The Musician's Daughter (12 page)

CHAPTER 14

I
had never been in Mademoiselle Helene’s shop before in my life. Whenever my mother and I passed it on our way to go to market, she would point it out to me and say, “If your uncle Theobald decides to take an interest in your future, I daresay we could afford a gown from Mademoiselle Helene’s.” We were well off enough to pay someone else to make most of our clothing, but our tailor was the one a little way out of the center, where I had left Toby while I went to the Gypsy camp, not a fashionable dressmaker. Herr Groschen was a pleasant fellow who did his best to keep up with the fashions, and we always looked respectable and as much à la mode as necessary for a musician’s family. His shop was a pleasantly chaotic hovel filled with fabrics and ribbons and laces. He had one elderly assistant whom he never introduced but I thought was probably his mother, and children were always given sweets to stand still to be measured. I looked forward to going there. He always seemed to have the latest gossip about the people we knew, the tradesmen and their families, which of them had just had babies, which others had received government appointments, and so on.

I could see right away that Mademoiselle Helene’s establishment was much more formal and less friendly. A stiff, powdered footman greeted me as I entered a loge that had four doors leading off it in different directions, and a staircase directly ahead. The footman showed me into one of the rooms, much as one might in the private home of a wealthy person.

There I found my uncle apparently at his ease, drinking tea with a woman who was painted, powdered, and patched to the point that no single surface of her skin remained uncovered. She was squeezed into stays so tight that I wondered how she ever fit any food inside her belly, and her overskirt was caught up with ribbons so that she appeared to be seated on a silk cloud. Above her delicately shod feet her scrawny ankles could not be disguised by the finest silk stockings that must have taken weeks to knit but bagged in unattractive folds.

When I entered, she rose and gave me a tiny curtsy—I wasn’t important enough for more than that. “We are to get you up for a ball, I hear. Will this be your first? Yes, yes, of course. So young, so pretty. It is time to make the most of what God has seen fit to give you.”

She clapped, and three maids entered while she continued to chatter. They led me to a little platform and began removing my outer garments. I expected them to stop, but to my surprise they continued to unlace me until I stood in only my under shift and my quilted winter petticoat. When one of the girls began to untie my petticoat—which would leave me in my stockings and shift—I shouted out, “No!”

Everyone stopped and stared at me, but it was my uncle’s expression that was most disturbing. His eyelids were half closed and his nostrils slightly flared. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but his expression made me feel as if I were already completely naked. I folded my arms across my breasts, now starkly obvious without the stays to hold them flat against my chest.

“Come, Mademoiselle, we cannot measure you properly, and we have but one day to make your gown.”

“Kindly leave the room, Uncle,” I said, ignoring the dressmaker.

“Nonsense, my dear! I know more of fashion than you do and must exercise my superior judgment. And we are family, so there is nothing improper.”

I could have sworn I saw him wink at Mademoiselle Helene. I wanted to run from the room, but to move at that moment would expose even more of myself to the rude eyes of my uncle, so I just gripped my arms tightly and glared at him.

“The girl is modest. She is not of the world yet, you understand, Monsieur. Perhaps you would look away while we take our measurements, then when she is properly draped we can again use your practiced eye?”

Although I had been disposed to dislike the dressmaker, I could have kissed her then. My uncle could not argue with her reasonable request and so, taking one last look at me, he swiveled around in his chair and pretended to stare out of a window that had been painted over so that no one on the street could look in.

By the time we finished, my uncle had laid down a great deal of money to purchase a rushed order of three petticoats, a white silk overgown embroidered with tiny blue flowers and three rows of ruffles at the hem, new stays, a lace tucker, a pair of soft kid gloves, silk stockings, silk evening slippers, a fan with ivory sticks and embroidered silk leaves, several yards of ribbon to wind into my coiffure, a velvet mantelet lined with silk and trimmed with fur, a matching muff, and a black silk necklace. The finishing touch was a wide-brimmed hat with a large, blue ribbon on it to match the flowers on my skirt. I liked the hat best of all.

The maids had redressed me and fixed my hair so that I looked somehow a little smarter and neater than when I had arrived. As I stepped out to the street with my uncle, I noted that the lamps had already been lit and were casting a lurid light over people now dressed for their evening entertainments. My stomach growled. I wondered if I had missed dinner at home. He put out his arm for me to take but I pretended not to see it and walked a little ahead of him.

“It is customary for a girl to thank a gentleman who furnishes her with expensive new clothing,” he said.

I turned and faced him. “Thank you, Uncle, for fulfilling your promise to my mother so completely. I know she will be most grateful for the dowry at such time when I marry. Where shall I meet you to attend this ball?”

“We could have supper at my house before and then I could take you in my carriage,” he said, that look coming into his eyes again.

“I would not want to leave my mother alone for such a long time. It would be better if we met at the assembly rooms.” I would not give way in this. It was becoming clearer and clearer to me what he was about, and I didn’t like it in the slightest. I knew my father would never have let things get even this far. I doubted my mother really understood what she had agreed to on my behalf. And if she were well, she would have come with me.

My uncle struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “How stupid of me! I am afraid you must come to the Graben to dress. I have asked Mademoiselle to deliver your garments there.” He shrugged and smiled. I felt like slapping him.

“Very well,” I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. “I shall bring my own maid to help me. Tomorrow then? At six?” I smiled inwardly at the thought of Greta’s presence to prevent any unseemly conduct on the part of my uncle. When we parted, I expected he thought he had arranged things completely to his satisfaction.

Far from being cross with me, my mother was so pleased with how things had gone with my uncle (who had sent word to her about the appointment at the dressmaker’s so that she would not worry) that she had asked Greta to keep some dinner warm for me and bring it on a tray to her room. She wanted to hear all about my new finery and the coming ball.

“I shall need Greta to help me dress,” I said, leaving out the details about my uncle’s behavior. I wanted only to secure my own peace of mind, not worry her.

“Greta? But she cannot leave me. I am as yet unable to rise from my bed. No, you had better make do with one of my brother’s maids.”

I had not expected this response. “But, Mama, do you think it’s entirely proper for me to go without my own maid?”

“If your uncle were not your uncle, then yes, I would agree. But as he is family, there can hardly be any question of impropriety.”

If only you knew,
I thought. Yet I dared not say more. She was still in a delicate state of health. I would have to trust to my own wits to see me through. If I could survive wandering alone into a Gypsy camp, then what was one unpleasant uncle?

I was not at all at ease as I tried to close my eyes to rest for the next day. I had had to leave Zoltán without hearing the end of his explanation about my father, the Romany, and the Hungarian nobles. He had implied that somehow Papa had gotten involved in a cause that may have earned him powerful enemies. I still didn’t understand exactly how or why, and whether there was anything other than friendship for Zoltán’s father that would have made him do it. I needed to know everything. I determined that I would try to see Zoltán again the next morning. Perhaps he could also give me some advice about my uncle and the ball. Surely his sister had found herself in difficult situations with gentlemen. She was too beautiful not to have been an object of conquest many times. Somewhat comforted, I closed my eyes and tried to rest so that I could be prepared for what ever the coming day would bring.

CHAPTER 15

W
hen I awoke the next morning, all the bells in the city were ringing to announce the new year. I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. I had had such vivid dreams I thought they were real. Zoltán stared down my uncle, who backed off and fell into the river. My mother rose from her bed looking well and had a healthy, rosy baby in her arms. Haydn sat at the keyboard directing his orchestra with confidence, a huge smile lighting up his face. I felt I had not rested much, but somehow my dreams had made me less anxious and worried. There had been a lot of snow overnight. The world outside my window had been transformed, and the light that reflected off the new snow even under a cloudy sky shed a soft, pure glow that always raised my spirits. What ever difficulties lay ahead with my uncle, that night I would attend my first ball, wearing clothes I never dreamed I would own. For one night, I would feel like a lady.

I sprang from my bed and dressed, emerging before Greta had even finished laying out the rolls and cheese for breakfast. I ate a little, but my stomach was too unsettled and nervous to take much in the way of food. As I was tying on my cloak, Toby wandered in still looking as though he were deep in slumber. “Come Monday,” I said, “you will be awakened at dawn to work. You had better get used to it.”

He shot me a hurt look, and indeed I wondered why I was being so unkind to him. So far he had done nothing but help me, keeping his promise to be quiet about leaving him for so long at the tailor’s and letting him walk home by himself. I know he felt just as wretched as I did about Papa. I could hear him through the thin wall that separated our rooms crying softly as he fell to sleep at night. Although he did not have the same feeling for music as I did, he loved to make things, and Papa had already taught him a great deal about the construction of a violin. His room was littered with all the bits of wood he had carved into whistles and toys with his skillful fingers. He would make an excellent luthier, I had no doubt. But that would be many years in the future. The time of apprenticeship stretched cruelly ahead. I knew he was clever enough, but I wondered if he would be strong enough to withstand the long hours of backbreaking labor.

I was suddenly struck with an idea. “Toby, would you like to come with me today? I’m going to see Godfather Haydn, and then there are some errands I must run. I will take you to a café for some chocolate and a cake.”

His face brightened immediately. “May we play in the snow on the way?”

I mussed up his hair in response. “Eat quickly and then go and dress. I’ll wait for you.”

Within the hour we were skipping merrily through the fluffy, new snow. I had almost forgotten the joy of scooping up handfuls of the stuff and forming them into balls to throw at my impish brother’s back. He flung one at me that hit my hair and undid what little of a coiffure I had made for myself. I was not worried. I could tidy up at Haydn’s house, and in any case would have my hair completely rearranged for the ball that evening. I wondered if I would be the only young lady there who had spent the earlier part of her day hurling lumps of snow at her brother.

Our games made the walk pass quickly, and soon we arrived at my godfather’s apartment. Just as I was going to knock at the door, it opened to permit a lady all dressed in the latest fashions to emerge. She took one look at our unkempt state and turned away with a frown on her face. The maid behind her stifled a laugh. “Come in, Fräulein Schurman,” she said, leaving the door open wide for Toby and me. I glanced quickly and noted that the lady, whom I knew to be Haydn’s wife although I had never seen her up close before, was climbing into a crested carriage stopped a little way down. My mother had told me that she carried on affairs so publicly that it was a disgrace. No doubt this was some lover’s equipage, come to take her to a rendezvous. I seethed for my kind godfather.

I sent Toby off to the kitchen for treats, shed my snowy cloak, and rushed directly into the parlor to get to work before I noticed that Haydn was not alone. Zoltán stood gazing into a crackling fire that looked to have been newly laid. He and Haydn both wore serious expressions. I stopped in my tracks and curtsied.

“Sit down, Theresa,” Haydn said. “We must talk a little before we get to work.”

It passed through my mind that he was not happy with what I had done so far. But he would hardly have asked Zoltán to stay to witness my dismissal as his scribe—he was not so unkind.

“Zoltán tells me that you have visited the Romany, and that you know something about our cause.”

Their cause? “I really know very little, except that you are sympathetic to the difficulties the Gypsies face, and that you admire their music. I also know that my father had some dealings with them, but I have not yet been able to discover exactly what they were.”

The two men exchanged looks. I thought I saw Zoltán nod very slightly.

“It’s all related to the publishing contract I told you about yesterday.”

Now my head began to spin. What could Haydn’s publishing have to do with Zoltán’s family, the serfs in Hungary, and the Gypsies who roamed the countryside everywhere?

“Prince Nicholas is a very powerful man,” my godfather said. “He is liberal in most respects, treats his serfs with kindness and consideration, and values his servants—especially his musicians, even his Gypsy musicians. But he fears—as do most Hungarian nobles—the consequences of giving serfs their freedom. He also knows that where he leads, others will follow.

“He guards his family’s traditions very closely,” Haydn continued, beginning to pace slowly about the room, as if it helped him organize his thoughts. “I have long wanted to lay my music before a broader public than the prince’s invited guests, but he feared that I would be lured away to some other court, and so has not permitted it. Not until I gave him my word that I would never leave his service so long as he lived would he finally agree to let me publish my compositions. Hence my recent contract with Artaria.”

This still wasn’t making any sense. I looked to Zoltán.

“What the maestro is not telling you is that he also agreed to give all the proceeds from this contract to a fund that is being used to argue the legal position of the serfs in the Austrian and Hungarian courts, a fund that your father helped to establish. The prince does not know this, and we thought Artaria did not either. But it seems that someone has discovered it and started to make trouble for the maestro. This same person may have substituted several clauses in the contract so that it appeared that the maestro agreed to terms he never even imagined.”

“That’s an outrage!” I said, rising from my seat and placing my hand on my godfather’s arm. He patted it and nodded.

“In short,” Haydn continued, “if I do not hold to the contract, its terms and my intended use of the money will be laid before the prince. Not only will I lose my position, but he will ensure that no one else ever hires me again. And the cause will be lost for lack of money.”

I no longer wondered that my godfather was so distressed about his poor eyesight, and that the loss of parts from the previous day had put him into such a state. I did feel a little appeased to know that the money had not actually gone to buy gowns for his unfaithful wife. “But what about my father? You believe his death has something to do with this, don’t you?”

“In order to build a case and put it before the empress, we have had to amass more than money. It was necessary to gather information about the lords who were mistreating their serfs, who have been selling them like slaves and … taking the virginity of their daughters.” Zoltán paused as if the mere mention of such atrocities took away his breath. “The Gypsies have helped, reporting what instances they have witnessed. But their word is not admitted to carry any weight. Your father had a keen ear, as you know. He possessed the ability to hear what people were saying from very far away. He acted as a spy for the cause, and when he could, he wrote down conversations he heard and also copied out any documents the Gypsies managed to find. Then he hid them in the case of his violin so that he could get them from Esterhaza or the Gypsy camp to Vienna, where they could be transferred to those who were assembling evidence.”

“So perhaps it was not the violin that was stolen for itself, but the case.” The pieces of this bizarre puzzle began to fall together for me.

“It was more complicated than that,” said Zoltán. “Your father would take the documents to Danior, who would then put them inside his violin, and that way get them into the hands of the right people, through the good offices of my sister, Alida. The final transfer of some very important documents containing irrefutable evidence was to take place at a ball this evening, where a high-ranking official in the empress’s court was to receive them under cover. I had convinced Prince Nicholas that it would be to his glory to lend out his orchestra to play.”

“Where is this ball?” I asked, not daring to make the connection that seemed all too obvious at that moment.

“It’s at the assembly rooms. A councilor by the name of Theobald Wolkenstein is the host. He has been the most outspoken defender of the rights of the nobles, and has enriched himself with the bribes they paid him to put their cause before the empress.”

My uncle? In the pay of the Hungarian nobles against a cause my father embraced? And yet... I smiled. “Why, that’s perfect! Don’t you see? I am going to this ball.”

Both my godfather and Zoltán looked at me with skeptical expressions on their faces.

“But it’s true! Councilor Wolkenstein is my uncle, my mother’s brother, and he has agreed to take me to the ball and begin the process of finding me a rich husband.” I could not look at Zoltán as I spoke, but the flicker of sadness in the maestro’s eyes was painful enough to see. “I don’t want him to find me a husband,” I said hurriedly, stealing a glance at Zoltán, “but I promised my mother I would see him. He is a horrible man. He bought me clothes, and has asked me to be nice to a particular gentleman. I don’t trust him, though, which is why I’ve brought Toby.”

Zoltán strode over to the writing desk and helped himself to a piece of paper and a quill. He scratched out something quickly, then folded and sealed it. “Do you have a servant who could deliver this to my sister at the Hofburg?” he asked Haydn.

Without answering, my godfather rang a little bell. The maid entered, and he instructed her to ask one of the stable boys to take the note, giving her a Pfennig to pay him.

“I believe Alida can also arrange to be at the ball,” Zoltán said. He still had not looked at me. “I have asked her in this note to keep a close watch on you. I shall be in the orchestra. You are walking into a very dangerous situation, Rezia. I was not aware of your kinship to the councilor.”

But I wondered if my uncle, far from being ignorant of my family’s activities in recent years, actually knew a great deal and had deliberately set up this evening’s events to entrap the others who were trying to help the serfs. So far all I had seen made me believe him capable of it. And now that I knew he had taken the opposite position from my father with regard to the serfs, it seemed too likely to be coincidence.

“Now I must ask you to help me once again with my music, Theresa,” Haydn said. “Zoltán will let you know later what to do at the ball to preserve yourself from harm.”

Zoltán bowed to Haydn, then approached me and took my hand. He bowed over it and brushed it with his lips. No one had ever kissed my hand before. His gesture made me gasp a little and he at last looked into my eyes. “Mind you take care, Rezia,” he said, and increased the pressure on my hand just a little before he released it. He left quickly, practically running from the room, I thought. I, on the other hand, hardly dared move.

When I finally recalled where I was, I cleared my throat. “Shall we continue?” I asked, but not before noticing the little smile on my godfather’s face. For the next hour, I had trouble concentrating on the notes my godfather sang, and had to ask him to repeat himself several times.