Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
There was an icy dew on the ground, and both gave their attention to finding their way along the slippery, narrow walkway. When at last they reached the place where his automobile was hidden, he held her briefly before letting her into the passenger’s seat.
“Be careful. There is still one drum of gasoline there.” He moved his suitcase away from her feet and got into the driver’s seat. As he started the Delage, he turned back to her, saying, “You have done very well, Gudrun, and you will continue to do well.”
“Danke,” she whispered, feeling tired, more tired than she had ever been in her life. As the automobile moved off on the treacherous road, she leaned back on the seat, wishing to sleep, but seeing Helmut on the floor, Jürgen still in his bed, Maximillian dangling from the beam of the gamekeeper’s cottage. She moaned once, but it was more in rejection than desolation. Finally, finally, she thought, they were gone from her. They would not touch her again.
Wolkighügel was dark when Ragoczy pulled up to the side of the house. There were neither trucks nor automobiles in the front court, and only the Lancia, with its faded paint and dented fender, waited beside the servants’ entrance. Ragoczy got out of the automobile and went quickly to the second window from the door. He tapped the glass once, twice, then waited and tapped again. On the fourth repeat, he saw Frau Bürste’s broad, plain face in the darkness of the room, and then the window was opened.
“Herr Ragoczy,” she said in surprise as she gathered her plain woolen robe around her and tugged at the nightcap askew on her head.
“I have Frau Ostneige in my automobile. She is very much in need of your help.” Neither of them thought it odd that he had not called her Frau Rauch.
“What has happened?” Frau Bürste asked in her forthright way, without any shying away from the question or nervous fidgeting.
“There has been an … accident,” Ragoczy said, amending his first intention. “Herr Rauch has suffered a … mishap…”
“Is he alive or dead?” Frau Bürste demanded, dismissing his careful phrases with a nod of her head.
“I fear he is dead.” He watched the housekeeper closely. “Frau Ostneige heard a remark he made that she was not intended to hear.” He decided to say a little more. “Apparently Herr Rauch was not entirely innocent in Maximillian’s death.”
“Ah!” She stared at him. “So. It always comes back to her brother. I will be out at once.” She closed the window and hurried off through the dark room.
Ragoczy went back to the Delage and opened the passenger-seat door, He shook Gudrun very gently, and when she opened her eyes, he said, “We’re at your home, Rudi. Frau Bürste is coming.”
“Frau, Bürste,” she said with such delighted relief that Ragoczy smiled sadly.
“There are a number of things to be done,” he told her, hoping that she would wake up enough to be more helpful. “And they must be done quickly.”
Gudrun’s words were cut short by the opening of the servants’ door and the arrival of the stalwart Frau Bürste.
“Frau Ostneige!” she said, opening her arms to Gudrun, and smiling as the other woman hurtled into her arms. “There, my beautiful one, my sweeting. Nothing will harm you now.” She looked over Gudrun’s shoulder at Ragoczy. “Tell me the rest, Herr Graf.”
“Herr Rauch is dead. He is lying on the floor of my study at my Schloss. The gun that killed him is missing, and will be in the deepest part of the lake before another hour goes by.” He knew the road to Schliersee well enough to risk driving it in the rising fog. “It will be necessary to account for Frau Ostneige’s presence here, and to deny that I was ever about. The police are going to suspect me in any case, but you know nothing of that.”
“Of course not. Frau Ostneige was here with me all evening,” she declared at once, a glitter in her prominent eyes that was not quite humor.
“And why was she here?” Ragoczy asked, pleased at Frau Bürste’s resourceful mind.
“Because there was an emergency. Something has gone wrong with the repairs being made, and since the workers had left, and Otto is at the tavern getting drunk, I had to speak to her at once.” She kissed Gudrun’s hair, and the younger woman at last began to cry.
“Excellent,” Ragoczy approved. “I see I can leave her in capable hands.”
“And with my gratitude,” Frau Bürste said, with such feeling that Ragoczy bowed his acknowledgment. “I have not seen you, Herr Ragoczy. I have been too busy with the emergency to notice anything.”
“Has there been an emergency?” Ragoczy asked, concerned about that one matter.
“There will be a great mishap with the plumbing before morning,” she promised him. “Now, I must attend to Frau Ostneige.” There was triumph in her plain face as she turned and led Gudrun toward the house. “She has never had anyone to defend her, but she has me now.” With this last remark, she closed the door.
Ragoczy shut his eyes, thinking of that indomitable woman, who would be a bulwark against the world for Gudrun. Nothing he could give her could approach that fidelity and utter devotion that Frau Bürste would lavish on her for the rest of her life.
He started the Delage, then took the road to Schliersee. By morning he would be in Austria, and the day after that, Switzerland. Somewhere along the way, he would wire Madelaine in Paris. At the thought of her, he was overwhelmed with his loneliness for her, and for that intimacy they could never again share. His eyes were dry, because he had no tears to shed, but sorrow cut deep within him, relentless and unending, darker and colder than the night.
Text of a letter from James Emmerson Tree to his cousin Audrey.
Paris
May 29, 1928
Dear Audrey;
Sorry I haven’t written sooner, but I’ve been in Scandinavia, on an assignment, fairly boring, about how the unemployment situation in Germany (it’s pretty serious there, with more than 10 percent of the work force without jobs, or that’s as much as the government will admit are without jobs) has influenced jobs and money in Sweden and Denmark. I haven’t finished the articles yet, and just when I do, you wait, everything will change.
Anyway, belatedly, congratulations on your marriage. From what you tell me, Tim sounds like a fine man, and you should do very well together. You say that he’s been practicing law for five years and has his feet on the ground. That’s Very good, and it won’t get in the way of all the things you say you want to do. It’s a good thing you’ve moved to Seattle. Things do have a way of turning out, don’t they? I’m pleased for you, and I hope that you will both be very happy, this year, next year, and clear on to the end of it all. You’ll do just fine, I know you will. And there’s a package in the post to you, but I doubt it will get there until late in June, knowing how fast they move those large pieces of mail. I’m sorry Uncle Ned couldn’t attend your wedding, but it doesn’t entirely surprise me. He’s done other foolish things, hasn’t he? Don’t take it too hard, Audrey. He’ll get over it in time, and in the meantime, you have your life to live, and you can’t let his pouting spoil what has made you so happy.
I haven’t had much of a look at American politics until a couple days ago. I’ve been traveling so much that I haven’t seen any newspapers from home, and most of the European papers don’t spend much time on the USA. With Italy repealing the vote for women, I’m afraid it might have a bad effect on suffrage here, but it’s hard to say what will happen there. You don’t know who’s going to start looking at these political changes and decide that they’d do well in the USA. It’s strange to see how many people are running scared here; if it’s that way at home, it could mean there are some drastic changes coming. It probably comes down to money, and if it is anything else, you can bet it ties in to money. I’m sounding cynical, aren’t I? But Germany wouldn’t be in the mess it’s got into if it weren’t for money. France has trouble too, and it’s hard to say how long they can go on the way they’ve been without doing something about the national finances. It might happen in America, too. I know that Wall Street is booming, or so they tell me, but one of the British journalists who was over here a couple months ago said that he doesn’t like the look of it, and his reasons made pretty good sense to me. It depends on too many things working out just, right and he said that things never work out just right. It could be that he’s taking too pessimistic a view, but I’ve got a hunch it would be a good idea to be careful for a while, until things sort themselves out. With you and Tim starting out on your own right now, a little extra caution wouldn’t be a bad idea. If it turns out that I’m wrong, you won’t be any worse off, but if there’s a rough period, you’ll be covered. Figure that’s the only advice I’m going to give you. I know that after all this time, there isn’t much reason for you to put any stock in what I say, but I do listen, and it could be that I hear a little more than a lot of others do.
Crandell said that he’ll bring me home next year or the year after unless the politics here change drastically, in which case he’ll keep me on. I wouldn’t mind seeing home again, it’s been so long. I’ve spent almost a third of my life over here, and that’s damn sobering. Not that I would have missed it for the world. I’ll probably need some time to get used to America again. I haven’t heard English regularly in years. We speak it at the office, and when there are British and Americans around, we all use it gratefully. But out in the streets, we hear French, or Spanish, or Italian, or German. That takes getting used to, but now I think it would be strange to hear English all the time. I’m wondering how it will be to see signs in English and ride in American automobiles. Well, I’ll find out in 1929, or so they tell me.
Night before last I went to a banquet given by Professor Simmond Rose for Madelaine de Montalia. She has finished a whole series of translations of some old clay tablets that are very important in studying the ancient world. It was one of those very formal affairs, held at an excellent restaurant in their formal hall. Black tie, long dresses, jewels, and the best of manners around. It was a fine evening, and I was very happy that she invited me, because I don’t usually see that side of Parisian life. Her escort for the evening was a man I did not know, but I think I’ve seen him once before. He was only half a head taller than she is—not much above five-five-or-six, with dark, wavy hair and the most arresting eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s probably old nobility, judging from the way he walks and the way everyone defers to him. He’s got the grand manner, no doubt about it. He spent most of the evening beside her, very proper in how he talked to her and what he said. Like Madelaine, he did not eat. She told me once about a very old lover of hers, and I think this must be the one. I can’t imagine who else it could be, and I can see what it is that he saw in her and she in him. He’s not the kind of man you’d sit around and talk sports with, unless it was something like fox hunting. Otherwise, he’s a fine figure and she does very well by him. A year ago I would have flung the salad at him for being with her.
I’m going to Lausanne with Madelaine next week, where we always go, and this time we’ve got a total of ten days to spend together. I’m looking forward to it, almost as much as you looked forward to your honeymoon, I think. She’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known, and she put up with some terrible temperament from me.
The Mors has been traded in, and I haven’t yet made up my mind what I want to buy for my next automobile. Every now and then I dream about a Bugatti, but it doesn’t look to be possible unless Crandell gives me more money than he’s doing now. I’ve been driving a Citroën which I have on loan from a French journalist who is covering the Cairo office for his paper until January. Egypt keeps coming back into the news because of all the antiquities they’re digging up all the time. I haven’t much of an interest that way, although Madelaine chides me for a lack of historical perspective and warns me that I will need such a thing in the future. It could be. But in the meantime, I am more worried about my transportation than the course of history.
You told me in your letter that you were thinking of traveling to Europe next year. At last! You bring Tim and we’ll show you the whole place, top to bottom and sideways. Except for Germany, since they still won’t let me in. I applied for entry while I was in Sweden, and they turned me down flat. I don’t think I’ll make the attempt again for a while, not with the way things are going there. Its worse than Italy, sometimes. But I can get into Italy. You’ll like it there. France is beautiful, but you’ll have to remember that everything here is on a smaller scale. The cities are small, the houses are small (except for the grand ones, and they’re huge), the automobiles are pretty small, and the rest of it is scaled down. The Alps are decent-sized mountains, but if you’re used to the distances of Western American states, then you’ll find this whole area very tightly packed. Out there you can drive all day and not leave the state, but here, if you work it right, you can go through three countries from breakfast to supper. I think that’s one of the things that fascinates me about the place, the diversity. I used to assume I’d get used to it, but I know now that I won’t. And that suits me very well.
I’ve given up on the book idea for the time being. I suppose I don’t know how to write fiction. No matter what I do, it comes out like the shopping list of a crazy monarch. You know the kind of thing I mean: all description and a few unreal people wandering around the landscape talking to each other in platitudes. Henry James without the talent, that’s me. Maybe later. But I tell you, Audrey, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I wanted to be the American journalist with the great novel, but it’s fine to be just the American journalist. I’ve found out I do that well, and that it is not a thing very many people can do at all. In a few years, who knows, I may get a book anyway, but from journalism, not a novel or a play. You have no idea how much that pleases me.
When you’ve got your travel plans, you let me know what they are and I’ll do whatever you want me to do at this end. I can probably get you a break on a hotel room, if you want to stay at a hotel, or I can give you space with me. The apartment isn’t very fancy, but it is quite pleasant. If that won’t do, I’ll ask Madelaine if I can borrow her house, if she’s away when you’re here. It’s not big, but it’s really beautiful. Tell me the kind of money you want to spend and how long you’re going to be here, and I promise you the best trip you’ve ever had. It’ll be great to see you again. It’s one thing to see your pictures, but it will be another thing entirely to see you as you are.