Grantville Gazette 37

'Oh, we've got you booked into a boarding house the navy is using. I was told to tell you that if you objected, to get used to it.'

Estil put his suitcase down, closed his eyes and pushed his eyebrows together so hard Victor was sure it had to hurt. 'So I was hoping you could get the wife and me into the waltz classes you will be teaching here in town in February.'

Estil let his breath out slowly and so loudly it was practically a groan. 'Yes, Victor. If I can get you into a dance class, then I will.'

'That would be great. My wife will be so happy.' The bright young man was practically beaming.

'So, where do I go next? When do I leave? Is there time to get my clothes laundered?'

'Someone has opened up a Grantville dry cleaning shop here in town, so getting your clothes cleaned and pressed is a snap.' Victor was on top of all of the latest buzz words. 'They've made arrangements with a livery stable to have a coach ready for you. So, when is now-or at least as soon as we can get your clothes back from the dry cleaners. It's expensive, but don't worry. The office will pick up the tab. Let me get a page in here and get your clothes off to the dry cleaners and then I'll take you to lunch.'

****

Before leaving town Estil stopped at the Abrabanel Bank office. He didn't like carrying a bag of gold around. The pay had been generous even before he bet it all and then went double or nothing.

****

In February, Count and Countess von Leiningen-Westerburg were still residing in their newly-finished Magdeburg residence in order to attend both of the waltz parties. She had been distant and he had been cold to Estil at the first party. Estil shrugged it off almost without noticing. He really was quite busy before, during and after the party.

But it was not possible to shrug off the six armed men who interrupted one of the several waltz classes Estil was conducting in the week between the two parties.

'Estil Congden, you will come with us.'

'I'd rather not,' Estil said.

Two of the six grabbed Estil and preceded to frog march him toward the door.

'What is the meaning of this?' Victor demanded.

'It is a private matter,' the head of the party said very curtly. 'It is none of your concern.'

'Mister Congden's services are contracted through our office at the State Department. So it clearly is my concern! He does not wish to accompany you. I demand you release him immediately.'

Without a word, one of the men, who did not have Estil in hand and was not holding a door open or being addressed by a young bureaucrat who was showing more spunk than good sense, expertly clipped the bright young man on the back of the head, dropping him onto the floor. He would wake up with a headache to shame any self respecting hangover.

Estil was hustled out of the ballroom, out of the house, without his overcoat, and into a coach while Victor's wife got blood all over her dress and filled the ballroom with loud tears.

It wasn't long before the horse stopped in a coach yard. The armed men pulled a reluctant Estil out of the coach to usher him into a kitchen, through the butler's pantry, a dining room and finally into a sitting room where a decrepit old man waited in a massive chair before a roaring fire.

Estil had to look twice to recognize Count von Leiningen-Westerburg. The man looked as if he had aged twenty years in the last two months.

'Leave us,' the count said.

'But, sir, is it safe?'

The old man snorted a laugh. 'What is he going to do? Kill me? Get out!'

When they were alone the old man stared at the younger man for what seemed like an eternity. 'When you were a guest in my house, did you sleep alone?'

'Well . . . that is . . .'

The old man slammed his palm down on the arm of the chair with what seemed like a thunderclap and roared with a voice which made the plaster thankful it was new. 'Don't lie to me, young man! I happen to know for a fact, after the second night under my roof, you did not sleep alone. Some nights you would start with one and finish with another.'

'Sir, they came willingly.'

'That is not the point!'

'And the point is?' Estil asked.

The count almost seemed to crumble. 'My wife is expecting.'

'Congrat . . . and you think it's . . . but she would never . . . if you were home she slept with you and when you weren't home, a maid slept in your bed with her.'

'Except for the night of the party,' the count said in a quiet voice. 'I danced like a man half my age and drank like a man half that. I fell asleep and slept the sleep of the damned. My wife was there when I went to bed and when I woke up. I have no idea where she was in between. You had guests in the night. Did you sleep with my wife?'

'Have you asked her?'

'No. I have not and I will not. She would say she did not, whether she did or not. Did!' Slam. 'You!' Slam. 'Sleep!' Slam. 'With my wife?'

Estil grew very calm. He was quite sure the count would detect any lie, no matter how slight, so he knew he had to absolutely believe what he said next. His father once told him, 'Son, whether it is right or whether it is wrong does not matter as long as you believed what you are saying is true. It does not have to be true; you just have to believe it is. Just remember, the human capacity to believe the unbelievable is almost bottomless.'

It was time to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as it needed to be under the current circumstances. Estil made hard eye contact with the count and solemnly said, 'I did n-'

Estil stopped in mid-word. He found himself looking down the bore of a new, expensive, beautifully crafted, petite, break action, single shot pistol which could chamber either a .45 or a .410 shell.

Estil found himself thinking, Can't I get anything right? He's the jealous husband of a young wife but I'm the one who's supposed to be sixty-five.

As he watched, the count slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

'It can't be mine. I can't have kids. It's true. When I was a child I got sick and my balls swelled up to the size of your fist. I'm infertile,' Estil shouted.

The count hesitated.

'It's true. It can't be mine. It's possible I slept with your wife. I don't know that I did. But I don't know that I didn't, either. Whether I did or I didn't doesn't matter. The child is not mine!'

The old man eased off of the trigger. He looked at Estil with a penetrating glare that could teach ice a thing or two about being cold. 'I want to believe you. If it is not yours, then it is mine, as unlikely as that seems. I must have managed while I was drunk and I do not clearly remember. I thought it was a dream.

'I want to believe you.' The gun wavered. 'I think I do. But I will always have my doubts. Let us say I do believe you. Still, I never want to lay eyes on you again. I will attend no party you are advising. And, while the gentleman's club is still a good idea, you will have nothing to do with it!

'Attend me,' the count called out.

The door opened and the men who had been waiting outside came into the room.

'Throw this vagabond into the street!'

As they grabbed Estil, the old man said, 'I don't care what did or didn't happen. If I ever lay eyes on you again, you're a dead man.'

****

Before the police were finished asking questions at the dance class, Estil was back for his overcoat.

'No it wasn't a kidnapping. It was just a misunderstanding.'

Victor would be several days recovering his wits. When he was finally clearheaded, Estil was long gone. When he knew who was suspected of the kidnapping and assault, he did not press charges. Doing so would not