Free The Dead Travel Fast by Deanna Raybourn Page B

have to keep a lady upon each arm, like Eastern potentates.”
    The count made some rejoinder in a low voice, but Florian said nothing. His expression was unaltered, and I was struck again by the aura of sadness that surrounded him. His mother seemed unaware of it, or perhaps merely reconciled, for she seated herself with a mien of pleasurable expectation as a dog will when it smells a bone. Whatever disappointments Frau Amsel had suffered in her life, she seemed to have consoled herself with food.
    I glanced about the room, recalling the count’s remarks from the morning’s tour of the castle. I noted afresh its splendour, for it was the most luxurious and lavish room he had shown me. The walls were panelled in gilded wood and hung with enormous oil paintings in heavy gilt frames. The table itself was inlaid in an intricate pattern of birds and flowers with no cloth to hide its beauty. The chairs were of a medieval style, with lion’s paws for feet and great high backs upholstered in scarlet velvet. A series of sideboards ranged along the walls, each more elaborately carved than the next with hunting scenes, and heavily laden with pewter and silver marked with the Dragulescu crest. Even the carving set was large in scale and impressive in both design and execution. It depicted a stag chased by wolves, a masterpiece of the silversmith’s art. The lines of it were blurred by use, and it had clearly taken pride of place in the dining hall for many generations.
    In all, it was a grand and impressive room, and for a little while it was possible to forget the decay elsewhere in the castle. The candlelit gloom concealed the tarnish and moth I had detected by daylight, and the fire burning in the tremendous hearth and the great dog lounging beside it lent an air of medieval grandeur.
    The food itself was excellent, rather heavy and Germanic in flavour, but wonderfully prepared. The conversation proved less palatable. Frau Amsel did not speak, preferring instead to apply herself to the array of dishes set before us, tasting each with a resounding smack of the lips. The count seemed distracted and spoke little, and even then only to a direct question put to him by his mother. Perhaps there was an unspoken rule of etiquette, for I saw that the others did not address him, and as he did not notice them, they took no liberty to engage him. Cosmina darted a glance or two at him, her expression watchful, but when he did not speak, she seemed to give a little sigh and relax. I observed him looking at me curiously once or twice, but apart from that he seemed sunk deep in his own thoughts, drinking his wine and occasionally pushing his food about on his plate but eating little. The countess—who took only a tiny portion, refusing everything but a slice of roast pork and a warming plate of consommé—attempted to compensate for his silence by putting to me questions about my impressions of Transylvania and the castle itself. Her pride in her home was apparent, and I was careful to praise the natural beauties of the place. I remarked to her also that I had made the acquaintance of Dr. Frankopan and found him quite charming.
    “Ah, Ferenc! Yes, he is quite a prop to me. I could not manage without him. He has known me from girlhood, and sometimes it is good to be with someone who knows one best,” she told me. Frau Amsel frowned and studied her plate as the countess continued. “Of course, I have my devoted Clara as well. We were at school together, did I tell you, Miss Lestrange?”
    She had, and I wondered anew how Frau Amsel had come to work as companion to her former school friend. Had the countess climbed so far above her raising or had Frau Amsel fallen so low? She must have married to have borne Florian, yet there was no mention of Herr Amsel, and it suddenly became clear to me that widowhood had likely reduced her circumstances and driven her to take a post in this remote and distant place.
    The countess chatted on, mentioning a