Borne in Blood by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online Page B

might consider employing me?” Gutesohnes brightened at the notion. “Why should he make such an offer to me? Or do you make this offer to every messenger who calls here, in the hope one will suit the requirements?”
    “I think it will depend on what the Comte decides, but it is not impossible, if such a position interests you.” Rogier was calm, his polite manner unfazed by Gutesohnes’ effrontery.
    “Of course,” said Gutesohnes. “I do understand.”
    Anything more they might have said was lost in the gentle knock on the door, and Dietbold’s return with a tray of broiled eel in herb sauce, fresh bread and butter, a selection of pickles, and a large cup filled with hot cognac with a thick float of cream. He put the tray on the table, nodded, and left.
    “I’ll leave you to your repast,” said Rogier, letting himself out of the parlor; he was thinking over what Gutesohnes had said when he saw Ragoczy coming toward him. “My master.”
    Ragoczy paused to adjust his black-silk waistcoat and the black super-fine claw-tail coat over it. “Have I got it right?”
    “Yes,” said Rogier, adding with a suggestion of amusement, “You couldn’t have done better with a reflection to guide you.” He adjusted the silver watch-chain so that it lay more discreetly across his waistcoat, and then nodded his satisfaction. “There. That should do the trick.”
    “Always the final detail,” Ragoczy approved.
    “If Hero were here, she would attend to such matters,” said Rogier. “She has a better eye than mine for the current vagaries of fashion: fobs and seals and watch-chains!”
    “Yes: she knows the fashion of the present day,” Ragoczy said. “Well, she should return in two weeks if the weather holds.”
    “And her uncle’s widow is no worse, and the road from Vevey is open to travel; that late storm last week surely delayed her journey,” Rogier said, and tweaked the elaborate silken bow of Ragoczy’s neck-cloth. “There. What do the English call it—a rose of good taste?”
    “A tulip of the ton, I believe,” said Ragoczy in that language.
    “A flower, in all events,” said Rogier in French. “No one could quibble with your appearance.”
    “Thank you, old friend,” said Ragoczy. “It is always important to observe the niceties.”
    Rogier did not quite laugh, but his lips quirked and his faded-blue eyes shone with amusement. “As you say.”
    “How much longer should I let him eat?” Ragoczy asked.
    “Five more minutes; he won’t mind the interruption then.”
    “What do you think of him?’ Ragoczy inquired.
    “Young, strong, sensible. He likes his comforts but not to the point of laziness, or so it appears—after all, he came here as soon as the road was clear enough of snow to allow him passage. You can tell by his shoulders that his days as a coachman were demanding.” Rogier coughed once. “He will probably not want to carry messages or drive coaches for all his life, at least not as an occupation. But he does appear to be willing to do the work for now, and he would seem to have an aptitude for it.”
    “A sensible position,” said Ragoczy. “If he is willing to work for five years, I will consider myself fortunate, assuming he is capable and honest. I must hire someone in the next four to five months, and if this man seems qualified …”
    “You must determine that for yourself,” said Rogier. “But he is the second messenger to arrive here since winter broke, and he came farther than Conrade did. I think he is able to do the work, and he would be accepted by the household.”
    “I will keep that in mind.” Ragoczy laid his small, elegant hand on the door-latch, but said to Rogier, “I suspect there is more to it, this endorsement of yours, and I am curious to know what that may be. You are usually reluctant to give such a sanction to an unknown fellow as you have for this man. Why is that? What about him is so different that you are inclined in his favor?”
    Rogier