“I think you owe me this dance, Miss.” Minnie didn’t fight much as he led her to the dance floor, a waltz just beginning.
“It appears your friend has an admirer,” Sigmund said as he walked up beside her offering his arm.
She took it but kept a firm grip on her cane with her left hand. “She doesn’t seem too concerned that I’m not out looking for Missy. I feel bad that we haven’t found her yet.”
“Miss, you must come to the realization that you may never find her, or that if we do find her, she may not be alive.”
“I know Sigmund, I hoped that by some miracle we might find her. But now I’m not so sure,” barely finishing her sentence, the band stopped playing the waltz and began performing the Russian National Anthem.
Helena turned to face the stairs she had recently descended, advancing only a few paces into the ballroom. What she saw at the top of the stairs was probably the most exotic looking pair she had ever seen. The Count’s clothing fashioned as much a uniform as a tuxedo, two rows of gold buttons reflecting the subdued lighting. A purple sash that ran across his jacket covering his broad chest loaded with metals, Helena didn’t understand their significance, but they looked impressive. The Count had to be six-foot-two or taller. The woman on the man’s arm was nearly his height, both wore masks, but she could tell from her bare arms that her flesh looked as if it had never been touched by the sun.
Men bowed, and women curtsied as the Count and Countess walked by. Most bowed silently as the royalty passed. The Count walked right towards Helena. She knew the Count paraded her way unswervingly, for a moment she thought their eyes met, her heart raced. Why would this nobleman pick her out from San Francisco’s elite?
Her body froze in anticipation as he approached and their eyes locked, his eyes golden like a cat’s, a predator. Then her body seized in horror as the Count and his sister passed her by. Her green eyes darted side to side catching everyone around had bowed down to the royals, except her escort, Sigmund standing behind her. At that moment she became too mortified to do anything but stand thinking. Stupid little girl, you are such a child. Her cheeks crimson, if not covered by her mask, would betray her inner and outward shame, while matching her dress perfectly.
Those around her started to stand as the royal couple ascended the stairs to the stage to be welcomed by the Mayor and the Governor of California.
“Sigmund, did you bring any of that brandy? I could sure use some now,” Helena whispered.
“You are doing fine. Remember, we don’t recognize royalty in this country, you don’t need to follow the herd to be correct in your decisions,” Sigmund assured her.
Helena did her best to blend back into the crowd milling about. Sure, she had made a total fool of herself; she even ducked from Lane when he saw him having an in-depth conversation with an elegant older woman, assuredly above Lane’s more common social standing.
The dancing continued, but she had lost all interest in the party and the royals. Everyone at the party seemed so fake, so superficial, she felt if they busted any of the revelers open they would be hollow shells.
She was considering asking Sigmund to leave when a man walked up to her. Ready to be asked to dance, she anticipated the man’s words, a surprise hit her when he spoke.
“My lord the Count wishes to speak with you on the terrace,” the man said, his Russian accent flowing through his English.
Without looking back to Sigmund, Helena found her voice quick to answer, “Of course! I would love to meet the Count.”
The messenger led Helena and Sigmund out the French doors to the right of the bandstand. Reaching the threshold and gazing outside, Helena saw the moon playing hide and seek behind the buttermilk clouds. Oil lanterns providing illumination on the ocean-side of the building. There, less than twenty paces away, stood the Count, alone, at the rail overlooking Seal Rock. She stepped towards him and was directly stopped by two guards with rifles and bayonets.
“Let her pass,” the voice drifted towards her, as if propelled by the wind, smooth as warm honey it drew her to him. The guards removed their bayonet barrier from her path but lowered it again, keeping Sigmund from joining her.
Helena glided to the rail placing her hands on it she gazed at the dark abyss hundreds of feet to the crashing waves below.
“You wanted to see me?” Helena stammered the words out, this wasn’t going at all as she had planned. Her words just felt jumbled.
“Yes, I grew curious as to who might be so bold to stand when everyone else bowed when I entered. Then I was informed it was no less than Helena Brandywine. The name sounded familiar, so I wanted to speak with you to see if our paths had crossed before.”
Helena considered the Count’s hand resting on the rail next to her, she couldn’t help but notice his hand showed so pale against his black sleeve under the veiled moonlight. Before she answered, the Count continued.
“I was glad to see someone with courage at this soiree with so many sheep in attendance. It is good to find people of character still exist. I was beginning to think this trip to America was going to be passé,” The Count had a discernible accent, but he ended his sentences like Sigmund did.
“I think you give me too much credit, I was just so surprised. I forgot what I was doing.”
“You should know, that which does not kill us makes us stronger?”
“That is a brutal thought.”
“Is from a philosopher named Frederick Nietzsche, you should read his books. He has an amazing insight
