them, walking with a strange little waddle made by shuffling his feet.

What a peculiar person, Ekaterine thought.

“Doctor Thorndyke,” Friedrich said, “I’m glad that I found you. May I introduce Princess Ekaterine Shashavani?”

“Uh…oh!” Thorndyke adjusted a pair of small spectacles that sat perched upon his nose. Clicking his heels together, he bowed stiffly, which somehow involved bobbing his head. “A most distinct honorable pleasure, if I may say so.”

Ekaterine smiled politely at him and flashed Friedrich a curious look. Thorndyke was not the sort of person she would have expected to be in Friedrich’s company.

“Princess Shashavani,” Friedrich said, “this gentleman is Doctor Harold Thorndyke of Vermont. His is one of the finest medical minds in all of America, and he is truly the genius of wellness.”

“W-wellness?” Ekaterine asked, taken aback by the peculiar use of the word. “What is a genius of wellness?”

“Health, Madam,” Thorndyke said. “Health and longevity are my trade. Where other doctors seek to correct bodily ills, I endeavor to prevent them entirely.”

“Oh yes?” Ekaterine flashed another look at Friedrich before turning back to Thorndyke and asking, “And precisely how does one accomplish this?”

“Exercise, Madam,” Thorndyke replied, “cold baths, cereals, vegetarianism, and yoghurt.”

Ekaterine blinked a few times, wondering if she had heard correctly.

“Yoghurt?” she asked.

Yoghurt was a fine food, but Ekaterine had never regarded it as a cornerstone to health. And the avoidance of meat? Madness, surely.

“Yes, yoghurt,” Thorndyke said. “Yoghurt and cereals are the keys to digestion, and digestion is the key to health.” He began feeling about his person. “Now, I am certain I have a pamphlet on the subject.”

“That is quite unnecessary, Doctor Thorndyke,” Ekaterine quickly said. “I shall take your word on the matter.”

“If you are ever in the United States, you must visit my sanatorium in Vermont,” Thorndyke said. “We have served royalty there before.”

“I shall…remember that,” Ekaterine said politely.

Thorndyke suddenly seemed to remember himself, and he quickly clapped his hands together.

“My apologies, Princess Shashavani,” he said, bowing again, just as stiffly as before. “I remember now why I came looking for Friedrich…uh…that is to say, the Baron von Fuchsburg. I fear that I must depart at once. A crisis of a medical nature has arisen, and I must attend to it.”

Friedrich looked surprised and protested, “Nonsense, Thorndyke, you have only just arrived!”

“Yes, yes,” Thorndyke said, bobbing his head. “But a message was sent for me. I have only just received it, and it is of the utmost importance. I fear that I must take my leave. A pleasure as always, Friedrich…that is to say, Baron. And an honor to meet you, Princess Shashavani.”

As he spoke, he bowed again and backed away in his strange, shuffling walk.

Ekaterine looked at Friedrich and said, “I have met some very eccentric people in my years, but that man is especially curious. Is he always so peculiar?”

“Oh yes,” Friedrich said, giving her a knowing look. “I fear that the good Doctor Thorndyke is one of the most bizarre individuals you will ever encounter. If he’d stayed much longer, he would certainly have expounded at great length upon the manifold benefits of yoghurt. Nutritional, digestive, hygienic.”

“Hygienic?” Ekaterine was almost afraid to ask.

“Yes, apparently he bathes in it,” Friedrich said. “It’s one of the more exclusive treatments at his sanatorium. He tried to talk me into one, but I wouldn’t have it. I’m not particularly comfortable washing in something that isn’t water.”

“How unadventurous of you,” Ekaterine said. “Tush, tush.” She smiled and added, “But I agree with you. Yoghurt is to be eaten.”

“To be honest, I’m somewhat skeptical about that,” Friedrich said.

“How ever did you come to be in association with that man?” Ekaterine asked.

“Medicine,” Friedrich said. “Whatever else he may be, he is a brilliant doctor. And a very good surgeon as well. This ‘wellness’ thing of his may bit a bit mad, but I have seen incredible results. There’s something to it.”

“Are you sure?” Ekaterine asked. “Or are you simply enamored of his beard?”

Friedrich laughed aloud. “My God, it is somewhat terrifying isn’t it?”

“You could hide a cat inside it,” Ekaterine said. She shook her head. “Now then, tell me all about Doctor Thorndyke and his principles of wellness.”

“It’s all to do with clean living,” Friedrich said. “No alcohol or meat, that sort of thing.”

“It sounds horrible.”

“Yes,” Friedrich said. “Also something about cold baths. Believe me, you should never set foot in his sanatorium. All exercise and vegetarianism.”

Ekaterine looked at him, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you spend time with this man?” she asked.

“That’s the thing about it,” Friedrich said. “Some part of the regimen works. It really works. Prevention of illness, longevity, health, youth, the whole thing. In Vermont, he introduced me to a dozen or more of his patients who have lived well into their eighties, who are fit and active, in the prime of health, and all of whom have the appearance and vitality of people twenty years their juniors.” He waved his finger to illustrate the point. “Now that is of interest.”

“How long has the sanatorium been in operation?” Ekaterine asked.

“Ten years, I think.

“Then one would assume that whatever regimen gave these patients their longevity, it was begun before they met Doctor Thorndyke,” Ekaterine said. “Logically.”

“I…” Friedrich began. He paused, momentarily at a loss for words. “Even so,” he said, “Thorndyke has hit upon something. I have seen the results. Health, youth, longevity. I want to know what it is, and Doctor Thorndyke has agreed to let me work with him on perfecting it, distilling all possible techniques and treatments until we have determined the ultimate method for wellness.”

“You’re searching for the elixir of life?” Ekaterine laughed, her tone amused. “How wonderfully absurd.”

But she understood his purpose. No doubt he was still searching for answers that had not been given to him in France. Longevity? Youth? Inspired by his mother’s own lack of aging no doubt. Varanus was seventeen years his senior, but when they had been reunited at the funeral, she had looked no older than he—the gift of the Shashavani. Varanus had dismissed it as the result of good breeding, but such an answer would not placate the likes of Friedrich. And it would become harder and harder to explain away as the years passed.

“Absurd maybe,” Friedrich said, “but it is a challenge, and as a man of science, I enjoy a challenge.”

The way he looked into her eyes left little doubt as to just what he meant.

“I’m certain you do,” Ekaterine said. “If you will excuse me, Baron von Fuchsburg, I think I ought to return to the ballroom and keep your mother company.”

“A marvelous idea,” Friedrich said. He offered Ekaterine his arm. “Let us both go and keep her company together. I am certain she will be delighted to see me.”

Ekaterine hesitated a moment and then took Friedrich’s arm.

“Your mother will certainly be enthusiastic in her reaction,” she said.

* * * *

Ekaterine did not see Varanus when she entered the ballroom. That was odd. Varanus seldom left her seat at social engagements, and despite protocol, she was only rarely asked to dance. Ekaterine could not quite place why, but for some reason the tiny woman seemed to intimidate all comers. Not that this bothered the notables of society, who had sent invitation after invitation once the period of mourning had ended. The English were a peculiar people. Did they enjoy having her sit there like a queen overseeing court? Ekaterine had observed a few other members of Society doing the same at other functions—even the Earl of Twillingham and his wife on occasion. Perhaps in Varanus’s case it was no different.

At the moment, however, Varanus was not at her seat, nor had she been in the refreshment room. That meant she was dancing. Ekaterine perused the dispersing crowd and saw Varanus in the company of Doctor Constantine, walking back towards her chair.

“Come,” Ekaterine said, nodding toward Varanus and Constantine. “Your mother will be delighted to see you.”

Varanus saw them as they approached. Her eyes widened at the sight of Friedrich, and her mouth tightened in anger. She said something to Constantine and led him in their direction. Ekaterine looked at her apologetically and nodded that she understood the reason for Varanus’s anger.

“Doctor Constantine,” Varanus said, “you already know my sister-in-law, Ekaterine Shashavani.”

“Yes, of course,” Constantine said, bowing to Ekaterine. “A pleasure as always, Princess Shashavani.”

“A pleasure indeed, Doctor Constantine,” Ekaterine said, smiling sweetly. “And I trust you are well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“May I introduce my son, the Baron von Fuchsburg?” Varanus motioned to Friedrich. “Alistair—”

“Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich said.

“—this gentleman is Doctor Constantine of the London Hospital,” Varanus continued, ignoring the correction. “He is a very talented practitioner of medicine. I think that you and he shall have a great deal to discuss.”

“Honored to meet you, sir,” Constantine said, bowing his head to Friedrich.

Friedrich nodded and said, “Very nice to meet you, I’m sure. You know, I am a doctor myself.”

“Oh yes?” Constantine asked. “But surely you do not practice.”

“Of course not,” Friedrich replied, laughing. “If aristocrats began to work, it might start a revolution.”

“Oh, quite the opposite, I think,” Ekaterine said.

Indeed, she suspected that the surest means of preventing social upheaval was for the privileged classes to start making themselves useful. The aristocracy of Europe had ceased to provide any sort of reliable military function, which rather invalidated the foundation of their privileged position.

“Yes, Doctor Constantine,” Friedrich said, “you and I must have a little chat sometime. We shall discuss medicine and such.”

“Uh, oh, yes, of course,” Constantine said, a little awkwardly. It was not common for aristocrats to invite members of the public to visit them for the sake of having a chat about medicine. “Perhaps you would care to see the hospital. I could give you a tour.”

“Fantastic!” Friedrich seemed delighted at the prospect. “Forefront of scientific progress and such. I’ll bring some brandy. It will be great fun.”

Ekaterine saw Varanus wince a little.

“I suspect that brandy will not be appropriate for the hospital,” Varanus said. “But it is a very informative tour.”

“You should join us, Mother,” Friedrich said. “You and Aunt Ekaterine.”

Good Lord, Ekaterine thought. He was looking at her in that way again. Of course, the way he did it was rather nice, but still.…

“Yes, perhaps,” Varanus said, sounding dubious. “Doctor Constantine, would you be so good as to excuse us?”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course,” Constantine said. “A pleasure meeting you, Baron. Good evening.”

Varanus waited until Constantine had departed before she turned to Friedrich and said, “Walk me to the refreshment room.”

“We have just come from there, actually,” Friedrich said.

“The refreshment room,” Varanus repeated, more forcefully.

Friedrich bowed his head and offered her his arm.

“Refreshment sounds lovely,” he said.

As they walked from the ballroom, Varanus spoke to Friedrich softly but with anger.

“Alistair,” she said.

“Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich said.

“I named you Alistair when I gave birth to you,” Varanus said. “That is your name. It is no fault of mine that your Aunt Ilse decided to call you Friedrich when she brought you up.”

Friedrich looked at Ekaterine for support. Ekaterine merely smiled and shrugged. What could she do? Varanus was being unreasonable—Friedrich’s name was what he, not they, decided it was—but it was no good trying to tell her that.

“As you say,” Friedrich replied, avoiding both agreement and argument.

“Good,” Varanus said. “Now tell me, why in God’s name are you in London?”

“For…reasons,” Friedrich answered. “I could well ask you the same.”

“What reasons?” Varanus demanded. “You were supposed to return home on the first train from Paris. Your life was in danger!”

Friedrich cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Auntie Ekaterine has already told me. I had no idea she was my aunt.” He quickly added, “By marriage, I mean,” and smiled at Ekaterine.

Ekaterine could have sworn that he winked as well.

“Your life,” Varanus repeated. “In danger.”

“And so was yours,” Friedrich said. “You are not the only person who is concerned about somebody, you know. You were supposed to go back home to Russia as soon as the estate was settled.”

“Well, it hasn’t been settled yet,” Varanus said. “Nor is that any concern of yours. I am your mother. It is for me to manage such concerns. And it is for you to go back to Germany at once!”

They entered the refreshment room, both mother and son looking very stubborn.

“Nonsense,” Friedrich said. “I don’t have to return to Germany, and I won’t hear another word about it. Whereas you, Mother, must return to Russia.”

“Georgia,” Varanus corrected.

“Whichever of them,” Friedrich said, sighing. “I am a soldier, you are not. And,” he added, leaning down toward her and speaking quietly, “unless you want to explain to me how you killed a man twice your size with your bare hands, then I shall have to assume that it is not something you can repeat and that you will not be able to protect yourself if the des Louveteaux or any other of your enemies decide to try again.”

Ekaterine saw Varanus’s entire face tighten, partly in anger and partly from frustration. The incident in question—when Varanus had faced the eldest son of the des Louveteaux family in a fight to the death and won—had saved Friedrich’s life. And here he was, being ungrateful. Never mind that Varanus shouldn’t have been able to overpower Alfonse—tall, burly, and an officer in the cuirassiers—or that she had refused to explain to Friedrich how such a thing had been possible. Ekaterine understood, and she gave Friedrich a look to silence him. It didn’t, but it was worth the attempt.

“I am perfectly safe, Alistair,” Varanus said. “Whereas you—”

“My name is Friedrich!” Friedrich snapped, still keeping his voice low for the sake of decorum. But the sentiment was clear in his tone.

Ekaterine thought it best to intervene before the other guests took notice of what was rapidly becoming an argument.

Smiling pleasantly, she gently pushed Varanus and Friedrich apart, interposed herself between them, and asked:

“Would either of you care for a sandwich?”