Silver in the Blood (2 page)

“Hello there,” she practically shouted in English, momentarily forgetting her Romanian.

The conductor jumped, startled by her sudden greeting.

“Good evening, miss,” he said in Romanian, tipping his cap.

Dacia gathered herself to answer in that language. “What seems to be the problem, if I may ask? We are going dreadfully slowly. Not something wrong with the train, is there?” Dacia knew she was babbling and forced herself to stop.

“Not at all, miss,” he said. He gave her a rueful smile. “Just some pests bothering the train.”

“Some pests?” She looked down. She could not abide mice. She had had a spirited argument with Lord Johnny back in London that this was neither a sign of squeamishness nor cowardice, but merely practicality on the part of one who had to wear a great many long skirts and petticoats.

“A pack of wolves, miss. They're running alongside the tracks, and sometimes they dart across, like they're daring each other to play with the train. The driver slowed down so he wouldn't hit any of them, thinks it's bad luck. I say, that's one less dumb animal in the world, and who cares?” He shrugged. “Now they've gone and left something . . . unpleasant on the tracks, the filthy beasts.”

“What a completely appalling attitude,” Aunt Kate said coldly. She had risen and was looming over Dacia's shoulder.

The conductor stared past Dacia at Aunt Kate as if he'd seen a ghost. He made a weird little noise in his throat that might have been a whimper.

“Wolves are not only far smarter than you think; they are far smarter than
you
,” Aunt Kate snapped at the man. Then she latched on to Dacia's elbow and pulled her niece inside the compartment, locking the door behind them.

Aunt Kate settled herself back in her seat with a small huffing noise and picked up her book again. “Don't fraternize with the staff, Dacia; it's common.”

“Asking after problems with the train isn't fraternizing with the staff; it's merely being cautious,” Dacia countered, but her heart wasn't really in the argument.

Nor was Aunt Kate's. She ignored Dacia for the next hour, staring out the window with what seemed to be a very real absorption. Aunt Kate's eyesight was excellent (Dacia and Lou had many times bemoaned both her keen eyesight and hearing as children), but Dacia was quite as sharp-eyed and she couldn't see anything out of the darkened glass at all. Clearly her aunt was just trying to keep her from talking. Although this wasn't unusual with Aunt Kate, it was unnerving now the way she kept her eyes glued to the window, and Dacia could actually smell the tension rolling off her aunt.

The silence went on for so long that Dacia stopped herself twice from asking her aunt what on earth was the matter with her. She decided instead to break the quiet with an innocuous comment about British fashions, when the creeping train came to a complete halt and the night air was shattered by gunshots. Aunt Kate leaped up as though she had been struck by lightning and went to the door of the compartment. Dacia half rose, and her aunt gave her a Look.

“Stay here. Don't move. Don't speak to anyone.”

Kate went out, slamming the door behind her.

Dacia waited for ten minutes, which she felt showed herculean forbearance on her part.

What finally drove her from the compartment was the sound of running in the corridor, followed by more gunshots and shouts from outside the train. Her heart was pounding and her legs shook when she stood, but if bandits were attacking them, she certainly wasn't going to sit in her compartment and wait for someone to attack her. And where in heaven's name was Aunt Kate?

The corridor was eerily silent. The shades of every other compartment were closed, and the train seemed almost abandoned. She wanted to go to the front of the train and demand to know what was happening, but the gunshots were coming from that direction and Aunt Kate had gone to the rear. Dacia was certain that her aunt knew more than she was letting on, so she decided that following Aunt Kate was the better idea.

But by the time she had reached the second-to-last car there was no sign of her aunt, and she worried that she had passed her in one of the compartments. Dacia hoped that she hadn't been foolish enough to get off the train entirely! The last car was a smoking car for the gentlemen, and Dacia could not imagine her aunt setting foot in there. Not only would it be highly improper, but Kate was very sensitive to strong odors. She often claimed that she had never married because she couldn't find a man who didn't reek of cigars.

Still, Dacia was sure that her aunt had gone this way. And she could see a dim figure through the back window, standing on the deck in front of the smoking car. Taking a deep breath, because she also had a sensitive nose, Dacia opened the back door.

To her utmost shock, she discovered Aunt Kate wrapped in the arms of a tall man in a long cloak. Dacia nearly choked on her own breath. She had never seen two people kiss so passionately, and had certainly never suspected
her
Aunt Kate of being capable of such . . . scandalous intimacy.

“Aunt
Kate
!” She found her voice.

The couple broke apart, and Aunt Kate turned toward her as though there were nothing out of the ordinary, despite her red
lips and disheveled hair. The man bowed as elegantly as if they were in a ballroom. Then he gathered up his cloak and leaped off the train, disappearing into the darkness.

“I told you to stay in the compartment,” Aunt Kate said coolly.

She went past Dacia into the train and started down the corridor without looking back. Not knowing what else to do, Dacia followed her in silence. At the door of their compartment, the conductor was waiting for them, wringing his hands. His face went white again when Aunt Kate looked at him, but he gathered himself to speak.

“You have to put a stop to this,
doamna mea
,” the man said with respect and even a little fear. Dacia could hardly blame him, but she did think it was a bit much to address her aunt as “my lady.”

“They were only paying tribute,” Aunt Kate said, her tone even icier than before. “They have our attention, and are done now.”

The man began to babble his thanks, but Aunt Kate ignored him as she went into the compartment. As they sat down and took up their books again, Aunt Kate leveled one of her sternest Looks at Dacia.

“Don't ever disobey me again,” she said.

Dacia was dying to ask who that man was, and who was trying to pay tribute to them, and to get out her stationery and write down the whole incident for Lou, but she did nothing. Instead she found the marker in her book, opened it up, and from behind this barrier announced softly, “
I
haven't done anything wrong.”

 

FROM THE DESK OF MISS MARIA LOUISA NEULANDER

26 April 1897

To my dear Dacia,

I am writing to you even though this letter will probably reach you long after I arrive in Bucharest and we are together again. Even so, I must confide this strange thing that has happened to me, and I know that Mama and Papa would be very upset if I were to tell them. I have no desire to be mewed up in my cabin for the remainder of the journey, and I am sure that would be the consequence of my confidence.

There, enough teasing (you know I didn't mean to)! I will tell you that yesterday as I took the air upon the west deck, a strange young man approached me. There was no one else nearby, and I was watching the waves by myself. (They are quite mesmerizing, and I am often drawn to the promenade.) Quite suddenly there was a man at my elbow! I did not see him approach, he was simply there. He was very tan, or perhaps naturally swarthy, with very dark hair that had a reddish tint because of the setting sun. I had ample time to note all this, you see, as he also looked me over in the most blatant fashion! I became quite flushed and turned to walk away, when he began speaking to me.

“Are you the wing?” he said.

I stopped because it was such an odd question, and I did not understand it. I could not help myself: I turned and looked at him inquiringly. He had very dark eyes, almost black, and he was staring at me so intently I felt quite . . . well, quite naked, if you must know!

“Are you the wing?” He said it again, and looked me up and down yet again! “You are not the claw, and there is never a smoke anymore.”

Complete gibberish, Dacia! What was I to do? I simply goggled at him for a moment. When I gathered myself, I started to turn away again, when he said, “You are the wing; I see it now.”

Whatever that meant, I decided that it was outside of enough, and I gave him one of Aunt Kate's patented Looks. I'm sure you can guess which one, and many of New York's freshest young men would recognize it as well!

“Sir,” I said, “the sun has gone to your head, I'm afraid. First you address me without an introduction, and now you are speaking in riddles. Good day!”

I marched away and went to my cabin as quickly as I could, but I was quite shaken, and not the least by my own boldness. It was all I could do to dress for dinner, and Mama and Papa were afraid that I had taken too much sun myself. I felt so queer that I almost confided in them, but I could not bring myself to do so in the end. And so I confide to you, Dacia, to unburden my heart and imagine your indignation, even though I cannot witness it firsthand.

I know that you are jealous of our stop in Paris, and would
love to spend days looking in all the shops and seeing all the sights, so I know that my reluctance will be a shock to you, for I would much rather we stopped not at all, and hastened onward to Romania. For even one such as I, ever chided for not being much in conversation, longs to have my bosom friend nearby so that you and I may speak face-to-face again. Please do not think me a goose for this, if you get this letter before I arrive!

Yours,
LouLou

P.S. Rather thought you'd like this clipping I found upon our arrival! I don't know who Mr. Arkady is, but look at the next paragraph!

 

All of Paris is agog at two new bachelors from foreign lands who have chosen to grace our fair city with their presence. The first eligible gentleman is Mr. Theophilus Arkady of Istanbul, lately arrived in our city on business. But despite his refusal to explain what this business might be, Mr. Arkady (the son of a prominent Turkish family) has been seen strolling the many parks and boulevards of Paris, quite sadly alone. We hope that Mr. Arkady finds someone to share his walks with soon. A noted opera lover, Mr. Arkady has also taken a box at the Paris Opera. Will he be staying the entire season? Certain young ladies breathlessly await the answer to that question!

And American society is surely the poorer for having lost Mr. William Carver, son of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Carver of New York City, who has been seen in our many parks and public gardens with his sketchbook in hand. Mr. Carver is a noted amateur artist, and we are sure that he has found ample inspiration in our Parisian beauties to occupy his brush for some time.

Monsieur and Madame Duchosne have been gadding about, despite her delicate cond—

Lou had once had a governess who recommended she have a cold bath daily followed by two large spoonfuls of cod liver oil, to cure her of her nerves. She was very lucky in that, rather than taking the governess's advice, her father had simply dismissed the woman.

“My Louisa doesn't suffer from nerves,” Mr. Neulander had insisted. “She is a tender child, and shy. I refuse to have her dunked in ice water every morning. It's more torture than cure!”

Lou's mother had protested at first. The governess's references had been impeccable: one of the Vanderbilt children had been in her care previously. But since Lou had never struck her as being nervous, either, she let the matter drop. In the end, Lou and Dacia had shared a governess: a kindly, rather horse-faced woman who spoke impeccable French as well as Romanian, having had a Romanian mother just like Lou and Dacia. Though this didn't
improve Lou's shyness one whit, it was markedly better than being tipped into cold water like a Puritan accused of witchcraft.

Now that they were in Paris, however, Lou was feeling decidedly nervy, and wondered if she should order a cold bath the next morning. Of course, that would mean requesting such a thing from Vivienne, the frightening maid the hotel had assigned to Lou. Lou was doing everything possible for herself in an effort to avoid Vivienne. She missed Millie, her maid back home in New York, with great ferocity. Millie had a cheerful face and a snub nose covered with freckles, and brought Lou hot chocolate when she woke, without being asked. She knew just how Lou liked her room and her clothes and her food, and she never seemed to be judging any of her preferences.

Lou had actually dared argue with her mother about bringing Millie, but Maria had been adamant that they not bring any of their servants, including her own lady's maid and Lou's father's valet, which displeased Mr. Neulander a great deal. Maria had insisted that her family's properties in Romania were well staffed and so were the hotels, and thus there was no need. Now that Lou had encountered a real French maid, however, her mother's foible had gone beyond oddity to causing her outright distress.