Masks and Shadows (11 page)

“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.

“Yes, signor?” The kapellmeister walked to the edge of the stage, still holding a sheaf of music. “Was there a problem in the balance?”

“Not at all. But I have found your replacement soprano.”

Anna gasped. Charlotte stared. Only Herr Haydn did not appear surprised.

“So, little Anna is the one you heard yesterday, eh? Well, well.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Come up here, child.”

“May I, Baroness?”

“I suppose . . .” Charlotte shrugged, bewildered, and watched Morelli escort Anna up onto the stage.

The other singers whispered among themselves, watching Anna with blatant curiosity.

“Do you enjoy singing, child?” the kapellmeister asked, once Anna stood before him.

“More . . . more than anything, sir.”

“Signor Morelli has told me he heard a marvelously strong soprano voice singing yesterday afternoon in the palace. Was that you?”

“I . . . yes, sir.”

“It was,” Morelli confirmed, standing behind her. “Strong and clear, though untrained.”

“With such a recommendation, and in our current circumstances, you appear before us as a veritable gift from Heaven, my dear. A gift, I hope, for both of us. How would you like to train your voice and learn to be a professional singer?” He looked across to Charlotte, who still sat, now alone, in the audience. “With the Baroness's permission, of course.”

“I . . .” Charlotte took a breath and looked up at Anna's shining, awe-struck face.

“I'm certain Prince Nikolaus would be happy to supply a replacement maid, in exchange for the addition to his opera company,” said Signor Morelli.

Charlotte tightened her lips. “Thank you, signor, I am persuaded that you are correct. However, that was not what worried me.” She stood and swept up the stairs to the stage, ignoring the interested gazes of the assembled company as she fixed her eyes on Anna's face. “Anna, what do
you
want? Truly?” She added, in a fierce whisper, “I do not wish you constrained by contract in a palace that you hate!”

She fancied that she felt Morelli's disapproving gaze on her.
Let him disapprove
. Two actors had died, trying to escape their contracts, only last night. She would not have Anna follow them.

Herr Haydn frowned. “We could perhaps wait upon the contract until after this performance, with the Prince's permission, and call it a trial for all of us.”

“And afterward?”

“If all went well . . .” He shrugged. “His Highness would not be pleased for a singer trained here to go directly to the palace of one of his rivals in power and prestige. Thus, he might well offer a very tempting salary for her to remain.”

Charlotte kept her eyes on her maid. “Anna? It is your decision to make.”

Anna bit her lip. Her gaze moved from Charlotte to Herr Haydn and Signor Morelli. “Please, Baroness. I do thank you, but—to be a singer! For my living!”

“Very well.” Charlotte smiled as well as she could, despite the increasing tightness in her chest. “I wish you the very best,” she said. “And remember, you will always have my protection, whenever you should need it.”

“Now then, young Anna.” Herr Haydn took Anna's arm and drew her away. “Let me introduce you to the rest of our little company.”

Charlotte retreated down the steps to the audience, holding her head high, even as pain knotted its way through her.

Anna had been the last link to her old life, and now she was left unrooted. That night, a stranger would undress her and remove the pins and ribbons from her hair. There would be no familiar smile or friendly presence in the room when she woke the next morning.

But how could she not be pleased by such a miraculous turn of events? Here was a one in a thousand chance indeed for a girl from Anna's background to raise herself. Why, if Anna was successful, what great fortunes might not await her? And oh, what glorious music would surround her . . .

Confess it now and be done with it
, Charlotte thought wearily.
You are envious of your own maid. And what does that say of yourself, Frau Baroness?

She sank back into her seat and clasped her hands together loosely on her lap, fighting the urge toward an unladylike slump. She felt drained of enthusiasm. Rest and solitude, those were all she wanted now . . . but for Anna's sake, as well as her own pride, she should stay a little longer yet.

“Baroness?” Signor Morelli stood looking down at her with an unreadable expression. “That was well done of you.”

Charlotte sighed, too tired to search for any hidden bite in his words. “My sister tells me there are at least one thousand servants in Eszterháza. I could hardly begrudge Anna her opportunity, merely for my own personal whim.”

“No,” he said, “but many would.” He paused. “I shall probably sing for the company tomorrow evening. Would you be ready to accompany me on such short notice?”

Charlotte felt a spark of life reignite in her chest, responding to the test behind his words.
A challenge
. She met his measuring gaze. “Of course,” she said coolly. “If you'll send the keyboard parts to my chambers, I'll begin practicing the music this afternoon after dinner.”

“Excellent. The cues are marked clearly in the parts. If you wish to simplify the accompaniment, for your ease—”

“That won't be necessary.” Charlotte set her teeth together with a snap.

“I'm pleased to hear it.” His half-bow was interrupted by the sound of a door opening behind Charlotte and then loudly crashing closed. “Sir?” Morelli asked quellingly, as a young officer sauntered past them.

The officer stopped, and seemed to notice them for the first time. “Oh! Beg pardon for interrupting. I was hoping to watch the opera rehearsal. I expect I'm probably late.” He smiled nervously and smoothed down his unpowdered blond hair in its queue. Belatedly, he bowed to Charlotte. “At your service, madam. Lieutenant Friedrich von Höllner, of His Highness's Grenadier Guards.”

Charlotte blinked. For a moment, she couldn't speak.

“Madam?” Lieutenant von Höllner remained fixed in mid-bow, his smile wavering.

“Pardon me, lieutenant.” Charlotte forced a smile, aware of Morelli's watchful gaze. “I am the Baroness von Steinbeck, and I believe that you must be my brother-in-law.”

He blinked. His fair skin flushed. “You don't mean . . . you're not Sophie's . . .”

“Sophie's older sister.” Charlotte hesitated, searching for words. “I was most sorry not to be able to attend your wedding, lieutenant. I'm afraid my husband's health . . .”

“Not at all,” he mumbled. “Actually, I think I remember Sophie saying something about that . . .”

At any moment, he would start backing away from her. Charlotte fought down a hysterical giggle. He was eyeing her like a dangerous snake. What on earth had Sophie told him of her? Or—did he fear she would tattle to Sophie of some imagined slight?

“I should not intrude upon this family reunion,” Signor Morelli murmured. “If you'll excuse me, Baroness . . .”

The door opened again behind them. “Aha!” Sophie sailed into the room, beaming. “So there you are at last, Lotte! I've been looking everywhere for—”