The Stockholm Octavo

by Karen Engelmann

  Henrik also indulged The Uzanne’s passion for folding fans, and in time her collection was without equal. It embraced all colors, all countries, all kinds. Italian sandalwood, Spanish lace, Russian vellum, English silver, Japanese silk, and anything French. But The Uzanne would go to great lengths for fans that she labeled Character and Novelty. The Character fans carried a unique emotion, and her collection included Longing, Melancholy, Fury, Ennui, Lust, Romance, and several forms of Madness. The Novelty fans included telescopic, double-entente fans that opened in either direction and revealed two different faces (Henrik especially liked the pornographic variety), articulated leaf, puzzle fans, blades with peepholes of all sorts, sticks with clocks, guards with thermometers, and even one fan whose rivet gem hid a pinch of snuff or arsenic. When Henrik gave her Cassiopeia as an anniversary gift, she saw it as the crown jewel of her collection. Cassiopeia combined the Character of Irresistible Authority and the Novelty of a secret shaft along the center stick with exquisite workmanship, beauty, and the mysterious connection between an artist and their instrument. The Uzanne and Cassiopeia fit together like lovers on a too-small settee, knowing just how to move for maximum effect.

  Over time, the ladies of The Town begged The Uzanne to reveal her secrets, but she knew that knowledge was valuable. Soon all the aristocratic daughters from near and far paid dearly for The Uzanne’s instruction. Under her tutelage, the mothers of these debutantes saw their daughters become refined and clever, able to shine in even the brightest company on the Continent, and often engaged to be wed. The girls themselves saw a long line of suitors, officers pressing their dark blue uniforms against them and smelling of cologne, diplomats whispering untranslatable words in their ears, noblemen daring to touch their hands, their breasts, their thighs, part their lips with their tongues, open them up like a fan handled by an expert: slowly, slowly until she is spread so wide she might break. But a battalion of suitors was a trifle. The Uzanne knew the fan had far greater powers.

  The Uzanne, after many years of study and practice, could direct the flow of information in any given room with her fan. She could send words to an unintended ear, bring them to her own, and guide the attention of one or many through the ether with a slight adjustment of angle, velocity, and intention. It was a dazzling combination of art and craft that served as a calling card, social tie, and status indicator. But it was also the perfect tool for a woman who wished to participate in the games usually reserved for powerful men. And a fan would never be suspected as a weapon.

  By 1789, The Uzanne and Henrik felt their political goals within reach: Sweden was crippled by Gustav’s disastrous war with Russia, his council was suspected of financial crimes, and fear of revolution fueled a widespread desire for a return of tradition. But she and Henrik did not foresee the Act of Unity and Security, a coup d’état and bloodless revolution all in one. When Gustav imprisoned the Patriot leaders, all was lost. Henrik never recovered from the ordeal, despite the civility of his confinement in Fredrikshovs castle. When he died in November of that year from pneumonia, The Uzanne believed her life was over. For nearly a month she remained in her bed, until Duke Karl convinced her to attend Christmas service with him and the Little Duchess. For the next year, she wore only black, received few visitors, refused to attend court, and canceled her class for young ladies forever. But a growing frustration with Gustav’s seeming invincibility, Duke Karl’s continual ambivalence toward his brother, and a sudden unquenchable desire for revenge caused her to rise out of isolation in the service of her nation.

  By 1791, The Uzanne was once again part of the Town’s many intrigues and events. On June 20 of that year—midsummer—The Uzanne and her Cassiopeia attended an impromptu party that promised politics as well as the usual cards, gossip, and revelry. It was, for The Uzanne, the perfect blend, and she insisted her newest protégée, Carlotta Vingström, accompany her. Carlotta and I exchanged a series of urgent notes regarding the evening, for we had made plans for an outing already. But Carlotta’s placement with the baroness was an unimpeachable honor and obligation. And it was precisely the opening I needed. Carlotta and I had been daily correspondents for nearly two weeks, and I visited the wine shop often, but we had not touched upon serious topics at all. I silenced the Superior’s nagging with an excellent bottle of Tempranillo, promising it was the first of many from my soon-to-be in-laws’ cellars: on midsummer’s night I would express my intentions and press for a reply.

  I proposed a daring plan to breach the door as interloper—all to be with her. I knew getting into the party would be simple, although I did not tell this to Carlotta, for the address on the invitation was 35 Gray Friars Alley. I was expected at eleven to lay the third card in my Octavo, and Mrs. Sparrow would never ask me to break my oath.

  The evening began well: at seven o’clock, my landlady, Mrs. Murbeck, delivered a final note from Carlotta, acknowledging the great risk I was taking on her behalf, her belief that I would fit into this illustrious company with ease, and her eagerness to be with me once the party was over. With a newly pressed suit of fine clothes and a splash of cologne, I hurried to Gray Friars Alley. The bells of the Great Church were chiming eight o’clock but the sky was bright as midday. The streets and houses of the Town were decorated with birch branches and flowers twined into garlands. Here and there midsummer poles marked the day, topped with wreaths and wrapped with greenery and blossoms, the ribbons fluttering in the breeze that made its way up from the bay. The guests arrived noisily, the wheels of their carriages rattling on the stones, voices calling to one another in greeting. Then an especially fine black coach with a baronial crest pulled to a halt, and the clatter of hooves was accompanied by the unmistakable stream of chatter that only an excited Carlotta could produce.

  “Madame, I have much to tell you of this house,” Carlotta burst forth in a froth of lemon silk, “but have waited until our arrival so you might experience the mystery firsthand. If you would, Madame, look at the keystone in the arch. Do you see the face? It is said to move.” The Uzanne peered out. “This, Madame, is a house of the spirits.”

  “This is not useful information, Carlotta. I want to know why Duke Karl has brought us all to the center of nowhere,” The Uzanne said, her voice surprisingly melodic. I expected a lumbering matron who resembled a large, half-eaten cake from last night’s fete. The Uzanne barely touched the footman’s hand emerging from the carriage, her pale dress shimmering against the varnished black of the carriage door. The gown she wore was slim, in the new style à l’anglaise, and the sea green sash at her waist showed her figure to great advantage. Her dark hair was unpowdered and simply coiffed, and she touched it once, as if to make certain it remained in place. In the play of light and shadow she looked to be Carlotta’s age.

  “Duke Karl desires an audience with the oracle here.” Carlotta bit her lip but continued staring up at the stone face. “Madame, I have queried the most reliable sources, and they assured me this Seer is infallible.”

  “No one is infallible, Carlotta, despite what the pope might wish.” The Uzanne flicked out a folding fan with such speed that I froze. “And why is Duke Karl taken in by this particular charlatan?”

  “She is King Gustav’s adviser.” The Uzanne stopped her fan midbeat, the silence of an arrogant dismissal. Carlotta continued. “Duke Karl shares many occult interests with his brother and seeks confirmation and guidance; who better than a source of his brother’s good fortune? The duke insisted the Seer make herself and her rooms available on very short notice.”

  “And Gustav is willing to share?”

  “Oh no. Gustav has no idea. He is traveling.” Carlotta lowered her voice. “The woman is a fervent Royalist, Madame. She declined to see the duke. Naturally the duke’s interest was only inflamed by her excuses, he made it clear he would not be refused.” The ladies passed into the stairwell. “What I cannot understand is why Duke Karl did not come alone? Why visit an oracle in the midst of a midsummer party?”

  The Uza
nne gave her fan a leisurely turn. “Duke Karl is a man who desires change but requires a large amount of reassurance. He needs company.”

  I watched them climb the steps, skirts raised to reveal white stockings, satin shoes with curved heels, the soft turn of ankles illuminated by the tiny brass lanterns set on each tread. Carlotta was a luscious peach, but she had the bounce and skip of a girl. The Uzanne moved with a grace that is only acquired through years of aristocratic training, and this amplified her beauty—a woman you wanted to touch, knew you should not, but might be reckless enough to try. I followed at a respectful distance, watching Carlotta’s exquisite backside rising majestically before me.

  Katarina raised one eyebrow but did not keep me from joining the guests. In the foyer, The Uzanne stopped short, turning toward the paintings of the Swedish and French monarchs. “There is a royal portrait missing in this gallery of kings,” The Uzanne said. “That of Duke Karl. Unless this gallery only looks to those whose time has passed.” There was a beat of pure silence, then a smattering of applause and a buzz of commentary.

  Mrs. Sparrow observed from the opposite end of the hallway. She was dressed in a light green dress and paisley shawl more suited for day. Her brown hair was pulled back into a roll at the nape of her neck, unpowdered, without a wig or a cap. Her face was a mask. Only her hands betrayed her anger, her fingers pressed red into fists at her side. Beside Mrs. Sparrow stood a slight man in a military uniform of the most elegant cut and fabric. He stepped forward with practiced grace and bestowed a lingering kiss on The Uzanne’s gloved hand while glancing at Carlotta, who hovered several steps behind.

  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 wai
st, 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?”