Sent to the Devil (11 page)

She approached the table and stood next to me. My pulse raced as her hand brushed mine. She reached for the first print and looked at it. “What is—oh! Oh, my!” She turned to von Gerl. “You monster! I should have known!”

My cheeks burned, but von Gerl merely laughed. “Come, let's go down to dinner.” He took Marta's arm and led us back to the first floor, where a large dining salon was tucked behind the art galleries. The walls were covered with faded, flocked gold paper, and velvet draperies of the same color festooned the windows. A small platform for musicians was tucked into the farthermost wall. Otherwise, the room was empty except for a large table, three chairs, and a tall ebony clock with golden trim and a large gilt and steel face.

“That's an astronomical clock,” von Gerl told me. “It used to belong to one of the monasteries here in Vienna.”

Von Gerl held a chair for Marta and motioned me to take the one opposite her. He took a seat at the head of the table and rang a bell. The manservant Teuber entered from a door behind his master and placed plates of fish in a white cream sauce in front of each of us. I found I was famished, and I ate the delicious dish with due speed. Marta picked at the food, occasionally glancing at von Gerl.

“Tell me about your grand tour,” I said to my host. Teuber brought a bottle of wine, opened it, poured us each a glass, and stationed himself behind Marta.

“I started and ended in Italy, where I spent a total of three years,” von Gerl said.

“There were hundreds like you there, miss,” Teuber said in a low voice as he leaned over Marta's shoulder and poured another bit of wine into her glass.

“Where in Italy?” I asked.

“Everywhere. I saw the whole country.”

“Especially the country girls,” Teuber said sotto voce. Two red spots appeared on Marta's cheeks. She raised her glass and sipped the wine.

“Then I went to Germany for a year, after that France. I spent most of my time in France in the capital.”

“Waiting maids, beauties of the city, countesses, he had them all,” Teuber told Marta in a loud whisper. She hissed and turned her head away from him.

“May I have some wine?” I asked him. He nodded and hurried over to me, pouring me a glass. He topped off his master's drink, cleared the plates, and then left the room, returning a moment later with a large platter of carved pheasant. He leered at Marta as she took a portion.

“After France I traveled for a year in the Ottoman Empire,” von Gerl continued. Teuber came around the table and offered me the platter. I took a small piece of the roasted bird.

“Then on to Spain for two years,” von Gerl said.

Teuber served von Gerl, and then hurried back to Marta. I strained to hear his voice as he again leaned over her and refilled her glass. “Over a thousand ladies there—baronesses, princesses, anyone who would have him.” She waved at him to shoo him, but he merely took a step back and stood at attention behind her chair.

“I ended the tour in your home city, Da Ponte,” von Gerl said. “La Serenissima. That's where Marta and I met.”

“Yes, last winter. He likes plump ones like you in wintertime, but in the summer, he likes them slender,” Teuber said in a low voice from behind Marta. Her hands trembled.

“But generally, anyone who wears a skirt,” Teuber said. Marta's fork clattered on her plate. She clamped her hands over her ears.

Von Gerl looked over at his servant. “Stop that, Teuber,” he ordered. “Bring in the dessert.”

Teuber smirked at Marta, piled the soiled dishes on a large tray, and left the room. We sat quietly, sipping our wine. A few minutes later, the manservant returned with a small tray on which sat two glass goblets filled with lemon ice. He placed one in front of Marta and one in front of me, and then whispered in his master's ear. Von Gerl nodded, stood, and placed his napkin on the table.

“I'm afraid I've forgotten that I have an important appointment this afternoon,” he said. “I am so sorry. Please stay and enjoy your dessert.”

“But you promised that we would speak,” Marta sputtered.

“I apologize, my dear. But I cannot stay. Please sit as long as you like. You two should discuss Venice. We will speak soon, I promise.” He turned to me and bowed. “Signore, it was an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you for having me,” I said. “I enjoyed seeing the collections.”

He smiled. “I'll contact you about the library project soon.” He nodded and the two men left us.

Marta took a bite of her ice and put down her spoon. She stared down at her hands.

“Have you lived in Venice your whole life?” I asked her.

She looked up. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“I was just asking if you have lived in Venice for a long time,” I said.

“Yes, I was born there,” she said. She picked up her spoon and took another bite of the dessert.

“I lived there for many years myself,” I said. “But I was born in Ceneda, in the Veneto. Have you heard of it?”

“No, I haven't.”

I squirmed in my seat, stifled a sigh, and transferred my attention to my own dessert. I was relieved when Teuber entered a few minutes later. He swept our half-eaten ices away.

“I haven't finished that,” Marta protested.

“I am sorry, miss, signore,” he said. “You must go now.” He pulled Marta's chair from the table so swiftly that she almost fell to the floor.

“But I must unpack—let go of me, you oaf!” Marta attempted to shrug off Teuber's grasp as he hustled her out of the dining room and down the stairs. I jumped up from my chair and followed them. In the foyer, he handed Marta her cloak, then gave her valise and my satchel to me. “I've taken the liberty of packing your other dress, Miss Cavalli,” he said. He opened the door and pushed us out into the courtyard.

“Wait!” Marta cried.

The door slammed behind us. She pounded on it. “What is he doing? That rogue! Valentin will hear about this!” She banged on the door again, but there was no answer. She gave a cry of frustration.

I knocked loudly on the door and called the manservant's name. “He must have gone to the cellar, or is in the back and cannot hear us,” I said.

Marta looked around the courtyard. “Valentin will be back in a few hours, I am certain. But where can I wait? There is no place to sit out here. I'll have to go back to the church.”

We walked out into the street. “You can't stand around the Freyung the rest of the day,” I said. “Come, where are you staying? I'll take you there.” A hansom cab was letting passengers off a few doors up the street. I signaled to the driver.

“I just arrived today,” Marta said.

“Shall I have the driver recommend a hotel?” I asked. She flushed. I guessed she did not have the money to afford a hotel. Besides, a hotel was no place for a young gentlewoman to stay alone.

“I don't know. I should wait here,” she said.

“Why don't you come with me?” I asked. “My landlady has extra rooms. She is an upstanding widow with a daughter. You'll be perfectly safe there. You could stay there, at least for tonight.”

She thought for a moment. She glanced back into the courtyard of von Gerl's house. “All right. Thank you. I am sorry, I've forgotten your name.”

“Lorenzo. Lorenzo Da Ponte,” I said.

“Thank you, Lorenzo. I'll send a message to Valentin tomorrow.”

I handed her into the cab. Across the plaza, outside the church, the young man I had seen earlier leaned against a pillar, wrapped in his green cloak, looking at us. I gave the driver Marta's valise and the address of my lodgings and climbed into the cab. It rumbled down the Freyung and turned left onto the Tiefer Graben. Marta gazed out the window.

“Have you been in Vienna before?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “It's lovely. I think I will enjoy living here very much.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “The palace is beautiful, don't you think?”

For a moment I was confused, as the cab was taking the back streets around the various markets of the city on its way to the Stuben gate, and there were no noble houses to be seen. Then I realized she was talking about von Gerl's house.

“It needs a woman's touch, don't you agree?” She smoothed her cloak on her lap. “As soon as I settle in, I'll replace that nasty manservant and hire a real staff. I'll have to find someone to advise me on how to decorate. Valentin will know who is the best in the city.”

The cab jolted a bit as it drove over a pit in the road. I sat there, befuddled, as she chatted on about furniture, fabrics, and window decorations. Her face had grown animated and had taken on a subtle beauty. I forced myself to look out the window.

As the cab crossed through the Stuben gate into the suburb, I turned back to Marta. I could not think of a delicate way to phrase my question to her, but I proceeded anyway. “The baron did not seem to be expecting you,” I said.

“I know. That was my fault. I shouldn't have surprised him.” She sighed. “I should have written, but I wasn't sure what his address was, or even whether he had made it back here from his travels yet. When we parted, he had told me he was going home to Vienna. I sold everything I owned to raise money to come.”

“But what if he hadn't been here at all?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I never considered that. I suppose I could have stayed in a convent here in the city, waiting until he arrived.” She unpinned her cap and placed it on her lap. Her silky red-gold hair fell loose around her shoulders. I sat on my hands to resist the urge to reach over and touch it.

“He's just surprised to see me, I think. I'll give him a few days, and then I'll move into the palace.”

“You seem certain that he'll welcome you in,” I said.

She smiled. “Oh, he will. Of course he will.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You see, I'm his wife.”

 

Eight

I slept late the next morning, and woke to find the sun streaming in my window. I stretched my toes to the end of my bed. For the first time in days, I had had a good night's sleep. Today was Sunday, and I planned to go to my office to do a bit of work, and then join the Mozart family for a pleasant afternoon.

I washed and donned my second best suit. I liked to dress up a bit when I visited the Mozarts. Although Wolfgang always teased me about my formal attire at his casual dinners and musical get-togethers, I knew that Constanze was pleased when I arrived in a nice suit. I also had to admit that I was hoping to run into Marta downstairs at breakfast.

As I left my room, my foot kicked a small object on the floor of the hallway. I looked down to see another message, with my name hastily scrawled in the familiar handwriting. I brought it into my room, tore it open, and read the numbers and words I had now learned by heart. Once again my enigmatic correspondent announced his arrival on April 21—tomorrow.

I put the message in my cupboard and went downstairs to the kitchen, where my landlady was setting out breakfast.

“Good morning, signore,” she said, smiling at me. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, madame,” I said. She gestured me to sit at the table. “Madame Lamm—the message that was outside my door this morning. Did you put it there?”

“I took it in, Signor Da Ponte,” Sophie said as she entered the room with a loaf of bread in her hand. “I left it outside your door about an hour ago.”

“Who delivered it?” I asked.

“A young boy,” Sophie said.

I did not bother to ask what the boy had looked like, or if he had been wearing livery that could identify him. The sender of the messages was taking great care to ensure that I could not trace him.

Sophie sliced the bread and placed it on the table, then brought a bowl of stewed fruits and ladled some onto my plate. She joined her mother and me at the table.

“Has Miss Cavalli been down yet?” I asked. Madame Lamm had welcomed Marta when we arrived last evening, immediately noticed her fatigue, and bustled her upstairs to a room. I had spent the evening working, occasionally slipping down here to see if she had reappeared. But she must have washed, unpacked, and gone straight to her bed, for she never came, and my questions about her marriage to von Gerl were answered by nothing but my imagination.

“She was so tired last night, signore,” my landlady said, as if reading my thoughts. “I drew a bath for her and made up a bed. She fell asleep right away.” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Such a lovely young lady, signore. Her bearing is so dignified. Is she a noblewoman? And she is very pleasant. She thanked me over and over for letting her stay.” She paused, and her brow wrinkled. “But she was so pale, and I sensed a sadness in her, signore. Something about her filled me with pity. Do you know what was bothering her?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just met her yesterday. I was visiting a friend when she arrived. She had nowhere to go. I appreciate your taking her in, madame. I will pay for her room until she decides what to do.”

“Another lodger is always welcome, signore,” Madame Lamm said. She hesitated. “Food prices are going up so fast, I'm afraid I may have to raise the rents. I hate to have to do that. So your friend is welcome for as long as she wishes to stay.” She passed the bowl of fruit to me. “Why would a young gentlelady be here in Vienna all alone?” she asked. “She told me she had come to find her husband.”

I shrugged and said nothing. The last thing I wanted to do was gossip about Marta and von Gerl.

“Come, Sophie. Finish your breakfast. It's time for church,” my landlady said. The two women took their plates over to the large sink. I sat and chewed on a slice of soft bread, thinking of Marta's soft hair and full lips. But after a few moments my mind turned to the messages, and then to Alois's murder. By the time I finished my meal, my optimism and pleasure in the morning had disappeared. I sat glumly listening to the women's chatter.