The Stockholm Octavo (31 page)

Chapter Forty-Four
To Love Your Work

Sources: M. Nordén, L. Nordén

“CHRISTIAN, LET YOUR FANS
speak for the Nordéns, not The Uzanne,” Margot pleaded.

Christian did not look at her. He pinched a cut crystal in a tweezers and held it up to a magnifier attached to the lamp. “It's flawed,” he said.

“Christian, we must have nothing to do with her plans. We must have nothing to do with
her.
” Margot stood and watched him ponder a replacement for the deficient stone, then slammed the door as she left the room.

“It is too late for that, my love.” Christian looked up. “And look at the work that's come in as a result.”

“Too much work?! Is that what's vexing her?” Anna Maria asked as she opened the door and stepped into the workroom, Lars trailing after. She stopped at the row of gray silk fans, lined up on a bed of white linen, tight behind their ebony guards. “Copies! At last!” she said happily to Lars.

“All the young ladies from your Domination class demanded the same fan, my plum.”

“Copies? No, Miss Plomgren, we do not make copies,” Christian said. “These are not
exactly
the same.”

“With three dozen more and an advertisement in
What News?
the day after the debut we could charge three times what they cost to make,” Anna Maria said, taking hold of Lars by the shoulders.

Christian looked up from his work, the scowl meant for the uncooperative stud in the guard of the fan. “Three dozen more! I am nearly ruined by these already. Master Fredrik has grown rich on the goose quills alone.”

“We eliminate finesse!” she said. “Plain but plentiful copies will cause a stampede.”

“A stampede is not the goal of the Nordén Atelier, Miss Plomgren,” Christian said, concentrating on fitting a tiny, jeweled rivet. “Art is the goal.”

Anna Maria began to flick open the silk fans one by one. “Few deserve your artistry, and many will pay for less. That is the art of making money.”

Christian set the final fan upon the linen with the others, straightening until it was exactly parallel and his hands had ceased to tremble. “And what of the soul that goes into the work?”

Anna Maria opened the fan that Christian had just finished, holding it perpendicular to her face, sighting down the sticks. “The left guard has a tiny medallion inset. That hardly qualifies as soul, and not one of those cows has soul enough to notice.”

Christian arranged his tools in a neat array on the table, taking extra care with a sharp awl. “Miss Plomgren, you work at the Opera. Have you been to a performance?”

“I sat the other week in Box three,” she said, tilting her head, as if to receive the footlight's glow. “
Orfeo
. With Madame Uzanne.”

“And did you observe that all the members of the audience captured the nuances in the music? Followed the score? Felt the passion of Orpheus for his Eurydice?”

“I didn't.” She shrugged and laughed. “Two or three did, perhaps. Much of the audience was sleeping. Checking pocket watches. Reading the program. Eating candies. Talking. The rest were looking at one another. Looking at me!”

“And because of that, should the singers ignore the intention of the composer, the poetry of the libretto? Let the high notes pass? Open their mouths and bray like donkeys?”

Anna Maria turned to Lars. “What in fiery hell do donkeys have to do with fans?”

Lars caught sight of a blade that Christian was painting for Mrs. von Hälsen. “Is this chicken skin? Christian, are you mad? We'll be ruined!”

Anna Maria pounded her fist on the workbench. “What in the name of the boil-covered ass of the devil does this have to do with chickens?”

Chapter Forty-Five
The Last Parliament

Sources: Gullenborg footman, J. Bloom, Mrs. S., Captain J*** of the North Town Gate

A BLACK TRAVELING COACH
fitted with runners stood at the north gate of the Town, the horses steaming under woolen blankets. A fat coachman wrapped in a thick winter coat tapped at the window, the outside feathered with frost and fogged from the breath of the passengers inside. The door opened a crack, and he wrapped a hand around the opening to catch some of the warmer air. “Madame Uzanne, they say it may be hours before there is an official reply. Best we go back to the Town and wait for travel papers there.” The door slammed shut and only the fur-lined glove kept the coachman's fingers from breaking. He howled a string of curses then caught a glimpse of a pale face at the coach window, listening. “The cunt can freeze to death and thaw in hell,” the coachman muttered, tromping back to the soldiers' hut, “and her bitch with her.” There was a good track cut through the snow already, for the sleds had been hauling men and finery north since the Parliament had been called. The coachman kicked the snow off his boots and went inside, the hut stinking of damp wool and unwashed soldiers, cooked cabbage and caraway seeds. “She claims Duke Karl has authorized her presence in Gefle and the papers should be here.”

“The duke passed by two days ago and the Little Duchess with him.” The captain spat in the fire, creating a hiss in the coals. “There'll be no Satan's papers. The Little Duchess tolerates the ballet girls, but not a baroness.”

“You go and tell her, my friend. I want to keep my head and go home,” the coachman said, warming himself at the stove. “She is made of ice and will linger without a hot stern hand to turn her away.”

There was arguing then about who would deliver the message. Straws were gathered and about to be drawn when the bells of another sleigh signaled more travelers that needed to pass. “God's wounds, who is it now?” the captain grumbled. He took on his gloves and hat and made his way to a small sled, more useful for short trips in the Town than a twenty-hour trek. A pale, slender hand reached out through the gap in the barely opened door and handed the captain a letter, sealed with red wax. He stared at it for a moment, then cracked it open, his posture improving as he read. When finished, he looked up and handed the letter back with a bow. “You are free to go, Mrs. Sofia Sparrow. Godspeed.”

The driver of Mrs. Sparrow's coach shook the reins, and the mismatched horses, one black and one brown, set off toward Uppsala and then on to Gefle. The jingle of the harness bells made a merry echo in the cold air, but the cry that came from the open door of The Uzanne's black traveling coach was enough to make even the captain and his men turn with a start. The Uzanne stood on the lower step of the coach.

“Why is that commoner's coach allowed to pass and not mine?”

“The traveler had a letter, stamped and sealed by King Gustav himself,” the captain called, not coming any closer.

“And what was the traveler's name?”

“That is the king's business and not yours,” he said. The Uzanne stared at him as if she did not understand the language. “Best you return to your fine house and your fans, Madame Uzanne. Parliament is no place for a lady.”

Chapter Forty-Six
Masks and Gowns

Sources: L. Nordén, M. F. L., Louisa G.

LARS HURRIED TO THE UZANNE
and kissed her hand with the manners of a courtier, overjoyed to attend this intimate gathering in her boudoir. It was a sure sign of his ascendance over Christian. He was pleased he had worn his new brocade jacket and polished his boots to a gleam. “Madame, I am your devoted . . .”

“Devoted,” Anna Maria echoed from her place on the settee.

“. . . servant. Your journey, Madame? I trust it was rewarding?” Lars said.

“Rewarding? No, Mr. Nordén, it was far from rewarding,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Duke Karl and I had a courageous and merciful plan to bring the nation back to its senses. But I was denied my right to travel.” She paced from her dressing table to the window and stopped to observe Young Per, hobbling across the pink gravel, dragging one leg behind him. “I have heard many reports from Gefle. Spineless nobles. Unholy clerics. Infantile burghers. Drunken peasants, vomiting their bribes up on every corner. Gustav has returned to the Town triumphant again and plans even more radical so-called reforms, a complete evisceration of the First Estate. It will be the end of Sweden.” She walked slowly to her dressing table and picked up a white sequined mask. “And so my journey was ultimately . . . inspiring. I am ready to act decisively where four hundred Patriots and Duke Karl could not.”

Master Fredrik stopped fiddling with the pale green fringe of the curtain tassel and bowed. “Madame, I wonder if you would tell us—”

“Remain silent, Mister Lind. You are here on probation,” The Uzanne said, sitting at her dressing table. “Your offer to make retribution in the form of the debut invitations does not ensure your continued presence here.” The three visitors watched silently as The Uzanne placed the mask on her face and inspected herself in the mirror. “The young ladies debut at the masked ball would have become a celebration of historic events in Gelfe, but the debut will be the historic event instead, as I first intended. And a more dramatic one than originally planned.”

Anna Maria squeezed Lars's hand. “I hope we might attend,” he said.

The Uzanne stood and came close, tightening a strap on Lars's coat sleeve. “That is precisely why you are here. And we have one more member of our entourage. Miss Plomgren, please fetch Miss Bloom.”

Anna Maria looked over at the housemaid loitering in the hall but stopped the bubble of protest about to escape and exited. It was impossible to miss her bellowing tone from downstairs, and soon Johanna squirmed under the combined gaze of the company.

“We were discussing the debut.” The Uzanne placed two fingers around Johanna's forearm and squeezed. “You have filled out nicely in Cook's kitchen, Miss Bloom. You will fit your costume perfectly.” She nodded to the waiting Louisa, who left her post and returned holding a gown in her outstretched arms. “Try it for us. I am sure the gentlemen will be most appreciative.”

When Johanna reappeared from the room across the hall, her face flushed and hair newly pinned, conversation halted. She gazed transfixed at her own reflection in the large mirror. It was as if all of spring's tender hues had been poured over her. A pale new green formed the ground of the dress. The stiff bodice was a miracle of embroidery—long looping tendrils of silver thread that held pink and coral buds about to blossom with the promise of sweet ripe berries to come. The décolletage was deep enough to show the fullness of her breasts, and the cream lace edging just concealed the edge of pink nipples, thrust upward by boned stays. The skirt, floating on a froth of petticoats, was crisscrossed with cream-colored ribbon. At the intersections of the ribbons were bouquets of tiny silk flowers in pale lilac, pink, coral, cream, and purple. A band four fingers wide of these same miraculous flowers edged the bottom of the dress. The matching overcoat fit tightly from the neck to the waist, then flowed back and down to the floor, revealing a lining of striped robin's egg and cream satin. Blue silk ribbons hung at intervals along the front, posing as closures but clearly never meant to be tied. The widening sleeves of the coat stopped below the elbow and sent cascades of lace to just above the wrist. Johanna stared in the mirror, not at herself, but at the dress that was all the color she had ever dreamed of having. She touched the edge of her sleeve, as if to make certain it was real.

“You . . . you are transformed, Miss Bloom,” Lars stuttered. Master Fredrik applauded enthusiastically.

“So then.” Anna Maria cocked her head away from her rival. “What costume will I have, Madame?”

The Uzanne turned to Anna Maria. “The Venetian domino is the costume of choice for Patriots this season.”

Anna Maria's steam was almost visible. “I am to be . . . a BOY?”

“Not just a boy; a student prince. You will be at my side to study and learn. And Gustav has an eye for beauty in both sexes, so you will be noticed I'm certain.” She held up her gray and silver fan. “She will be yours that night. If you do well, you may name her and claim her for your own.”

“A token worthy of a queen!” Lars slid into place beside the pacified Anna Maria. “And if the plum is to dress as a cavalier, are your real cavaliers to wear dresses?”

“I like the idea of you in a gown, Mr. Nordén. You are a pretty enough man. What do you say, Mister Lind? It must be a dream come true.”

Master Fredrik took a deep breath. “Madame, I hope you will indulge my curiousi—”

“Your curious appetites, Mister Lind? Indeed,” The Uzanne said with a mocking frown. “But as for your gluttony, best you begin your Lenten fasting early if you are to squeeze inside your gown.”

“Are your young ladies to be dominoes as well?” Lars asked. “They will be sorely distressed if they cannot show their attributes, as will all the gentlemen present.”

“No, Mr. Nordén. Their task is to prepare the atmosphere in the room—each has been assigned one of Gustav's men to engage and dominate. They will most certainly be women.” The Uzanne came to Johanna's side, gazing at their reflection. “You are in full bloom now, Johanna, and will have a starring role. You will be the unmasked princess, walking one step behind me. But you will not be dancing, nor flirting with the gentlemen that come flocking. You will be focused on only one man.” The Uzanne pushed a loose tendril of Johanna's hair behind her ear. “You will meet the king, Miss Bloom. If you do your job well, you may keep the dress.”

“And where shall I wear it then?” Johanna asked, her face drained of all color.

The Uzanne pulled a loose thread from Johanna's bodice and smoothed the lace at her sleeve. “There will be a new court eventually. But first, the masked ball. Gustav will receive the message I meant to deliver in Gefle, but this time with more passion.”

“What message would that be?” Lars asked, a giddy foolishness written on his face.

The Uzanne stood and walked slowly to the windows and back, folding and unfolding Cassiopeia. “That for those who are true patriots, there is no sacrifice too great for love.” The room fell silent but for the gusts of wind that rattled the windows. A flicker of understanding crossed Anna Maria's face. She flushed and her eyes narrowed in pleasure. “Miss Bloom, the sleigh will be here in a quarter of an hour. Change back to your street clothes and get to the Town on your errand,” The Uzanne said. “Mister Lind, the debut invitations and tickets are to be posted in two days' time, and the cards for the postball celebration in a week. You needn't return to Gullenborg until after the event.” Master Fredrik frowned, then bowed and hurried out. His alliance with Johanna would be hard to uphold from a distance. “Mr. Nordén, I would like you to accompany Miss Bloom to the Town and make sure she gets back safely.” Lars jumped up eagerly and bowed. “Escort her to my room when you return and have Louisa lock the door. A stable boy broke into my medicine supply and his greed was nearly fatal. The servants are blaming Miss Bloom, and Cook wants her head on the block.” Anna Maria jumped up eagerly and took Lars's hand “Miss Plomgren, you will stay and be fitted for your trousers.” Anna Maria sank down on the settee, still as a snake in the sun, and watched Johanna exit, the train of her dress a stream of cut spring flowers.