The Left-Handed God (34 page)

Cursing Desirée, Franz stumbled to his feet, looking wildly about. Both girls now tried to restrain him and a struggle resulted in more delays. Finally, he pushed the French girl away roughly and moved Augusta out of his way. Hobbling back out into the hallway, pursued by pleading females, he saw Eberau coming back down the stairs with a leather satchel in one hand and the naked blade of his sword in the other. Franz blocked his way at the bottom of the stairs.

The women cried out and fled, Augusta back into the parlor and Desirée through the front door, leaving it open behind her.

Eberau stopped on the stairs. He looked desperate. “Stand aside,” he warned, “or you’ll never walk again.”

“You’re not leaving alive,” Franz replied with deadly calm.

There was the merest spark of uncertainty in the other man’s eyes as he glanced past Franz through the open door. “Look, Langsdorff,” he said, suddenly conciliatory, “you made a mistake. I found your sister lost and very ill and gave her shelter until you could be found.”

Franz laughed bitterly. “If you think I believe that, you must be a fool besides a villain. Come down and fight.

Eberau warned again, “Don’t make me kill you. I have witnesses that you forced this quarrel on me.”

“I don’t give a damn. You’re a murderer, and this time you won’t get away.”

“You’re mad.”

“You killed Captain von Loe at Freiberg and his father a few days ago in his bed. You tried to kill me, and you intend to kill the Kurfürst. If you think you’re safe, you didn’t reckon with me. I don’t care what happens to me as long as I kill you. Come on! You still owe me a duel.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Eberau dropped the satchel and vaulted down the steps, his face contorted with rage, the point of his sword aimed at Franz’s chest. Franz twisted aside, but the attack had been too sudden, and his bad knee buckled. He staggered and gasped with pain.

Before he could recover, Eberau’s sword flashed toward his belly. Franz parried at the last moment and moved a step back. Eberau attacked again in an instant. They were so close in the confined space that their moves could not follow the rules of fencing. Each man was out to kill the other as quickly as possible. Eberau drove his blade forward and kicked at Franz’s crippled knee. He missed the knee, and Franz parried, then lunged, and their swords locked. Eberau gave Franz a vicious kick in the stomach to separate the blades. Stumbling back against the wall, Franz could not catch his breath. He gagged and doubled over just as Eberau came again. At the last moment, he found a remnant of strength to push himself away from the wall and forward into the coming sword.

It was surely suicide, but he would not be skewered like some collector’s butterfly or rare insect; he would die fighting like a man.

Perhaps because his knee put him off balance, the blade just missed him, and the force of Eberau’s attack drove his sword deep into the doorjamb where it stuck fast.

Franz turned, still clutching the red hot pain in his belly with one hand. Eberau was pulling and twisting his weapon, and the blade broke near the hilt. He dropped what was left, and stood, waiting for the coup de grace.

Franz took a ragged breath and gathered his unwilling muscles. Some primal thrill caused him to stretch out the moment, to move in slowly and to put the tip of his blade to the soft underside of Eberau’s chin‌—‌just close enough to cause a thin line of blood to appear.

Sweat beaded Eberau’s face. Somewhere in the room beyond, Augusta sobbed.

Franz looked into his enemy’s eyes and saw his fear. His triumph was complete. The monster was about to die. And Eberau no doubt saw his death in Franz’s eyes, just as had all the Prussian soldiers.

The gloating words on Franz’s lips died unspoken. Eberau’s eyes had become those of the Prussian Captain on
Trois
Croix
, and of the captain’s faithful sergeant, of every man Franz had killed that day in close combat. That look in their eyes, the recognition of death as they looked into his own eyes, struck horror into his soul.

He let his blade drop and stepped back, sickened. “Go,” he said, his voice hoarse, “go and be damned!”

Eberau blinked, then swallowed and ducked past Franz. Snatching up his satchel, he dashed out the door.

*

It poured steadily when Jakob Seutter arrived in Schwetzingen. He was the first out of the coach, leaving Augusta’s mother to fend for herself while he splashed through the puddles to the inn and asked for Franz von Langsdorff. A servant told him that the lieutenant had just left but that his companion was sick in bed upstairs.

Stiebel’s appearance shocked Seutter profoundly. He found him dozing, looking shockingly shrunken and senile without the customary wig. As anxious as Seutter was about Augusta, he tiptoed to the bedstead and asked softly, “My dear friend, are you awake?”

To his relief, Stiebel opened his eyes and looked instantly more animated. “Jakob! Of all that’s wonderful! You find me sadly out of sorts, I’m afraid.”

Indeed, his voice was weak and he did not seem to have the strength to raise himself. “You’re sorely needed. The boy’s gone to look for his sister, but…‌well, he’s young.” He took Jakob’s hand, and pulled him down on the chair beside his bed. “You must find the young Augusta, poor girl. I fear she’s tangled up in this infernal mystery of ours. A very unscrupulous man by the name of Eberau may have got hold of her.” He told Jakob of the recent events and his suspicions, pausing frequently to gasp for breath. Eventually, he stopped in utter exhaustion.

Seutter, sickened by what he had learned, looked at the gray face on the pillow and at the gray rain outside the window. He did not think it was possible to feel sadder than he did just then. To Stiebel, he said with false cheer, “I shall take of everything. You must rest as the doctor said and leave this to me. Augusta and I are betrothed. It was her wish.” He paused. “At least that was our understanding in Lindau. In any case and always respecting her own wishes, her welfare is my charge.”

Stiebel smiled very sweetly. “Bless me,” he murmured, “what joyous news!” and fell asleep.

Seutter ran back downstairs, where he found that Max had helped Frau von Langsdorff out of the coach, leaving her ankle-deep in the mud. He was leading the tired horses off toward the stables.

“Max,” Seutter called, “let the grooms take care of that. I need you.”

“Just what I told him,” wailed Frau von Langsdorff. “Really, I don’t know what’s come over Max. He used to be so accommodating, but here he leaves me standing outside in the rain and mire with not so much as an arm to lean on when I’m in delicate health.” She sniffled and raised her skirt. “I shall need new shoes.”

Seutter clapped on his hat and eyed her coldly. “Sorry, madam. Max and I must look for Augusta. She’s not here. Pray, go inside and wait.” She opened her mouth to protest. He ignored her and said, “Tell them to put the charges for rooms and stabling on my account.”

Seutter had hoped that the confused tale about murder and mayhem was due to his old friend’s illness. But when one of the grooms confirmed that Augusta’s brother had gone to look for her at Baron Eberau’s house, his heart sank.

He and Max started to walk, quickly soaked to the skin by the cold rain. Max was glum and said, “What if she’s been taken away from here in that carriage?”

The thought demoralized Seutter. “No! Not that. She’s here, I feel it. She must be. Look, you’re younger. Run ahead.”

Max departed at a trot, leaving Seutter a measure of privacy. If his girl had been carried off to some other town, why then the whole wide world might hide her forever from him. And if she was here, well then things were bad enough. He bowed his head, and the rain mingled with the first tears he had shed since the loss of his wife and child some fifteen years before.

*

As Max turned down the rutted private lane, he nearly collided with a very pretty young woman in a rain-soaked blue silk gown. She was wild-eyed and babbled at him in a foreign tongue. He kept shaking his head and she stamped her dainty foot and screamed at him. It was hopeless until he asked, “Augusta?” She nodded vigorously then and pointed over her shoulder, adding another stream of gibberish. Max started running.

The house looked unoccupied, its shutters closed, but a covered chaise with a pair of horses waited at the door. It was just the sort of house where a villain might hide away his angel‌—‌and just the sort of vehicle he would carry her away in. But Max would rescue her. As he ran, he imagined her eyes shining up at him and her arms wrapping themselves gratefully around his manly neck.

A man came from the house, tossed a travel case into the chaise, took the reins, and jumped in.

Franz stopped. Oho! What was Koehl doing here? Koehl, the hateful bastard who had ordered him to kill Augusta’s brother?

The chaise started rolling.

“Wait!” shouted Max and started running again.

Koehl ignored him and whipped up the horses.

If Augusta was in the carriage and that bastard Koehl was taking her away, the only chance of saving her was to stop the chaise now.

As the vehicle flew toward him, Max did not jump clear but instead flung himself at the horse on the left and clung to its halter, yelling to Koehl to stop. Koehl, his face distorted with anger, used his whip. The horse reared, then both animals shied. Max was lifted off the ground and clung on for dear life as they careened down the lane and the frightened animal tried to shake him loose. Koehl bawled curses and snapped the whip at their backs and at Max. Max clutched the animal’s neck with both arms and swung his legs toward the carriage pole. He meant to get enough purchase to climb on the animal’s back. He had almost managed it and murmured Augusta’s name to give himself courage when his wet hands slipped, and he fell under the flying hooves.

*

Seutter heard the sounds of shying horses and shouting and started to run. The chaise appeared from the lane at a furious pace, almost tipping over as the driver took the turn. Seutter jumped aside and rushed down the lane.

He saw the shuttered house ahead, its door open. And he saw the motionless figure lying across the muddy ruts left by the chaise. A woman in blue was bent over it. His heart leaped, but she was a stranger. The lifeless body belonged to Max.

He knelt and checked briefly the crushed skull and the twisted limbs, then got to his feet. “He’s dead,” he said heavily.

He heard a girl’s voice calling “Jakob” and looked up. In the open doorway of the house stood Franz, leaning heavily against the jamb, but Seutter’s eyes were on Augusta, who came toward him with faltering steps, her arms out-stretched.

When they were closer, he could see that she was ill, her eyes feverishly bright, and her voice weak. “Jakob,” she said, “oh, Jakob. You came. Oh, you came!” There was a world of love in her words, and if she gave a small sob, he thought it was from joy. His heart melted. He opened his arms, and she tumbled into them, clutching him fiercely.

21

What Price Happiness?

…‌what a thing is the heart of man!…‌there would be far less suffering among mankind , if men‌—‌and God knows why they are made that way‌—‌did not use their imagination so assiduously to recall the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
The Sorrows of Young Werther

F
ranz knocked softly and entered when he heard a robust “Come.”

Jakob Seutter sat at the small desk of his room, writing into a notebook.

“I wonder, sir,” murmured Franz, shifting his weight awkwardly, “if I might trouble you for just a moment?”

Seutter got up and came, his hand outstretched. “My dear Franz, nothing could please me more. I have just finished with the sad business of Max’s funeral. How fares Augusta today?”

They shook hands. “She’s much improved, sir. We are greatly‌—‌no, immensely‌—‌in your debt. In every way.” Franz stood, clenching and unclenching his hands and avoiding Seutter’s eyes. “I’ve come to…‌to express our gratitude.”

“Not at all.” Seutter’s voice had cooled a little. “I trust my friend Stiebel is also on the mend?”

Franz glanced at Seutter’s face but saw nothing there beyond polite interest. “As to that, sir, I’d hoped you could tell me. I haven’t…‌it seemed better not to…‌I haven’t seen him since midday yesterday, sir.”

“Bless my soul.” Seutter’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I did speak to him last night to give him the good news about Augusta. He seemed quite strengthened by it.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” A silence fell. Franz glanced helplessly around the room and shuffled his feet. His knee still ached abominably this morning, making it even harder to find the right words. “I…‌I…‌also c-came t-to‌—‌” He gulped down the stutter, and enunciated the words slowly and clearly. “I must apologize to you, sir, for what I said in Lindau. I spoke in haste, and I was quite wrong‌—‌I see that now and should have seen it long ago. It was inexcusable, of course, and Doktor Stiebel told me so, only I didn’t listen and, like a fool, I denied my sister the right to make her wishes known.” He gulped and shifted his weight, leaning on his cane more heavily before plunging on. “I’ve spoken to Augusta, both last night and again this morning, and I’m persuaded that she knows her own mind. And so I came to say that I was wrong, sir, and that I’m truly sorry.”

Seutter’s face broke into a smile. “God love you, Franz.” He put a large, warm hand on Franz’s shoulder. “It’s devilish hard to know what to do for others sometimes,” he said. “I worry a good deal myself. There’s the matter of poor Max, but never mind. In the end you did what you could for Augusta, and I honor you for that. As for the other, well, you thought I was too old for your sister, and so I am. But she will not have it so. Truth to tell, she makes me the happiest man alive, and I’ll make it my life’s work to love and care for her as she deserves.” He cleared his throat, then gestured toward a chair. “But come, you mustn’t stand there. Sit and rest your leg.”

Franz did so gratefully and glanced at the window. It rained still quite heavily. The droplets trailing down the panes were like tears. Rain always made his knee much more painful. He thought of Augusta, who was feverish and uncomfortable but filled with a quiet happiness. He said, “Indeed, Augusta deserves much love and care. She’s had little enough of it from her mother and me.” He hung his head. “She’s been good enough to forgive me.”