The Left-Handed God Read online

  He counted out the ten pieces of silver, then, seeing her looking at the ring with tears in her eyes, took some pity. “I’ll hold it for you for a week.”

  She gave her name, thanked him, and went back to post her letter, paying extra for the express service. Then she returned to her mother.

  *

  Jakob Seutter bore the separation from Augusta poorly. The happiness he had found so unexpectedly‌—‌and that he felt unworthy of‌—‌once snatched away, left him as bereft as if an arm had been torn off his body. It was an added burden that his friend Stiebel, who might have kept him informed about his dearest girl, had left for Mannheim. Only his fear of causing Augusta more misery kept him away from the house in Fischergasse. But he walked the streets and the market daily, hoping to catch a glimpse of her from a distance.

  One day, in the course of some unrelated business dealings, he heard that Frau von Langsdorff had mortgaged her house to the tune of 100 gulden, a stunningly large sum. It suggested some catastrophe to him, and he sought out the lawyer who had secured the loan and asked some questions. Because Seutter was a banker and known to buy secured debts, the man rubbed his hands and informed him that the lady had borrowed the money in order to marry off her daughter advantageously.

  “It’s a very safe loan and soundly secured,” he said eagerly. “In my opinion, she isn’t likely to pay it off. A less businesslike creature cannot be imagined. There’s a good bit of money to be made out of the property.”

  Seutter hid his dismay. “Are there prospects for the daughter?”

  The man laughed. “They went off to Mannheim where the young woman’s brother is expected to find her a man of rank and wealth. The mother is‌—‌shall we say‌—‌overly sanguine? Are you interested?”

  Seutter bought the paper. It cost him an additional fifty gulden, but he was in no mood to bargain.

  From the lawyer he went to Fischergasse, where he found Max and the young maid at their ease in the good parlor. They were dining on roast beef from the family’s best dishes and drinking beer from wine glasses. When they saw him, they jumped to their feet and looked guilty.

  “When did your mistress and Miss Augusta leave?” he asked, looking pointedly at the table. The answer shocked him more. Augusta had left without a message to him. He eyed the two servants suspiciously.

  “Does your mistress know how you two live here?” he asked Elsbeth.

  She turned a fiery red and twisted her apron in her hands.

  “Do your parents know that you’re staying alone with him?”

  She raised her chin. “We’re betrothed.”

  Max shot her a glance. “Now, Elsbeth! You shouldn’t say such things. Nothing’s settled. You’re too young.”

  Elsbeth looked hurt. “You promised. You said soon, Max.”

  Jakob thought of Augusta who was also very young. The fear that he had no right to her returned painfully. But the servants’ morals were none of his business. He looked sharply at Max. “Did Miss Augusta leave a message for me?”

  Max mimed sudden recollection. “Oh, sir, now that you mention it…‌it clear went out of my mind…‌there was a note.” He boxed his head. “Now what did I do with it? I meant to give it to your boy. Did I? The mistress was not to know about it, so maybe I didn’t right away.” He looked distracted, then ran his hands through all his pockets and came up with Augusta’s crumpled letter.

  Jakob took it, glowered at Max, and went home to read his dear girl’s letter in private.

  It confirmed what he had been told and made him miserable. If Augusta’s mother planned to introduce his dear girl to high society, who was he to stand in her way? Why should she not see the world she belonged in? Why should she not meet handsome young men and attend dances and entertainments in pretty gowns?

  He sat up most of the night, holding her letter and grieving for his love. A thousand times he decided to give up his claim on her.

  But the next morning changed all that. As he was taking a listless breakfast at the Post, he heard of the robbery of a post coach near Mannheim. The tale was garbled, but the times fit and the victims were said to be gentlewomen traveling with a great deal of gold on their persons. Lurid descriptions of what the villains had done to them turned his stomach and sent him into frenzied preparation to hire a private coach and six.

  He was just throwing a few clothes, money, and letters of credit into a satchel when Max showed up. He looked shamefaced and asked for work because he could not remain in Fischergasse.

  “You saw how it is, sir. Elsbeth’s set her cap for me. It isn’t right. She’s too young, and I have no mind for a family, not when I can’t give ’em a roof over their heads. But she won’t listen.”

  Seutter thought him a scoundrel, but he needed an able-bodied servant on the road, and Max was available. So he packed a loaded pistol in his satchel, and told Max he could ride beside the coachman.

  *

  Augusta tended to her mother silently for another day and night, refusing to engage in more verbal battles or to defend herself against the accusations. She was not feeling well herself. As her throat became too sore to speak much and her head hurt and she was generally too listless, it was not much of sacrifice. When her mother slept or kept an offended silence, she rested, her thoughts with Jakob.

  But the next morning, she could not bear the close room any longer. She went outside for a breath of fresh air. Her mother had improved sufficiently to eat and drink with a good appetite and had taken to issuing new orders. Augusta was to search out the high-ranking persons whom Franz had met on his stay here‌—‌especially the baron whose letter he had delivered‌—‌and ask for their assistance. Augusta said nothing. She had no appetite herself and felt feverish.

  As she stood outside in the sun, the innkeeper approached her again. “I know where you may find your brother, Miss,” he said.

  She stared at him. “How do you know?”

  “A postilion’s just come back from a run to Heidelberg. I happened to mention the plight you and your mother were in after the robbery of your stage. He’s the very one took your brother and an older gentleman day before yesterday? You just missed them.”

  Disappointed, she nodded. “I know.”

  “Seems they decided to spend a few days looking at the summer palace in Schwetzingen.”

  Hardly daring to hope, Augusta asked, “How far is Schwetzingen?”

  “Nine miles on a good road. Your brother could be back here by tonight if you were to send a note by the post. He’s staying at the inn in Schwetzingen. Or if you like, you can go yourself. That coach there is just leaving, and there’s a seat left outside.”

  Augusta hesitated only a moment. It was mad, but she could not bear the thought of spending another day with her mother. She gave him most of her remaining money and said, “Please tell my mother I shall be back with Franz before night falls. The money is for her food and someone to look after her.” Then she ran for the coach and climbed on.

  Two hours later, stiff, chilled to the bone, and blown about by the wind, she climbed down in Schwetzingen. She had never traveled outside on a stagecoach. Not only was it bitterly cold, but she was jolted and bounced about mercilessly. She had eaten nothing that morning and very little the day before, but the swaying of the vehicle had made her ill. The headache was back, pounding furiously behind her eyes.

  The posting inn was large. Feeling ill and light-headed, she stumbled through its door. A pair of young men were leaning against the banister of the stairs, engaged in a boisterous conversation. They stared when they saw her. She brushed back her disheveled hair. Their bold looks made her blush, but she asked if they knew a Lieutenant von Langsdorff. To her dismay, her throat hurt was worse, and she could barely speak.

  They looked at each other, and the taller one laughed. “Poor Desirée,” he said. “She’ll have to share her Apollo.”

  The other one grinned and bowed to Augusta. “Why, yes, my dear. We met the lieutenant, and a very ple
asant young man he is. May I know who’s asking for him?”

  “I’m his sister Augusta.”

  “His sister?” He exchanged another glance with his friend. “Well, then, Miss‌—‌or is it Mistress?”

  Augusta did not like their familiarity. “Miss von Langsdorff. Where may I find my brother?”

  “He’s gone out. Afraid he didn’t tell us where. Could we offer our services? You look proper chilled, Augusta. Perhaps a glass of mulled wine?”

  Relief that Franz was still here mixed with disappointment. She did not feel at all well. Her knees began to tremble, and she sat down quickly on the stairs, murmuring, “Oh.”

  They sat down beside her and were solicitous, holding her hands, peering into her face, and distressing her more, but she did not have the strength to get up again.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The voice was educated and commanding. Augusta looked up hopefully. A well-dressed gentleman looked down at them. “Why aren’t you at rehearsals? We have a play to put on, remember?”

  The two young men shot up and bowed. The stranger was older than they but quite handsome and clearly someone with authority. Augusta pulled her wits together and stood up also.

  The taller of the young men explained. “Just offering assistance to a young lady who’s been taken ill. The sister of Lieutenant von Langsdorff. She’s just arrived on the stagecoach.”

  The gray eyes of the officer measured her. “Oh, I see. Well, you’re excused then. But hurry up and get to the theater. I’ll see to the young lady.” He made Augusta a bow. “Allow me. My name is Karl von Eberau, major in the Kurfürst’s army and director of the court theater. I’m sorry if the young scallywags have frightened you. They’re harmless enough, but actors behave more freely than gentlemen, I’m afraid. Now, how may I be of assistance?”

  Gratefully, Augusta poured out the story of their misfortunes and her urgent quest for her brother.

  “Why, I believe I know the young man. Does he walk with a cane? And is he traveling with a very short older gentleman?”

  “Yes, indeed. The older gentleman is Doktor Stiebel, a lawyer and Franz’s friend and employer. They came to Mannheim to deliver a letter. I thought they had completed their errand and left again, but then the innkeeper in Mannheim told me they stopped here.”

  “And so they did. For some sightseeing, I believe, and perhaps to attend a performance or two. The court is shortly to arrive here and there will be all sorts of shows and musical and theatrical entertainments. I hope you and your Mama will be able to attend. The young Mozart from Salzburg is to perform again on the pianoforte and violin. He’s only seven and on a tour of all the major courts in Europe. Have you heard of him?”

  Augusta shook her head. “I’m sure it will be quite magnificent, sir, but at the moment my brother is rather urgently needed.”

  “Forgive me. Of course. If you will wait just a moment, I shall make inquiries.”

  She waited, leaning against the wall and feeling fainter by the minute. Ravishing smells came from some of the dishes servants carried past her to the dining rooms. Outside the church clock struck one.

  Herr von Eberau returned quickly. “Good news,” he cried cheerfully. “I believe I know where they are, and my chaise is just outside. Come.”

  He took her arm as they went to a neat little vehicle with a pair of fine horses. Helping her in, he said with a smile, “What very good luck that I happened to meet you this morning.”

  With a sigh, Augusta sank back into the soft leather seat and closed her eyes.

  17

  A Question of Honor

  Honor’s a fine imaginary notion,

  That draws in raw and inexperienced men

  To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.

  Joseph Addison, Cato II,iv)

  Franz was too ashamed to mention the encounter in the palace garden to Stiebel. Perhaps his friend thought his reticence was due to embarrassment about his sexual naiveté and changed the subject after the merest questioning look.

  “Well then, what about that chatty group of actors you were with? Have you learned anything?” he asked.

  Franz hung his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. The talk was of entertainments and how many great people would be in attendance on this last of the annual visits of the court. There will be musical performances, ballets, plays, and even a staged hunt.”

  Stiebel sat up. “A staged hunt? Barbarous affair. They drive the poor creatures into an enclosure where they’ll be massacred. But that’s neither here nor there. Will the Kurfürst attend?”

  “I suppose so, since he ordered it.” Franz was a little surprised that this negligible bit of news should be significant.

  Stiebel raised his brows. “Surely it’s obvious. If there’s a plot against the prince, he is in imminent danger. Remember that our assassin specializes in such scenarios.”

  “Oh.” Franz, his head full of his own problems, had some trouble thinking about Karl Theodor’s. “I suppose we must warn him.”

  Stiebel got up to pace. “Indeed, though he’s not easy to approach. I wish we knew who is involved and what they want precisely.” He stopped and frowned at Franz. “You’ll have to be very careful from now on. People are arriving every hour. The man may already be here. If he sees you…”

  Franz thought he was quite likely to die in a duel anyway. He used to be good with a sword before Freiberg, but his crippled leg put an end to that. And pistols? The chances were only slightly better, for he was a terrible shot. He supposed that Desirée’s protector would have the choice of weapon. Strange that he should have wished for death so frequently in the past year, only to fear it now when it was thrust upon him.

  Stiebel’s voice droned on while Franz wondered if he should have insisted on satisfaction. The insult to his honor had been serious. What if the man talked, boasted about what he had done?

  “Franz?”

  Franz blinked. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

  “Really, Franz, I wish you’d get your mind off that little actress and pay attention. I was speaking of men who might expect preferment from Elisabeth Augusta if she were to take her husband’s place. Truth to tell, I confess to a strong contempt for those who hope to advance in the world by seducing or allowing themselves to be seduced by women of power. It is said that Catherine of Russia made herself empress by having her husband, the czar, cast into a dungeon. Now she changes lovers with the rapidity that men change horses.”

  “These men you suspect are lovers of Elizabeth Augusta?”

  Stiebel said testily, “Pay attention. Colonel Rodenstein has served the Kurfürstin in war and peace for well on fifteen years now. There’s an ugly rumor that the prince who died may have been Rodenstein’s son. You do recall meeting the colonel?”

  Franz nodded. The heavy pompous man with the large order of the Polish Eagle pinned to his broad chest. “What about Dr. Mai?”

  Stiebel pursed his lips. “I don’t know. As her private and confidential physician he is well placed, and he was physician to the baron. The sleeping draft may have contained a poison. But surely he was not at Freiberg. There may be other men who hope to be Rodenstein’s successors, military men. She’s said to prefer them. Why do you look so horrified? Affairs are common among the great. You recall Elizabeth Augusta’s sister, the one who married the Count Palatine Michael and carried on an open and torrid affair with a Mannheim actor last year? You must accustom yourself to the idea, Franz. Not everyone lives up to your sainted Papa’s ideals.”

  No, not even his only son, thought Franz bitterly. Oh, how very far had he strayed from the teachings of his youth. And now he had not only failed Stiebel but got himself into a situation he did not know how to handle. He felt sick.

  “Come, don’t look so miserable, my dear boy,” said Stiebel, clearly sorry for his sharpness. “Go change your linen, and we’ll see what we can learn during supper.”

  But Franz could not face another evening with the a
ctors‌—‌who would by now have learned of the events in the garden‌—‌and begged off. He wanted to think through his options while Stiebel was busy elsewhere.

  *

  She was charming, the little sister. Quite young still‌—‌he judged her to be seventeen or eighteen at the most‌—‌and wholly trusting.

  He glanced at her sideways as he guided the horses toward his house. Her eyes were closed, and she looked innocent, a sleeping angel. What would it be like to make love to an angel?

  Lust stirred and reminded him of Desirée, the latest of the long string of dancers, actresses, and chambermaids he had bedded. There was a tiresome sameness to such affairs, though last night had made for some sport, as the inventive French Count de Sade had promised.

  There was no time to make a plan regarding the young Augusta. He had simply taken advantage of a chance to avenge himself on the man who had dared steal his woman.

  But abducting young gentlewomen was even more severely frowned on than dueling. Elizabeth Augusta would not countenance such a thing. He tried to think of a way to have the little virgin and get away with it but failed.

  When they stopped at his house, she awoke. “Are we here?”

  It struck him that she looked feverish and seemed to find speaking painful. “Yes. Allow me to take you inside. There’s a comfortable room where you can wait while I get your brother.”

  She let him help her down and lead her into the house. He took her to a settee in the small salon. It was a dim room. The shutters were closed and there was no fire. She sat down quietly, shivering a little.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “but this is a summer residence, and I arrived only yesterday. The servants are in Mannheim. I wish I could offer you some refreshments.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said and pulled her cloak around her more closely. “You are most kind.”

  He stood for a moment. Ah, it would be so easy. All he had to do was to push her back, fling her skirts over her head, and get between her thighs. There would be nothing she could do. The idea of rape brought back a memory. It stirred his lust so powerfully that he left the room before it was too late.