The Stockholm Octavo (5 page)

Katarina crept up behind me and pinched my upper arm. “That's him. Duke Karl.” I had expected this military hero and royal Casanova to be more physically imposing. “He left his wife marooned at Lake Mälaren and his mistress across the bridge on King's Island,” she whispered.

“I insist we look only to the future here tonight, Madame Uzanne,” Duke Karl said, then leaned in to whisper something in her ear. A mocking smile played on her lips, and she looked down the hall toward Mrs. Sparrow, caught her eye, and held it. If Duke Karl had not turned The Uzanne toward the gaming rooms, they might have stood that way for some time.

“The duke thinks because he came alone that Mrs. Sparrow will find him the more purified for his session with the spirits, but he may climb the stairs soiled after all,” Katarina said. She swallowed a laugh, and I covered mine with a cough. I watched as Duke Karl was introduced to Carlotta. He held her hand in both of his for a very long time, which made my face grow flush, then excused himself and sought Mrs. Sparrow, who led him to the stairway and the upper room. A military officer stood and barred the way.

I followed Carlotta and The Uzanne into the gaming room. Almost forty guests had gathered, the faces and dresses of the women pale in the dark interior, the gentlemen, in more neutral tones, fading like spirits. The warm, close air smelled of perfume, tobacco, and sweat. The laughter was slightly forced, and the tables empty, an air of expectancy curtailing the usual lust for card play and gluttony. “I cannot believe that I met his grace,” Carlotta said reverently. “I met the duke. Oh, Madame, do you think the indications will be favorable?”

“This fascination with magic is a weakness. The duke must employ more reliable means,” The Uzanne said as she slowly opened her fan.

“But the duke—”

“I am thirsty, Carlotta. Take some refreshment yourself to clear your head. And stop biting your lip,” The Uzanne said. Carlotta hurried away. Her formidable benefactress began to wave her fan in a steady beat, slower on the outward stroke and followed by a swift stroke in toward herself. The Uzanne seemed to focus her attention on the ladies in the room, or rather on the fans they carried—tonight was a leisurely opportunity to observe the folding fans that had recently arrived in the Town, and also a chance to expand her knowledge and her collection. The Uzanne waited patiently, hoping for a glimpse of some new or rare species. If something desirable appeared, she would engage the owner, tease out the value and provenance, then decide if the fan was worth the pursuit. After a few minutes of this, she took an ivory souvenir and pencil from an inner pocket of her skirt and made several notes. Then she turned her attention to the gentlemen and began to circle the room, gathering their words. I caught bits and pieces as I followed: Gustav would give the reins of Parliament and the work of the ministries to ignorant shopkeepers and brutish peasants. Sweden was in the gravest danger and needed the stability and tradition only the Patriots could provide. The tyrant must be removed and his bastard heir controlled. Duke Karl
must
ascend the throne. If only the Seer would provide a sign, he would do it!

The fervor of these treasonous conversations grew, the speed of The Uzanne's fan matching it, until heads turned, voices dropped. Duke Karl stood at the foot of the stairs with Mrs. Sparrow on his arm. He was smiling warmly, a look of admiration on his face. Mrs. Sparrow looked pale, her gaze aimed toward the floor. “That Gustav has kept you for himself since Paris adds injury to the old insult of being left behind. I am overjoyed to know you at last.” The duke took Mrs. Sparrow's hand and kissed it in a gesture of gratitude. The crowd applauded and pushed toward him, voices rising in excitement; the indications had clearly been favorable. Mrs. Sparrow gave a quick curtsy, then hurried toward the back parlor, wiping her hand on her skirt. I touched her sleeve as she hurried past. She stopped and stared. “You?”

“Mrs. Sparrow!” I hissed. “A gathering of Patriots? Here?”

“I did not ask for it. God knows I did not. But why in the devil's name are
you
here, Mr. Larsson?” she asked with a look of alarm.

“I am here for my Octavo. And for Carlotta,” I whispered. “Carlotta Vingström—she accompanies The Uzanne.”

“You must go and listen,” she whispered, gesturing toward the duke. “I am sworn to tell my visions, and I fear he means to act on it. Go, and quickly, but be discreet,” she said, then hurried off before I could protest.

Curiosity and now a measure of caution kept me at the edges of the room. I made my way to the foyer, where Duke Karl and the Uzanne stood conversing with General Carl Pechlin, a longtime enemy of Gustav's. Pechlin changed political affiliations more than a man changed his stockings, always siding with the most powerful enemies of the king. Pechlin was said to be living as a free man because no one witnessed his treasonous conversations. I loosely attached myself to a nearby group of guests to listen, making certain that my face remained in shadow.

“Duke Karl, you hardly need confirmation from a deck of cards,” The Uzanne said.

The duke was flushed, and he straightened his cuffs in nervous excitement. “There were no cards, Madame. The Sparrow woman entered some altered state. She would not allow me to look upon her transformation.” Duke Karl gazed at the stairs to the upper room. “She said two crowns. She said I would wear two.”

“We are doubly fortunate, then,” Pechlin said, his spotted hands grasping the ivory head of his cane. “Did she give you further counsel?”

“I pressed her, but she would not say.” Duke Karl scowled, as if he had been cheated somehow. “You must advise me, dear friends. I am not sure which path will lead to this glorious vision.”

“There is only one way,” Pechlin said, “and while it appears dark it will lead us all to light. He must disappear. Forever.”

“Too dark, sir, too dark.” Duke Karl frowned and turned to look at The Uzanne. “You resemble an angel tonight, Kristina. So wonderful to see you out of black. Perhaps you can offer gentler wisdom on this matter.”

“I would say there are many paths to victory, and the most obvious ways are not always the best,” she said. “A disappearance, yes, but not one that is everlasting. Merely distant in body or even in mind. I prefer a more refined engagement.”

“There is no place for a woman in battle, Duke Karl,” Pechlin said.

Duke Karl ignored Pechlin, his hand sliding around the green silk sash at The Uzanne's waist, his eyes and breath on her breasts. “What weapons would you carry?”

“The ones that men do not,” she replied with a smile, raising Duke Karl's face to hers with the edge of her fan.

Duke Karl leaned in very close, his lips touching the lobe of her ear. “An Englishman once said ‘women are armed with fans as men with swords, and sometimes do more execution with them.' ”

“The rustling and raising of a skirt hem, a sigh, a folding fan. Do you think these are the means of breaking a crown?” Pechlin said.

“You have had twenty years trying with no success, General Pechlin, and all the means of men to do it,” The Uzanne countered, her cheeks growing pink beneath their veil of white powder.

Pechlin looked up at the ceiling. “Do you know the fable of the sun and the wind, Duke Karl? They place a wager on who might force the traveler's cloak from his back. It is not air, but fire that prevails. I have been tending this flame since Gustav's coup d'état in '72.”

“I have both wind and fire, sir, and my fire is fresh. I am newly out of mourning,” The Uzanne said, snapping her fan closed.

“I was imprisoned by Gustav with your husband, Madame, and eighteen more noble men. Do you think the heat has gone out of me from that?”

Duke Karl slowly slid his hand from around The Uzanne's waist and bowed to Pechlin. “Was there ever a general more steadfast?” He kissed The Uzanne's hand. “Was there ever an Amazon more alluring?”

“Sir.” The Uzanne nodded coldly to Pechlin.

“Madame.” Pechlin bowed but slightly.

“Madame!” Carlotta, looking relieved to find The Uzanne, hurried over. “Oooh!” She came to a halt and made a graceful curtsy to the duke while holding cups of mint punch before her as an offering, the wilted leaves clinging to the sweaty glass.

“The evening's magic continues! You arrive at the perfect moment, dear nymph.” Duke Karl took the proffered cups and handed one to The Uzanne and one to Pechlin. “I will wear two crowns: one for air, one for fire. You must toast one another as the sun and the wind, who exist in the heavens in perfect harmony.” There was a faint, reluctant clink and the swallowing of pride. “Let the gaming start, and good fortune to all!” the duke announced in a loud, cheery voice. He turned to Pechlin. “You said that you have a table reserved, General?”

Pechlin took the duke by the arm and turned him away from The Uzanne. “An excellent corner table, where we might discuss this vision of two crowns in
serious
company. My men will see that we are completely uninterrupted.”

“I must relate the good news of this vision to the Little Duchess . . . and to my mistress of course. Good thing I shall have two crowns, eh?” Duke Karl said to Pechlin.

“I think perhaps we should keep the specifics to ourselves, until we have a plan.” The Uzanne watched them walk away arm in arm, her fan opening to half and closing again, over and over. “Enjoy the sport, Madame,” Pechlin called over his shoulder.

Carlotta waited until the duke was a respectful distance. “I thought he would be taller,” she said.

“The crown adds height to any man,” The Uzanne said. “Even the toady that hangs on his arm is lifted.”

I took a moment to relay these conversations to Mrs. Sparrow, who was directing a houseboy unloading a crate of wine in the back stairwell. She turned with a start, brushing the straw from her skirt. “Can you sit with the duke?”

“Out of the question,” I said.

“No, of course not. And they will notice if you hover.” She pressed her lips together, thinking. “Then you are to stick close to The Uzanne and watch for a sign.”

“A sign of what?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said, frustration in her voice. “Meet me in the upper room when all the guests have gone.”

“But I have plans to—”

“We have our third card tonight—even if it must be laid well after eleven. Now go, Mr. Larsson, go!”

I did not argue further; I would simply bring Carlotta along. She would be thrilled to meet Duke Karl's new oracle.

A calm demeanor is the professional's first rule of thumb, so I took my time and had just a half-glass of punch before heading to the gaming rooms. Carlotta and The Uzanne were navigating their dresses through the clusters of green-topped tables and heavy chairs. The Uzanne was trailing Carlotta, letting her cut a path through the throng, but the Uzanne's eyes were on the duke's table and those nearby, which had already filled with players. She approached and spoke briefly to Duke Karl, but was not asked to sit down. She returned to follow Carlotta to the opposite side of the room, her fan fluttering close to one ear, bringing the duke's words with her as far as she was able.

Carlotta had taken her refreshment too quickly, and her cheeks were flushed. “Madame, I have the perfect table: we can observe and be observed by all, not too close to the music, but close to the buffet which, oh Madame, is set with the most lovely Bavarian china, and strawberries mounded to the ceiling in crystal bowls, Russian caviar, raspberries, poached salmon in aspic, white asparagus, spiced peaches and—”

“In the future try to place us with your head or at least your heart, Carlotta, and not with your stomach.”

Carlotta gave a sideways curtsy to acknowledge this jab. “Ah, here is our gaming table. And . . . our dear friend Mrs. von Hälsen.” Carlotta stopped to adjust her trajectory at this unexpected object in her path. “How lovely you can join us at cards, Mrs. von Hälsen, you see there is my sash spread over the chairs to reserve our places, and of course we certainly hope you will remain here with us for a friendly game,” Carlotta said with faultless insincerity. Her knowledge of Mrs. von Hälsen was based on several paragraphs of sordid gossip that had appeared in
What News?
under the headline
A SPORTING LIFE.
“Madame?” Carlotta turned to The Uzanne for the definitive word.

It was clear from Mrs. von Hälsen's eyebrows that it was not her intention to share the table with Carlotta and The Uzanne, but now she was trapped; it would be a severe breech in manners to go, but she must also ask if she might stay. The Uzanne, as social superior, nodded and sat in the chair to Mrs. von Hälsen's right, then engaged her with the expected pleasantries. But The Uzanne's face took on a curious intensity when Mrs. von Hälsen opened her fan.

“What an exquisite beauty, Mrs. von Hälsen. Tell me,” The Uzanne said, her voice soft and warm.

Mrs. von Hälsen laid her fan gently on the table. “Her name is Eva.” Eva was made with gilded ebony sticks, and her blade was of the finest white swanskin, exquisitely painted with a large cartouche that framed a sumptuous garden. Dense tropical trees hanging with ripe fruit in reds and purples shaded beds of flowers in a multitude of colors. The sky was a cloudless, gleaming blue. A peacock stood off center, its tail unfurled to reveal a multitude of eyes. In the shadow of the grove, the silhouette of a woman was barely visible, standing next to a branch from which hung a tangle of thick vines. Not only was Eva a beautiful specimen of midcentury Parisian workmanship, she had a character that a connoisseur might define as Temptation. The Uzanne had no fan of this exact nature in her vast collection.

“I would give a great deal to have such a fan,” The Uzanne said.

“I have given a great deal for her already myself,” Mrs. von Hälsen said, slowly closing Eva and placing the fan in her lap.