Something had happened between her parents while she had been out. They were standing on opposite sides of the front hall, her father as tense as a harp string, and her mother’s exclamations of delight over this latest news could not hide the tautness around her eyes.
“How lovely,” Lou’s father said, and she turned a little to look past Dacia at him. A strange smile stretched his mouth, and his eyes were on her mother. “I hope you girls receive many invitations in the next few weeks. They will be a pleasant diversion for you.” He inclined his head toward Prince Mihai. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall retire for the evening.”
“I, too, must go,” Prince Mihai said. He kissed all their hands, again without bowing to them to any degree, and took his leave.
“Isn’t he marvelous?” Lou’s mother gave a little sigh. “It’s all coming together . . .” Then she straightened and seemed to gather herself. “Well, off to bed with the both of you! If you’re going to receive calls tomorrow, you’ll want to get plenty of rest!” She flapped her hands at them and they went upstairs.
It wasn’t until her mother had gone to bed, and the maid had undressed her and brushed out her hair, that Lou was able to hurry to Dacia’s room and talk. Dacia had already dismissed her maid and was braiding her own hair.
“Have you noticed that no one in this family seems to finish their sentences anymore?” Lou asked, flopping down in a chair. “Or if they do, it’s because they’re not saying what they really mean?”
“It’s decidedly odd,” Dacia agreed. “But what really worries me more right now is how intensely Lord Johnny and that man who insulted you were staring at Mihai all through the second half of the opera.”
FROM THE DESK OF MISS DACIA VREEHOLT
28 May 1897
To my dear mother,
I hope that you are well. I am sure that you are very busy getting ready for the journey to Newport for the summer. I must confess that I am jealous, and find that I will miss the old routine. This may come as a great surprise to you, after my protests and complaints of the last few years, but now that I have been gone from home for some time, I do miss it.
In fact, I miss it so much that I truly wish that I could return home, and soon. I have been abroad for three months now, and it is becoming very wearying for me. I know that Lou and I are supposed to stay until after Christmas, but I do not think it will be at all enjoyable for anyone concerned. Lou has only been here two days, and she is already showing signs of nervous strain. Aunt Kate does not seem to be enjoying the visit, either.
I am, of course, pleased to make the acquaintance of my Florescu relations, but I think that a month would be more than sufficient for us to get to know one another. And we could always return in years to come, when you are able to accompany us!
Please consider sending for me. It would be so much better coming from you, I am sure that Aunt Kate would agree completely.
Your loving daughter,
Dacia
CALEA GRIVITEI
There truly is no rest for the wicked, Dacia thought. Her old nurse had been fond of the phrase, almost too fond, really, trotting it out as an excuse for everything from waking Dacia up at the first light of dawn to making her march bleakly through the park in all weather as a grim form of exercise. But the morning after Dacia had attended the opera with Lou and Prince Mihai, it was all too true.
She and Lou had stayed up late talking, turning over possible reasons for Uncle Cyrus and Aunt Maria’s argument, and the scrutiny of Lord Johnny and the man who had insulted Lou. And how did they know each other? Lou had told her about seeing the two men together on the Orient Express as well. It was all too puzzling, and the cousins soon found that they had far too many questions and no answers whatsoever. Finally, exhausted, Dacia had simply climbed into Lou’s bed and they had gone to sleep side by side, as they had many times as children. Dacia would never admit how comforting she found it, in this strange house. Even after staying here for weeks, everything about the big mansion still seemed too . . . foreign.
The maid came in and opened the curtains at seven o’clock in the morning, when Dacia and Lou had only been asleep for four hours.
“I’m sorry, young ladies,” she had said with an apologetic smile. “But Doamna Maria ordered me to wake you now.”
“Gnnnh,” Dacia replied, and put her pillow over her head.
Lou sat up abruptly, looked blankly at the maid, the open window, then Dacia, and then collapsed back onto the bed. “Gnnnh,” she said in agreement.
The maid giggled and went out, but she apparently tattled on the cousins, because Aunt Kate swept into the room a minute later and opened Lou’s wardrobe. The doors creaked, and Lou made a noise that was roughly the same pitch.
“Why do we have to get up?” Dacia didn’t remove the pillow from her face.
“Because you are being fitted for some traditional clothing this morning. Then we will be making social calls in the afternoon, followed by a dinner with the family this evening. There is no time for you to lie in bed.”
Dacia took the pillow off her face and sat up. “Making calls?” She felt her eyebrows approach her hairline and stay there.
She had hardly left the mansion the entire time she had been in Bucharest, other than to do a little shopping with Radu or a pair of burly footmen in tow. Prince Mihai’s calls were the only other exception. When she’d asked why they never received any invitations, or went to visit even the next-door neighbors, Aunt Kate had frostily informed her that the Florescu family was above such frivolity.
“Since Prince Mihai has generously introduced you to the young people of Bucharest society,” Aunt Kate said, “it now behooves us to introduce you to their parents.” She sighed, as though she were not exactly looking forward to this. “We must maintain appearances.”
“What appearances?” Dacia asked. “Aren’t we just as fashionable here as in New York?”
“Don’t be fresh,” Aunt Kate snapped, though Dacia hadn’t meant to be fresh, and she suspected that Aunt Kate knew that very well.
“Maria Louisa, get out of that bed,” Aunt Kate went on. “Put this on, and have the maid help you put your hair up. Breakfast is in half an hour, and the seamstress will be here immediately following.”
“Do I really need any more clothes?” Lou’s face was still wrinkled with sleep, but she climbed out of the high bed. “We bought so many in Paris.”
“Lady Ioana has ordered this clothing for you,” Aunt Kate said. “You must thank her at dinner.”
“She’ll be at dinner again?” Dacia tried to keep the groan out of her voice, without much success. She reflected sourly, again, at how strange it was that the old witch made even her own daughters call her Lady Ioana.
“Everyone will be at dinner,” Aunt Kate said, her voice suddenly heavy. “I will leave a gown on your bed, Dacia. I suggest you hurry.” And she swept back out.
Lou looked at Dacia in a dazed way. “Well, at the very least we’ll make some friends,” she said, but she didn’t sound too certain of that.
“And possibly get some answers,” Dacia mused.
Lou wandered over to her washstand, and Dacia forced herself out of the bed. Sauntering into her own room, she found a completely new gown on her bed, one that had been bought in Paris, and decided that the day might not be too bad after all. Also, in the course of their calls, they might run into Prince Mihai, or even Lord Johnny. It struck Dacia that she did not know where he was staying. With that man who had insulted Lou? And who was he?
Dacia washed and dressed, wondering if she would dare to quiz the people they would be calling on. It would be impossible if Aunt Kate hovered, and if she was really planning to have them meet the adults, and only the adults. If, however, she and Lou were left to chat with people their own age, it would be relatively easy to ask if anyone knew the English lord, and to describe the man who had followed Lou around.
The maid who had awakened them came in to help her with her hair. He
r name was Nadia, and she had been assigned to assist Dacia and Lou. She was shy, but nice enough, and not that much older than Dacia.
“Nadia,” Dacia said as the maid rolled up the back of her hair and pinned it. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”
The girl shot her a wary look in the mirror. “Yes, young miss?”
“Do you know this neighborhood well?” Dacia did her best to sound casual.
“Yes, young miss. I have been with your family since I was twelve.” She drew herself up, though it didn’t help much: she was a head shorter than Dacia. “And my family has served the Florescus for many generations.”
“How lovely,” Dacia purred. “Would you be able to do this one small thing for me?”
Again the wary look. “What small thing, young miss?”
Dacia decided that acting casual would get her nowhere. “There is a young nobleman from England visiting Bucharest. He and I . . . became very close when I was in London,” Dacia said, which was true. It made her blush, however, which just added to her story. “I would like to find out where he is staying, so that I can send him a message.”
“Why can you not ask Mr. Horia?” The maid’s eyes were suspicious. “He surely knows everyone in Bucharest. And if he does not know, then he can easily find out, young miss.”
“Well,” Dacia said, leaning toward the maid in a confidential manner. “My family doesn’t exactly approve of—” She stopped, seeing Nadia’s face close off.
“If your family does not approve, it is not my place to interfere,” Nadia said.
“But surely there’s no harm—”
“Lady Ioana would not approve,” Nadia said, and would not say another word. She finished arranging Dacia’s hair, gathered up her used nightclothes, and left the room.
“Lady Ioana,” Dacia muttered, making it sound like a curse.
But she didn’t have time to grumble any further about her grandmother. Aunt Kate fetched Dacia, hustling her down the stairs, along with Lou. They ate a hasty breakfast and went back up to Dacia’s room. The seamstress was already laying out two nearly finished Romanian costumes. They were thickly embroidered in what Aunt Kate told them was the traditional pattern for their family. They had been begun in advance, and now would only require a bit of alteration to make them ready.
“Are we supposed to wear them tonight at the dinner?” Lou touched the fine linen with a finger.
“If they can be finished in time,” Aunt Kate said. “And there will be a special party at the family estate as well.”
The seamstress, who until this moment had not said a word, crossed herself and whispered something in a hoarse voice. Aunt Kate gave her a look, which the old woman met with defiance that made Dacia admire her for more than just her skill with a needle.
And the woman’s needlework was very skilled indeed. Though she preferred modern fashions, Dacia had to admire the intricacy of the silk embroidery on the smooth linen. The fabric was white, with scarlet embroidery in ranks around the neckline and down the wide sleeves. Aunt Kate helped them out of their dresses—which made Dacia grumble that they could have eaten breakfast in their rooms and avoided some of the dressing and undressing—and into the costumes.
The traditional Romanian costume consisted of a long, pale gown decorated with brightly colored embroidery and gathered at the neck with a drawstring. Over it went a heavy dark-colored apron in the front and back, and a wide sash holding it all together. Though Dacia had seen a rainbow of colors on other women, she and Lou were now dressed alike in white and scarlet. The sashes, aprons, and embroidery were so red they almost hurt the eyes, and made the white stand out just as starkly.
“I always thought I looked better in lighter colors,” Lou ventured hesitantly as she took her turn in front of the long mirror.
“Green would suit you. Or blue,” the elderly seamstress said, nodding in agreement. Then her eyes squinted at Aunt Kate, whose mouth was decidedly pinched. “But red was ordered.”
She fiddled with Lou’s gown and pronounced it a good fit, though the hem needed to be taken up just a hair. Dacia’s costume needed a bit more work. It was too short, and though the neck and cuffs had a drawstring that should have allowed it to fit almost anyone, Dacia was so slim that there was simply too much fabric bunched around her neck and middle, making her look bulky and feel as though she was being drowned in her own clothes.
“Your cousin is shaped like a proper woman,” the seamstress said as she marked the seams of Dacia’s shift with sharp steel pins. “But you . . .” Another look at Aunt Kate. “Are a Florescu,” she finished with a guttural laugh.
Dacia decided that while she admired the old woman’s frankness, she didn’t particularly like her for it. “And Florescu women are known to be slender?” she asked tartly.
The old woman didn’t answer her. She finished her marking, and helped Dacia to undress so that she wouldn’t prick herself on the pins. She wrapped up both costumes and bowed to Aunt Kate. As she was leaving the room, though, she turned as she felt Dacia’s eyes on her.
“Florescu women are known to not always be proper women,” she said, and crossed herself again.
Aunt Kate just looked as though she’d smelled something foul. She muttered something about superstitions, and then went out with a terse message that they would be going calling as soon as the carriage was brought around.
Lou and Dacia helped each other into their gowns without speaking. There was nothing to say, really. Only more questions to which neither of them had answers.
As soon as they were dressed again, Aunt Kate bundled them into the carriage and they went to make some calls.
“Shouldn’t we wait and see who will call on us?” Lou asked timidly. Dacia knew that her cousin had always hated making calls, much preferring to stay home and receive callers, where she could be more comfortable. “Several of the young people we met last night—”
“It is better that we go to them,” Aunt Kate interrupted her. “Our family does not often receive callers; they will not expect us to be ‘at home.’ ”
“Oh,” Lou said, subsiding against the cushioned seat.
Dacia didn’t mind getting out of the house to make calls, even if it wasn’t always the most convenient thing to do. There was always the fuss of getting in and out of carriages, standing on the doorstep and giving your card to the butler, only to find that Mrs. So-and-So and her daughter had already gone out themselves to pay calls.
But when they got to the first mansion, it was to find that Mrs. So-and-So and her daughter—or Lady Radescu and Miss Marcela, as they were actually named—were at home. At home, and both delighted and startled to receive Miss Florescu and her nieces from America. In fact, two other young ladies were there, and they and Marcela were among the young people Prince Mihai had introduced to Dacia and Lou the night before.
Sitting between Marcela and a stately brunette named Flora, Dacia discovered just how startled the Radescus and their guests were, and with good reason. She and Lou exchanged looks, but didn’t interrupt the especially chatty Marcela, who actually had a few answers for them.
“We’re all so excited to meet you, you know,” Marcela said. “The Florescu family is famous, of course, but they never go about in society! And you’re from America! It sounds so exotic and thrilling! What is America like?”
Dacia was temporarily at a loss for words. How do you describe an entire country? Not to mention the fact that she’d been born there, and for her it was simply home. Lou, however, had no trouble.
“Big,” she said in a wistful voice. “Everything is much bigger. And newer.”
Marcela nodded, as though that was just what she had expected. “And then you come here, and of course you spend your time with Prince Mihai. But we didn’t expect him to bring you to the opera! Or for you to pay calls on other families!”
“Why is that?” Dacia was quick to ask.
Both Marcela and Flora looked at her in surprise. “Why, because you’re Flor
escus,” she said as though that explained everything. “You don’t entertain, and the only society you keep is Prince Mihai’s family, the Draculas.”
Dacia still wasn’t used to hearing Prince Mihai’s family name, and it sent a cold prickle down her spine. Dracula was such a strange name! In Romanian, it meant either “son of the dragon,” or worse, “son of the devil.” It seemed insulting.
“We don’t know why, do you?” Flora interjected. She smiled at Dacia and Lou. “You’re very nice, and your aunt looks like a duchess, or a queen . . . Why do you think your family stays so cloistered all the time?”
“I heard a rumor that it’s because they’re only supposed to marry into the Dracula family,” Marcela told her friend, as though Dacia and Lou weren’t sitting right there. “But that can’t be true, or why would they have sent Miss Florescu away?” She made a tiny gesture with her fingers to indicate Aunt Kate.
“Wait—who sent Miss Flor—Aunt Kate away?” Dacia leaned in close and whispered the question. Over Elisabeta’s shoulder, she could see that her aunt was busy discussing the new motorcars and hadn’t heard anything. Yet.
But Marcela recognized that she’d gone too far. “Oh, I hate to bring up old gossip.”
“Please do,” Dacia urged her. “No one tells us anything.” Lou nodded, eyes wide, and Flora moved in closer, an eager expression on her face.
“Well . . .” Marcela shot her own look at her mother and Aunt Kate. “You, I just heard . . . I might be wrong, but . . . the rumor was that Miss Florescu was sent to America with her sisters because she was in love with Prince Mattias Dracula, Prince Mihai’s uncle. They wanted to marry, but both families objected, and she was sent away so that they couldn’t elope.”
Dacia couldn’t keep her voice to a whisper. “The man on the train!”
FROM THE DESK OF MISS MARIA LOUISA NEULANDER