Stiffly, Aurélie said, “Father, may I present to you Herr von Sternburg. Late of Paris.”
“It’s Lieutenant von Sternburg now,” he said apologetically, as if his uniform didn’t say it loud enough, his uniform and the soldiers at his back, bumping and jostling one another as they ogled the keep and speculated on their prospects for plunder. “I beg pardon for the manner of our meeting, Monsieur le Comte. I have long desired to have the honor of your acquaintance—although I should have wished that it might occur under other circumstances than these.”
“These are circumstances of your making,” said Aurélie hotly. “If you don’t like them, change them. Take those soldiers back again and go infest someone else’s castle.”
He ducked his head. “Believe me when I say I wish I had that power. It is my regrettable duty to inform you . . . no, to request of you . . . that is, I have come on behalf of . . .”
“Lieutenant!”
Lieutenant von Sternburg froze to attention. The guards fell away as another man approached. He was no more than medium height, but he made up for it with the volume of his voice, the swagger of his step.
“Sir,” said Von Sternburg. All the light had gone from his eyes. He was like a statue, a very Prussian statue, all nose and chin.
The commanding officer’s eyes slid slyly over Aurélie and her father, taking in her father’s Scottish tweeds, her stained old dress and priceless pearl earrings. In clumsy but serviceable French, he demanded, “What are you doing standing here jabbering with an old man and a girl?” The word he used wasn’t quite girl. It was a term more familiar on the docks than in the drawing room. “I want my bags brought up to the largest room. If there is a presentable room in this ruin.”
“The wench,” said Aurélie’s father, his voice like a lash, “is the Demoiselle of Courcelles. And the old man is the owner of this ruin. Which has stood since the fourteenth century. Unconquered.”
The newcomer’s lip curled. He addressed himself deliberately, insultingly, to Von Sternburg. “I could blow that wall down with a sneeze. Tell the old man to move aside. I have work to do.”
“Sir.” Von Sternburg leaned close to his commanding officer’s ear, speaking in German. “Major Hoffmeister, this is the Graf von Courcelles. His family has held these lands since Charlemagne.”
“Am I meant to be impressed?” snapped the major. He spoke directly to Aurélie’s father for the first time, sticking his chin up like a weapon. “You do not seem to understand the situation, Monsieur de Courcelles. Pardon me. Monsieur le Comte. This castle has been requisitioned. Everything within and without these walls is now at the disposal of the imperial German army to do with as I please.”
“We shall provide you with receipts for anything taken, of course,” Lieutenant von Sternburg hastened to assure them. “You shall be made whole. When they are processed, that is.”
“Processed,” repeated Aurélie’s father with heavy sarcasm. “At least the man who last picked my pocket in Paris was an honest thief; he never pretended he meant to repay me.”
“Enough of this,” said the major. “Lieutenant, see the best room prepared for me—and one for yourself, of course. Dreier and Kraus will be billeted here, the rest of the men in the village. The peasants can see them settled. I want the mayors of all the villages in the district summoned here. They are to attend me at supper. I shall receive them . . .” His gaze took in the castle yard, the Italianate facade of the new wing, the bulk of the great keep. His eyes narrowed on the giant tower. He gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. “There. I shall receive them there. I want everything in place by seven. See to it, Von Sternburg.”
Turning on his heel, he walked away, taking it as a given that his demands would be obeyed, leaving the Comte de Courcelles fuming behind him.
Aurélie vented her ire on Lieutenant von Sternburg. “Are we to be your innkeepers or your captives?”
“Would it be easier to think of yourselves as our hosts?”
“The same way we’re meant to make a loan of our property? As if we had any choice in the matter!”
“Mademoiselle de Courcelles . . .”
“Why? Why did you have to come here? Why couldn’t you have gone to . . . to the castle at Le Catelet? Surely that would be more convenient for you? Why infest us here?”
“There were reasons.” Von Sternburg looked away. “Why aren’t you in Paris? I had thought you were meant to be in Paris.”