‘Really?’ I didn’t recognise her, but then it was dark and I only caught a glimpse of her long red hair.’
‘That is to say, sir, she is in the production, but you won’t have seen her on the stage.’ With a deliberately dramatic glance around, Rude beckoned Jens closer so he could whisper in his ear. ‘She’s Solveig’s voice.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Jens nodded in mock seriousness. The fact that Madame Hansson’s singing was not her own had become the worst-kept secret in the building. But they all had to keep up the pretence to the outside world.
‘The lady is very pretty, is she not, sir?’
‘Her hair is certainly. For that is all I saw from the back.’
‘Personally, I feel sorry for her. Nobody is allowed to know it is she who sings so well. They have even put her with us in the children’s dressing room. Well,’ Rude said as the bell rang to indicate the performance would start in five minutes, ‘I will deliver this safely for you.’
Jens pressed another coin into the boy’s palm. ‘Delay Frøken Landvik for me by the stage door tonight, so that I can take a proper look at our mystery singer.’
‘I think I can manage that, sir,’ agreed Rude, who then scurried off like a town rat, well satisfied with tonight’s payment.
‘On the prowl again, are we, Peer?’ Simen, the first violinist, was not as deaf as he seemed and had obviously overheard parts of the conversation. It had become a joke in the orchestra pit that Jens’ antics with the female members of the company closely resembled those of the play’s eponymous hero.
‘Hardly,’ muttered Jens as Hennum appeared in the pit. His nickname had been amusing at first, but was now wearing extremely thin. ‘You know I am devoted to Madame Hansson.’
‘Then perhaps I’d had too much port, but I’m sure I saw you walking from Engebret last night with Jorid Skrovset on your arm.’
‘I’m sure it was the port.’ Jens took up his flute as Hennum indicated they were ready to begin.
After the performance that evening, Jens walked through the stage door and hovered near it, waiting for Rude to appear with the mystery girl. Usually, he’d go to Engebret while he waited for Thora to entertain her admirers in her dressing room and change. She would step into her carriage alone, then pick him up a few yards further down the road, wishing for no one to see them together.
Jens knew that it was his lowly status as a musician that made her refuse to let him squire her about town. He was starting to feel little better than a common whore who serviced a physical need, but was not good enough to be seen in public. Which was quite ridiculous, given he came from one of the most respected families in Christiania and was the current heir to the Halvorsen brewery empire. Thora constantly told him how she’d dined with the great and good of Europe, how Ibsen adored her and how he called her his muse. Jens had put up with her airs and graces so far because, in the privacy of her bedroom, she quite made up for the humiliation he had to suffer. But now Jens had had enough.
Finally, he saw two figures emerging from the stage door. They stopped for a moment on the threshold, briefly illuminated by the gaslight from the corridor behind as Rude pointed something out to the young woman. Peering surreptitiously from under his cap, Jens stared at her.
She was a delicate slip of a girl, with lovely blue eyes, a tiny nose and lips as pink as rosebuds set within a small heart-shaped face, her glorious Titian hair falling in waves about her shoulders. Not normally one to eulogise, Jens felt suddenly close to tears at the sight of her. She was a sheer breath of pure mountain air and made other women seem like primped and painted wooden dolls.
He stood, as if in a trance, hearing her say a soft ‘goodnight’ to Rude, then float past him before stepping straight into a waiting carriage.
‘Did you see her, sir?’
As Anna’s carriage pulled away, Rude’s sharp eyes had immediately spotted Jens lurking in the shadows. ‘I did my best, but I couldn’t keep her any longer. My mother’s waiting for me in the dressing room. I said I had to deliver a message to the stage door-keeper.’
‘Yes. Does she always leave straight after the performance?’
‘Every night, sir.’
‘Then I must make a plan to meet with her.’
‘I wish you luck with that, but I really must go.’ Rude continued to hover, and eventually Jens dug in his pocket and handed him a further coin. ‘Thank you. Goodnight, sir.’
Jens walked across the road to Engebret, ordering himself an aquavit as he sat on a stool at the bar staring into space.
‘Are you unwell, my boy? You look quite pale. Another drink?’ Einar, the cymbal player, asked him as he joined him at the bar. Jens admired Einar for his uncanny ability to leave the orchestra pit mid-performance counting the beats as he made his way across to Engebret. He’d then drink a beer whilst still continuing to count them, and return to his place in the pit just before he was required to crash his cymbals together again. The entire orchestra waited for the night when Einar would miss his cue, but apparently, after ten years, he never had.
‘Yes to both questions,’ Jens said, tipping his glass towards his lips and swallowing the contents in one gulp. Having been furnished with a further aquavit, he wondered if he was indeed sickening for some malady, for he had felt strangely unsettled by the sight of Anna Landvik. He decided that, for tonight at least, Madame Hansson could return to her apartment alone.
19
‘Frøken Anna, I have a letter for you.’
Anna looked up from her playing cards at Rude, who gave her a cheeky grin, then surreptitiously passed her a folded note. They were in the children’s dressing room surrounded by the bustle of preparations for that evening’s performance.
She was about to open the letter when Rude hissed at her. ‘Not here. I was told that you must read it in private.’
‘By whom?’ Anna was confused.
Rude looked appropriately mysterious and shook his head. ‘It is not my place to say. I am just the messenger.’
‘Why would anyone want to write me a letter?’
‘You’ll have to read it to find out.’
Anna frowned at him as sternly as she could manage. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
‘I won’t.’
‘Then I shall not continue playing our game of bezique.’
‘No matter, I have to put my costume on anyway.’ The young boy shrugged, stood up and left the table.
Part of her wanted to laugh at Rude’s antics: he was a little monkey, always on the lookout to deliver a message or to lend a hand in return for a coin or some chocolate. She thought he would make a very successful conman, or possibly a spy, when he was older, for he was the fount of all gossip in the theatre. She realised that he knew exactly who had sent this mysterious missive and had probably read its contents, judging by the grubby fingerprints around the broken seal. She secreted the letter in her skirt pocket, deciding to read it when she was alone in bed tonight, then stood up and went to make herself ready for the evening’s performance.
Christiania Theatre
15th March 1876
My dear Frøken Landvik,
Forgive this impertinent message and the means by which it is sent, given that we have never made each other’s acquaintance in person. The truth is that since I first heard you sing on the night of the dress rehearsal, I have been entranced by your voice. And every night since, I have listened to you in rapture. Perhaps it would be possible to meet at the stage door tomorrow before the performance begins – say at a quarter past seven – so that we may be formally introduced?
I beg you to come.
Yours, with all sincerity,
An admirer
As she read the letter again, then secreted it in the drawer by her bed, Anna surmised it must be written by a man, as it would be most peculiar for a woman to write such a thing. Turning down the oil lamp and settling herself for sleep, she concluded that it was most likely some elderly gentleman, similar to Herr Bayer . . . which, Anna
sighed, presented a deeply unexciting scenario.
‘Are you meeting him tonight?’ said Rude, his face a picture of innocence.
‘Who?’
‘You know who.’
‘No, I don’t. And besides, how would you even know that I’ve been invited to meet anyone, hmm?’ Anna enjoyed the dismay on his face as he realised he’d inadvertently given himself away. ‘I swear to you now that I will never again play a single card game with you, either for money or sweets, if you do not tell me the author’s name.’
‘Frøken Anna, I cannot. Forgive me.’ Rude hung his head and shook it. ‘It is more than my life’s worth. I swore to the sender I would not.’
‘Well, if you are unable to name this person, perhaps you can at least answer some questions with a “yes” or a “no”?’
‘I can,’ he agreed.
‘Was it a gentleman who wrote the note?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is he under fifty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under forty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under thirty?’
‘Frøken Anna, I cannot be sure of his age, but I think so.’
Well, at least that was something, she thought. ‘Is he a regular member of the audience?’
‘No . . . well, actually’ – Rude scratched his head – ‘yes, in a way. At least, he hears you sing every night.’
‘So he is a member of the company?’
‘Yes, but in a different way.’
‘Is he a musician, Rude?’
‘Frøken Anna, I feel compromised.’ Rude gave a dramatic sigh of despair. ‘I cannot say more.’
‘Very well. I understand,’ Anna said, satisfied with her successful interrogation. She glanced at the old and unreliable clock hanging on the wall and asked one of the mothers, who was embroidering quietly in the corner, what she thought the time was.
‘I believe it is nearly seven, Frøken Landvik. I was just out in the corridor and Herr Josephson arrived. He’s always so punctual,’ she added.
‘Thank you.’ Anna looked at the clock on the wall again, relieved that it was more or less accurate tonight. Should she go? After all, if this man really was under thirty, it may be that he wanted to meet her for inappropriate reasons, rather than out of mere admiration for her voice. Despite herself, Anna blushed. The very idea that it might be inappropriate – and that it might be a relatively young man – excited her far more than it should.
The seconds on the clock ticked by as she agonised. At thirteen minutes past seven, she decided she was going. At fourteen minutes past, that she wasn’t . . .
And at seven fifteen precisely, she found herself walking down the corridor to the stage door, only to find the area deserted.
Halbert, the doorman, opened the window of his booth to ask what it was she needed. She shook her head and turned to walk back to the dressing room. A blast of cold air hit her as the stage door opened behind her and a second later, a hand was laid gently on her shoulder.
‘Frøken Landvik?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me. I was a few seconds late.’
Anna turned and found herself staring into the deep-set hazel eyes of the voice’s owner. Her stomach gave a strange lurch, as it did before she had to sing. While Halbert sat in his box and regarded them both as if they were idiots, they simply stared at each other.
The young man in front of Anna looked to be about her own age and his face was truly handsome, crowned with a head of mahogany hair which curled above his collar. He was not tall, but his broad shoulders gave him a commanding air of masculinity. Anna felt suddenly as if all of her – physical, mental and emotional – was draining out and into this other unknown human being. It was the strangest sensation and it caused her to sway slightly.
‘Are you quite well, Frøken Landvik? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Yes, I am perfectly well, thank you. I felt a little faint, that is all.’
The bell rang, giving the company and the orchestra their usual ten-minute warning before curtain up. ‘Please,’ he whispered under his breath, seeing a rapt Halbert still peering over his spectacles at them, ‘we don’t have much time. Let us speak in private outside, where at least you can take some air.’ Jens put a supportive arm around her, noticing how her head tucked perfectly into his shoulder as he did so, then opened the stage door and gently guided her outside. She was so tiny, so perfect, so feminine and he felt immediately protective as she briefly leant on him as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Anna stood beside him on the pavement, the young man’s arm still around her, and took a few deep breaths of the crisp night air. ‘Why was it you wanted to see me?’ she asked him as she recovered her composure and realised how inappropriate it was to be in such close physical proximity to a man. And a strange man, at that. Yet if she was honest, he didn’t feel like a stranger at all . . .
‘To be frank, I’m not at all sure. At first it was your voice that fascinated me, but then I paid Rude to make sure he kept you lingering outside the stage door so that I could secretly lay eyes on you . . . Frøken Landvik, I must go now, or Herr Hennum will most likely disembowel me, but when can I see you again?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tonight, after the performance?’
‘No, Herr Bayer sends a carriage to wait for me and I leave the theatre immediately.’
‘During the day?’
‘No.’ She put a hand to her face, her cheeks suddenly burning despite the chill of the evening. ‘I cannot think. Besides . . .’
‘What?’
‘This is most unseemly. If Herr Bayer knew of our meeting, he would—’
The five-minute bell rang.
‘I beg you, meet me at six o’clock here tomorrow,’ Jens entreated her. ‘Tell Herr Bayer you have been called early for a rehearsal.’
‘I . . . I must bid you goodnight.’ Anna turned away and started walking back towards the stage door. Opening it, she began to walk through but just as it was about to close behind her, he saw her tiny fingers grasp the edge of the door and pull it back open.
‘May I at least know your name, sir?’
‘Forgive me. My name is Jens. Jens Halvorsen.’
Anna wandered back to her dressing room in a daze and sat down to recover her composure. When she had, she decided that she must learn everything she could about Jens Halvorsen before committing herself to any further meetings.
That night, during the performance, she asked everyone she trusted, and even those she didn’t, what they knew of him.
So far, she’d learnt that he played the violin and the flute in the orchestra and, very disappointingly, that his reputation with women was infamous at the theatre. So much so that the orchestra had apparently given him the nickname ‘Peer’, after the character’s lothario-like ways. One of the chorus girls confirmed he had been seen with both Hilde Omvik and Jorid Skrovset. And worst of all, he was rumoured to be Madame Hansson’s secret lover.
By the time she stood on the side of the stage to sing ‘The Cradle Song’, she was so distracted that she held on for longer than usual to a note, which caused Madame Hansson to close her mouth two beats too soon. She did not dare to look down into the orchestra pit in case she set eyes on him.
‘I will not think about him,’ Anna told herself determinedly as she extinguished the light from the oil lamp beside her bed that night. ‘He is clearly a dreadful, heartless man,’ she added, wishing the tales of his antics didn’t thrill her. ‘And besides, I am promised to be married.’
However, the next day, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to order the carriage early and tell Herr Bayer she had an extra rehearsal. Arriving at the theatre at her usual time of six forty-five, Anna saw that the pavement outside the stage door was empty. She berated herself harshly for the wave of disappointment that washed over her.
Walking into the dressing room, she was greeted by the usual gaggle of mot
hers busily embroidering in the corner, and the children who ran to her to see if she had brought them anything new to play with. Only one child hung back, and as she hugged the rest, she caught Rude’s unusually mournful eyes over the heads of the others. Beginners were called, and with a final sorry glance in her direction, Rude left the dressing room to take his place onstage for the opening. In the interval, he cornered her.
‘My friend tells me you failed to meet with him tonight. He was very sad. He sent you another letter.’ He held out a sealed note.
Anna waved it away. ‘Please tell him I am not interested.’
‘Why?’
‘I am not, Rude, and that is that.’
‘But Frøken Anna,’ he persisted, ‘tonight I saw the misery in his eyes after you had failed to meet him.’
‘Rude, you are a very talented young man, both as an actor and at extracting coins from adults. However, there are some things you don’t yet understand . . .’ Anna opened the door and left the dressing room, but he followed her doggedly.
‘Like what?’
‘Adult things,’ she replied impatiently as she continued walking towards the wings. She wasn’t needed to sing yet, but she wanted to escape from the boy’s relentless inquisition.
‘But I do know about adult things, Frøken Anna. I understand what gossip you must have heard since you learnt who your admirer was.’
‘So if you know all about him, why would you continue to entreat me to meet him?’ She rounded on him, stopping Rude in his tracks. ‘His reputation is quite dreadful! And besides, I already have a young man, and one day’ – Anna turned away again and continued walking towards the wings – ‘we will be married.’
‘Then I am very happy for you, but the gentleman in question has noble intentions towards you, I promise.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, child! Let me be!’
‘I will, but you should meet him, Frøken Anna. Business is business, as I’m sure you can understand, but what I’ve just told you now is for free. Here, at least take his letter.’
The Storm Sister Page 23