In The Face Of Death (47 page)

And I am not sure it would be wise to see Tecumseh just now. Our time together at Lake Como was more fulfilling than anything I might have hoped for. Should I be satisfied with that, and not attempt to attain the same intimacy with him again? Or is it possible I might have more with him than we have had until now? . . . And how do I decide? . . .

Madelaine sighed as she looked around the morning parlor of the villa, now seeming strange to her, with her belongings packed away in chests and trunks and crates. She had come to like the place and wondered again if she had been mistaken in not purchasing it, for a later time. She chided herself for her hesitation, recalling that she had once longed for a villa somewhere along the Strada in Chianti in Tuscany, and had not yet acquired one. She sighed again as she touched the four remaining chests of her native earth.

“The wagons are coming, Madama,” said Eugenio, who had seen to most of the packing. He was proud of this accomplishment and preened as he looked at the crates. “All is in readiness.”

“Fine,” she said distantly. “Your organization has been excellent. With nine workmen on the job, they will be loaded quickly, thanks to you. I will be away from here by mid-afternoon, I trust.”

“I should think so, and at the train station by evening, to catch the west-bound to Torino.” said Eugenio. He was about to leave when he reached into his coat and held out an envelope. “Oh, here is a letter for you brought from town.” He handed it to her. “If you want to stop to send an answer when we leave?” He looked around the room again, taking stock of what was there. “Have you checked all the rooms thoroughly?”

“And the attic, and the cellar,” said Madelaine, nodding to show her appreciation for his concern. “Everything has been packed. If anything is left behind, it will not be important.”

“A diamond is a small thing, and easily left behind,” said Eugenio.

“Not by me,” Madelaine countered, though she was not confident it was so; she had left so many things behind over the last hundred-forty-odd years.

“Very well, Madama,” said Eugenio, and left her alone with the letter.

It was from Tecumseh, and the tone was tersely affectionate, asking if she would meet him in Bern, but privately, without “that fool Leonetto around.” He warned her he would not have long, and would be permitted little privacy, but that he wanted to see her again, before both he and she left Europe.

She held the note for some time, her eyes fixed on a distant place, her mind feeling supremely blank. At last she came back to herself and called for Eugenio once more.

‘What is it, Madama?” he asked, out of breath from his efforts.

“I have a request. It is a major one, but I will have to depend on your help here.” She looked around the room. “Would you be willing to accompany these crates and cases to Montalia?”

“You mean, to ride the train with them and see them carried to your estate in France?” He looked shocked, which did not surprise her.

“I would pay you well for it,” she said, anxious to have her plans in motion now that her mind was made up. “And I could arrange for someone to accompany you as well.” She tried to smile at him. “I realize it is an imposition, and the notice is much too short, but if you cannot do this, I will not be able to go into Switzerland on my way home, and that would be a great disappointment to me.” She lowered her head, not quite looking at Sherman’s letter.

“All right,” said Eugenio, his eyes lighting with sudden determination. “I will notify my family at once.” He was curious enough about this request to look directly at Madelaine for a short while. “Nothing bad in the letter?” Then he shrugged and started away from her. He was almost to the door when he added, “My family will need money while I am gone. You will take care of that?”

“At once,” said Madelaine, her lethargy completely gone. “I will issue a draught on my bank to be paid to your father.”

Eugenio grinned merrily, warming to the spirit of the occasion. “Excellent. He will take my family into his house while I am gone, and my brother will care for my house.” He gave a quick grin. “I do not know why you have done this, Madama, but I am grateful that you have asked this of me. I have not been to France before.”

“You will go there now,” said Madelaine, her face serious. “And if you wish a companion, he will go there, as well.”

“My cousin Mercurio would enjoy the adventure, and he is unmarried, so he can leave without much trouble. I will fetch him directly.” He bowed slightly and hurried from the room.

Madelaine watched him go, trying to convince herself to call him back, to change her mind again and stay with her plans as she had arranged them already. She heard a door slam closed. As if that were a signal, she set about preparing her new plans. There were a number of arrangements she would have to change in order to do as Sherman asked. These changes would delay her departure by one day, she realized, but that could not be helped. She hoped that she would have no difficulty in reaching Bern in the next two weeks. Passage was usually reserved well in advance, and she would be getting it on short notice. But it was not in her to refuse the invitation, she realized; Sherman only sent for her when he was in need of her.

By the time Eugenio returned with his cousin and two hastily packed bags, most of the crates and trunks and cases were loaded on wagons for transport to the train station. He rushed into the dining room where Madelaine was finishing up her new arrangements. “Here is Mercurio,” said Eugenio, bowing to present the newcomer. “This is Madama de Montalia.”

Mercurio colored to his scalp, giving him the look of a sulky boy instead of a strikingly beautiful young man. He stared at her. “Good day, Madama,” was all he was able to say.

“To you as well, Mercurio.” She wondered if his shyness was so deeply established that he would not be able to speak with her. “I am grateful you are willing to do this for me, and with so little notice.”

“It is a pleasure,” he said with greater certainty.

“I hope so,” Madelaine said.

Between Chambery and Geneva, 3 May, 1872

We are now going different ways, my belongings and I. Save for a single chest of my native earth, everything but clothing is now on another train, bound for Grenoble and then down to the Rhone. Eugenio and Mercurio are with the cases and crates and will supervise their transportation the rest of the way to Montalia. I, on the other hand, will continue on to Bern to meet Tecumseh. I will take a suite and wait for him to come. . . . Have I been wise or foolish to agree to this?

“I’m going to have to leave shortly. Byers is expecting me for some grand flummery or other,” Sherman said as he strode into Madelaine’s suite at the small but splendid Imperial Hotel. He stopped, straight and arresting, his duster concealing his formal wear beneath. His beard was freshly trimmed and his grooming was immaculate. He held out his hands for hers, and carried them to his lips, looking down into her eyes as if he wanted to lose himself in them. “Madelaine.”

“Good evening to you, as well, Tecumseh,” she said quietly. She moved back from the door, drawing him with her, as much to give herself the illusion that this meeting was not hurried as to get him away from any potential eavesdroppers. The room was suffused with the pale glow of afternoon, long purple shadows interspersed with glowing light from the tall windows. In another hour it would be dusk.

“I apologize for arriving so late. I spent the afternoon with some cadets. They offered me very flattering attention.” He released her hands but only to remove his hat and shrug out of his duster, both of which he dropped on a chair without ceremony. “I had no idea they would take up so much time.” He came back to her side. “But I am sorry I have been delayed. I wanted more time with you.”

She waved his remarks aside, and said nothing about the worry that had seized her while the three hours dragged on. At least her afternoon dress of silk and lace was still appropriate to the hour. She indicated the chaise near the window. “Would you like to sit down.”

“I would like to
lie
down, with you in my arms, for the rest of the evening and all through the night,” he said as he sank onto the chaise, his hand out to her in wistful supplication. “But, I fear—” He indicated his boiled shirt and brocade waistcoat.

“Yes. Ambassador Byers has claim on you. No royalty tonight, though, judging by your white tie. You must be the guest of honor. So there are those who will notice if you do not appear promptly.” She could not bring herself to ask how long he could stay. Instead she sat on the opposite side of the chaise so she could more easily face him. “Has it been a good trip, Tecumseh? Has Europe been what you hoped for?”

“It has been fascinating,” he admitted at once, grateful that she did not upbraid him for the brevity of his stay. “And most everywhere the people have been enthusiastic and friendly. Though Americans abroad have been an embarrassment to me. So many of them observe nothing. They are here to have things pointed out to them and discover nothing on their own. They have no sense of the history around them, and no desire to know of it. I find out all I can about a place.” Then he stopped abruptly. “You do not want to hear this.”

She took his hand in hers. “I want to know what has happened to you. Truly.”

He sighed, and managed a slight smile. “The Sultan charged me six hundred dollars for the banquet and cruise on his yacht on the Black Sea. I have had a chance to use those scythes I have seen in the fields.” Again he stopped abruptly. “And I have longed to have you with me every mile of the way. From the Pyramids to Russia to Berlin, I thought of you.”

“And I of you,” she said, knowing this was the truth.

He touched her face with his free hand. “When I saw the Pyramids, it was as if you spoke to me again. When I saw the treasures of the Turks, I thought of all you seek to discover about vanished peoples. When I saw the magnificence of Russia, I wanted you to help me encompass it. You have haunted all my travels.” He bent forward and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that seemed to hold them suspended in time; it gathered intensity as he wrapped her in his embrace and felt her hands on the back of his neck. “If only there were some way you could be with me.” He drew back. “Not just here, not as a hidden lover, but at my side.” Before she had a chance to answer, he put his fingers to her lips. “Oh, I know. It would be imprudent, even in Europe, where such things are less remarkable. But I cannot, for it would shame my wife and distress my family. It would be difficult for me and dangerous for you. But I wish it were possible. That’s all.”

She moved his hand aside. “And I,” she agreed softly.

“Do you?” There was urgency in his question now, and an innocent desire that made her heart ache. “I have thought from time to time that I sensed something of it, but always—”

“Always you dared not trust the feeling,” she finished for him. She rested her forehead on his shoulder so she would not have to see the longing in his eyes. “You may trust it, Tecumseh. My word on it.”

“As in your bond?” he asked, using his hand to turn her face up to him again. “I will try. I promise I will try.” His kiss this time was deep and desperate, and he held her as if she were a floating spar and he a shipwrecked sailor. When he drew back, he was as shaken as she. “Oh, God, Madelaine. If I could draw all your sweetness into me
.
. . .”

“It is yours, if you want it,” she said, holding very still in the circle of his arms.

“How?” he demanded, his voice low but his eyes bright as sabers. His hands tightened on her back. “Don’t toy with me, Madelaine. I cannot bear it, not from you.”

“I am not toying with you. If you are certain you want to fulfill the bond with me, there is a way. You may do it without risk, for you are already changed enough to be one of my blood when you die.” She saw the doubt in his face and she went on quickly, hoping he would finally believe her. “If you taste my blood, as I have tasted yours, then my bond will become wholly yours as well.”

“Taste your blood?” he repeated. “You mean
bite
you?”

“You have not objected when you have been . . . bitten,” she countered. “You have felt joy in it.”

He shook his head. “That was different. You are—”

“A foreign woman, allowed to have her whims? A vampire?” she challenged, all the while wanting to hold him.

“No. Or yes. Yet you are more than that, so much more. You are a woman who makes music when she moves, who gives me exultation with a look. You are the woman who has brought me beauty when there was nothing but hideousness and barbarity. You are the woman who has taken my blackest despair and restored me to hope. You are the woman who makes my sleep tolerable when I dream of war’s cruelty. You are my haven in a mad world. And you are a temptation that archangels could not deny.” He shook his head. “But I am married and the public watches everything I do. I will not disgrace my family’s trust in me.”

“Then take my blood. At least you will have the consolation of our bond, as I have.” She reached out to him. “I welcome it, Tecumseh. You would honor me to taste my blood.”

He mumbled his answer. “It is not fitting for an officer of the United States Army to . . . bite women.”

“Then I will cut myself,” she offered at once. “You need only taste what I provide.” As she said this, she had a sudden, poignant memory of the night in the coach when Saint-Germain had at last capitulated to her desire for his blood. How ecstatic she had been.

“Lord, woman, that’s worse,” he burst out and tried to rise, his face flushing to match his beard. “I don’t want you to bleed for me. There’s been more than enough of that already.”

She held onto his hands, realizing that the amount of effort she used would not hold him if he wanted to be free of her. “That is how it is done; it is not painful or unpleasant.” she said firmly.

He sat back down, looking somewhat awkward from his own protestation. “Then I will have to forego it, my love.” He looked squarely at her, his eyes haunted with the past. “I’ve seen too much blood to want to see more, for any reason. Especially yours.”