House of Bathory(62)
He smiled and finally took a sip of his red wine, smacking his lips in appreciation. “Your grapes draw good flavor from such rocky soil, Countess,” he said. “Who would think fruit would thrive here in the stony-cold wilderness?”
He knew the Countess understood. As the son of a nobleman—the close friend of the King—Janos was now untouchable. He would survive.
Another pair of flies buzzed about his head. They lighted on Countess Bathory’s neck and cheek. She swatted them away.
“Curious there should be flies at this time of the year,” said Janos. “There have been several hard frosts and snow. To have the vermin at the Christmas season is rare indeed.”
Bathory gave him a chilly stare.
“There was a horse who died—one of the old nags the farmers drive to market. We buried it in the vegetable garden as fertilizer—a grave mistake, I realize now. The flies are born in the heat and rot of the carcass,” she said. She paused a moment, then pressed a hand to her white forehead with sudden urgency.
“You must excuse me. I feel a headache coming on.”
The footmen attending the table helped her from her chair. She disappeared, walking awkwardly into the great hall of Čachtice Castle.
Chapter 45
SOMEWHERE IN SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 23, 2010
Grace was reading a leather-bound edition of The Moon and Sixpence when she heard the click of the lock. She looked up eagerly, hoping to see Draska. It had been days since she had seen the girl. Cool air rushed in from the drafty halls. The icy air gave her goose bumps and recognizing her visitor made her heart sink.
The Count greeted Grace with a curt bow.
“Good morning, Pani Path. I trust you slept well?”
Grace clenched her jaw so hard that her teeth hurt. She looked around the room for something to hurl at her captor. The book was slim, not enough heft. She wanted something breakable that would splinter into shards across his forehead.
“How dare you keep up this charade of politeness, you lunatic!”
The Count smirked. “Courtesy and good manners have always been a charade, my dear Dr. Path.”
“Just what is it that you think my daughter has?” Grace asked, slamming the book down on the desk.
“Mind the book, Madam. It is a first edition.”
“I am tired of all this secrecy. My daughter must be mad with worry.”
The Count walked over and picked up the abused novel. He placed it back on the bookshelf. Before he turned around, he said, “What if I were to tell you that she was in Slovakia at this very moment?”
“You lie!”
Count Bathory turned around, his lips set in what might be taken for a smile.
“Madam, you insult me. It is true. I have a contact who keeps me informed—most discreetly, of course—when certain individuals’ passports are registered. Your daughter has arrived in Slovakia.”
Grace was swept by waves of emotion. First happiness—then worry—then dread. She refused to give the Count the satisfaction of a response.
“I do not know where she is yet,” he continued smoothly. “But I have contacts in other places. It should not take long to track her down.”
Grace looked at his pleasant smile. It chilled her to the bone.
“May I remind you: All she has to do is to cooperate. Why would I want to hurt her?” He closed the door gently behind him. The key clicked in the lock.
Chapter 46
HOTEL ARCADIA
BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 23, 2010
The cell phone ringing woke Betsy from a dead sleep. She gasped, looking about the strange room, not recognizing her surroundings. Her heart thumped as she fumbled for the phone.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Betsy, it is Luis. Ringo is fine,” he said before she could ask. “Your house is fine. But I have someone here who wants to talk to you. Very important.”
“What? Who?”
“Hey, Betsy, it’s me. I made Luis call you, he won’t give me your number. But I had to call you. It’s not about me, it’s—”
“Daisy? Why are you calling me?” she said, sitting up in bed. She glanced at her watch. It was 10 in the morning. “What time is it there?”
“Two A.M. It took me all this time to convince Luis to call you. Betsy…there were men in the cemetery. They were…I’m sorry I don’t know how to tell you.”
“What?”
“They were digging up your father’s grave.”
“What?”
“We called the police and they scared them off. But I think they were looking for something.”
Betsy realized she had started to cry.
“Oh, my God! How…Why…Why were you there?”
“I’m sorry, Betsy.”