"So you dropped everything and came," said Nyland, the hint of a question in his statement. "How accommodating."
"That was the way of it," Saint-Germain said, reminding himself of the clandestine meeting to which Augustus summoned him, and his first introduction to Zozia, seven months earlier. In spite of Augustus' conviction that this imposture would be successful, Saint-Germain had reservations, and they were still with him.
"You just came to Sankt Piterburkh, no questions, no problems?"
"Well, I had to find a capable steward and a manager for my estates, and fortunately I have a man I can truly rely on to handle them for me," said Saint-Germain, faintly amused because this much was true, but his estates were not at Gyor, but farther to the east, in the Carpathians, in the region of Hungary called Transylvania.
"Then Augustus has much to be grateful for in you and your wife," said Nyland, now making no attempt to conceal his dubiety.
"If it falls out that way, well and good," said Saint-Germain, ceasing to lean against the balustrade. "I have just seen Colonel Sir Peregrine Broughton; I need to have a word with him, and this may be my best opportunity. If you will excuse me?" It was true enough that he wanted to talk with Broughton, but the matter was not so urgent that he had to attend to it this instant--still, it gave him an excuse to leave Nyland to his own devices, and at present, that was the major advantage for him.
"More English!" the Dane deplored, waving Saint-Germain away.
"And Scots and Irish," Saint-Germain added as he made his way toward the terrace door, speaking politely to any guest who signaled for his attention. He reached the doorway and bowed to Colonel Broughton. "Colonel Broughton."
"Duke Gyor," Colonel Broughton said, returning the bow; his dress regimentals were slightly mussed, and his wig a bit askew; his square jaw was set at a more pugnacious angle than usual and his speech was overly crisp. "I had hoped I would find you here." He squinted up at the pale sky. "Doesn't this long twilight bother you? I know I find it most disorienting. It should have been dark two hours ago."
"It is inconvenient," Saint-Germain agreed, matching his English to Colonel Broughton's. "I, too, prefer nights to be dark."
"Better than north of here, where the sun stays up all night long." He shook his head in disapproval.
"And stays below the horizon in the middle of winter."
"True--another hindrance. Still, I would imagine one becomes accustomed." Colonel Broughton, who was drinking Riesling, and had been doing so for a while, stopped himself from emptying his glass. "I don't want to stagger about the way these Russians do; makes one a trifle obvious to thieves, to say nothing of the--" He stopped and went on more measuredly. "I'm a foreigner here, like you, and your recent mishaps are a reminder that one needs to remain vigilant. Someone gone in drink could easily be lured into a trap, and worse." He paused, clearly organizing his thoughts. "After our conversation three days ago, I've given the matter some consideration, and it seems to me that if you want to discover if your treadmill-pump can be
adapted to our uses on the barges, the one you should speak to is Mungo Laurie--he's the chief engineer on the dredging project--obviously a Scot. Good man--steady, hard-working, not one to be put off by dealing with foreigners. I can send him along to you one of these mornings, if that's to your liking. Just tell me which days will suit you best and I'll find out which he can most readily accommodate." He finished his wine and signaled one of the two English servants for another. "Slovenly fellows, Russian servants. At least the Resident has a few English with him."
"It is a practical solution, I suppose, on all fronts." Saint-Germain wondered how much of what he was saying Broughton would recall in the morning.
"Well, yes--from what you told me, you have your manservant with you, and your wife has three maids and you both have coachmen, which ensures your comfort and the advantages of habit, for all that some of the servants may complain of service in this place." Colonel Sir James Peregrine Ambrose Mordecai Broughton accepted another large glass of the German white wine, tasting it carefully, then nodding his acceptance. "Still, even with complaints, it saves having to hire and train Russians, so I can understand why the Czar allows it. His purpose is building, not catering to outlanders. They want as many of their men in the work-crews as possible, and this way, he gets what he wants."
"It also means that the treasury doesn't have to pay servants' wages," Saint-Germain remarked. "That will surely please the Czar."
"They're mean that way, you know, small and niggardly." He realized he had been overheard by one of Menshikov's companions, and so made an effort to undo any offense he might give. "I will say this for the Russians--they have lavish hospitality. There is so much food and drink at their feasts that it's all quite Lucullan." Satisfied that this would restore him to Russian good graces, he went on more quietly, "Sometimes I think their hospitality is almost too lavish. They want one to eat to bursting, and the other night I drank so much of their vodka--amazing stuff!--that I almost had to go home in a wheelbarrow. I don't know how they manage to sluice it down night after night as they do. I would be overwhelmed completely on such a regimen as they keep."
"They say it fortifies them," Saint-Germain pointed out.
"In winter, they probably need it." The Colonel studied Saint-Germain. "I've heard that since your attacks, you've been abstemious. You don't look like you're starving, but you'll have to be willing to gorge yourself if you're to be a guest of any of the Russians."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Have you had any recent requests from the Czar?" He asked this a bit too casually.
"When I arrived there was a missive from him waiting: the Czar is interested in adding some Hungarian broodmares to his breeding stock. I have sent an answer to him saying that in spring, I will see he has a dozen of the best from my estates. Other than that, nothing." He had already dispatched one of his messengers with this request, hoping that the mares could reach Kiev before winter closed in.
"I, like you, have a request from Piotyr to send home to England--he wants trees now, a great many trees. He barely has any streets, only a few houses are up and finished, and he has decided to plant trees." He made an exasperated gesture. "He wants them hardy and handsome. When the
Duke of Gloucester
returns, she's supposed to bring forty tubs of trees, and she's not the only ship to receive such orders. The
Duke of Gloucester
sailed today and should be back before the ice forms. If not, the Czar will have to wait until spring for his trees." Broughton stared up at the pale night sky. "It's quite eerie, isn't it? That color that says night is coming, but it never actually arrives."
"It will not last forever," Saint-Germain told him. "In another month the light will be fading again, and we'll have a proper night, albeit a short one until autumn comes."
"And in winter, we'll be grateful for four hours of half-light. That's the way it is this far north." Taking a quick drink of his wine, Broughton listened to the consort play, their music making little headway against the polyglot conversation on the terrace. "That is a most pleasing air, the Purcell they're doing now. Pity there aren't more women here, so we could dance. I think your wife would enjoy an
Allemande."
"You are right: this is a pleasant piece, and I am sure the Ksiezna would be glad to dance," Saint-Germain agreed. "But the other ladies here might not."
"No. You're right there," said Broughton, peering through the crowd to make out three other women at the party: one was a German matron heavily pregnant; another was the young wife of the Irish shipbuilder Brian Lucius O'Meaghar; the third was the wife of the Swiss fortification architect, a sober, straight-laced stick of a woman who made no effort to hide her disapproval of the evening's entertainments. The other four were out of immediate sight. "Next year, if we're all still here, we'll all be allowed to have our wives with us. Damned inconvenient without wives or whores."
Saint-Germain was keenly aware of the shortage of women--he had only once visited a woman in her sleep since he had arrived in Sankt Piterburkh, and with all that had happened, he was feeling the lack of sustenance; in so small a group, such visits were far more risky than in a larger population. "Indeed."
He regarded Saint-Germain suddenly. "Not a loquacious sort, are you."
"Upon occasion, but not tonight; this is a time for listening, so many tongues are loosening that much can be learned if you are willing to listen," said Saint-Germain; he wondered idly how many glasses of wine the Colonel had drunk this evening, for he was showing signs of early inebriation--someone who could be counted upon to blurt out things before his mind could engage to stop him. He began to understand Zozia's insistence on not knowing his name.
"Why? Do you find the company suspect?" There was a belligerence about Broughton that had been missing before. He drank down half the glass of wine and scowled at Saint-Germain.
"I find the servants are listening, Colonel, as are some of the guests," Saint-Germain said gently. "In this assembly, you and I are not the only ones who know English."
Colonel Broughton went still; after a long pause he nodded slowly. "I take your point. You're right, of course. Very prudent of you, Duke. I should mind my tongue, as well. No one should think they can speak
recklessly without consequences. You're right." He finished his wine and stared at Saint-Germain. "Are you always so circumspect?"
"No, not always," he said, and added, "If you will arrange for Mungo Laurie to speak with me, I would be most grateful."
Broughton choked in his efforts not to laugh; he ended up sputtering and coughing. "Around here," he said slyly, "gratitude comes in gold."
"If you need a guinea to sweeten your memory, you may have it," said Saint-Germain, finding himself growing weary of what was happening; he realized Broughton was more drunk than he appeared. "I will present you with five of them when you send me word that the meeting with Laurie is arranged."
Broughton still had the capacity to be abashed. "Fine," he mumbled. "It's just that not everyone is aware of the way of things."
"If you do not notify me, there will be no guineas," Saint-Germain said with as much firmness as was appropriate to the occasion; he did not want to give the guests more reasons to speculate about him.
"I'm not that drunk," Broughton countered, turning sullen.
"I hope not," said Saint-Germain, bowing courteously to Broughton before searching out Zozia. He found her with Graf von Altenburg at the end of the buffet table where the Champagne and wine were being poured. With a bow to von Altenburg, he said to Zozia in German, "Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?"
"Oh, yes," Zozia said. "The Graf is most engaging. He's been telling me about the tavern that's opened now for sailors. Apparently it is a most ... lively place."
"Hardly where a woman of breeding would ever go," said von Altenburg hastily. "Ask Menshikov, if you doubt me."
"I may," said Zozia with a wink. "Or I may wait until Piotyr Alexeievich returns, and broach him about it." She swung around to look at Saint-Germain. "I will have a dreadful headache in the morning, but for now, I am having the most delightful time." Her laughter was as light and free as the sound of a running stream. "I hope there will be more parties for us foreigners."
"I should think there will be, for none of us want to expire from
boredom," said von Altenburg. "What else is there to do, but make notes, take care of our duties here, and keep company with one another? If we are so constrained, it is up to us to make the most of it." He looked at Saint-Germain, and amended his words. "For people like you, Herzog, of course you must dedicate some portion of every day to the Czar's demands and your mission, but you will agree that our society is limited, and that we're all dependent on other foreigners for entertainment."
Zozia wagged her finger at him. "You're a most adroit fellow, Graf. No wonder you're so useful to your King." She drank down the Champagne in her glass, then held it out to be refilled. "If you have run out, I'll be very disappointed."
The English servant manning the wine-pouring shook his head. "There are a good number of cases still waiting," he told her in stilted German. "And more coming in the next ship."
"Just as well that there're no Russians pouring, or everyone would be under the table by now--they drink whole bottles at a time," von Altenburg declared, and stifled a giggle. "Except for you, Herzog, or so I must suppose."
Saint-Germain acknowledged this with a nod. "Heer van Hoek has not yet rescinded his ban on drink."
Von Altenburg pulled at his lower lip with his free hand. "The Russians won't like that, and they may insist that you do justice to their food and their drink before much more time goes by. I'm surprised that they haven't compelled you to excess before now, injuries be damned. You won't be allowed to remain aloof forever, you know."
"I have managed so far, but I appreciate the warning." Saint-Germain held out his hand to Zozia. "If you would like to thank the Resident and depart? It is past the hour you told me we ought to leave."
"But I've changed my mind--I don't want to go. I have a fresh glass to drink, and I haven't had the pastries stuffed with honied almonds yet." She frowned at him. "The night is young. And even if it isn't, it doesn't matter." Defiantly she lifted her glass and drank.
"If you wish to remain, I am at your service," Saint-Germain said with a bow, telling himself that it was incumbent upon him to guard Zozia in whatever extravagance commanded her attention. "You have only to tell me when you wish to depart."
