Masks and Shadows Page 7

  Friedrich scrambled forward, chasing down the paper as the breeze tossed it further and further away from the path. When he finally caught it, it was damp from the rain-soaked grass.

  “You may read it at your leisure.” There was a damnable hint of laughter in the other man’s voice. “But I would advise destroying it, and quickly. Not an amusing discovery for any of your military comrades to make.”

  Friedrich couldn’t make out any of the words in the dark when he pulled the paper open. But his sinking gut already knew what his decision had to be.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take an interest in the Prince’s opera company, for a start.”

  “What?” Friedrich snorted, caught off guard. “I hate opera. Anyway, I’d never be allowed at the performances. Sophie—”

  “Not the performances, Brother Friedrich. The company itself. I’ll expect you to start attending daily rehearsals.”

  “But—”

  “Introduce yourself to the actors. Pretend an interest in one of the actresses, if you like.” The figure shrugged. “However you do it, make certain that all of them know who you are and grow accustomed to your presence.”

  “And?” Friedrich said. “What then?”

  “That, you do not yet need to know.” The figure turned. “Good night, Brother Friedrich. You will hear from me again.”

  He moved away, merging into the darkness. But at the final moment, Friedrich mustered up his courage.

  “Wait!” he called. “Wait. You have to tell me . . . Those singers who were killed tonight—was that you?”

  “I?” The figure stilled. “Why, I was here at the palace. I never touched them.”

  “But was your bloody fellowship behind it? Damn you!” Friedrich balled his shaking hands into fists, crumpling the devil’s contract. “Did you do it to frighten me? I need to know!”

  The figure regarded him for a long moment, before it broke into dry, discomfiting laughter.

  “That, I’m afraid, I am not going to tell you, Brother Friedrich. You’ll have to learn to live with the uncertainty.”

  Still laughing softly, he turned and faded into the shadows.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and a headache tugging at her brows. She lay with her eyes closed, fighting against the pull of the sun.

  She’d spent half the night trapped in nightmares, galloping through pounding rain to escape a terrifying danger close behind. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all.

  “Anna?” Charlotte’s voice came out as a rasp. She heard her maid’s soft movements whisper to a halt, across the room. “Why have you opened the curtains?”

  “Your pardon, Baroness.” Charlotte pulled her eyes open in time to see her maid drop a quick curtsey. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock, and your sister usually arrives at twelve. I thought you might want time to prepare.”

  “Sophie . . .” Charlotte pulled herself up onto her elbows, grimacing. “You were quite right, Anna. Thank you.” She took a deep breath to clear out her sleep-fogged brain, then shrugged on the lace-trimmed manteau de lit that Anna held out for her. “I could do with a hot chocolate, if you’ve brought any today.”

  As the hot, creamy mixture sank down her throat, Charlotte gazed out the window and fought the urge to pull the covers back up over her head. She could already imagine every word that would be uttered in the course of her sister’s visit—Sophie’s delighted horror in the gruesome news and her determination to shock Charlotte even further.

  She couldn’t bear it. Not after last night and the horrors of her dreams. They had felt so miserably real, down to the cold rain that had drenched her windswept hair. She had to touch her hair, dry and stiffly set beneath its protective netting, to remind herself that the attack had not, after all, happened to her. But it had, to two other people not very far away, and they must have been at least as terrified.

  She couldn’t lie here in this beautiful room, in this fairy tale palace, and listen to gleeful gossip about a horrific double murder.

  Charlotte swung her legs out of bed and abandoned her breakfast. “Anna? I’ll get fully dressed now, if you please.”

  “Madam?” Anna looked up from Charlotte’s dressing table, where she had been laying out Charlotte’s negligée du matin for receiving visitors. “But Frau von Höllner—”

  “I’m afraid she’ll simply have to miss me. I’m going to—to—” Charlotte searched for inspiration. “I’m going to pay a call on Herr Haydn.” Yes. She wouldn’t follow Sophie’s advice and summon him like a recalcitrant errand boy; no, she’d treat him with the respect his genius deserved. She’d tell him—

  “I believe he’s in rehearsal now, madam.”

  “Oh. Well, rehearsals are open to the public, are they not?” Open, at least, to the Prince’s circle.

  “Yes, madam.”

  Anna hurried to bring layers of undergarments and a black silk sack-back gown enlivened by new lavender ribbons—Sophie’s gift upon the turn of the third month of Charlotte’s widowhood. Charlotte’s lips twitched as she looked down at the ribbons. At last, a flash of color. She would have to try to measure up to it.

  Her maid’s face looked pale and tired as she arranged the padded panniers around Charlotte’s hips. More than tired . . . worried. Afraid?

  As Charlotte raised her arms for the stays to be laced around her waist, she asked, “Is something the matter, Anna?”

  “No, Baroness.” Anna ducked her head over the fastenings.

  “Are you certain?” Charlotte frowned down at her. The girl was very young. Could it be simple homesickness? “How are you settling in here with the other servants? Are they treating you well?”

  “Oh . . .” Anna shrugged, still not looking up.

  “If they aren’t, only tell me and I’ll take care of it. I’m sure my sister would have a word with the steward to set it right.”

  “Nothing needs to be done, madam.” Anna straightened and smiled unconvincingly. “I’m truly fine.”

  “Hmm.” Charlotte watched Anna gather up the pins and fresh powder to tidy her hair. She could swear the girl was blinking back tears. But how could she force a confidence? “If anything unpleasant did ever happen to you, I would wish you to tell me. The way you are treated is a reflection on my honor, you know.”

  “Yes, madam.” Anna moved behind Charlotte to apply powder to her hair. The maid’s voice came out muffled from the pins in her mouth. “I only . . . I don’t like this palace.”

  “Don’t you?” Only long training kept Charlotte from craning her neck back in surprise. “I thought you loved it, when we arrived. Don’t you still find it beautiful?”

  Only silence met her question.

  Charlotte sighed. “Well, we won’t stay here forever. Probably only a year.”

  Once Charlotte’s hair was freshly powdered, her boned stomacher firmly in place, and her petticoats and overskirt arranged over all her padding until they billowed out around her on each side, Anna finally spoke again, aiming her words at the floor.

  “What shall I tell Frau von Höllner when she arrives, madam?”

  “Tell her . . .” Looking at the girl’s red-eyed misery, Charlotte had a flash of inspiration. “I know! We shan’t tell her anything at all. Anna, how would you like to come along with me to listen to Herr Haydn’s rehearsal?”

  “Really?” Anna’s face lit up. “But—”

  “Why not? There are some great ladies who go nowhere without their maids.” Charlotte thought of the Princess, and her smile twisted. “Do come, Anna. I know how much you love music. You can forget about your other duties for a while. I’m already dressed for dinner anyway.”

  The delight on her maid’s face lifted Charlotte’s spirits for the first time that morning.

  Hurrying down the corridor away from Sophie’s chambers felt like a guilty pleasure. Escape.

  I’ll make up for it later, Charlotte promised herself. Truly.


  But once they stepped outside, there was no room for any sensation but pleasure. Soldiers in bright blue, red, and white uniforms performed their morning changing of the guard on the wide expanse of lawn between the palace and the opera house, accompanied by a band playing one of Herr Haydn’s military airs. Warm sunlight bathed Charlotte’s face and neck, and a light breeze carried the jaunty tune, along with the scent of freshly cut grass. In this blue-skied day, it was hard to believe in any horrors.

  She opened the front door of the opera house—and nearly walked into Signor Morelli.

  “Baroness.” His eyes widened. He sketched a bow, his eyes flickering beyond her to Anna’s nervous face. “An unexpected pleasure.”

  “Signor.” Charlotte curtseyed, keeping her smile with an effort. After a night away, his high, alien voice vibrated through her chest with a disquieting intensity. “Are you here to observe today’s rehearsal?”

  “In a way. And yourself?”

  “I hoped to meet Herr Haydn.”

  “He is much occupied at present, with three of his singers gone and the company in mourning.”

  “Three?” Charlotte kept her voice even, despite the heat in her cheeks. He thought her insensitive to have come today, an arrogant noblewoman who thought of no one’s needs but her own. And was she? She had never paused to wonder whether Herr Haydn would be in a mood for hospitality. “I thought only two singers had been killed.”

  “Two indeed, Baroness. But a third was discovered to have been their accomplice, and he is held in the Eszterháza prisons for a week. Thus, two tenors and a leading soprano, gone.” His shrug was eloquent. He turned away, reaching for the inner door. “Your servant, Baroness.”

  Charlotte felt Anna’s pleading gaze on her back. She lifted her chin. “I’ll accompany you still, signor, to present my condolences to Herr Haydn.”

  He stopped. “Madam, your concern does you much credit, but I hardly think—”

  The door swung open.

  “Ha!” The kapellmeister grinned infectiously as he looked from one to the other. “Signor, I hoped I’d recognized your ringing tones. Madam . . .” He bowed beautifully.

  “Herr Haydn.” Charlotte sank into a deep, respectful curtsey. She heard Anna’s skirts rustling behind her. “I am honored, sir.”

  Signor Morelli began, “May I present the Baroness—”

  “—Von Steinbeck, yes, I know, my dear sir.” Herr Haydn lifted Charlotte’s hands to his lips. “I’m entirely charmed to meet you, Baroness.”

  “But . . .” She rose, smiling hesitantly. “However did you know my name?”

  “I should like to say that I know everyone in this palace, dear lady, but in truth . . .” His eyes twinkled as he looked past her. “I must confess, I knew you through your maid.”

  “Anna?” Charlotte turned to find Anna pink-cheeked, with a secret smile playing about her lips. “You never mentioned that you had met Herr Haydn.”

  “I did mean to tell you, Baroness, but—”

  “A mere passing acquaintance,” the kapellmeister said, “but a charming one indeed.” He smiled at Charlotte. “And what brings you here today, Baroness?”

  Charlotte felt Morelli’s eyes on her. “I confess, sir, I had not considered your unhappy circumstances. I came in hopes of meeting you, and of hearing more of your glorious music. But Signor Morelli has already informed that today was ill-chosen for a visit, so—”

  “Nonsense! Our illustrious friend was only trying to cosset me. I can assure you, signor, that my nerves are quite as tough as rock, and not nearly so liable to shatter. Come in, do. And signor, do not you lag behind!”

  He ushered them onto the wooden stage. A group of singers filled the center, engaged in heated discussion, while orchestral musicians sat before the raised stage on long benches, tuning their instruments. Charlotte hesitated at the edge of the stage, and the kapellmeister pointed into the audience.

  “There, madam, you may take your pick of seat. I’m afraid we may be embroiled in a rather tedious conversation for some little while, but with such a guest, I’m sure His Highness would wish me to order up refreshments—and afterward, I promise you more music. The first rehearsal of scenes from my new opera!”

  “Really!” Charlotte traded a speaking look with her maid and chose a seat in the center of the auditorium. Anna arranged Charlotte’s full skirts carefully around her chair and then sat down behind her, fairly vibrating with excitement.

  There, Charlotte thought, and aimed the thought at the back of Signor Morelli’s head. This opportunity had been well worth suffering a bit of condescension and nerves—and oh, so infinitely preferable to an hour of prickling gossip!

  Onstage, the kapellmeister, Morelli, and the singers were talking animatedly but too quietly for Charlotte to make out from her seat. Instead, she concentrated on the wisps of fragmented tunes played by the various instrumentalists, who seemed to be reading new music from their stands. It was as impossible as it was irresistible to try to imagine how all the varied fragments could possibly be linked together into a unified whole. Caught up in the competing strands of music, Charlotte could have sat happily for hours. She hadn’t even noticed Signor Morelli leave the stage until he took the seat beside her.

  “Baroness.” He nodded. “You’re not finding this long wait too tedious?”

  “Hardly.” She blinked at him. “How could I, in such an ambience?”

  “An excellent question.”

  He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. The dark blue satin of his breeches contrasted with the shining white of the silk stockings that enclosed his muscled calves. Charlotte blinked and quickly averted her gaze. For all that his face and voice were so disconcertingly effeminate, the rest of him . . .

  No. She cut off the thoroughly inappropriate chain of thoughts with a blink, more startled than guilty. She hadn’t even had such thoughts to quash for years—not since the very beginning of her marriage. Why were they returning now?

  It was the incongruity of him that tugged at her, compelling her attention. That was all.

  When she looked up, she found the castrato watching her quizzically.

  “Is this the first rehearsal you’ve ever attended, madam?”

  “It is,” she admitted.

  For a man who could look so cold and forbidding, he positively radiated heat. Charlotte imagined that she could feel it tingling even through the foot of space that separated the arms of their chairs. Perhaps it arose from the intensity of his focus. Even as he spoke casually to her, she could see his eyes darting around the stage and his brow furrowed with concentration.

  She wished, suddenly, that she could hear him sing. Such intensity, physically leashed . . .

  She fixed her eyes on the stage and took a deep breath to dispel the discomfiting mixture of sensations in her chest. There was discomfort there, truly, but also something . . . something she could not quite name.

  “What will they do about the missing singers?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “We shall see. The head of the company has written to singers across the empire, inviting them to take over the abandoned positions—but in high summer most competent singers have posts of their own, and Herr Haydn doubts they’ll find three on such short notice. This opera is planned for the second day of the Archduke’s visit, only nine days from today, so the matter is in a fair way to become a crisis.”

  “Of course.” She sighed. The royal visit. Prince Nikolaus had reminded the assembled company nearly ten times yesterday of the great honor that awaited them, and Sophie was full of plans for new festivities. Charlotte could not muster an equal enthusiasm. Her own plan for a quiet retreat here had surely been ill-conceived. “I wish them luck.”

  At a word from Herr Haydn, the instruments fell silent. Charlotte leaned forward in her seat as the actors spread out across the stage. A footman approached her, murmuring something, but she waved him away. Not now.

  The music began.

  Waves, sweeping up onto a
rocky beach; a storm thundering overhead; afterward, the return of birds, chattering their relief in the fresh sunlight. All these Charlotte could hear, as plainly as she also knew them to be merely violins, percussion, and flutes, playing before her. And then the singing began.

  Behind her, she heard Anna begin to sing along softly, following the lines of the duet. It should have been a trio—Charlotte could hear the moments of absence in the music, waiting to be filled—but still, the voices and the orchestra melted together into beauty.

  Anna’s voice followed along, mirroring the soprano. Charlotte glanced back and saw her maid so enraptured she seemed barely aware of the lovely sounds coming out of her own mouth. Charlotte turned back to the stage, hiding a smile. Anna’s voice had always been a delight to her back in Saxony, caroling freely throughout the house whenever the girl forgot to control it—and hearing it now was like the promise of sunshine, signaling the happy return of Anna’s usual good temper.

  Charlotte would not disturb her maid’s enjoyment, unless Signor Morelli—

  Even as she thought it, he swiveled around to stare at Anna. Anna blinked and snapped her mouth shut.

  “Was that you, singing?” he demanded.

  Anna’s face reddened, her shoulders hunching together.

  “Your pardon, signor, but she meant no disrespect.” Charlotte leaned between them, aiming a reassuring smile at her maid. “It did no harm, after all. I’m certain they couldn’t hear her from the stage.”

  “That wasn’t my concern.” He narrowed his eyes. “Fräulein—Anna, is that your name? Were you singing in the palace yesterday afternoon?”

  “Signor—”

  His upheld hand cut Charlotte off. “Well?”

  Anna’s lips trembled. “Yes, signor,” she whispered. “I’m truly sorry. I thought everyone was still at dinner, else I’d never have—”

  “Herr Haydn!” Morelli leapt to his feet and waved for the kapellmeister’s attention.

  The music cut off abruptly. Musicians and singers alike turned to stare at the audience.