Silver in the Blood (14 page)

Dacia shut the door behind them, so that she and Lou stood alone on the balcony. She could feel Lou shaking, and put her arm around her. She was shaking a little, too, and felt like crying. She hated crying.

“I think I hate Aunt Kate. Not as much as Lady Ioana, but I think I hate her,” Dacia said, trying to sound flippant and failing utterly.

“I don't hate her,” Lou said. “I'm too frightened to hate her. Frightened for all of us. She wouldn't be acting this way unless there was something . . . something really terrible that she was afraid of, too. Dacia, what is going to happen to us in three nights? What's going to happen to us in a month? Will we go to jail for plotting treason?”

“I don't know, LouLou.” Dacia hugged her cousin close, taking as much comfort from Lou as trying to give it. “But I'm sure your father won't let us come to harm.”

“But my mother? She doesn't care, does she? She's becoming more and more like Lady Ioana.” Lou let out a little sob.

“We're going to need more help,” Dacia decided. “It looks like Radu's too much under Lady Ioana's thumb.” A flash of inspiration hit, and Dacia straightened. “Lord Johnny!”

Lou let go of Dacia's waist and took a step back. “Lord Johnny? But he's in Bucharest with . . . That Awful Man.”

“True,” Dacia admitted, but refused to be deterred. “But I'm going to write to him all the same. If we need help getting out of the country, I'm sure he could arrange matters. Also, why don't I just ask him outright who that man is? Lord Johnny is a good friend, and besides, I'm sick of all the lies. I need someone to tell us the truth!”

“Radu would if he could,” Lou protested halfheartedly.

“But he can't,” Dacia said. “Whether or not it's his choice doesn't matter now. He can't, so we need to find someone who can.”

“And Lord Johnny can?” Lou looked skeptical, and Dacia felt defensive.

“Well, he's certainly
not
a Florescu, which seems more and more commendable. And he must know the name of the man he was sharing a box with at the opera, so at the very least we'll have that.”

“I suppose.” But Lou's brow was creased.

“Lou,” Dacia said gently, the cause of her cousin's distress finally dawning on her. “Don't you want to know who that man is?”

“I don't know,” Lou said, her brow creasing even further. “I'd rather he just disappeared from our lives altogether. But if he knows something . . . about being the Wing . . .”

“Why don't you read the letter, before I send it?” Dacia said. “Then if you think it's too much, I can change it.”

Lou looked at the forested view for a long time. “Very well,” she said at last. “I suppose it would be good to have another ally.”

 

FROM THE DESK OF MISS DACIA VREEHOLT

11 June 1897

Dear Lord Johnny,

I was delighted that you made the acquaintance of my dearest darlingest cousin Lou (Louisa Neulander) on the Orient Express these two weeks past. I am most grateful that you were able to come to her rescue: you are quite the gallant, always scooping up young maidens in distress and delivering them to safety! And now I am afraid that I must beg you for more rescuing, on behalf of myself and Lou. Please say you can refuse me nothing, or I shall be heartbroken!

It is a matter of some delicacy, of course, and I know that I can rely on you to be discreet. It seems that while Lou was traveling to Romania she was accosted on two separate occasions by a man who made very rude remarks to her. This caused her no end of distress, as she is of a most delicate disposition. I had roundly decried the man as a cad, and certainly not of our class; so you must imagine my surprise when I saw you sharing an opera box with him! I shan't hold it against you, we are too good of friends for that, but my dear Lord Johnny, you simply must tell me who that man is, and what business he had saying such awful things to Lou.

And now, just so you will know how much you are forgiven for associating with such as That Awful Man, as Lou has taken to calling him, you can do me one other favor. Lou and I are not enjoying our stay in Romania quite as well as we had hoped. Lou's mother and our aunt Kate (whom you met in London) seem determined to keep us locked in our rooms, and our Florescu grandmother is, to be frank, a terror. We might want to try to stage a quick escape back to Paris. Would you be willing to play a part? Lou's father, my uncle Cyrus Neulander, will aid us, but I know how adept you are at locating carriages and train tickets in the middle of the night!

Please say that you will help us, and I shall forever remain

Yours,
Dacia Vreeholt

Lou read the letter over twice before she nodded her approval. It said a great deal about Dacia's real emotions that she was having Lou read it before sending it to Lord Johnny. The tone of the letter was just as brash and confident as ever, but Lou knew now that it was mostly an act. They had to get out of this house, out of Romania. Lou felt suffocated, and found herself rising up on her toes without even thinking about it, as though she could launch herself into the air and fly away.

“I wish I
was
the Wing, whatever that means,” she said to Dacia as she watched her cousin fold up the letter and slide it into an envelope. “Then perhaps I could fly away from here.”

“As long as you bring back a carriage for me,” Dacia said with a quick smile.

“Naturally, I won't leave without you,” Lou said.

“Where were you planning on going?” said a man's voice from the doorway.

Both girls jumped, and Dacia let out a little scream. When they saw that it was just Radu, Dacia punched him in the arm.

“Don't you knock before you enter a lady's bedroom? I might have been dressing!”

Red rolled up Radu's face from his collar, clashing horribly with his bright hair. Lou didn't want to see how much redder he could turn, so she quickly put an end to his suffering.

“But she wasn't, so no harm done. Can you do something for us?”

“Yes,” Radu said, his high color fading and a wary look entering his eyes. “What is it?”

“I want to send this letter to Lord Johnny Harcastle,” said Dacia brusquely. “He's staying in Bucharest, at the Crown and Cross Hotel.” Despite their maid in Bucharest taking a dislike to Dacia, she had still reluctantly discovered Lord Johnny's address for them, though by the time she had surrendered this information it had been too late to send him a note. Dacia finished sealing the letter and held it up. “I don't dare give it to a servant to post, I am certain they'll show it to Lady Ioana first.”

“What does it say?” Radu licked his lips nervously. “It doesn't tell any . . . family secrets, does it?”

Lou felt a guilty flush rising on her own cheeks. Truthfully, it didn't, but it was looking for answers to some of the family secrets.

Dacia, however, refused to be cowed. At least not by Radu. And Lou found her guilt passing as Dacia read him a lecture on his unbecoming curiosity concerning her
amours tendres
, as she termed them. By the time she was done, Radu was blushing again,
and Lou was feeling inexplicably cheered up. They would get their letter to Lord Johnny, he would answer some of their questions, and if they needed to leave suddenly, he would help to arrange it. She remembered his piercing blue eyes, the firm set of his mouth. With her father and Lord Johnny to help them, they would get out of Romania.

“You'd better pay some Gypsies to send it,” Radu said when Dacia let him speak.

“How do we find some?”

“Out at the gate of the estate,” Radu said. “There are usually a couple of them sitting there. We hire them to run errands or help with house repairs.”

“Are you sure they aren't loyal to Lady Ioana?” Lou had seen several Gypsies on their way to the estate, and they frightened her. They had stood and simply stared at the carriage, not with curiosity, but with hard eyes that seemed to be weighing her.

Radu shook his head. “They don't like Lady Ioana. They don't like anyone who isn't Gypsy. But they're loyal to whoever pays them.”

“Take us to them,” Dacia insisted. “I don't want to deal with them alone.”

“No, I'll go,” Lou said, surprising everyone, including herself.

Radu and Dacia gawked at her, which made her start blushing again.

“If anyone sees me, they'll think I'm just curious,” Lou said. “If they see Radu, they'll know he has a job for the Gypsies, and ask him what it is. If they see you, Dacia, they'll ask you what
you're doing as well. I'm sorry, but you're always . . . up to something.”

“You have a point,” Dacia admitted. She gave Lou a searching look. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Someone has to,” Lou said, raising her chin.

“Here.” Radu fished in his pockets and brought up a handful of coins, a button, and a crumpled handkerchief. “Sorry.” He took back the handkerchief and button, and gave her the coins. “That should be enough for them to post the letter, and consider themselves well paid for the effort.”

“I can pay for my own letter,” Dacia said stiffly, reaching for her purse.

“But I feel like . . . I know I've let you both down,” Radu mumbled. “I'm just not able to . . . I can't do anything else.”

Dacia looked like she was going to protest some more, but Lou just took the money and thanked him. She knew what it was like to feel helpless, and it was disturbing that Radu felt that way.

Mustering what confidence she could, and being mindful to keep her back straight, but not straight enough that she looked like she was marching to her doom, Lou went downstairs. The stairs were narrow and shallow, which meant that there were quite a lot of them. They were also made of tile, and the low heels of her shoes clacked loudly as she went down to the main hall. It, too, was tiled, but there was a large rug in the middle, and she practically leaped from the bottom step to the muffling rug. She walked as lightly as she could to the front door, which was so huge that she had to push it open with both hands once she had figured out the latch.

A maid crossed the hall just as she was turning to close the door, and they both froze for a moment. Then Lou summoned her best Aunt Kate Look and said in Romanian, “Close this door; I don't want to let in the draft.” And stepped across the porch as carelessly as she ever had in her New York home.

The gravel drive sloped, so she was rather less elegant walking down it than she had been crossing the porch. The gravel rolled out from under her heels, and she had to lift her skirts in the back to keep them from dragging. By the time she reached the front gate, her skirts were crumpled where she'd been clutching them, and the letter was crumpled as well. No matter, it was still readable.

She lifted the latch of the wooden gate, and found it even harder to open than the front door. But when she had moved it an inch or two, she heard a rough voice speaking a language she didn't recognize, and felt someone take hold of the other side of the gate and pull it out of her grip. She let go willingly enough, and stepped through.

A thank-you died on her lips when she saw who had helped her with the gate.

He was a Gypsy, of course. She should have known. He wore a tall hat and a thick, embroidered coat. He glared down at her from a great height, and she felt her confidence sapping away.

“What do you want?” His Romanian was only slightly accented.

Belatedly Lou wondered what she would have done if he'd only known the Gypsy language.

“Oh. I—I want—My cousin and I want—”

“Which cousin?” The man let out a harsh laugh. “There are too many of you to count! You're like rabbits, not wolves!”

“Ah, I suppose . . . but it's Dacia and I, and we—” She held out the letter.

“You want to send a letter?” The man looked at the creased envelope with disgust, and then spit to one side. “The postman comes in the morning.” He turned his back on her.

Lou wondered if he would have turned his back on Radu. Or Aunt Kate. Or Lady Ioana. Or even Dacia. She breathed deeply through her nostrils. She was sick and tired of being of no consequence. She was here because no one would suspect her of dissembling if she'd been caught. And now she couldn't even finish the job, because this large, sneering man didn't think her worth his time.

“Now see here!” Her voice rapped out, not in imitation of Aunt Kate, but with its own steel showing through. The man turned, surprised, and Lou glared at him. “I want to send this letter to Bucharest as soon as possible, and no one else can know about it.”

He took it from her and studied the address. “Lord John Harcastle,” he said, turning over the strange name in his mouth.

“Yes. A young English lord, staying at the Crown and Cross Hotel in Bucharest.”

“No.”