The Left-Handed God (16 page)

“You did what?” Franz cried. “You had the gall to come here and pay court to a mere child? You dared to seduce my sister? An innocent girl who’s barely past childhood? You, a man old enough to be my father and hers? My skin crawls at it. Oh, yes, I see what you were up to. With me at war, you saw her unprotected and used false charity to gain the confidence of two naive women. You toyed with their affections so you could lay your dirty hands on an innocent child. What will you say to the good burghers of this city when these charges are brought against you?”

Augusta rushed to her brother and, ignoring his injury, shook him hard. “No, Franz! No!”

He thrust her aside. “Leave the room, Augusta! We will speak later.”

Augusta felt sick, She wished her brother’s stutter had prevented his speech. Turning toward Herr Seutter, she saw how pale he was and made half a move to go to him, but he held up his hand and she dared not defy her family. Tears of pity spilled over as her silence shamed her.

They looked at each other for a long moment, then he bowed his head, and walked out. Nobody spoke until they heard the sound of the front door closing.

Franz bent over his mother. “That damned villain! I’m sorry, Mama. It’s better to know a man’s true character, even when such revelations are painful.”

Frau von Langsdorff dabbed at her eyes. “You shouldn’t have left us alone, Franz,” she whimpered. “It was too much for me. I couldn’t be expected to cope. Without a decent income, too. I was busy making ends meet and pinching pennies. How could I see your sister’s deceitful ways in going to his house all the time. She said it was to teach him the pianoforte. Hah!”

Augusta dashed away her tears with clenched fists. “Shame on you, Mama, for saying such filthy things. And you, Franz, you had no right to hurt a kind man who has treated all of us‌—‌yes, you, too‌—‌with nothing but generous friendship. He has never taken liberties with me. And I only showed him how to play his pianoforte. That was all. He’s the soul of kindness and courtesy. If you want to know the truth, if I hadn’t thought he was courting Mama, I would’ve been deeply honored by his proposal.” She burst into fresh tears.

Franz glared. “Are you mad? Why, the very thought of this…‌this common old man…‌touching you‌—‌it should disgust you.”

Augusta gasped. She had never been so angry with her family in her life. Wishing they were strangers, she ran from the room.

*

Max spent the night in the Catholic church. He prayed and wept and cursed Koehl. At sunrise, the priest found him stretched out on the cold stone floor, sobbing softly. He asked, “Are you troubled, my son?”

Max had not heard him approach on soft-soled shoes and jumped up to flee.

The priest, an old man in a black cassock, blocked his way. “This is the house of God,” he said soothingly. “You’re quite safe here. It is a sanctuary even for those who have committed a crime.”

Max backed away. “How did you‌—‌?” He broke off and took a deep breath. Then he wiped away the tears and saw that his hand was bloody.

“If you’ll come into the sacristy, I’ll wash off the blood and apply some ointment to your wound.”

“It’s nothing. A fight. That’s all it was. I’ve got to go, Father. Thanks.” Max tried to slip past him.

The priest looked more sharply into his face and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t go, my son. If you need to unburden your soul,” he gestured toward the confessional, “I have time to listen.”

Max shuddered convulsively. “No. Not now. Another time.”

The priest sighed and released him.

Max ran from the church. At the fountain outside, he washed his face and drank thirstily. He caught a glimpse of himself in the water. His left eye was swollen shut above the raw cut across his cheekbone. He looked bad enough to frighten children. The sun was up and people would soon be on their way to work. He had to find out what he had done.

He walked quickly to Fischergasse, but stopped to peer around the corner at the house. It looked as always in the morning sun. Then the door opened, and Elsbeth came out. She walked off toward the market. It all seemed quite normal. Perhaps the news had not reached them yet.

But then he saw the two gendarmes coming down the street. At the von Langsdorff house, they stopped and knocked.

Max’s stomach heaved, and he fled. He had killed a man. He had murdered his angel’s brother. He should sooner have taken his own life than bring her grief. Wandering about blindly, he muttered to himself. People got out of his way, and a man cursed when he stumbled over his dog. Go ahead, he thought, call the gendarmes. Have me arrested. This time I’ll hang, and it serves me right.

At some point‌—‌he was not sure when‌—‌he stood in the market near a flower stand. An old woman sat among the pails of phlox, dahlias, zinnias, and every other kind of flower in every shade of the rainbow. He was lost in the multitude of hues and shapes and scents. Augusta loved flowers. His hand felt for the silver in his pocket, the Judas silver he had earned for killing her brother. Nausea rose again, and he turned away.

“Here,” urged the old woman, holding out a bunch of asters and daisies. “Been in a fight? Give flowers to her, and she’ll give you plenty of lovin’ instead of what you deserve.” She cackled.

Sick, Max cursed her and turned away.

That’s when he saw them. In front of the vegetable stands. Augusta’s mother in a sprigged gown and lacy white cap under a straw hat. And Elsbeth in her apron and with the market basket over an arm. Shopping!

It couldn’t have been news of murder that the guards had brought.

An enormous weight lifted, and he laughed out loud and skipped a little. The flower woman grumbled sourly, “Drunken fool!”

But Max was puzzled. He knew his cudgel had made contact with the lieutenant’s head before the door of the house opened and he had to take to his heels. Even if he hadn’t killed him, he was still in plenty of trouble. What if her brother had recognized him? What if the guards had been there because Langsdorff wanted to lay charges against Max? Were they already searching for him? He touched the cut on his cheek. The lieutenant had been too handy with his stick.

He had botched the job, been sick before the attack, had vomited afterward, and still got queasy thinking about it. He wasn’t a killer, he was a thief. That probably accounted for it. His heart hadn’t been in it. That and the woman coming out of her house. But his employer’s threat still hung over him. That devil would make sure that Max would hang‌—‌one way or the other.

In spite of the danger, he went back to the house and arrived to see the lawyer Stiebel leaving. He wondered if the queer little man knew that someone had searched his place. Probably not. His back door had been easy‌—‌he hadn’t needed to force the lock. Too bad the strongbox hadn’t yielded as well. He could have used the gold, and if the letter was there, it would have got his employer off his back. Maybe he could try again, with better tools. He was a better thief than a killer.

Then Seutter arrived. Max caught a glimpse of Augusta when she let him in. Max didn’t like Seutter. He had a nasty suspicious way of looking at Max. And that day when he’d caught Augusta falling out of the pear tree, Seutter had looked fighting mad. She would have kissed him, if the old bastard hadn’t walked in on them.

The memory of that missed kiss was sweet enough to make Max risk his life. He went to the house through the back alley and the garden, slipping into the kitchen just as the front door closed behind Seutter.

10

Travel Plans

Innocence never finds as much protection as guilt.

François, Duc de la Rochefoucauld

T
he incident with Seutter upset Franz’s recuperation. He realized how very ill he felt when Augusta left the parlor in tears. His mother had collapsed into hysterical weeping, and Elsbeth still stared at his bare legs. His headache had reached a blinding ferocity, his stomach heaved, and he reached for the chair back to support himself in a sudden fit of dizziness. Heaven forbid he should faint. His misery made him even angrier.

“Don’t you have things to do in the kitchen?” he snarled at Elsbeth through clenched teeth.

The girl squeaked, “Yessir. Sorry, Master,” and disappeared with the full market basket.

He turned his mother. “Come, Mama,” he said as firmly as he could manage. “No harm was done, thanks to your timely arrival. If you will see to the household affairs, I’ll return to my bed.”

She burst into angry speech. “How can you say ‘no harm was done’? What of my feelings? What of the gossip? I shall not be able to hold up my head before my friends. The scandal will spread all over town. I’m ruined. No harm indeed! You are very unfeeling, Franz.”

He closed his eyes and clutched his throbbing head. “Hush. Nobody will know. Seutter will hardly spread the tale.” Then he remembered Elsbeth and knew he would have to have a word with her.

“That’s not the point at all,” his mother cried shrilly. “What of my broken engagement?”

He lowered his hand and looked at her. “What broken engagement? Are you telling me that Seutter has proposed to you and you accepted?”

His mother looked away and dabbed at her eyes. “We had an understanding,” she said with a sniffle.

“Surely,” Franz said severely, “that was quite improper. I knew nothing of it. Why didn’t you speak to me?”

She began to cry again. “You are so hard. What has made you so hard? Don’t you know my heart is broken? Why do you torment me?”

It dawned on Franz that the “understanding” had been one-sided. And she had probably informed her friends of her expectations. He sighed again. “We’ll discuss it later. Perhaps you should also lie down for a little. Elsbeth can bring some chocolate to your room. You may feel more yourself by evening.”

To his relief, his mother nodded. “I do feel very weak. Your arm, if you please. And tell Elsbeth to bring some of those almond cakes with the chocolate.”

He saw his mother to her bedroom. On the way back, he passed Augusta’s closed door and thought he heard weeping. He regretted that he had been so harsh with her and knocked softly. “Augusta?”

There was no answer, but the weeping stopped. When he tried the door, he found it locked. This angered him again, and he turned away. Remembering Elsbeth’s fascination with his bare legs, he put his banyan over his shirt before staggering downstairs again to deliver his mother’s instructions.

The girl was talking to someone, so he called to her from the hall.

She put her head out of the kitchen door. “Yessir?” Franz noticed the broad-shouldered figure of Max disappearing through the backdoor.

“I see Max finally showed up,” he said sourly. “About time, with the house in such a turmoil.” Though it was probably too late, he added, “Elsbeth, you are to speak to no one about what happened just now in the parlor. Do you understand?”

Elsbeth flushed and nodded.

“Your mistress is resting. Take up some hot chocolate and almond cakes. Then see if you can fix a plain meal. Anything will do.”

She looked doubtful. “There’s some soup left, Master. And I can cook potatoes and a bit of bacon.”

Franz suppressed a wave of nausea. “Anything. Perhaps Miss Augusta will be down later.” Feeling dizzy again, he turned and climbed back up to his room, where he fell into bed and closed his eyes with a moan.

*

The assassin returned to Mannheim in the company of the vulpine messenger. He felt like a prisoner being taken to face his judge. The nasty creature maintained a stubborn silence about his fate, but he smiled a good deal.

Schadenfreude
!

In a mood of mingled fury, he was delivered to a large private house near the palace. The fox led him to a paneled and gilded library filled with paintings, globes, and comfortable chairs.

The “great man” surprised him with a courteous, “I hope I see you well, my friend,” and dismissed the fox, saying, “
Entre nous: le petit reynard est trés utile, mais je ne l’aime pas.”

Offered a comfortable chair and a glass of burgundy, the assassin‌—‌who positively hated the little fox‌—‌permitted himself a cautious smile. “A strange creature,” he murmured and raised his glass to study its ruby lights before tasting. The wine was superb, and that was as strange as the friendly reception. Was this the condemned man’s last drink? He did not think so. “Frankly, I wondered how much he knows of our business.”

“Almost nothing, and he’s devoted to my family and would never speak against me or mine. His usefulness lies in the fact that he pays close attention to all I do business with.”

“I see.” He felt a fresh twinge of unease.

The great man eyed him over his glass. His voice purred as he said, “Reynard will report to me later.” His white, plump hand with the heavy gold ring twirled the stem, and the candles drew ruby sparks from the wine.

As red as blood, the assassin thought, and the old anger returned. “If it concerns me, I’ll warrant I can do that better, sir.”

“Mmm. Perhaps, perhaps not. But I have more important matters to discuss.” He set down his glass and leaned forward. “I take it that you still do not have the letter?”

The assassin burst out angrily, “There is no letter! If there ever was one, it’s long gone.”

The great man raised a hand. “Pray, do not excite yourself. I’m inclined to agree. Will you take part in the hunting this fall?”

The assassin contained his surprise and relief at the change of subject. “I have no plans but am at your service as always, sir,” he said cautiously.

His host refilled their glasses. “There will be another official hunt this year. In Schwetzingen.” He made a face. “I get no pleasure from the killing of trapped animals, but you rather like that sort of thing. You know Schwetzingen, of course.”

He was beginning to get nervous again. “Certainly.”

“I doubt His Highness will stage the hunt far from the comforts of the summer palace. You’ll get an invitation.”

He guessed wildly at what was coming. The thought struck him with horror.

With a faintly sardonic smile, the great man said, “You look stunned. Surely such an entertainment is the very thing for a man of your parts.”