Masks and Shadows Page 10

  “I’m afraid Madame Delacroix and Herr Antonicek will not be returning to us. They were”—the kapellmeister paused—“set upon by brigands, three nights hence.”

  Madame Zelinowsky tsk’d softly. “Brigands, Herr Kapellmeister? The evidence—”

  “—Is inconclusive, dear lady, as we know. Regardless, it is a melancholy loss to all of us.” Herr Haydn turned back to Pichler’s rigid figure. “I am so sorry, Herr Pichler, to spring such distressing news upon you. Still, you see now how welcome your return truly is. You have been promoted to first tenor, and Frau Kettner to leading lady.”

  “And the other parts?” Pichler’s voice sounded hoarse.

  “Herr Hofner shall double as second tenor along with his usual roles, for the moment. As for a second soprano . . .” He gestured. “Anna, my dear? Let me introduce you to Franz Pichler, a most highly valued member of our company. Herr Pichler, may I present Fräulein Dommayer? Discovering her lovely voice was a most fortunate stroke of luck for all of us.”

  Anna smiled uncomfortably and bobbed a curtsey, ducking her head. One of the other women snickered. Were actresses not meant to curtsey? Herr Pichler’s eyes were clear and cold, lost in his own inner thoughts. His nod to her was the slightest fraction of a movement.

  “Now, then.” The kapellmeister drew in the assembled company with his smile. “Everyone still has their parts from Saturday, yes? My new opera proceeds apace, but in the meantime, His Highness has requested a special performance tomorrow of an old comedy favorite, to lighten the mood of his guests. Of course, most of you already know this little piece by Signor Piccini . . .”

  He began to pass out parts, chatting casually with each singer as he assigned the roles. Anna’s chest tightened as he walked closer. She wanted to turn and run. Her feet had turned into lead.

  “And our little Anna! You, my dear, shall play Carolina, the romantic younger sister. The role should be perfect for your voice, so . . .” He stopped, the music still held in midair between them. “My dear, this music is for you. Why don’t you take it?”

  Anna half-whispered her words. “I cannot read it, sir.”

  “Cannot read—” He caught himself in mid-sentence and lowered his voice. “Cannot read music?” he finished in a murmur.

  Too late, Anna thought. Now every eye was fixed avidly upon her.

  “I can read and write German,” she said stiffly. “The Baroness taught me years ago. But I never learned to read musical notes.”

  “No? No, of course not. I should have considered.” The kapellmeister chewed at his bottom lip. “It is a problem, there is no doubt of that.”

  Anna lowered her gaze. Whispers filled her ears, along with the sounds of stifled laughter. The skirt of her dress—her new apple-green and red dress, issued yesterday from the housekeeping office to mark her change in status—seemed as distant as the moon from her blurring vision. “Shall I leave?”

  “What?”

  “I said, shall I leave, sir?” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I can tell the Baroness that you don’t require my services after all.”

  “My dear girl, don’t be absurd!” The kapellmeister gave a hearty laugh that rang only slightly false. “We certainly won’t let that one little hiccup prevent us from making use of you. No, no, no. For now . . . for now, we’ll simply have to make do. You can learn music by ear, that’s clear enough. So before each of your pieces, I’ll play you the tune, and you may sing it after me until you know it.”

  In front of everyone? Anna thought. But she only nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak, under so many derisive stares.

  “This afternoon, and every afternoon, I’ll give you an hour or two of tutoring. In the meantime—Herr Pichler?”

  The actor started, interrupted from some private reverie. “Sir?”

  “How fares your back, my boy? I daresay you could do with sitting down, eh?”

  Herr Pichler’s cheeks reddened. “Aye, sir. But it will not prevent me singing.”

  “No, no, of course not. But could we prevail upon you to give Fräulein Dommayer a bit of musical assistance? She is in desperate need of a quick lesson or two in reading written music.”

  “Oh.” The young man’s eyes flickered with momentary curiosity as he glanced at Anna. “I suppose so, sir.”

  “Excellent. Then why don’t you and she go sit together back-stage. You’ll find paper and pens over there . . .” Herr Haydn waved vaguely and smiled as he turned away. “I’ll call you in when your voices are needed.”

  Anna curtseyed to Herr Haydn and walked backstage, face burning. As the door fell closed behind her, she heard laughter burst out from the entire company.

  Herr Haydn’s voice rose in entreaty and command to silence them. Anna tightened her hands into fists. She would not run away, nor weep in front of them. She would not disgrace herself or the Baroness’s faith in her.

  Herr Pichler walked through the door after her, holding a sheaf of manuscript paper, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink. His gaze was shuttered and impossible to read as he pulled out a chair from the wall and sat down.

  Anna set out her own chair and folded her hands on her lap. She looked at him expectantly.

  Through the thin wall, she heard a soprano and a bass voice begin to sing, imitating each other’s parts comically. She needed no understanding of Italian to know that they were trading insults.

  Herr Pichler cleared his throat. “What the kapellmeister told me . . . about Herr Antonicek and Madame Delacroix . . .”

  Anna blinked. “Yes?”

  He sat forward but did not meet her eyes. “Why did Madame Zelinowsky disagree with him? Why did she say it had not been brigands?”

  Anna saw again the scattering of bloodstains on the wooden floor.

  “Old Ordog tears his victims into twenty pieces, and then . . .”

  Her throat tightened as she felt, again, the scream that had built up in her chest. And then the voices behind the door . . .

  “I can’t!”

  “Pardon?” Herr Pichler stared at her.

  Anna swallowed. “I mean . . . I cannot tell you that. Because I don’t know.” She wouldn’t think about such horrors. Couldn’t, else she’d lose the courage she needed to carry her through today and through her new life. She couldn’t have fled Eszterháza anyway, not when the Baroness planned to stay a full year. What was the purpose in tormenting herself needlessly?

  “Forgive me,” she said to Herr Pichler. “Perhaps you should ask Madame Zelinowsky herself what she meant.”

  “Perhaps I shall.” He frowned at her. “Why can’t you read music? Who taught you to sing and neglected that aspect?”

  “No one. I was a lady’s maid until yesterday.” She glared at him. “How did you injure your back?”

  “I was flogged by the Prince’s orders, two days ago.” He glared back at her.

  Through the walls, the duet built to a climax and then closed, with a smattering of laughter and applause. Perhaps we’re next, Anna thought. Her stomach clenched.

  “We might as well begin,” Herr Pichler said, as the applause came to an end. “For all the good that it may do us.”

  They were called in half an hour later. By then, Anna’s head was whirling with incomprehension and panic. She could almost see how the system functioned—almost—but still the black dots refused to sort themselves into melodies before her eyes. She felt sick with frustration as she walked back onto the stage. The other singers dropped back, leaving her alone in the center, underneath the extravagantly frescoed, rounded ceiling. For all the depth of the wooden stage, it felt tiny—and she smaller yet—facing out into the grand auditorium with all its marble pillars, tiers, and galleries.

  A door opened offstage, and an officer of the Prince’s bodyguard sidled in, smiling sheepishly. Anna recognized him from the day before—Frau von Höllner’s husband. She bit her lip in vexation as he settled into a seat in the back of the audience. She did not, not, not want an audience for this first at
tempt!

  “Ah, Anna. Now listen carefully, my dear.” Herr Haydn smiled up at her from his seat at the harpsichord beneath the stage and turned the pages of his score with a flourish. “In this song, your character, Carolina, is telling her older sister all about the romantic stranger she’s glimpsed from her window—without, of course, having any idea that the stranger is in fact her sister’s secret lover! Let us begin.”

  Anna listened as hard as she could, while she felt the others watching her. She held the music in her memory, she sang it back—

  “No, no, no, Anna, no! What you’re singing is gibberish, child—those aren’t even real words!”

  “I don’t speak Italian,” Anna said flatly. She hid her clenched fists in her skirts.

  Behind her, she heard a woman’s clear whisper: “Is anyone surprised by that?”

  “Let us begin again.” The kapellmeister gave a strained smile and played the opening chords. “Listening to the words, this time . . .”

  The next hour-and-a-half was sheer torture. Every infinitesimal sound mattered, according to Herr Haydn—every incomprehensible syllable had to be correct—and the amusement of the other singers grew with every tiny misstep. From Anna’s aria, they moved on to a duet with the leading lady, Frau Kettner, who tittered at every mistake Anna made. Then Madame Zelinowsky joined them for a trio.

  By the end of it all, Anna was drenched in sweat. Her head felt as if it were filled with buzzing insects. So much to remember—so impossibly many syllables to hold straight—and all for tomorrow night’s performance . . .

  “We’ll have Herr Pichler and Frau Kettner together, now,” Herr Haydn said.

  Anna staggered off to the side of the stage, where her legs gave way. She sat down in a heap, uncaring of what the others might think.

  Madame Zelinowsky sat down beside her, smoothing down her own skirts carefully. “You aren’t doing so badly, you know.”

  Anna snorted. She didn’t look up.

  “No, I really am serious. Of course it is clear—it’s very clear indeed—that you’ve never acted before, nor heard Italian spoken. But what of it? We were all beginners, once.”

  “But you can read music,” Anna muttered.

  “Now, yes. And you will, too. You do have a lovely voice.”

  “Thank you.” Anna looked up at the older woman and attempted a smile. “You do, too,” she offered.

  “I? No, dear, I don’t. There are actresses who sing and singers who act. I am very much the former—and you, I suspect, will always be the latter. It matters very little, in terms of success, so long as you do one or the other well. And of course . . .” Madame Zelinowsky smiled slowly and tilted her head toward the audience. “You can advance your own career very easily, with only the most minimal of acting skills.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you hear that boy yesterday, arguing with his wife? ‘Interested in actresses,’ he said.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting him for you, my dear. But you’re young, you’re reasonably pretty, and I’m only offering you a word or two of friendly advice. Should you desire a secure and fortunate future, you might keep an eye out for young noblemen such as him, but with rather more disposable income and influence. Who knows?” Madame Zelinowsky tilted her head closer. “The Archduke is arriving here in just six days, and I hear he won’t be bringing his wife. Should he take a fancy to you . . .”

  Anna’s throat was dry. “I’m only here to sing, madam.”

  “Of course you are, dear. But it’s never a bad idea to have supplementary plans for your career, is it?” Madame Zelinowsky stood up, uncoiling herself. “Ah, I’m not as young as you are. My muscles do ache when I sit too long.”

  “Madame Zelinowsky?” Anna looked up at the other woman’s satisfied smile. “Why did you tell me such things?”

  “Why, I’m only trying to be helpful, dear. We ladies should always help one another succeed, don’t you think?” Her smile widened. “Oh, look. Our little officer has ordered refreshments. Do you think he might offer us some if we ask him nicely?”

  Anna looked out into the audience. Lieutenant von Höllner was eagerly scooping food off a tray carried by a familiar figure. Erzebet. Anna felt her own face light up. At last, someone familiar! Anna caught the maid’s eye, beaming—and Erzebet’s face went blank. She ducked her head down, turned away, and walked stiffly out of the room.

  “Well, dear?” Madame Zelinowsky asked. “Will you join me in charming a few refreshments out of that pretty boy in uniform?”

  “No, thank you,” Anna said, as the door closed behind Erzebet’s rigid back. Tears prickled against her eyelids. She blinked hard to hold them back. Maidservant no longer, true enough . . . but where did she fit now? And what would she become?

  “As you wish.” Madame Zelinowsky shrugged gracefully and descended into the audience.

  Anna looked away, toward the center of the stage, and caught Herr Pichler staring after the other woman with narrow, suspicious eyes. As soon as he realized Anna was watching him, his face cleared into bland uninterest.

  They all have secrets, Anna thought wearily. She closed her eyes and focused on the music of the three songs she’d just learned, trying to push away the image of Erzebet’s face and the expression it had worn as she’d looked at Anna sitting onstage in her new dress.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte was practicing one of Herr Haydn’s keyboard sonatas when a knock sounded on the outer door of her chambers. An unfamiliar maid entered and curtseyed deeply.

  “Her Serene Highness wishes me to ask, Baroness, if you would be so kind as to join her in her apartments for light refreshments.”

  “Her Serene—? Oh.” The Princess. Charlotte’s hands stilled. “Now?”

  “Yes, madam, if it pleases you.”

  How could it? Charlotte thought. To speak lightly with the wife of her sister’s lover—to feel the weight of that pain and cold dignity . . .

  She stood up. “I would be delighted, of course.” What else could she say?

  She followed the maid down the staircase to the first floor and along a long corridor to an ornately gilded door. The maid knocked as she opened it, to the sound of a Clementi keyboard sonata.

  Sunlight filled the room, streaming in through large, arched windows to light up the deep gold of the seat cushions on the circle of chairs in the center of the room and the shining gold inlay that raced in flowering patterns across the white walls. A gilded gold-and-white clock sat on the marble mantelpiece of the fireplace across the room, inset with a reclining, melancholy muse. The light, gallant keyboard music came from behind Charlotte and to her left, but she sank into a deep curtsey without looking for its source.

  “Baroness.” Sitting in a high-backed chair in the center of the room, the Princess looked up from a sheaf of papers and smiled enigmatically. At her nod, the music cut off, and the little dog on her lap hopped off to crawl beneath her chair.

  “Your Highness.”

  “Please do sit.” The Princess set her sheaf of papers down on a little bureau inlaid in twining golden vines. She gestured toward the empty chair across from her. “My maids will bring refreshments.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Charlotte rose, and instinctively looked back to the source of the music. The clavichord itself was elegant but not unusual. But the sight of the clavichord’s player stopped her breath for an instant of shock.

  “Asa and Jean, you may join us.” The Princess nodded at the clavichord, and a small woman slid down from the stool. She stood no higher than Charlotte’s waist. “Baroness von Steinbeck, let me introduce you to Asa”—she nodded to the woman—“and to Monsieur Jean.” A man the same size stepped out from behind the clavichord and bowed to Charlotte. “They are my companions here at Eszterháza, during the long summer months.”

  Charlotte nodded to them as she sat, sinking down into the deep golden cushion of her chair. They scrambled up onto their own chairs wi
th agility, and Charlotte fought to keep her confusion from her face. They were the size of children, no more, yet they looked at her with measuring eyes from fully adult faces. She had never seen their like. And these were the Princess’s sole companions in this palace full of elegant courtiers? The more Charlotte knew of the Princess, the less she understood her.

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Charlotte murmured.

  A maid offered her a miniature cup of dark coffee, and she accepted it gratefully.

  “Asa and Jean both sing, draw, and play the piano beautifully,” the Princess said. “As, I understand, do you. I’ve heard excellent reports of your performance last night.”

  Charlotte’s fingers tightened around her fragile cup. “The excellence resided all in Signor Morelli, Highness, rather than in any efforts of mine. I am a mere amateur.”

  “As are we all, of course. What else were any of us trained to be, from birth?” The Princess regarded her with piercing eyes. “Yet I would wager that your efforts were slightly more than amateur, Baroness. You do not strike me as one who would take any responsibility lightly.”

  Charlotte blinked. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “You need not thank me. I’m well aware of how uncomfortable that trait must prove for you, often enough. It would be far easier for you to follow your younger sister’s path and not allow yourself the trouble of uncomfortable recollections or self-doubts.”

  Charlotte set down her cup. “I am very grateful to my sister, madam.”

  “Indeed. Without her invitation, you would still be—where?”

  “In Saxony, Your Highness. At my late husband’s country estate.”

  “Mm. Sequestered away among the relics. And what age were you when they married you off, Baroness?”

  “Eighteen.” Charlotte traced the gilded rim of the china cup with one finger. Looking at the pattern on the cup meant that she did not have to meet the Princess’s eyes.

  “I was nineteen, myself. I found the idea quite romantic at the time—naïve of me, I know, but then, I was young. I imagined myself most fortunate to have been chosen for a husband near my own age, with all the attractions of handsome looks, power, and brilliance to recommend him. You might not realize it now, Baroness, but in his youth my husband was a strikingly attractive man.”