"Do think a little, Grofok." She stared at him in exaggerated patience. "If I am required to make a decision that could bear on Poland, I prefer to consult with von Altenburg so that nothing I do will compromise any understandings that exist between Prussia and Poland. Surely you can see that, can't you? You were recommended for this post because you are said to be sensitive to diplomatic relations; doubtless you are aware that Poland and Prussia have many interests in common in regard to Russia; you were ready enough to support them when you accepted Augustus' terms for this delegacy." Before he could speak, she went on, "So far, in spite of changing mandates, you have shown that you have a good understanding of my situation, and I know you are a man of worldly experience, or you would not have been asked to accompany me in this ineluctable deceit, and I would not have lent myself to this project. Having agreed to our task, why would you hesitate to inform me of something so important as the Envoy's condition? If he is seriously ill, then I will be stymied,
and will have to wait until he recovers or his replacement arrives to make any commitments to other foreigners in this city."
"A situation shared by many of those living in the Foreign Quarter," said Saint-Germain. "Nothing official may be concluded before spring, unless you have a special courier to take dispatches overland. With the worst weather yet to come, I presume you would not want to send a courier out except in the direst emergency." He thought for an instant of Niklos Aulirios, and hoped that he would be able to make the most of his journey from the Carpathians to the banks of the Neva before the thaw, though it meant traveling in the fiercest weather. "If your problem is urgent enough, perhaps you can arrange something with the Prussians to your mutual but temporary benefit."
This time she regarded him with dislike. "You have no idea of how difficult my situation here has become," she announced.
"No, I do not: how could I?" he countered reasonably. "Since Stanislas replaced Augustus, I have not been included in any aspect of Polish efforts here; that was to be expected, and I have no argument with it. Since Augustus left Poland, I have been superfluous to your purposes; I know Stanislas approved my work at the care-house, little as you may wish to admit it, not only to allow you to consult more often with your brother, but to remove me from your activities, and the chance that I might do something contrary to your assignments for the benefit of Augustus or Hungary."
Her indignation was immediate. "How can you say such a thing to me, Grofok? How can you impugn me so unjustly? You have no right to cast aspersions upon me. You agreed from the first that you would accommodate me in all matters diplomatic, and yet you have the gall to claim I have treated you unfairly."
"I do not claim that you are unfair, only that your purposes are not unknown to me although your instructions are, which is where we have encountered trouble, as you have acknowledged before now. If you are willing to tell me what you need me to do or say, then it is far more likely that we will deal better with each other. I will respect your confidences, as I have done from the first." His voice softened, and he
leaned forward on the seat. "I would appreciate candor from you, so that I may do my part to help you." He held up his hands. "I have nothing against you, Zozia. I have no objection to you sending me away from your house so that you could continue your mission in safety with your brother. But I cannot intuit all that you require of me; in order to support you, I have to know what you expect of me."
She lowered her head so that he could not see the expression that marred her pretty features. "I take your point, Grofok. You and I must find a way to share our work but without the risk of exposure," she said at last. "Pragmatically it is the best approach for us to have more regular private discussions, so that this kind of impasse may be avoided in future." There was a steeliness in her voice that made it apparent that she would not back down from her position.
"I agree," he said as the sleigh was pulled in to a stop. "If you will permit me to help you to descend?" He had reached to open the door and let down the steps, rose crouched over and stepped back out of the sleigh, then held out his hand to assist her.
She put her hand in his. "Be careful tonight. If anyone asks you about von Altenburg, say as little as you can, and dismiss the rumors that he is dying in any way you can short of clear mendacity." Putting her foot on the hard-packed icy snow, she had to steady herself on his arm.
"I will do my best, Ksiezna." Looking up at her coachman, he said, "If you will return at midnight?" He started toward the door of the Czar's house.
"Vincenty," said Zozia to the coachman; she still clung to Saint-Germain's arm. "Tell Gronigen to come at midnight. You need some rest."
"Yes, Ksiezna," he said, and prepared to turn the sleigh around.
"If you hear any rumors tonight about Polish or Prussian interests, let me know at once," Zozia said as they reached the small porch of the house.
"I will," he promised her, stepping into the vestibule and removing his cloak, which he handed to the servant, revealing himself in a deep-red damask silk coat and britches with black leg-hose, black shoes with
diamond buckles, a black chemise and a dull-silver satin waistcoat; his English wig was freshly dressed and curled, and he had two splendid brooches holding the revers of his coat in place. He removed Zozia's long sable wrap and handed it to the servant, then went into the main room where more than thirty guests had already gathered.
Marfa Skavronskaya greeted Zozia warmly, complimenting her elegant dress of plum-colored satin over petticoats of light-blue lawn cut-lace, with matching tiers of the same lace at her elbows and framing her face with a curled ruff, setting off a collar of diamonds and rubies. Marfa herself was in a dress of red satin with a square neckline piped in Baroque pearls and sprays of gold embroidery; on both wrists she had multiple gold bracelets set with precious stones. "Your husband is a generous man; no doubt you're deserving of his gifts."
"He has good taste in jewels," Zozia allowed, and was rewarded with Marfa's hearty laugh.
"That's to his credit," said Marfa.
"Madame," said Saint-Germain, bowing over Marfa's hand. "If you think well of my taste, what can I be but flattered."
"Deft, very deft. You're being quite grand tonight, Hercegek," Marfa said, an appreciative glint in her eyes. "The Czar will be glad to see you, as am I." She indicated the far end of the room where most of the guests were gathered.
Piotyr had abandoned his place beside Marfa near the door and was standing beside the stove, busily pouring libations for his guests and trying to get more of the company to join him in a drinking contest. Catching sight of Saint-Germain, he raised his tankard of beer and shouted, "Ah! My Hungarian Hercegek and your Polish wife! Twice welcome!" He was in a handsome ensemble of lilac satin coat, puce britches, a blue velvet waistcoat lavishly embroidered in gold thread, and a chemise of pale-gray silk with a neck-cloth of matching lace; his wig was a masterpiece of cascading russet curls. Doughty and effusive, he dominated the room as much by the force of his presence as his great height.
"Majesty," said Saint-Germain, offering an extravagant bow; beside him, Zozia made an elegant curtsy.
"Come! Come." He held up a glass of Champagne, beaming at them as they obeyed. "Let me give you something to--" He stopped himself with a booming laugh. "No, Hercegek; I think nothing for you. You see, I remember your scars." He wagged a finger at Saint-Germain. "I will excuse you from joining in the merriment. But your wife will not refuse my wine, will she? It is a fine vintage."
"Most gracious, Majesty," said Zozia, moving toward Piotyr to take the glass he had poured for her. "May God attend you in your travels."
"I hope He will," said the Czar, pointing to the Captain of the stranded
Koenigen Frika,
who was lingering near the stove as much for beer as warmth. "Herr Drost there is making the most of the evening. I hope you will do the same, Ksiezna."
"Herr Drost," she said with a gracious nod.
"Ksiezna," he said, returning her nod. "I am delighted to see you." His hang-dog expression belied his courtesy.
"He is glum because two more sailors from his ship have died of the epidemic cough; that makes five." Piotyr held up an empty tankard. "Hercegek! For you!" He shoved the tankard into Saint-Germain's hands, grinning as he did. "Since I won't put you through another bout of vomiting, not tonight."
"Most gracious of you, Majesty," said Saint-Germain, taking the tankard and holding it carefully as if it contained something of great value.
"So," the Czar boomed, "you can tell me, Hercegek: is it true that von Altenburg is dying?"
Zozia shot an accusatory glance at Saint-Germain. "Yes; is he?"
"He is gravely ill, but I am not yet certain that he will die," said Saint-Germain, uncomfortably aware of the high degree of attention he was receiving. "The Envoy is a man of strong constitution, and that always gives reason for hope."
"Well, then, I will hope," said the Czar, and drank a generous draft of beer. "See that you do your best for him."
"Certainly, Majesty." Saint-Germain made a leg in the manner of the French and English, and was rewarded with a whoop from Piotyr.
"Well done, well done!" he exclaimed, and rounded on Zozia. "You have a most clever husband, Madame."
"So I think," said Zozia with a trace of a simper, taking a step away from Piotyr. "We must not monopolize you, Majesty. You have many other guests coming to wish you Godspeed on your return to your troops."
"And for that, I am grateful," said Piotyr automatically. "See that you remember me and my soldiers in your prayers, Ksiezna."
"I will," said Zozia, still backing away from the Czar; she signaled to Saint-Germain to join her. "Hercegek, I would like to have some of the sausages I smell cooking in the next room. Will you escort me?"
"Of course, Ksiezna," said Saint-Germain, keeping by her side as they moved into the second room of the house. "Would you like me to bring you a plate, or will you select your food for yourself?" He set his tankard down next to her Champagne glass on the table but remained standing while she decided.
"If you will bring me sausages, and a few of those little pastries stuffed with sour cream and spinach?" She waved him in the direction of the buffet table, then sought out a seat at one of a half-dozen small tables out of the line of sight from the main room.
Saint-Germain did as she bade him, taking a plate and serviette, and selecting from the uncovered platters the food she had requested. As he turned to carry it to her, he saw that she was deep in conversation with Lajos Rakoczi; her voice was low, but her manner was emphatic as she leaned forward to address him, saying in German: "--have no business questioning the Hercegek's veracity. He has done what any honorable man must do; if your claims are truthful, then you can have no reason for your indignation. If my husband says that he has seen Ferenz Ragoczy alive, then you may be sure he has done so."
"It is admirable, Ksiezna, that you defend the Hercegek so passionately, but you do so without the knowledge you need to be able to--" He broke off as he saw Saint-Germain approaching. "Hercegek," he said curtly, rising and offering a minimal bow.
"Grofok," said Saint-Germain as he put down the plate and the serviette he had brought. "I trust I see you well." His politeness concealed his inclination to remove the man from Zozia's vicinity, but he knew he should not provoke a confrontation with him at this gathering. Belatedly he managed a small bow.
"I would be better if you would respond to the letter I sent to you." For some reason, he continued to speak in German. His face was set in uncompromising lines as he regarded Saint-Germain, obviously disapproving of his clothes, for Rakoczi was in full Hungarian array: a heavy russet-colored woolen dolman with black lacings, embroidered leather gloves tucked in his belt, elaborately embroidered riding-britches with high black boots; he wore his own hair and a narrow gold coronet to proclaim his rank. "I would have thought you would have done me the courtesy of answering my very reasonable requests."
"As nothing has changed since my original declaration to Menshikov, I did not see how an answer would alter anything. You already have all the information I can provide; I have had no new information." He inclined his head, his manner impeccable. "If this has offended you, I am sorry that you chose to see it in such terms."
"I will be less offended if you will tell me when I might expect you to withdraw your challenge to my rights to my estates and title." The audacity of this remark was deliberate, and it commanded the attention of the dozen guests in the room, as well as the servants who waited upon them.
"I have not challenged you, Grofok. I have been at pains not to challenge you, but I also cannot fail to report what I know." Saint-Germain studied him. "If you were in my position, would you withdraw?"
He glowered at Saint-Germain. "I would wait to determine if the man who you saw a year ago was still alive before I said anything to his discredit. I wouldn't besmirch the reputation of an honest man by claiming that I have come by my advancement through fraud."
"I have never said you were perpetrating a fraud, nor would I ever
do so. As Menshikov has been informed, I have dispatched a courier at my own expense to attempt to reach Ferenz Ragoczy. You may think that I am not giving you the benefit of the doubt, or allowing for misinformation." He nodded toward four more guests who had come into this second room to help themselves to the buffet, and added in the Transylvanian dialect, "If you have other proof, why not offer it?"
Rakoczi ignored the last. "But you have done nothing to stop the speculation that has become rife in the Foreign Quarter. I would have thought that, as conscientious as you are, you would have worked to quell the gossip." He leaned toward Saint-Germain, deliberately looming, as if to make their difference in height more apparent. "You're Hungarian, and so am I. It behooves you to support me, Hercegek Gyor."
