The Demon Count Page 10

  "A bath is all ready for you, my poor child. And then into bed you go! I'm sure this has all been too alarming. But that's what comes of living in a city full of heathenish foreigners." She colored, casting an apologetic glance at Luc's rigid back. "Begging your pardon, Count."

  He ignored her, turning back to me with a bland expres­sion on his pale, handsome face. "I'm going out. I trust you have learned the folly of disobeying my orders, Charlotte. You are lucky you didn't suffer any more serious conse­quences. See that she gets straight into bed, Miss Fenwick. And make sure she drinks her wine," he added sharply, striding from the room before I could get out a single word of the many things that I wanted to say to him. I stared at my innocent helper with sudden dislike, but she was far too busy clucking over me to notice. In an hour I was bathed, dressed in a warm flannel nightgown, and tucked safely into my large, comfortable bed. Stoutly refusing the sopo­rific wine, I lay awake for long, restless hours, turning among the suddenly constricting sheets, fighting against the smothering pillows, listening for the sound of Luc's return. He would have to return by sunrise, I thought sleepily, de­termined to stay awake that long. When I heard him come in I would tiptoe downstairs and confront him. Beg him once more to spare Georges's life. And perhaps have him finish what he started in the west salon of this crumbling palazzo.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was well past noon when I awoke the next day. The sun was directly overhead, reflecting off the canal and shining with translucent green light into my bedroom. I lay unmoving in the bed, waking very slowly, aware of my stiff, aching body, that same dry taste in my mouth, and a profound sense of unease. And then I remembered last night.

  A tray rested beside my bed, a cup of cooling chocolate beside the now empty glass of wine tempting me to arise. Slowly I sat up, sipping at the rich sweet stuff as I tried to remember when I had succumbed and swallowed the bitter- tasting wine. It was all a hopeless blank to me, and I turned my cloudy brain instead to the problem of how to save Georges.

  Without a doubt I detested the creature with his cruelty and brutish, animal lusts, but I certainly did not want to see him dead on my account. Beaten, humiliated, yes, but not dead, and certainly not at Luc's hands.

  And then the memory of Luc's hands made me grow hot all over, and I could only be grateful that the madness of last night seemed to vanish in the golden light of the sun. Would I have really gone down and confronted him last night upon his return? It would have been tantamount to throwing myself into his arms. I shook my head with disgust at my own weakness. If I was not more careful I would end up being seduced and abandoned by an unprin­cipled and no doubt degenerate rake. I would do far better to concentrate on the heavy but intermittent attention of Holger, or the flattering regard of Jean-Baptiste. Luc del Zaglia, as the Frenchman had pointed out, was a very dan­gerous man. Surely I had too strong a sense of self- preservation to want to be caught in that whirlpool he rep­resented.

  My reflection in the mirror was not reassuring. A large welt cut across my neck and shoulder, a mark that would surely be obvious in my low-cut dresses. Even worse was the scrape on my cheek, the bruises on my throat, and my cut lip. Georges had done his work well, and I shuddered to think what would have happened if I hadn't managed to stun him with that bottle.

  The sight of my wounds should have aroused me to a vengeful fury, but I remained adamant in my determination to save the wretched Georges. As soon as I dressed I drafted a short note, warning Georges that Luc intended to kill him. Sooner or later I would find some way to have it delivered, and then my conscience would be at rest. Georges had been terrified when Luc interrupted him at the embassy. Apparently Luc del Zaglia was enough to put the fear of God into anyone, not just a gullible little fool like me. A warning should manage to frighten Georges out of the city, with luck, out of the country. And if he hap­pened to meet with a shipwreck or carriage accident on the way, I could greet the news with unimpaired good cheer, as long as I knew neither Luc nor I was responsible.

  For a short time luck was with me. No one was in sight when I made my cautious way downstairs, a heavy shawl pulled around the low-cut shoulders of my gown, my slip­pers silent on the dusty marble stairs. I was able to find Antonio with no sharp-eyed witnesses around to watch as I slipped both the note and my small remainder of money into his greedy paw. With mixed feelings I watched him disappear down the corridor. I had no great hopes that the warning would reach Georges in time, but I had done my best.

  "Signorina Morrow is feeling better?" A soft, sly voice broke through my reverie, and I turned to meet Maddelena's seamed face with what I hoped was unruffled calm. I couldn't tell whether or not she had seen me talking with Antonio, but I could only trust that she hadn't. I would have to continue on that assumption.

  "A bit," I replied faintly. "I'm quite hungry."

  "A good sign. If you would go into the smaller dining room Rosetta will bring you something shortly." She turned her squat body away and started down the hallway, in the same direction Antonio had taken.

  "Where are you going?" I betrayed myself by asking ner­vously.

  She turned back, smiling a bland smile that disclosed brown and broken teeth. "Why, to see what you gave An­tonio, of course."

  I watched her go with a sense of fatality. I couldn't have the horrid man's blood on my hands, more par­ticularly I didn't want Luc's beautiful pale hands further stained (if stained they were already). Antonio would hand over the message (though not the money) without further ado. There was nothing I could do but warn the man my­self.

  A few short minutes later I was making my furtive way through the cobbled alleyways of Venice. I had no idea how to get to Georges's hovel by gondola, and indeed, thought it safer to slip through the streets, swathed as I was in an enveloping black cape stolen from Mildred, hunched over like a woman three times my age. I caught no more than a couple of curious glances as I scuttled through the streets, clasping an exceedingly sharp and lethal-looking letter opener I had purloined from the Chinese desk in the west salon. I had only the slightest doubt as to my ability to defend myself from Georges's attack, and that element of doubt was somehow justified by my determination to stop any bloodshed. So preoccupied was I in my thoughts and fears that I nearly ran full tilt into an Austrian officer in the street outside Georges's flat.

  "Watch where you're going, you old hag!" I heard my beloved Holger snarl, shoving me against the wall with rude force. I was tempted to throw off my enveloping cape, but thought better of it. I watched in disbelief as what ap­peared to be an entire battalion of Austrian soldiers milled around in the streets outside, the sun shining on their spot­less white and gold uniforms. And even before I could make out the murmured comments of the soldiers I knew I had been too late.

  One poor fellow, who couldn't have been more than sev­enteen, was leaning over and vomiting into the street. His friends were looking pale and unwell, and, deciding to risk unmasking, I hunched closer to my erstwhile swain.

  "It must have been a large dog or wolf," a greenish- pallored lieutenant was saying, mopping his brow despite the cool spring breeze. "I've never seen anything like it. Just torn to shreds, he was."

  "Nonsense," Holger maintained stoutly. "There are no wolves in Venice, and no large dogs on this island. It could only have been done by a man."

  "What sort of man could inflict such carnage?" the other demanded. "Back in Austria we found a young boy half eaten by wolves during a bad winter. That pales in compar­ison with this."

  "Then what do you suggest?" Holger asked coldly. "Per­haps the ghoul of Venice is taking other forms now. First a vampire, now a werewolf, eh?"

  "I . . . I never said a word about werewolves," the man stammered, crossing himself ardently. "There . . . there are no such things."

  "Nor are there such things as vampires, my friend. Some fiendishly clever human being is murdering people in and around Venice and making it look like the work of super­natural beings."

  I watched
Holger with dawning surprise and suspicion. Gone was the dim-witted, pompous young suitor. The pomposity remained, but a shrewd intellect that had so far escaped my attention was making itself apparent. I felt a sudden chill, and, stumbling a bit, turned back toward the doubtful haven of Edentide. I had seen enough for one day. I had been too late for Georges, and were it not for my fears for the demon-count, I would not have been sorry. As it was, I was now more frightened than I had ever been.

  I made it back to the palazzo with only a few minutes to spare. No sooner had I taken off the enveloping cape and smoothed my tumbled blond curls than an imperious knock sounded at the front door. Quickly I ducked into the west parlor to straighten my shawl about me, keeping a sharp ear out for our visitor. But the walls of Edentide were thick and the noise from the canal even louder than usual, so I had to content myself to wait until the somber Thornton appeared at the door, accompanied by not one but two of my suitors.

  Jean-Baptiste rushed to my side, barely leaving me enough time to appreciate the sumptuous effect of his pearl-grey costume. "Ma pauvre petite," he murmured, taking one slim hand in his and planting a respectful kiss upon it. "Luc has told me of last night's outrage. That man shall pay for it, I swear to you! If Luc has not yet seen to it you may count on me to defend your honor."

  Holger was only a few paces behind him, a sternly disap­proving mask over his ruddy features. "That will be unnec­essary, Perrier. For either you or the count."

  Jean-Baptiste stood back and met Holger's icy blue eyes with a smirk. "Ah, my good Captain, have you already seen to the villain?" He bowed low. "My compliments on your speed. We both heard of it at the same time, and yet you took care of it with such dispatch." He sighed. "I am all admiration."

  "I didn't do it!" Holger countered impatiently. "Someone else finished off Georges Martin before either of us could even plan a suitable punishment for his impertinence."

  "Either?" I questioned, watching the two of them.

  "Any of the three of us," Holger amended graciously, but I was no longer fooled by him. "I'm sorry to say that Georges Martin has been brutally murdered."

  "That is a regrettable circumstance," Jean-Baptiste re­sponded with false sorrow. "I was hoping I would have the pleasure of killing him myself. Or at least watching Luc do the honors."

  Holger eyed the Frenchman in obvious disgust. "If you are so eager for the sight of blood, Perrier, you may view the carnage in Martin's apartment. I'm sure it will no longer bother the poor fellow."

  "Gentlemen!" I held up a restraining hand, feeling quite dizzy. My imagination had always been overdeveloped. At the sight of my pale face they broke off their bickering, vying with each other to lead me to the frayed sofa.

  "What monsters we are, liebchen, to talk of such a brutal thing in front of you," Holger murmured, his icy blue eyes not in the least sorry.

  "What brutal thing?" Jean-Baptiste demanded irritably. "You have yet to tell us how the wretched Georges met his end."

  Holger paused significantly, no doubt to savor the full effect of his disclosures. Fortunately I had a good idea of what his gory news would be, and I was prepared.

  "Georges Martin was ripped to pieces by some very large and savage animal," he said solemnly, his cold, rather small eyes never leaving Perrier's unmoved countenance. "Either that, or by a madman."

  There was a silence, one I felt called upon to break. "Oh, dear," I murmured inadequately, leaning back against the cushions and fanning myself uselessly with one limp hand. "How ghastly."

  "Ghastly indeed, fraulein," Holger said heavily, the con­cern in his accented voice unmatched by the speculation in those eyes I no longer trusted.

  "It does seem, Von Wolfram, that the Imperial Army is doing a wretched job of policing the canals and alleyways of Venice. This latest sounds like a variation of the work of our resident vampire."

  "Don't be absurd," I snapped, much to their surprise. "There are no such things as vampires."

  Perrier raised one of his immaculate eyebrows. "Really, my dear? I think you should ask your superstitious Italian and English servants if they agree with that." He took my limp hand in his small, neat one and brought it up to his lips with a gesture that a week before would have thrilled me. "You and I know it's nonsense, of course. As does the good captain."

  "Indeed," Holger broke in, taking my other hand in an effort not to have Jean-Baptiste outdo him, "there is no ghoul of Venice, no werewolf or vampire. Merely a very clever, very dangerous man. As soon as I find out what is behind these seemingly random murders it will be only a short step to finding the villain. He must be an exceedingly brilliant, dangerous criminal, with an entirely fiendish mind . . ."

  "You wouldn't by any chance be discussing me, would you?" Luc's smooth voice startled the three of us, and we turned in unison to the door, where my erstwhile guardian lounged in Stygian splendor. Damn him, I thought, feeling the color rise in my face at the memory of our last meeting, of his gentle hands on my poor battered body.

  "Luc!" Perrier let my hand drop lightly, not before be­stowing a reassuring squeeze that reassured me not one bit "You're up early today. The sun has barely set."

  This was supposed to be a jest, but I couldn't help the little shiver of apprehension that ran down my backbone at the sinister implications of his lightly spoken words. Luc merely cast a cynical glance at his friend before entering the room, moving across the stained marble floor with a pantherlike grace that made my stomach contract in the most alarming fashion. Taking my hands in his cold, com­pelling grip, he pulled me to my feet, those mesmerizing eyes sweeping over me in a manner that should have been solicitous, but in reality had the power to leave me more disturbed than I already was.

  "I trust, my dear ward, that you have recovered from your upsetting experience of the previous evening?" The voice was soft and soothing, and for a moment I thought he referred to our almost-embrace in this very room. Then I realized he meant my near rape, and my color heightened even more.

  "I am quite well, thank you," I murmured, dropping my eyes from that amused glance that knew all too well what I had been thinking of. "Were it not for this latest hor­ror . . ."

  I expected him to show surprise, demand information, but to my dread he seemed to know all about it. "The un­fortunate fate of Monsieur Martin?" he questioned lightly, dropping my hands and moving over to the bell-pull. "A most unpleasant fate, to be sure, but one he richly de­served. He hadn't long to live, anyway. I had intended to dispose of him this evening, but the ghoul of Venice seems to have forestalled me."

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Holger pull himself stiffly upright. "Are you sure it wasn't yourself that took care of Georges?" he demanded with a touch of belliger­ence that almost bordered on rudeness. "I wonder how you found out so quickly. I gather you only just arose?"

  Luc met Holger's angry gaze with bland self-assurance. "My dear Captain, at least three of my servants informed me, complete with unnecessarily gruesome details, about Martin's sad end. You should know by now that nothing stays secret in Venice for very long." As if on cue Thorn­ton appeared at the doorway.

  "You rang, sir?"

  "Yes, Thornton. We would like wine for my unexpected but of course most welcome guests. And you may also in­form the good captain of the cheerful news with which you greeted me this evening."

  "About the Frenchman's murder, Count?" Thornton asked politely, and Holger's ruddy face flushed a darker, unbecoming shade.

  "Exactly," Luc said smoothly. "Thank you, Thornton, that should be sufficient. I think a good claret would be in order."

  As the butler withdrew a small moment of silence reigned in the room, broken only by the lap of the water against the riva, the sounds of the gondoliers as they called their directions echoing through the twilight room. Both Perrier and Holger seemed abstracted, while Luc watched them with a small, unpleasant smile curving his expressive mouth.

  It wasn't until Thornton returned with the crystal decan­ter of ruby wine that my s
uitors bestirred themselves. As if suddenly coming to his senses, Perrier returned to my side, his manner as smooth and flattering as before. With a great deal of expertise and delicacy he began to flirt with me, so gracefully that I couldn't help responding, all the time re­membering the cold, speculative expression in his brown eyes as he watched my guardian, and knowing with a growing sense of irritation that he had no more real roman­tic interest in me than had Holger, who was now making Jealous moves to push Jean-Baptiste away. They were both playing a devious game, one that included me as bait, and I thought I knew quite well who their quarry was: my indo­lent, sinister guardian, who watched all this attention with an indulgent eye.

  My over inflated self-esteem had been dealt a mortal blow. No doubt I deserved being taken down a peg or two, and I thought with a twinge that I had asked for it, after accepting their slavish devotion with such an unquestioning complacency. As my two false swains wrangled over the right to take me to a band concert early the next week my rueful eyes met my guardian's from across the room. For the moment I hadn't bothered to shield my expression from him, and he read my newfound knowledge as easily as he might read a book.

  He smiled then, a very gentle, mocking little smile, as if to say all men are fools, and lifted the wineglass to me in a silent toast. And I smiled back, in self-deprecating agree­ment, that all women were fools, too—and thereby took another dangerous step down the road of infatuation with my romantic and devious guardian.

  A few moments later he arose with one of those abrupt, liquid gestures that startle me so. "I think, my dear Char­lotte, that you should have a quiet supper and an early bedtime. Perrier and I have plans to go out this evening, and we shall of course include the good captain, leaving you to a quiet night alone. Unless you plan to disregard my warnings and go for another solitary stroll?"