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Part 14

Posted on Sunday, 9 June 2002, at 11:31 p.m.

The next morning, Theresia and Marie were walking to church by themselves, since Amalia had refused to get up so early just for the sake of hearing the Mass.
Marie took the opportunity to tell Theresia what had happened the evening before.

Theresia could not believe what she had just heard with her own ears. That a man - even Count Bāthory - could be as presumptuous as to believe...

"I hope you told him exactly what you think about it," she said to Marie. "I would have slapped his face."

Marie laughed. "This was my first thought, too, but I thought the better of it."

"Your self control is admirable, dearest. Did you tell Joseph or Carl about it?"

Marie shook her head. "I do not think this is necessary any more. I expressed my refusal in no uncertain terms. This affair is finished, as far as I am concerned."

Theresia gave her a worried look. "Are you sure it is over, as far as he is concerned? I know that you never even considered the possibility of marrying him, but he does not look like the sort of man who is going to be stopped by a mere refusal on your part. You need some support - you should talk to Carl, at least."

"If Bāthory tries that again, I shall," Marie answered. "But at the moment I'd rather not bother Carl with my problems - he has so many things to care for, anyway."

The following weeks went by quickly - it was the traditional ball season now, and the von Hertenbergs, just like everyone in town, went out every evening to enjoy themselves.
Marie met Colonel Fitzwilliam nearly every evening, and was happy to see that he was acting normally again.

Theresia, too, enjoyed herself thoroughly. Her acquaintance with the young Count Kinsky had made her - for some time - the centre of attention. Though no one believed that Kinsky might have any serious design on her, some people thought that there was some affection - at least on his part.
Theresia laughed about those rumours, and, out of contrariness, gave Kinsky more attention that she might have done under different circumstances. She did not want to be told how to behave - and if anyone asked her why she was seen in his company so often lately, she just replied that "Count Kinsky was a good dancer, and he had known her brother, so why should she not enjoy his company?"

It was now the end of January, and after a rather warm period it became very cold again - sufficiently cold to cover the Vienna River with ice, and this meant one more source of entertainment. The ice-skating season had started.

Leonie mentioned it at a ball one evening, asking her two friends if they cared to go skating with her the next day.

"My aunt wants to come along too," she said, "but I know she will not go skating herself - she will just take a walk on the riverbank. Now, you do not want me to skate all by myself, do you?"

"Nothing could be further from me, to be sure," Theresia answered, with a smile.

"Is the ice on the river strong enough," Carl inquired.

"Oh yes," Leonie answered, with a smile. "You need not fear for us, sir. I have seen several people on the ice today."

"Are you going to come along, too, Carl?" Marie asked.

"I'd love to," he answered, "but I cannot. Important business. It looks like I am the only man in Vienna who has to work for his living at the moment."

"Do I detect signs of discontent in your voice, cousin," Theresia asked with a playful smile.

"Do I not have every right to be discontented," he said with a smile, "when everyone in town but me is allowed to enjoy themselves?"

"Oh, poor you," Theresia laughed.

"Do you feel sorry for me?"

"Absolutely. Though, coming to think of it, why could you not leave earlier and accompany us?"

"Do not tempt me, Theresia," he said, "my resolve is feeble enough as it is."

"I shall not say a single word about it then," she said, with a grin. "One should always know one's limits."

Leonie had, in the meantime, persuaded the English gentlemen to join their party. Theresia suspected that it had not taken much persuasion on Captain Tilney's part, and looking at Colonel Fitzwilliam, she thought that he might, perhaps, have reasons of his own to join them. Since New Year's Eve, he had changed - he seemed to pay more particular attention to Marie than before. Theresia was sure that he would propose to Marie sooner or later, and she felt happy for Marie.
Would it not be a wonderful thing to be Marie's bridesmaid at her wedding with a man she loved? Besides, seeing Amalia's plans thwarted like that was an additional bonus. There was only one bad point about it - Marie would have to leave Austria with her husband, as would Leonie, probably. She would be the only one left behind...with Joseph and Amalia and their child. Well, there was still Carl, as long as he was there, she would be quite safe. If not, she would have to think of another place to go, and in her situation, there were not many...

The next day, Theresia and Marie were already in the hallway, putting on their warm coats to go and meet Leonie, when Amalia burst out of her private sitting room, demanding to know where they were going.

"I told you so this morning," Marie replied calmly, taking care not to provoke Amalia. Lately, Joseph had been even more under her thumb than he had ever been before - it seemed that her pregnancy had given her infinite power over her husband, and she was most ready to exercise it.

"We are going to meet Leonie and her aunt. They invited us to go ice-skating."

Amalia turned to Theresia. "I suppose it would be too much to ask of you that, in return for your free board and lodging in this house, you might do me a favour?" she snapped.

Marie stared at her, dumbfounded. Why was she in such foul mood, and why did she take it out on Theresia?

"What favour, Amalia," Theresia asked warily.

"I want you to mend the hem of one of my dresses," Amalia answered. "Anna is busy today, and I thought, since you do not have anything better to do..."

"As a matter of fact, I do have something better to do. I have an appointment with Leonie," Theresia answered.

Anna was Amalia's lady's maid, and it was actually her job to keep Amalia's clothes in order, Marie thought. Asking Theresia to do a lady's maid's work was actually an insult in itself, especially if one asked her that way. No wonder Theresia had refused to do it.

"Oh, I thought it would be too much to ask," Amalia said. "Certainly frolicking on the ice is more to Mademoiselle's taste - it is not as if one were obliged to some people. Fine, as you wish. We will see to that later."

Angrily, Theresia took off her coat again, and said with the ice-cold voice that Marie knew so well, " Marie, you should hurry up if you do not want to be late. Be so kind as to tell Leonie that I am needed at home and cannot come, will you?"

Turning to Amalia, she added, "So, where is that dress you want me to mend?"

Marie left the house, hurrying to meet Leonie. She could not help worrying. Once Theresia started acting like that, everything was to be expected. Hopefully Amalia left her alone now - or she would make Theresia really angry.

There was a huge crowd of people at the river, most of them enjoying the sun. Days like this were rare at this time of year, and the clouds gathering at the horizon did not forebode anything good...the city was in for more snow soon.

Marie was most ready to enjoy herself thoroughly - her bad feeling about Theresia had gone for the time being. She was gliding across the ice, holding on to Colonel Fitzwilliam's arm.

"You are very good at skating, Miss von Hertenberg," he remarked, smilingly.

"Did you have any doubts as to that, sir," Marie asked him.

He laughed. "No, actually I only hoped you would not. After all, what is a gentleman to do if a lady does not need his assistance?"

"He might endeavour to entertain her, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"An excellent piece of advice, Miss von Hertenberg. Now, what can I contribute to your entertainment?"

"What about telling me something, sir? I do not really know much about you, although we have met so often..."

"Would you like to know me better then?" He looked into her eyes earnestly, and for a moment she felt embarrassed. Had she been to forward?

With a smile, trying to hide her confusion, she replied, "Of course I would, sir. After all, I need to know if it is advisable for you to be friends with my brother - or are you likely to be influenced by him?"

"So you do not fear for his virtue, but mine?"

Marie laughed. "Oh yes, I do, sir. I could tell you stories if I wanted to...."

"Fine, Miss von Hertenberg. I shall tell you one story about myself, and in return you will inform me of your brother's evil exploits."

"It will depend on the quality of your story, though, I do not promise anything. I do not want to expose him to public censure."

He laughed. "I wish he could hear that," he said.

"Oh, he would be delighted, I suppose," she said with a smile.

"Delighted, indeed...well, I shall tell you one story about myself and my only attempt at diplomacy. Though it may perhaps influence you against me, and you might end up forbidding your brother to associate with me."

"I cannot imagine such a thing, sir."

"It happened some time ago, when my cousin Darcy and I were on our annual Easter visit at our aunt's estate. Our aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, demands our presence at least once a year - and I have only just succeeded in keeping her from Vienna. I hope."

Marie laughed. "This sounds like your aunt is an interesting character to know."

Colonel Fitzwilliam did not look as if he agreed with her on that point, but he did not comment on it. He continued his story instead.

"Now, during our journey, my cousin had told me about his stay with a friend in Hertfordshire, paying particular attention not to leave out any details about a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You can imagine our surprise when our aunt told us that in the neighbourhood there was a young lady, staying with her friend, Mrs Collins - the village parson's wife - and the young lady was no other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Marie laughed. "The news must have made your cousin's day, I am sure."

"He certainly looked like it."

"What happened next?"

"I thought I would like to know if Miss Bennet felt the same way for him, and I was eager to meet her. So I suggested that we should call on "his Hertfordshire acquaintance" as soon as possible, and so we did. In the course of our acquaintance, however, I realised that Miss Bennet's feelings for my cousin were not quite what he hoped them to be...and I thought he could do with some help."

"So this was your attempt at diplomacy? No wonder that it failed!"

"Excuse me?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, one should never interfere with matters of the heart, nothing good can ever come of that."

He gave her a strange look.

"I know so now, but I did not know then. I thought that Miss Bennet had just formed a wrong opinion of Darcy, and that it might be a good idea to try to correct her picture of him. One day I met her, walking in the park, and I took the opportunity to do so...only at one point, she behaved very strangely, changed the subject of conversation abruptly - we were just discussing Darcy's friend, Bingley, and a service Darcy had rendered him in dissuading him from marrying imprudently - and, when I asked her if she was unwell, she admitted that she had a headache and wished to return to the Parsonage."

"This does not sound as if your efforts had been very successful, Colonel," Marie said jokingly.

"No, indeed, actually, the consequence of my interference was disastrous, though I did not know at that time. Only a few weeks later Darcy told me that he had made an offer of marriage to Miss Bennet and had been refused. When he had asked her for the reasons of her refusal, she had, among other things, stated that he had been the means of ruining her sister's expectations of happiness - his friend Bingley had been attached to Miss Bennet's elder sister, and had, under Darcy's influence, given up his intention of marrying her."

"Oh no...and you had told her about it? Poor Mr Darcy - and poor Miss Bennet, too."

"You need not pity them too much, Miss von Hertenberg," he said with a grin. "You'd better pity me."

"I see no reason for pitying you, sir."

"Miss von Hertenberg, you seem to be of a cruel disposition today."

"Did your cousin, Mr Darcy, get over his disappointment?"

The Colonel laughed. "He is working hard on it every day," he answered. "His wife helps him with it as best as she can. Her name is Elizabeth, by the way - and her maiden name was Bennet."

"So she did marry him in the end?"

"Oh yes, she did. Anyway, after that incident I vowed I would never again try to use diplomacy."

Marie laughed. "And now you are working at the Congress here - is that not diplomacy?"

"Not really, I just translate a bit...but now, you promised me a story to warn me about your brother's bad character."

Marie hesitated. Then she noticed a couple on the other side of the river and took a closer look.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she exclaimed, "is that not Major Horvāth over there?"

"Are you trying to change the topic, Miss von Hertenberg? This will not do!" Colonel Fitzwilliam said teasingly.

"I am NOT trying to change the topic, sir, but this is Major Horvāth over there - though I do not know the lady. Do you?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave them a closer look, but admitted that he had not had the pleasure yet.

"I have not seen much of Horvāth lately," he said.

"Neither have we. Well, I want to know who this is. Are you going to join me?"

"Why not?"

So they hurried across the river to meet Major Horvāth and his pretty companion. They were just talking to another couple who were standing on the riverbank.

"Major Horvāth, what a surprise to meet you here," Marie exclaimed.
The Major turned around, and though he was not really surprised to see her, he seemed rather uncomfortable at first.

Now Marie recognised that the young lady clinging to his arm was a lady with whom she had already seen him dance at several balls - but he had never introduced her. Actually, one had to admit that meetings with Major Horvāth had become scarce lately.

"Are you trying to avoid us, sir," she asked with a smile.

"Not at all, Miss von Hertenberg - there has only been so much to do lately."

"Well, obviously," Marie answered with a teasing smile. "Are you not going to introduce us to your friends?"

"Why, certainly," Major Horvāth answered. "Miss von Hertenberg, Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present my friend, Mr Grum, from Marburg, Mrs Grum, and Miss Lina Grum, Mr Grum's youngest sister."

Miss Grum, a very pretty dark-haired young lady, gave Marie a ready smile and said, "I would like to curtsey, Miss von Hertenberg, I only fear that any such attempt might end in displaying myself in a quite unladylike manner - I hope you will forgive my rudeness."

Marie assured her that such formal behaviour was not necessary at the moment, and added, "Is this the first time you try ice-skating then, Miss Grum?"

"Oh yes - as everyone can see, I am sure." Miss Grum laughed. "One should not leave a city without having made a fool of oneself at least once," she said. "I am afraid Major Horvāth already curses the moment when he offered to teach me how to skate."

"Not at all, Miss Grum, you are doing very well," Major Horvāth replied with a smile.

"Spoken like a real gentleman," Miss Grum answered, "but I will see the truth of that assertion very soon, I am sure."

Marie decided to leave them to themselves now, and after she had extracted a promise from the Major that they would meet at the next ball, she took her leave.

While they were skating back to meet Leonie and Captain Tilney, Marie noticed Colonel Fitzwilliam's amused smile.

"May I ask what amuses you so much, sir," she asked him.

"Oh, nothing really, Miss von Hertenberg, I just could not help remembering something Major Horvāth said some time ago..."

"What did he say?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "Oh, nothing important really, it just came to my mind. But now, Miss von Hertenberg - you still owe me a story, if you remember."

Theresia was sitting in the drawing room, silently working on Amalia's dress, though she felt like tearing it. Lately, Amalia's behaviour towards her had grown worse and worse. It was not hard to tell what intention was behind it - Amalia wanted her out of the house, and so she had taken to treating Theresia like a servant.
Since Theresia did not wish to give her an actual reason to turn her out of the house, she usually complied, but the anger inside her was simmering and growing stronger all the time - she was in a dangerous mood.

Amalia was either not aware of it, or she did not care. Perhaps this was how her calculation worked - waiting for Theresia to make a mistake, to have an excuse for actions of her own. She took great care that no one but Marie ever noticed her insults ... she knew that Carl would be on Theresia's side, and even Joseph had a great deal of regard for his cousin, even if he did not show it usually.

At the moment, she sat next to Theresia, watching her and criticising every stitch Theresia made. Theresia did not react on her provocation, however. She pretended not to hear anything, and concentrated on her work.

When she had finished mending the dress, she handed it to Amalia, and turned to leave the room without saying anything, intending to go to the music room to vent her ill humour there. But Amalia was not finished with her yet.

"You know, I have been thinking of something lately," she began, with that sweet tone in her voice that foreboded nothing good.

"Have you," Theresia answered, warily, remaining where she was.

"Will you not sit with me for a moment, Theresia, I have a suggestion to make," Amalia answered, patting on the sofa next to her as if inviting a dog to sit on the sofa.

Theresia went over to the easy chair and seated herself on it, facing Amalia. She crossed her arms, leaning back, and looked at Amalia without saying a thing. Amalia interpreted this as a sign of submission, while it was only a sign that Theresia was so annoyed that she did not trust herself to say anything.

"You see, Theresia, I have a lot to think about at the moment - an addition to a family makes planning necessary. One thing has occupied my mind for quite some time now - I need to furnish a nursery for the baby."

Theresia glared at Amalia furiously, her eyes were now nearly black with anger. What was she getting at?

"I wanted to ask you if you would be so kind as to give up your room - I think it is most conveniently situated, near my own room, so I could have my child near me. What do you think?"

"Where am I to stay then," Theresia asked, in an icy voice.

"Oh, I thought of the Governess' room - it is quite nice, and totally sufficient for your needs," Amalia replied in her sweetest voice.

"My answer is no, Amalia, you need not think about that opportunity any more. The old nursery - which was, if I may remind you, good enough for my cousins, one of them, if you remember, is your husband - is just opposite your own room, and actually nearer to it than my room is. I see no necessity in moving out of my room, I am well pleased with it, and I have been staying in it for nearly eleven years now."

Theresia tried hard not to show her trembling hands - it would have given Amalia a clue as to how she felt, and this was the last thing she wanted to happen at the moment. The Governess' room, indeed! Had things gone so far now? Was she now to be considered nothing more than the poor relation, who was only endured, but not wanted? The governess - working for Amalia without getting paid, because she had to be grateful for having a place to stay?
No, she would not endure that humiliation.

"You refuse to do me this favour then," Amalia asked furiously.

"I do. There is plenty of room in this house for a nursery. Choose whatever room you like, but not mine. I am not going to give it up."

"So this is all the thanks I am going to get, for everything I have done for you!" Amalia hissed.

Theresia gave an angry laugh. Enough was enough. "What exactly would that be, Amalia," she said, ironically.

"Do you think it is easy to keep you under my protection, in this house? The humiliation I have to suffer because of you every time we go into company? Your conduct is not of a sort that suits a well-behaved young lady, and who is to take the blame for it?"

"If you do not mind, Amalia, I shall take the blame on my own head. What is wrong with my behaviour, anyway? I tried to copy yours whenever I could."

"Your behaviour is of a sort that is a disgrace to all of us - flirting with all sorts of young men in a most encouraging manner. Well, perhaps one cannot expect too much pride in that respect from you. Someone with your future prospects has to take what she can get, I suppose."

"What do these implications mean," Theresia shouted at her.

"Oh, nothing more than the fact that I have hardly ever seen cheaper behaviour than yours. You could just as well make a profession of it." Amalia screamed.

For a moment, Theresia just stood there, breathing deeply. She had to keep herself from slapping that woman's face - and it was quite hard to keep herself from doing it.

"There are different sorts of women," she finally began, very quietly, making an effort to restrain herself.

"There are those who make a profession of it, as you have vouchsafed to point out. These are the ones every respectable woman looks down upon. However, I have sometimes wondered what is the difference between one of these and a so-called respectable woman who makes a man believe that she loves him and marries him for the sake of his money - without having the least regard for him? I have come to one conclusion - the only difference is that those ill-reputed women are more honest. They do not use deceit, they let the men know what they want right from the beginning."

"Are you going to say that I am worse than a...." Amalia said.

Theresia gave a disdainful laugh. "Did I say so?"

She walked to the door swiftly, not meaning to stay in the same room with Amalia a minute longer, and left Amalia where she was.

"You will think of that afternoon, Theresia," Amalia screamed. "You will think of it very often, I promise you that."

"I bet I will," Theresia said, without turning around, and left the room.

Theresia had spent the last two hours in the music room, frantically practising her music. What Amalia had said had gone straight to her heart, though she would never have admitted such a thing. Years of experience with Amalia had taught her never to show the wounds to her.
She sighed. If it were not for Marie ... and Carl ... she would have left Vienna a long time ago. But her friendship with Marie had always kept her here.

Being so busy with her piano playing, she had not noticed anything that had happened in the house, until the door of the music room opened and Carl came in - with an unusually grave look about him.

"Have you calmed down by now," he said, instead of a greeting.

Theresia chose not to answer. Amalia had told him about their quarrel. Well, it was to be expected - it had been the worst quarrel they had ever had.

"Are you not going to talk to me," he said, after a few minutes.

"I thought it better to help you get done with your sermon as soon as possible, that is all," Theresia answered.

"So you think yourself to be in the right, do you? Was this quarrel really necessary, Theresia? You should see Amalia - she is beside herself."

"Serves her right. I am beside myself, too, but of course no one wants to know how I am."

"Theresia, there is no need for you to start quarrelling with me as well, is there? Can you just answer one question? What have you been thinking?"

Carl gave her a disapproving look. "You ought to be ashamed of herself at least, treating Amalia the way you did."

Theresia stared at him in disbelief. He knew Amalia just as well as she did, and he still blamed her for having caused the quarrel?

"Did you ever try to imagine that Amalia might be right," he went on. "Your behaviour lately was really rather unconventional at times, and it would do you good to listen to her advice."

"You want me to follow her advice," Theresia said, dangerously calm.

"It is not easy for her to be here with us, Theresia. You should consider her feelings more. I know you do not like her very much, but could you not, at least sometimes, do a thing or two for her? It would make your life here much easier. And ours as well - this permanent quarrel between the two of you is not really agreeable for those who have to live with you. "

"Oh, I am sorry I am getting on your nerves, Carl," Theresia said, rising. "I see that I am a burden altogether. Very well - I never wished to be a nuisance to my family. I never chose to be here - my parents placed me in this house eleven years ago, if you remember."

"I am afraid it cannot be helped now," she continued, sadly. "I can only apologise for having caused such trouble, all this time. It will not happen any more, you can be sure of that. Please tell Amalia that my room will be at her disposal as soon as possible."

It took her some effort to hold back her tears. She opened the door slowly, and walked out, leaving Carl behind. Theresia even managed to close the door quietly, before she ran up the stairs to her room, sobbing. Her pride would not have let her show her feelings openly.

Never show your wounds to the enemy...

Marie was in the highest of spirits when she arrived at home after a delightful afternoon with Leonie and - most of all - Colonel Fitzwilliam.
She was late, and went to her room to dress for dinner without delay. When she entered the drawing room, however, she noticed that something was wrong. Theresia was not there, Amalia looked even more displeased than ever, and Carl was downcast as well. He had not made such a desolate impression on her since their mother's death.

Only Joseph did his best to cheer them up.

"Where is Theresia," Marie asked him, and while Joseph replied that he did not know, Marie noticed how Carl winced. He probably knew more about the matter than he wanted to tell her just now.

They waited for another five minutes, but there was no sign of Theresia. Finally, Marie got up and said, "Well, I am going to see if she is ready or if she needs anything."

"I am not going to wait for any of you longer than five minutes," Amalia snapped. "If you are not back with us in five minutes, we shall start our meal without you."

"You may very well do so," Marie replied heatedly. "I am not hungry."

She went upstairs and knocked at Theresia's door.
There was no answer.
Marie knocked again. "Theresia, are you in there," she asked, anxiously. "Is everything all right?"

"Go away," she heard Theresia answer from inside. Marie tried to open the door. It was locked.

"Will you let me in, dearest?" she asked. "Everyone is worried about you."

"No, they are not. Leave me alone, will you?"

"Theresia, whatever is wrong, I did not do anything to you. Let me in, please, and tell me what happened." Marie said pleadingly.

After a short silence, she went on, "Listen, if you do not let me in, I shall just stay here. I won't go away, I'll stay here all night, until you open the door. Now do not be so stubborn, I just want to see if you are all right."

Finally, she heard steps approaching the door, and then Theresia said, suspiciously, "You are here by yourself, aren't you?"

"I am here all by myself - the others are having their dinner at the moment. Come, let me in now, Theresia."

The key was turned in the lock, and Theresia opened the door. Marie noticed at once that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, and although Theresia made an effort to look cheerful, her self-control failed her the moment she saw Marie.

Marie went inside the room and closed the door behind her.

"Will you...will you..." Theresia began, but did not manage to finish the sentence. She motioned her hand as if to turn a key.

"You want me to lock the door?" Marie asked.

Theresia nodded, took out her handkerchief to wipe away her tears and blew her nose.

Marie sat down on the bed. "Now, can you tell me what happened?" she asked, tenderly.

Theresia began to tell her what had happened in the afternoon. Her narrative was often interrupted by another outburst of tears, but finally she finished her account.

Marie looked at her, speechless.

"This is what Amalia said to you?"

Theresia nodded. "This was not the worst thing that happened, though," she said. "I am used to being treated like that by her. What hurt me more was that Carl seemed to approve of everything she had said."

"He did WHAT?" Marie did not trust her own ears. Had Carl entirely lost his mind?

"He said that..." For a while, Theresia was not able to say anything more, she just cried, leaning on Marie's shoulder.

"What did he say," she finally asked when she saw that Theresia had somewhat calmed down again.

"He said that Amalia was right, that my behaviour was unconventional, and that I was getting on everybody's nerves," Theresia answered. "And I thought he liked me..."

Again, tears welled up in her eyes.

"He does like you, Theresia. I am sure this has been a misunderstanding. I cannot imagine Amalia has told him every detail about your quarrel - she cannot, or else he would have seen that she had provoked you, and that she had been treating you cruelly. Though I cannot imagine why he did not detect it...did he ask you to give him your point of view?"

"No, nothing, he just came in, blamed me for everything, told me off, and that was it."

"Men are such fools, sometimes," Marie exclaimed angrily. "And my own brother is the worst of them all!"

"Marie, it would not be so bad if it had just been Amalia...but you see, Carl's opinion means so much to me...I cannot endure the thought that he thinks so ill of me...what am I to do?"

"Dry your tears and join them at dinner," Marie suggested, smilingly.

Theresia shook her head. "No, I am not going to dine with this family any more. I'd rather starve."

"Theresia, please, one should not say such a thing - not even in jest."

"Marie, I do not want him to see me like that. I do not want him to know how much he has hurt me."

"But why not? He ought to know, and I am going to tell him."

"No, you won't," Theresia exclaimed furiously.

Marie gave her a surprised look. Why did Theresia not want her to tell Carl how much his reproach had upset her?

"Please do not tell him," Theresia said, more calmly. "I do not want him to know. I do not want him to know that he means so much to me...that he can actually make me cry. You should leave now, Marie, or you will not get any dinner. I do not want you to starve because of me," she added, with a sad smile.

"You are not going to join me?"

Theresia shook her head. "No, I think it is better if I stay here. It will not be for long, anyway. I shall leave Vienna as soon as possible."

Marie stared at her in shock. This was not possible!

"But...where are you going to go?"

"Who cares?"

"Well, I do, for example, and a lot of people do."

"Oh, I am sure it will not make so much of a difference to anyone if I am gone," Theresia said. "But now, don't miss your dinner."

She went to the window, looking outside, lost in her own thoughts. Marie realised that there was no use trying to talk to her tonight. Perhaps tomorrow...

When she arrived in the dining room, the dessert was just being served. Marie noticed that Carl's plate was nearly full when the servant removed it.

Good - so he feels guilty, at least, she thought.

He gave her an anxious look. "Is Theresia not going to join us," he asked nervously.

"No, she is not," Marie answered, coolly.

"I am not going to trouble the servants to bring her dinner to her room," Amalia said sourly. "If Mademoiselle cannot be bothered to come downstairs to have her meals, she will just have to do without them."

"Actually, this is what she intends to do, Madam," Marie said.

She thanked the servant with a smile and tried to eat some soup - only she did not really feel like eating, either.

Amalia, having finished her dinner, rose to retire to the drawing room, and Joseph followed her. Only Marie and Carl remained in the dining room.

"How is Theresia," he enquired, worriedly.

"As one might expect," Marie answered. "She is crying her eyes out, thanks to you."

He gave her a suffering look. "I did not want that, Marie," he said, quietly.

"I know, Carl, but this does not help now, does it? She is up there, heartbroken, and...oh, why do I still talk to you, can you tell me?" Marie exclaimed angrily.

"Do you think she will come downstairs later? I want to tell her how sorry I am," Carl said.

"No she won't come downstairs. She does not want to see you."

"She does not want to see me? But...why?"

Marie gave an inward sigh. MEN! she thought.

"Carl, when you talked to her before, did you ever consider that Amalia might not have told you everything? Did you actually bother to ask Theresia what had happened? Or did you just tell her off, in your usual manner?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You are right, I should have..."

"Do not tell me now what you should have done, Carl, because it is too late. Well, I am going to tell you what Theresia told me, and you will be able to picture what really happened."

Marie gave Carl an exact account of what Theresia had told her, and he listened to her, shocked at Amalia's behaviour.

"She actually used you to avenge herself on Theresia," Marie ended her narrative. "So far for poor Amalia who has been treated so badly."

"Marie, I need your help," Carl said. "Will you tell Theresia..."

Marie shook her head. "Carl, it was your mistake, and if you want to make up for it, you will have to do it by yourself. Do not expect any help from me - as far as I am concerned, I think if Theresia will never speak to you again, this is just what you deserve."

Carl left the dining room, trying to think of something to do. Marie had opened his eyes. He had done Theresia wrong, and it was his own fault. He had let Amalia use him for her revenge on Theresia - it had only been his stupid jealousy that had made him believe her when she had told him that Theresia had abused her for criticising her behaviour.
He should have known better.

Before he knew it, Carl was standing in front of Theresia's door. He needed to sort things out, he needed to tell her how sorry he was - and he had to beg her not to leave him. What would he do without her?

He drew a deep breath, trying to banish that thought from his head, and knocked at the door.

There was no answer.

Suddenly, Carl feared that it was too late. Perhaps Theresia had left the house already - or, even worse, had done something stupid?

He knocked again. "Theresia," he said. "Open that door, do you hear me?"

"I am not going to take any orders from you, Colonel," he heard her answer.

Carl gave a sigh of relief. She was still there, at least, and she was well. "Listen, Theresia, we need to talk."

"I do not want to talk. Just leave." Her voice sounded as cold as it had sounded in the afternoon, when she had told him to "tell Amalia that her room was at her disposal". This had been when it had dawned on him that Amalia might not have told him the whole truth.

"Theresia, please..."

"No! Why do you not leave me alone? This is all I am asking of you at the moment."

Had she slapped him, it could hardly have hurt more. Carl turned on his heels and went away. He left the house, not caring that he had forgotten to take his coat, and walked along the streets of the city. Thick snowflakes were coming down from the sky. It might just as well have been nails, he would not have noticed.

He had lost the only woman he had ever loved - and there was no one to blame for it but himself. Whatever he did now, nothing would ever convince her of his affection.
Carl knew Theresia well enough - once one had managed to hurt her, she hardly ever forgave.

Part 15

Posted on Thursday, 13 June 2002, at 12:55 a.m.

Richard was sitting in the drawing room by himself, in front of a blazing fire, meditating a serious problem. He had spent the last few weeks trying to find out more about Bāthory and his first marriage, but no one had been able to tell him much about it. The most likely source of information would have been Horvāth, of course, but then Horvāth could be called a rather prejudiced witness. Besides, Horvāth would wish to know why Richard was so interested in his sister's marriage...
No, Richard needed to ask some unbiased person, preferably someone who had had some insight - a servant, perhaps. Someone who had been there all the time, and had seen events with their own eyes that Horvāth only knew by description - the partial description his sister had given him.
However, those servants still employed in Count Bāthory's household could scarcely be expected to talk, they would hardly risk their positions just for his sake. If he could just get at someone who had worked for Bāthory when he had been married, but worked for someone else now? If he could get at some information that discredited Bāthory, so that he could point out to Baron von Hertenberg that Bāthory was not the sort of man one should trust with one's sister? Richard was sure that there were plenty of reasons why Marie should not marry that man, if the most obvious one, her evident contempt of him, should not be enough to convince her eldest brother.
To find such a person had been his chief object in the past few days, but he had not been successful yet. Well, if nothing else worked, he could still ask for Horvāth's help - but this would be his last resort. It was clear that Horvāth still felt the pain the loss of his sister had caused, and so Richard would rather have spared him any allusions to her fate.

Suddenly, Richard was roused from his thoughts by the ringing of the doorbell.

Who can that be, at this ungodly hour, he thought. It was past eleven, and this was not the usual time for someone to call on their friends - not even in Vienna.
An instant later, Garret came in to announce Colonel von Hertenberg, and Richard was surprised to see his friend following at Garret's heels, drenched to the skin, wearing no overcoat, and looking extremely depressed.

"I am sorry to disturb you at so late an hour," he said to Richard, "but I was walking in town and realised I was just around the corner..."

"So you thought you could pay me a short afternoon visit," Richard concluded the sentence. "I have no objection to it - but first of all, I think you should put on some dry clothes."

"Dry clothes?" von Hertenberg repeated, as if he had never heard such an expression before.

"Why yes, you are dripping wet, man, and I do not really want you to die of pneumonia if I can help it - Garret! Get some dry clothes for the Colonel - and fetch that bottle of special medicine from my room."

"Medicine?" von Hertenberg said. "I do not need any medicine. I am not going to take any."

"Oh yes, you will, and you will like it, too. Amazingly good stuff." Richard grinned.

Garret took von Hertenberg with him, and when they returned, Richard handed his friend a glass of whisky.

"There now, sit down and tell me what happened." Richard said, watching von Hertenberg drain his glass and refilling it at once. "What makes you leave your comfortable home on an evening like this?"

Von Hertenberg sighed. "Well, my home was not that comfortable tonight, that is why. Am really sorry, Fitzwilliam, I did not want to bother you at that time of night, but I needed somewhere to go."

"Sounds serious."

"It is serious. I've messed up everything."

"You messed up everything? In what respect?" Richard thought it wiser to move the bottle of whisky out of von Hertenberg's reach.

"Theresia." From the desperate tone in von Hertenberg's voice, Richard could tell that matters were serious, indeed - or at least that von Hertenberg thought so.

"You had a quarrel, I presume."

"A quarrel? If it had only been that, we quarrel nearly every day, but this time it was...well, that's it. She will never talk to me again."

"Why do you not start at the beginning and tell me what happened?" Richard asked.

"Can I have some more of that medicine of yours, first?"

"Do you not think you have had enough already? Believe me, this is a very strong one, might get the better of you in a minute." Richard said.

"Who cares? The thought of drinking myself senseless tonight has something appealing. Then at least I won't have to think of her all the time," von Hertenberg said, refilling his glass.

Richard leant back in his chair. It was obviously no use trying to press him - but sooner or later, von Hertenberg would tell him what had happened.

"We had a quarrel," von Hertenberg finally admitted, "but of a different sort than usual. I said a lot of stupid things I did not really mean, and ... well, I hurt her."

"She was angry, then?"

"Angry? Oh, Lord, if she had just been angry, I would have been able to deal with that. When Theresia is angry, it usually lasts about one or two days, and then she becomes reasonable again. No, this time she was different. She became very quiet, started behaving in an extremely dignified way - quite the opposite of her behaviour when she is just angry. I know I have hurt her, but she did not want to show it. This is the worst thing - I know how it will go on."

Now the bottle had become rather empty, and von Hertenberg had more and more difficulty with telling his story.

"You see...she refuses to see me. I...I wanted to see her, to...apologize but...she just refused to see me!" Von Hertenberg reached for the bottle, but Richard shook his head.

"No more, von Hertenberg, you have really had enough. Now, perhaps Miss von Laudeck will be more disposed to listen to you tomorrow morning? Provided you are sober again, of course. She would get a pretty impression of you if she saw you now."

"She won't listen to me tomorrow...or any other morning...you know, I made a mistake."

"Yes, you did, you just drank a pint of whisky, if not more." Richard said, dryly.

"Nnnonsense, I can take...a bit of a drink..."

"Very well, but no more tonight. Now, what sort of mistake did you make?"

"I believed Amalia. I should have known better, she hates Theresia, and she told me about a quarrel they had had...in a way that made me believe... that it had been Theresia who had provoked her."

Von Hertenberg stared into the fire gloomily. "I did ...did not even...bother to ask Reserl what had hap - happened...just told her off..."

"I am sure you will be able to sort things out," Richard said, soothingly. "Believe me, Miss von Laudeck will have calmed down in a few days."

Von Hertenberg shook his head determinedly. "No, she won't. Marie said she would not be surprised if Reserl never sssspoke to me ag - again."

"Miss von Laudeck does not look like a resentful sort of person to me," Richard said, thoughtfully.

"Oh, she is not...not usually. But if one happens to hurt her...like I did today .... Behhhaving like an idi - idiot, well...that's it. I messed things up completely, and she ...hates me. AND...sssmy fault."

For a while, none of them spoke. Richard did not really know what to say, besides he did not believe that arguing with von Hertenberg in his present state would have any effects.

Then von Hertenberg tried to rise. "I thhhink I havtogo," he said, but did not succeed in getting up. Richard grinned. The whisky had done its job thoroughly.

"You'd better not go anywhere any more tonight," he said to von Hertenberg. "Garret will get a room ready for you. I think it is safer. Who knows where you might end up otherwise."

"Nnnnonsssense....know my way around in Vvvienna well enough," von Hertenberg said with another attempt at rising from his seat. An unsuccessful one, though.

Richard rang for Garret and told him that "Colonel von Hertenberg would stay for the night", and that he should help him bring von Hertenberg to bed.
Von Hertenberg showed no resistance when they dragged him off to the spare bedroom. He had fallen asleep in his easy chair while Garret had prepared the room for him.

Marie had hardly slept all night. She had lain awake, waiting for her brother to return home, but she had not heard a sound.
Now it was early in the morning, and as Carl had still not come home, she felt nearly sick with worry. She was sitting in the breakfast room, trying to swallow some tea, when the maid came in with a letter.

"A messenger just brought this note," she said, "and asked me to give it to you, Miss."

Marie opened the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. It was from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Dear Miss von Hertenberg,
I hope you have not been too upset by your brother's absence. He turned up at my lodgings late yesterday evening, and after sitting some time with me and trying my father's old whisky, I am afraid I could not trust him to find his way back any more. He therefore spent the night here, and there is no need to worry about him. I am sure that he is fine, apart from an inexplicable headache.

INEXPLICABLE? Despite herself, Marie had to laugh.

He has already sent word to his man Novacek, who will pick up some suitable clothes for him at his home and will deliver them here. Your brother asks you to have everything prepared, so that his clothes will be ready for Novacek when he comes to fetch them.
Please accept my apologies for disturbing you so early in the morning.

Yours, etc.
R. Fitzwilliam

So Carl was fine - Marie was happy to hear it, and she hurried to tell one of the maids to get Carl's things ready for Novacek. It had been so considerate of Colonel Fitzwilliam to let her know - had Joseph or Amalia heard about Carl's escapade, they would not have been too pleased to hear it. Somehow Marie imagined that Carl would not feel up to more reproach at the moment.

When Carl had woken up that morning, he had felt as if some blacksmith had set up a forge inside his head and was, at the moment, shoeing the horses of the entire Austrian Cavalry.
In looking around, he did, at first, not realise where he was or how he had got there.
Then his memory became a bit clearer - he had been sitting with Fitzwilliam until late at night, and drinking some whisky...oh, well, so this was where that headache came from.

His clothes were ready for him - obviously Garret had spent some time to make them look presentable again. Carl got dressed and went to join Fitzwilliam and the Tilneys for breakfast. Though his stomach did not feel quite right at the moment, he could do with some coffee to make his head a bit clearer.
Tilney gave him an interested look and asked him how he felt.

"Do you want to know the truth?" Carl asked, flinching. If Tilney could just talk a bit more quietly....
"If the Lord struck me dead with a lightning right now, I'd die a happy man."

Tilney gave him a cheerful smile and said, "After nights like these, von Hertenberg, one should start one's day with the same drink that ended the night before..."

"Do you want to see me dead?" Carl asked him.

"You were the one who just wished to die," Tilney replied mercilessly. "You will get over it."

Fitzwilliam asked Carl if he wanted to send a message to his family. "I think they will want to know where you have been," he said.

"Sorry, I do not think I can write at the moment..." Carl said. "I cannot concentrate with that hammering going on in my head."

"Oh, I shall write for you then, no problem. Is there anything in particular you need?"

Carl thought for a moment. Well, he needed Theresia - but this was hardly what Fitzwilliam had meant.

"Could you send another message to Novacek? He should pick up my stuff at home and bring it here," he said, finally.

"Certainly," Fitzwilliam answered and set to work at once.

When he had despatched Garret with the messages, he sat down next to Carl again and said, "And now, would you tell me what happened? Your way of speaking was a bit incoherent yesterday."

"And you think it will be more intelligible today? You have every trust in me, I see." Carl made an attempt to sound cheerful, but it only made his feelings more evident. No one could ignore the hopeless tone in his voice.

"What I know now - or believe to know - is that you had a quarrel with Miss von Laudeck. Am I correct?"
Fitzwilliam handed him a glass of water, and Carl took it gratefully. He nodded.

"This is my main problem, yes. I was dense enough to interfere with a quarrel she had had with Amalia, and I was even more stupid because I believed Amalia's version of the story without asking Theresia for hers. I said a few terrible things to her - and did not notice how much I had hurt her. Then she just left me behind, and there I was, feeling like the worst villain the world had ever seen. Well, I tried to apologise, but she refused to leave her room, and she refused to speak to me."

"Perhaps she will be willing to listen to you once she has calmed down. You should wait a while, do not press her, give her some time to recover - I am sure she will give you a chance then." Fitzwilliam said, encouragingly.

"I can only hope so," Carl said, sighing. "Otherwise, what am I to do?"

Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders. "You will find something, I am sure."

Garret announced that Novacek had arrived with the things Carl had asked him to get for him.

Novacek came in, bid Carl good morning, saluted, and said, "Here I have got Colonel's uniform, sir, and here is a parcel and a note from Miss von Laudeck..."

Carl nearly jumped. "Miss von Laudeck, you said? Did you see her? What did she look like?"

Novacek gave him a look he knew very well. What has he done this time, it usually meant.
"I beg your pardon, sir, I did not see Miss von Laudeck. The maid gave me the parcel and the letter and asked me to deliver it to you," he answered.

Carl took the parcel and opened it. It was the book he had given her, the one with the picture showing her home. He had never asked her to return it, actually, as far as he had been concerned, it had been a present. Now she had sent it back to him - along with a note.

Thank you very much for lending me the book, cousin, but I do not think I shall need it any more. T. v .Laudeck

Carl went pale. This short note expressed such coldness... "You see," he said, handing the note to Fitzwilliam. "She hates me."

"No, she does not hate you, she is just angry with you." Fitzwilliam answered. "If she hated you, she would not trouble herself with writing that note."

"You do not know her as well as I do," Carl said, desperately. "Believe me, this is just the beginning."

Leonie and her aunt called on the von Hertenbergs quite early and Leonie was most surprised to hear that Theresia was not up yet, while Marie seemed to be very busy already. Usually, it was the other way round.
While the Countess and Baroness von Hertenberg were exchanging some gossip, Leonie listened eagerly to Marie's description of what had happened the evening before.

"Do you think she will come downstairs to see me," Leonie asked when Marie had finished her story.

Marie shook her head. "No, she does not want to see Amalia. Or Carl. Or any of them."

"Do you think I may see her in her room then," Leonie went on. "I think she is in need of some cheering up."

"Oh yes, she is definitely in need of that. If you want me to, I shall go and ask her. I shall be back in a moment."

After a few minutes, Marie returned and asked Leonie to join her. The Baroness watched them disapprovingly, but she did not say a thing. Leonie wished she had.

Theresia received them in her room, trying to appear cheerful, but failing miserably. She looked wan and her expression was, despite her smile, dejected. Even her voice lacked its usual spirit.

Leonie did her best to cheer her up. She told her about her dinner engagement she had had the evening before, and avoided every topic that might remind Theresia of her quarrel.
After a while, a maid appeared and told Marie that "Madame" wished to see her. Marie left them alone, with a promise to return soon.

"I guess you already know what happened yesterday," Theresia said to Leonie when Marie had gone.

"I do." Leonie replied. She was determined not to talk too much, but to let Theresia have her say.

"Leonie, I would like to ask a favour of you," Theresia went on.

"Oh, anything you wish," Leonie answered.

"I need your help, Leonie. You see, I cannot stay here any longer. When my father died, I promised myself I would never stay anywhere where I was not wanted. I think the time has come for me to leave Vienna."

Leonie stared at her in astonishment. Theresia was not - could not possibly be - serious about this.

"But where do you want to go," she asked Theresia.

Theresia gave a bitter laugh. "A good question, Leonie...do you think your sister still needs a governess?"

"You want to teach my stupid sister's stupid children? Theresia, please reconsider!"

Theresia sighed. "I do not have many choices, Leonie. Going to a respectable household to earn my living honestly by teaching children is one of them - and more agreeable than retiring to a convent. Believe me, if your sister is willing to pay me a decent salary, I am most ready to believe her stupid children to be the most intelligent ones I ever beheld."

"But Theresia, your accomplishments will be wasted there - entirely wasted! No one will appreciate you the way you deserve it," Leonie said, desperately. She had to persuade Theresia to stay, at all cost.

"No one appreciates me here, either," Theresia answered.

"This is not true, Theresia, and you know it. Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you, dear? We would all miss you dreadfully!"

Theresia shook her head. "I cannot stay, Leonie - neither for your sake nor anyone else's. If I stay here longer than I need to, I will go to pieces because I cannot stand it any longer. Will you assist me and ask your sister to give me a chance?"

Leonie sighed. "What if I do not?"

"Oh, I will find some other place to go, but I will definitely not stay here. Nothing can make me do so. After all the humiliation I had to suffer - Amalia never lost an opportunity to show me that my rank in this house was lower than a servant's, as far as she was concerned. Now, I can just as well go somewhere else and actually be a servant - and get a servant's wages to pay for my living."

"But what about Marie? What about me?"

"You will both be married soon enough, and you will not miss me," Theresia said. "Leonie, sometimes we just have to face the truth, as hard as it is. I need to reconcile myself to the fact that I will have to earn my living. The sooner I start, the better it will be for me. I should have done so long ago, instead of deluding myself."

They heard Marie's footsteps outside the door, and Theresia said, hastily, "Not a word to Marie, I beg you! She will find out soon enough! Promise me, Leonie, that you will not tell her."
She gave Leonie a pleading look she could not resist. "I will not tell Marie," she answered. "And I will write to my sister and see what I can do."

Two days later, Carl was sitting in his office at the barracks, when a letter arrived from the Imperial Court. It was from Archduke John, the Emperor's brother, inviting him to an audience concerning "the business you brought to His Highness's attention".
Carl smiled gloomily. Had he received that letter a week earlier, he would have jumped for joy. Now it did not really make a difference to him.

He had not seen Theresia for the past two days, she had kept to her room all day, or so Marie had told him. When he had asked Marie if Theresia was still angry with him, she had just replied, "What do you think?"

Not even his own sister was on his side.

The audience was to be that afternoon, so Carl prepared himself to meet the Archduke. Perhaps, even if this meeting could not promote his own happiness any more, it could at least help Theresia. He had to do something to make her feel happier again.

The Archduke awaited him in his private study and greeted him more cordially than Carl would have expected from a man of such importance.

"I do not have much time to spare, unfortunately," the Archduke began, "but I thought I might give you an insight as to what I have been doing lately, concerning your cousin's inheritance. I am afraid there is no way to retrieve it from the French authorities, I hope you will understand that."

Why was Carl disappointed? He had thought that, with the Archduke's assistance, there might be a chance for Theresia to regain at least a part of her fortune. But it had only been an idea, and he had never had that much hope.
He did not say anything, however - the Archduke had not asked him a question, so he was not required to speak.

"So, I am afraid I cannot assist you very much in this matter - unless you allow me to take actions of my own."

"Your Highness?" Carl gave him an astonished look. If the French could not be prevailed on to let go of Theresia's money, what could the Archduke do about it?

"You seem surprised that I take so much interest in that matter," Archduke John said. "Forget about ceremony for a moment and tell me what you think."

"Well, I am...surprised, Your Highness."

"In a way I feel responsible for her situation. I knew young Martin von Laudeck, and I thought highly of him. He was an intelligent man, and he was courageous. I encouraged him to take all the risks for this country, and he paid with his life for it. I cannot help thinking that our country would not be where it is now without people like him - willing to take risks for their country and Emperor, instead of hiding in some hole in the ground and waiting until the storm is over. Do you think your cousin would accept some sort of ... financial compensation?"

"Financial compensation, Your Highness? Why...it would be an idea, of course...my reason for appealing to your help was that I wanted her to have the means of a comfortable life, and of being settled comfortably. If she cannot get back her inheritance..." He broke off, remembering who he was speaking to.

Archduke John smiled. "I am glad to see that Miss von Laudeck has someone she can count on. For someone in her situation, affectionate family ties are even more important than for anyone else."

Carl smiled. If Archduke John only knew...he would certainly not be so forthcoming if he did.

"Anyway, I shall keep my eyes and ears open and shall see what I can do," Archduke John said, rising from his seat. "I cannot promise anything, so please do not have too high hopes, but I wanted you to know that I am doing what I can."

"Your Highness are very generous," Carl answered, "and whatever the result of your efforts may be, I will always remember Your Highness's kindness."

The Archduke nodded, and Carl realised that he was dismissed. He saluted, and left.

It had taken Richard some time to find out about Bāthory and the servants who had been in his service during his marriage. Most of them were still in his pay, so he could hardly expect them to speak ill of their employer.
But then one thing struck him. There might be one person whose employment had ceased with the late Countess's death - her lady's maid. Lady's maids also tended to see and hear a great deal, and they tended to be very loyal to their ladies.
It might be possible that the woman in question would have an ill opinion of her former master, and would not hesitate expressing it. He had to find Countess Bāthory's lady's maid...

Leonie was walking with her fiancé. They had some good news to discuss - her uncle had, finally, condescended to give his consent to their marriage.

"This is wonderful news," Captain Tilney exclaimed, embracing her and not caring that there were many people around them.

"Pull yourself together a bit," Leonie said, smiling. "Everyone can see us."
She did not object to his embraces in general, but she thought it was unsuitable to express affection so openly in public.

"So what? Leonie, you promised that once your uncle had given his permission, we could make our engagement known. You are not going to change your mind now, are you?" He gave her a stern look.

"No, I am not going to change my mind," Leonie answered, smiling.

"Good! I am going to tell my father first - he will be delighted, to be sure, and you will want to tell your friends about it."

Leonie nodded. "Although I think Theresia already suspected something."

"Did she say so?" He gave her a concerned look.

"No, she only said she was sure I would be married soon. This is why I thought she might have suspected something. Frederick -"

He gave her a happy smile. "Do my ears deceive me, or did you just call me Frederick, dear?"

"I did - oh, I told you I would, once our engagement is official, did I not?" Leonie said, teasingly. "Or have you got so accustomed to being called Captain Tilney that you want me to keep it up?"

"Don't you dare, Leonie. I love to hear you say my name. Now, you wanted to tell me something - what is it?"

"Theresia has asked me to recommend her to my sister. She wants to work for her as governess. Do you think I should?"

"It depends, Leonie - do you want her to work for your sister?"

"No, I do not - what I want for her is the same thing I want for myself, a comfortable home with a loving husband..."

"Which you are going to have very soon," he said, smilingly. "But did you promise her to help?"

"I did - but I think I will wait for a while. It could very well be that she changes her mind in the end - I do not want her to be unhappy, and somehow I cannot imagine her being happy as a governess."

"What is her family's opinion? What do they say? I always thought that they were most ready to keep her under their roof for as long as she wishes."

"That is the point, Frederick - since last week's quarrel, she has not left her room, and she does not want to stay - and she says that the only person who has a right to interfere with her affairs is her uncle, who will certainly approve of her wish to try and make her own living."

Frederick put his arms around her. "Do not worry, Leonie. Write to your sister, and keep your promise, and in the meantime, try to dissuade Miss von Laudeck from her idea. Besides, perhaps your sister already has found a governess, who knows?"

He kissed her on her forehead, and the same moment someone hailed them. Leonie started, when she recognised Novacek. He was approaching them fast, greeting politely, and looking at both of them with unconcealed curiosity.

After having exchanged a few sentences with Frederick, however, he continued his way to the barracks. Frederick laughed.

"Now I am certain the whole city of Vienna will know about our engagement before sundown," he said.

Novacek was, indeed, eager to get rid of the news. The moment he had entered his Colonel's office, he said, "You know whom I met this afternoon, sir?"

"No, I do not," Carl answered. As if Novacek's gossip interested him at the moment.

"I met Captain Tilney and his fiancée." Novacek said, evidently relishing the effect this piece of news had on Carl.

"Captain Tilney and his WHAT? Who would that be?"

"Miss Potocka, sir. I saw them walking together in the street, with no chaperon, and, sir, he kissed her."

Tilney and Miss Potocka - but of course! Where had his brain been all the while, Carl asked himself. From the first time Tilney had met her, he had tried to make a good impression on her. For some time it had been obvious that he suffered from her affected coldness towards him - Carl remembered that walk in Schönbrunn Park in December. How could he have been so blind?
Poor Theresia, he suddenly thought. What she must suffer on hearing that news!

Carl felt not only angry with himself for his jealousy, but also with Tilney for paying Theresia so much attention when he had actually been courting Leonie Potocka. However - Theresia had never really flirted with Tilney, had she? She had treated him like every man she knew.

On entering the drawing room that evening, the first thing Carl saw was Theresia, who was sitting there, quietly working on a piece of embroidery. She looked thin and worn - it broke Carl's heart to see her like that, especially since he blamed himself for it.
Marie was sitting next to her and giving him an entreating look, as if to beg him not to frighten her away again. Carl knew how much effort it must have cost Marie to persuade Theresia to join them.

"Good evening, ladies," he managed to say, with assumed lightheartedness. He wanted to show Theresia that, as far as he was concerned, nothing had changed between them.

Marie greeted him with a smile, but Theresia just looked at him and said, coldly, "Good evening, cousin."

"I am glad to see that you are feeling better," Carl went on, trying to keep up the conversation. At least she was there, and she talked to him.

"Who says I am," she answered, quietly, and turned back to her work. Carl wanted to say something more, but Marie shook her head warningly. She was right, it was not the right moment to try to talk to Theresia. Fitzwilliam had been right - Theresia needed time.

After dinner, he took the opportunity to apologise.

"Theresia, I have to tell you how sorry I am for what happened last week," he said. "Had I known then what I know now, I would not have blamed you for your quarrel with Amalia. Can you forgive me?"

He looked at her anxiously. What would she say?

For a moment, their eyes met, and Carl noticed the sadness in them. Then she turned to her needlework again, and said, coldly, "Whatever you say now, cousin, cannot make me forget what you said a week ago. I shall try to mend my ways, I do not wish to cause trouble any more. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes to me - you need not apologise for that."

He could see by the movements of her hands that his presence was making her nervous, and he decided to leave her alone for the moment. But it had not escaped his notice that she had not forgiven him. There was still a long way to go.

Part 16

Posted on Sunday, 16 June 2002, at 2:28 a.m.

Searching a haystack for a needle - this was how Richard felt at the moment. He had determined his objective, but he had no idea how he could possibly accomplish it.
For some time he had believed he could ask Count Bāthory's servants some questions - only this would have attracted unwanted attention, and Richard needed to be discreet in his investigations.
Now he was looking for the former Countess Bāthory's lady's maid - only, how was he to find her? The woman could be anywhere, from Prague to Warsaw to Kecskemet - she could be anywhere in this huge empire.

It was chance that led him on the right track - well, actually it was Garret.

One evening, Richard witnessed an argument between Garret and General Tilney. Obviously, Garret had asked the General to consider the employment of a housemaid, and had actually recommended an acquaintance of his, a young lady he had met in Vienna and who had apparently made a huge impression on him.
The General refused his request point-blank - he was not going to employ any of Garrets "love-affairs".

"It is hard enough to make you remember your duty as it is, Garret," he had said, and had forbidden any further discussion on this topic.
Garret had left the room, furiously.

Richard took some trouble to win Garret's confidence during the following days, and was rewarded with an interesting piece of information.

Garret's girl was a young woman named Johanna, who was called "Hanni" by everyone, and who was "in some single gentleman's service". However, Hanni wanted to find another position for herself as soon as possible, because the man she worked for was not only well known for paying rather low wages, but was also quite fond of pretty housemaids.

"Until now she has been able to ward him off, sir," Garret said, "but who knows what will happen to her if she stays where she is? No one can blame me for trying to find another situation for her, I cannot stand aside and look, can I?"

As for this, Richard absolutely agreed with Garret, and promised him to keep a lookout for a new place for Hanni.

"Have you already talked to Miss Potocka," he asked Garret, finally. "Perhaps she is in need of staff for her new household?"

"Miss Potocka," Garret asked him sceptically.

"It might be worth a try, at least," Richard said. "Who does your friend work for now, by the way?"

The answer nearly made Richard jump. Hanni worked for Count Bāthory.

Theresia was sitting at her writing desk in the music room, copying some sheets of music.
It had now been nearly three weeks since she had had her quarrel with Amalia, and whenever Amalia was alone with her, she kept alluding to it, trying to make Theresia angry again. However, it did not work any more.
Theresia was determined not to be provoked by anyone. She only needed to stay in this house for a few more weeks, she could certainly face that. Then she would leave Vienna, and go wherever there was a suitable position for her.
She had written to her uncle, who was her guardian, to ask his permission to seek employment as a governess, and he had replied directly, granting her his permission but also expressing his surprise.

I have no objection to your trying to find a situation for yourself, as long as you are going to work in a respectable household. Before you sign any contracts, tell me where you want to go, so I can make some inquiries as to the character of your future employer.
However, dear niece, I must admit that your unexpected decision makes me wonder. It has always been my opinion that you were happy with your relatives, the von Hertenbergs.
If this sudden resolution to leave Vienna has something to do with a quarrel you might have had - as I fear it might - do not make any rash decisions but wait until you have calmed down, and reconsider. It is not advisable to give up a comfortable life such as yours for some grudge you might bear against one of your friends.
Take good care of yourself, my dear girl, whatever you may decide to do.
Your affectionate uncle,
Bernhard von Laudeck, SJ

Theresia sighed when she reread the letter. What did her uncle know about it? He did not have to live with Amalia. Actually, women like Amalia made Theresia understand why some men chose celibacy.
At least her uncle had not openly opposed her plans. If he had, she would have had to act against his will, and she did not want that. He was - apart from Marie - her only relative who cared for her. Theresia knew that, even though she had not seen her uncle for years.

Of all the people she had loved, he alone was left. There had been her parents, and her brother...and Aunt Elizabeth, Marie's mother...where were they now?
There had been Joseph, who had been very fond of her until he had married that snake of a woman...and there had been Carl...
For a moment, Theresia felt like crying, but she forbade herself such weakness at once. One did not get things done by feeling melancholy.
She blamed herself for having been unguarded, for letting someone find a place in her heart, although life had taught her so often, again and again, that loving made her vulnerable. Why had she, against all reason, and against her own resolution, fallen in love with Carl? What had made her believe that he could ever see anything in her but his cousin, the nuisance, the girl who had come to disturb the von Hertenbergs' comfortable life?
She remembered her first day in Vienna, when he had not even taken the trouble to greet her properly - he had not cared about her then, why should he now?
Yet, it hurt so much - she had to start all over again, build up her defences once more, and she had resolved that no one - no one - should ever have that power over her again. The power to hurt her. She would rather live without love for the rest of her life. Girls like her could not afford to fall in love. In a way, she had to thank Carl. He had reminded her of her place. Theresia, the nuisance.
It had hurt her - but it had not broken her, no, not yet. It had only made her harder, and that was good. She could not allow herself any weakness any more.

The door opened, and Carl entered the room. What was he doing here? Could he not, at least, leave her alone?
He greeted her and seemed to be disposed to talk, but Theresia could not stand his presence. If she stayed any longer, she would just start to cry - and she did not want to cry in front of him. No, this was the last thing she would do.
Theresia gathered her papers, got up and left the room. Outside, she drew a deep breath, and the tears were running down her cheeks. Why was it still so hard?

Since Leonie Potocka had announced her engagement to her friends, Carl was absolutely certain that Theresia had never felt any particular regard for Tilney. She had shown such happiness on account of her friend that it could hardly have been affected.
Now Carl felt even worse than before - all his jealousy had been without foundation, and he had made Theresia unhappy for no reason at all.
The state of affairs between them had hardly changed since that first meeting. In company, she behaved in a polite way, she answered his questions civilly, but never started a conversation with him if she could help it. If he happened to enter a room where she was by herself, she left it as soon as possible, leaving no doubt that his presence was unbearable for her.
Carl was ready to give up now. If neither his apologies nor his continued efforts to talk to her worked, what was he to do? He had done everything in his power to return to their former friendship, but with no success. It was as if Theresia had built a wall between them, and there was no getting to the other side. Fitzwilliam had said that she needed time, but now three weeks had gone by and nothing had changed. This behaviour could not be explained with anger any more - she simply did not want to have anything to do with him.

Carl was sitting in the coffee house, where he had spent a great deal of his time during the past three weeks - he wanted to give Theresia the chance to go on with her usual life without having to fear an encounter with him.

"I take it you are still at odds with your cousin," Fitzwilliam asked him.

Carl sighed. "How did you guess?"

"Oh, you could just as well walk around telling everyone about it. You look like a poor beaten dog most of the time." Fitzwilliam said with a wry smile.

"I certainly feel like it."

"Tell her about it then," Fitzwilliam said.

Carl laughed bitterly. "Excellent piece of advice. Even if I got her to stay in the same room with me for long enough to do so, what use would it be?"

"Sometimes desperate measures are needed, von Hertenberg."

"Sometimes, but not in this case. I have still got some pride, thank you very much. I am not going to crawl at her feet."

"Then stop complaining, von Hertenberg," Horvāth said to him as he took his seat at their table.

"Says the man who is supposed to be my best friend," Carl said angrily.

"I thought since you pity yourself so much, anyone else's pity is wasted on you," Horvāth answered. "You have got your pride, and she has got hers, and you will go on avoiding each other and breaking each other's hearts for a lifetime. Fine, suits me, but I will not hear anything of it."

Carl winced. In a way, Horvāth was right, Carl knew that, but he would never have admitted it.

"Is anyone going to join me for a game of billiards," Horvāth said in an offhand manner, suddenly changing the topic.

"Got some money to get rid of, have you," Carl asked.

"Loads," Horvāth laughed. "It is burning a hole into my pockets already. So, what do you say? Forget about your troubles for a moment and do yourself something good instead."

Carl rose and followed Horvāth into the billiard room, as did Fitzwilliam. For a while, none of them talked, until Tilney joined them.

"I thought I would find you here," he said with a grin.

"Did someone detain you," Fitzwilliam asked him. "Someone" being Miss Potocka, Carl was sure.

"Actually, no, I only stayed longer than I had planned," Tilney answered. "We had a lot to talk about..."

"No doubt," Horvāth said, making his shot. A beastly one, Carl thought, grinning. Horvāth was the worst billiard player the world had ever seen, but for some reason he seemed to be fond of that game.

After having watched the game silently for a while, Tilney turned to Carl.

"There is one thing I wanted to ask you," he said.

"Well, fire away then," Carl said. Whatever could Tilney want to know from him?

"Has your cousin already had any success in her search for a governess' post?"

Carl nearly choked on his wine. "Did I understand you correctly? My cousin is looking for a place as a governess? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. My fiancee told me that Miss von Laudeck had asked her to recommend her to her sister, and that led me to the conclusion that she might also have asked someone else. Now do not say you did not know."

"I had not the least idea," Carl answered. Had things gone that far? Everyone had believed that Theresia's threat to leave Vienna had only been uttered in her momentary anger - at least he had thought so. But Marie would certainly know more about it - he would ask her.
Carl left his friends as soon as he could possibly do so without causing any suspicion. He had to talk to Marie - matters were getting complicated.

A few days after Richard had recommended Garret to ask Miss Potocka if she still needed a maidservant, Garret came to him and thanked him cordially.

"Has your friend been successful then," Richard asked.

"She has," Garret asserted, beaming. "And she does not even have to stay with the Count any longer, and Miss Potocka said she does not mind if the Count does not give Hanni a reference - he refused to do so, you see. He thought that might make her stay, but...I am so glad you had this idea, sir, and Hanni is, too...would you mind being introduced to her? I mean...she is just a simple girl, but she would like to thank you...."

Richard had no objection to meeting Garret's young lady, and told Garret that he "would be honoured". Things were working very well, he thought.

So, the next day Garret took his chance and presented "his" Hanni to Richard. She was a very pretty girl, rather young, around eighteen, perhaps. But her manner made her appear older than she was. Her way of speaking was that of a woman who had seen things her age would not suggest.

Richard inquired after herself, and her family, and found out that Hanni had not been in Bāthory's household when his wife had still been alive.

"But I have heard stories," she said, obviously eager to tell Richard everything she knew about her former employer. "They say that he did not treat his wife very well, and I readily believe everything they have told me. He can be in such foul temper sometimes..."

"Do you mean to imply that he beat his wife," Richard asked. Good heavens, and this monster would be allowed to marry Marie?

"I would not know about that, sir, as I said before, I was not there when the Countess was still alive...violence is not his usual way, though. He likes to threaten, and he likes it if people are afraid of him, but..." She broke off.

"I cannot really tell you any more, sir," she said. "What if Miss Potocka finds out I am speaking ill of my employers?"

No, she could not stop there, he needed to know more!

"I am certain that Miss Potocka does nothing to make you speak ill of her," Richard said with a smile. "It is very important to me to find out as much as I can about the late Countess. Do you happen to know any person who might be able to tell me about her? Some personal servant, perhaps?"

"I really do not know if I ought," Hanni said, hesitatingly.

"I promise that no one will ever know that it was you who told me about it," Richard said with an encouraging smile. He was so near...he could not possibly give up now.

"After the Countess had died, most of the servants were dismissed, and the Count employed new ones," Hanni finally said. "I mean, except the ones that had been in his service before his marriage, and even they do not have much reason to think well of him...but there is one girl, she used to be the Countess's personal maid. She has been extremely lucky, so I have been told, she has got a fine millinery shop now."

"A millinery shop?" Richard could not help wondering. How did that woman, a former servant, get the money to set up a shop for herself?

"Yes, it is said that the Countess left her some money, and with that money she could buy that shop."

"I am sure the lady has much cause to be thankful to Countess Bāthory then."

Which would be good for Richard's purpose...because if she felt like this, and Bāthory had treated his wife badly...

"I think so, too. If I could ever be so lucky...but I am certain that she knows everything you would ever like to know about the Countess. Her name is Berta Havlicek, and the shop is...let me think..."

After some consideration, Hanni gave him an address in one of the less fashionable parts of Vienna, and Richard decided that he would go there as soon as possible. He needed to talk to that Berta Havlicek...

The next day, Richard set out to Havlicek's millinery shop. His intention was to have a look round first, to buy one or two items (he was certain Georgiana would have some use for them, and would be delighted to receive a present from him, however unexpected).

The shop was rather small, but pleasant nevertheless. A pretty young lady hurried to be at his service. She was obviously impressed not only by the fact that a gentleman had found his way into the shop, but also because that gentleman seemed to be rather well to do. When he asked her if she was the owner of the shop, she blushed and said, "No, sir, I am not - you want to speak to Madame Berthain, then?"

Madame Berthain? Oh, well, Richard could imagine that this name sounded more ... elegant than Berta Havlicek, and elegance was certainly an important matter in the fashion trade.

"If she has a moment to spare, yes," he therefore answered with a radiant smile. The girl blushed even more and hurried into a room at the back of the shop, from where Richard heard an excited whisper.

Finally, a rather elegant-looking lady in her mid-thirties emerged from the room, and stepped towards him.

"What can I do for you, sir," she asked in a slightly impatient tone that implied that she had better things to do than standing around conversing with strangers, even if they seemed to be promising customers.

"Madame Berthain?" Richard asked with a slight bow.

With a nod, the lady indicated that this was her name.

"Am I wrong to suppose, Madam, that your name used to be Miss Berta Havlicek?" Richard gave her a reassuring smile to soften the impression this businesslike address might have given her.

"No, sir, this is still my name. I only call myself Madame Berthain in front of my customers." She glanced at a piece of ribbon Richard had seriously considered buying before.
"May I ask why you wanted to talk to me, sir?" she asked. "I have some important business to attend to, so I am afraid I cannot wait all day."

"Understandable, Madam," Richard replied politely, and introduced himself. He thought that it might be good if he turned to business straight away. "Actually, I have come to ask for your help in a serious matter. Someone told me that you were in the service of the late Countess Bāthory...is this true, or was that person mistaken?"

The mention of Countess Bāthory's name made Madame Berthain go pale. "It is true, sir," she answered. "What about her?"

"For some reason, Madame, I need to know more about the Countess, and I thought that you might be the right person to ask."

"Why? Has she not suffered enough?"

"I beg your pardon, Madam? Believe me, I am not here to hear gossip, and it is not my intention to amuse myself with the history of her sufferings. I have come here because it is a matter of great importance for me, and I would be most grateful if you could help me."

For a moment, Madame Berthain stood there, thinking. Then she answered, hesitatingly, "Very well, Colonel. But not here, and not now. If it is really that important to you, you may come and call on my sister and me in the evening - we live in this house, just above the shop. But I'd better warn you right away, sir. If I find out that your motives are not what they seem to be, you will hear nothing from me."

Richard thanked her, again assuring her that his questions had nothing to do with any intention to blemish Countess Bāthory's name, and left the shop.

He spent all afternoon in anxiety, hoping that Berta Havlicek would not change her mind until the evening. What could he do if she did not talk?
True, he could use what Hanni had told him about Bāthory, but that was probably common knowledge anyway. It was not so extraordinary if gentlemen did that sort of thing - it happened very often, and as long as the man was discreet about it...
Richard was not sure if Joseph von Hertenberg would refuse his friend the permission to marry his sister just because he had, in his days as a bachelor and widower, sought to amuse himself with servant girls, however questionable that conduct might be.

Richard could not stand the thought that Marie should marry such a man. He remembered what Hanni had said. He can be in such foul temper sometimes...he likes to threaten...he likes it if people are afraid of him...
He had told von Hertenberg that in some situations, only desperate measures would help. If Berta Havlicek refused to talk to him, or if the information he got from her was not sufficient to make Joseph von Hertenberg change his mind - then the time had come to take up desperate measures, himself. He could not allow Bāthory to marry his Marie, and to make her unhappy. He'd face anything rather than that.

Berta Havlicek received him in a somewhat friendlier way than she had in the morning.
After greeting her, Richard asked her anxiously if she was still disposed to be of assistance to him, or if she had thought the better of it.

She smiled. "I have been very busy, today, and tried to find out something about you. You are friends with the younger von Hertenberg, and with Major Horvāth, are you not?"

"Who told you, Madam?"

She laughed. "I have my sources, sir. But do not be alarmed; I only heard good things about you. I cannot help wondering why you did not ask any of them if you wanted to know about Countess Bāthory, however. Major Horvāth is her brother, and Colonel von Hertenberg - well, at one point he was very fond of her and everyone thought that he was going to be engaged to her. Everyone but herself, that is."

Now that was indeed a piece of news. No wonder von Hertenberg hated Bāthory.

"Madam, the thing is that Horvāth is - understandably - not the right person to ask. Any allusion to his sister still grieves him, and I try to refrain from grieving my friends. As for von Hertenberg - " Richard shrugged.

She nodded. "I suppose you have reasons of your own, sir, and I will not enquire into them. I was only afraid that you might want to hear some scandalous stories, and I am not the one who tells such stories. It is a strange habit for a Viennese milliner not to pass on gossip, but it would be against my principles if I did."

Meanwhile, they had entered a neat parlour, and after Berta Havlicek had introduced him to her sister, with whom she shared her apartments, she asked him to take a seat and offered him some coffee and cake.

"It is easier to talk that way," she said. "Now, what do you want to know?"

Richard hesitated. How was he to start such a subject?
"I have reason to believe," he began slowly, "that Count Bāthory is not the sort of man who would treat his wife in the way it might be expected, Madam, and I wanted to know if I was right".

"Let me tell you one thing right at the beginning, sir. What I have seen and heard in those years with Countess Bāthory was enough to make me refrain from marriage. No man should ever treat his wife the way the Count treated the Countess. I have never before seen such cruelty - and I hope I will never see it again."

It was quite evident that Berta Havlicek was on the Countess's side, then. Good, Richard thought.

"Cruelty? Would you mind giving me some examples of his cruelty towards his wife?"

Richard knew that this was actually none of his business, and he felt like an intruder. Yet he had to know...he needed to find out something that would make Baron von Hertenberg reconsider his sister's engagement. Cruelty to the first wife would be a reason for that - no man in full possession of his wits would allow his sister to marry a man who was known to have treated his first wife cruelly.

"Mind? Would I mind? If I minded, sir, you would not be here. Well, it all began during their engagement."

She took a sip of coffee; obviously recollecting the events that had taken place four years ago.

"As far as I was concerned, sir, I never believed that he loved her - but she was so happy. This was the worst thing - no matter what he did to her, she still loved him. She blamed herself for everything that happened. Well, even during their engagement, although he showed himself at his best, he did not care much for her. Everyone could tell that her fondness was getting on his nerves. Major Horvāth tried to persuade her to break up the engagement, but she did not. She said he only wanted her to do that because he was jealous, and that her brother would never consider any man good enough for her. She accused him of attempting to ruin her happiness."

Richard tried to imagine the scene - Horvāth trying to convince his sister, knowing that Bāthory was not the right man for her, and her refusal to hear reason. He felt angry on Horvāth's account. His sister's accusations must have hurt Horvāth exceedingly. Why had his sister not listened to him? The answer was easy - she had been in love.

"So she married Count Bāthory."

"She did, and from then on...." Berta Havlicek shrugged her shoulders. "I do not want to give you a wrong impression, sir, Count Bāthory did not beat her - he was far too clever to do that. It would have left traces, and people would have asked questions. His cruelty was of another sort. Shortly after their marriage, he started an affair with some woman - I do not remember her name, or the name of any of his mistresses, he had quite a lot of them. He did not even bother to conceal it from his wife, on the contrary, he boasted about it in her presence, telling her that since she was too boring and not able to..." She stopped. It was not necessary for her to go on.

"I understand," Richard said. For a woman this must be devastating - and a man who did such a thing, who could actually think of doing it, deserved no other description but..."That b*****d!"

"This is not the sort of language I would use to describe him, sir," Berta Havlicek said in a slightly reproachful tone, "but I think you have got a correct impression of Count Bāthory."

"But did Countess Bāthory not do anything about it?" Richard asked. "Did she not confide in anyone? Family? Friends?"

"No, she did not. Please, sir, consider, she blamed herself. She thought that if her marriage was not what she had wished it to be it was her fault. She considered herself a failure, so what she did first was to try and gain her husband's affection - she had not lived up to his expectations, so she had to make an effort to do so. She became obsessed with her looks - her beauty meant everything to her. She was a beauty, even without making any efforts...have you ever seen a picture of her?"

"I have once, yes. She was a very beautiful woman."

"She had very long, dark hair - the most beautiful hair I have ever seen, and she could do practically everything with it. She also had excellent taste in clothes - it would take some time to find a lady who dresses herself with such taste. Her features, her figure - everything was perfect. I could never understand how her husband could actually look at other women and not see how inferior they were, compared to his wife. - Anyway, she began to spend hours and hours preparing herself when she knew that her husband would be at home. Only, often enough he did not turn up at all, or turned up late at night accompanied by one of his women, so every effort was in vain. The Countess became more and more desperate."

"I can imagine. Did she ever think of leaving him?" It was hardly believable that a woman would endure such behaviour for long - and certainly no one would blame her.

"Leaving him? No, that thought never occurred to her. She loved him, and he had his way with her - whenever I thought that he had finally tried her patience too much, he could be very charming, and treated her like a husband ought to. For a day, or two, or maybe a week, and the Countess thought she had finally reached her aim and had won his heart. But then it started all over again, with another woman somewhere else. And all the while he kept telling the Countess that it was her fault, not his, and she believed him."

Richard wished he could get his hands at Bāthory just once. Now he knew why Horvāth did not trust himself to stay calm in Bāthory's presence. He, himself, would be most happy to beat the daylights out of him, and he had not even known the Countess.

"Then she began to refuse to eat - she said that every bit she ate made her feel sick, and she was in such a poorly state...lost weight rapidly."

"Was this the illness that eventually caused her death," Richard asked.

"Illness? No, her death was an accident," Berta Havlicek answered.

"An accident?"

"Yes. One day, she was feeling rather better, although she had had a quarrel with her husband about something and her husband had left the house - we were at his Hungarian estate then, a beautiful place on the banks of the Danube. So she wrote her letters in the morning, as she always did, and sent me to the village to post them. She did not trust anybody else with her letters, she always sent me," Berta Havlicek added proudly.

"What happened?"

"She had asked me to lay out her riding habit, as she wanted to go for a ride. Countess Bāthory was a keen horsewoman, as good at horse riding as any man. Therefore she never took any attendants with her - I am afraid this has cost her life. She never returned from that riding trip."

Richard was shocked. "You mean, no one ever found her?"

"Oh yes, she was found, the next evening. It was her brother who did. What I meant to say was that she did not return to her home alive."

"You say her brother found her? Was he there when it happened?"

Berta Havlicek shook her head. "No, he arrived the next evening, when we had been looking for her all night and day. He was extremely anxious when he heard that his sister had not come back, and set out searching for her...and he found her, though do not ask me how he did it, it is a mystery to me."

Richard did not want to hear any more about Countess Bāthory. The whole thing was a depressing business, from beginning to end. He therefore thanked Berta Havlicek, told her that her information had been very useful for his purpose, and took his leave, not without offering her some reward for her assistance.

Berta Havlicek refused to take anything from him, but said that she would be proud if Richard mentioned her shop favourably in the presence of his female acquaintance - a thing that Richard gladly promised to do.

Although the days were now fine and warm sometimes and the snow was already beginning to melt, it was still chilly in the evenings. But Richard did not mind the cold; he did not even feel it.
He had never doubted that Bāthory was a villain - so far, Berta Havlicek's narrative had only confirmed what he had feared already. During their interview, the Count had shown him clearly that he did not care for other people's feelings at all, and that he was not likely to have any feelings himself.

What worried him was one thing: If he had behaved in such a manner with a wife who had doted on him, what would his behaviour be like with a wife who did NOT like him? How far would he go? Richard shuddered and decided not to think of it. Bāthory would not marry Marie. He would prevent it, even if it were the last thing he would do.

He needed someone to support him, someone who would hear reason, and someone whose opinion Baron von Hertenberg respected. Richard smiled. Now he could ask Colonel von Hertenberg's support, and he was sure von Hertenberg would grant it. He could not have known the whole truth about Bāthory, or he would not have remained silent on the subject of a possible marriage between his sister and the Count.

Richard determined to seek von Hertenberg at once and to make matters clear to him. Richard smiled. At this time of night, von Hertenberg's most probable haunt was the coffee house. It was not far, and it would be worth a try. The sooner he got rid of Bāthory, the better it was.

Continued in the next section