The River Palace: A Water Wheel Novel #3

by Gilbert, Morris

  All of the Gypsies were looking around, their eyes wide. Baba Simza went to run her hand down the coverlet on one of the beds. Gage was a little surprised, because it was red. But it wasn’t a bright crimson, it was a dark brick red, and he had noticed that it was only the true blood-red that seemed to offend them.

  Nadyha went to pick up the pitcher and stared closely at it. “Is this porcelain?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it sure is,” Denny answered.

  She looked puzzled. “So what is ‘crummiest’? What does that mean?”

  “Not this,” Cara said softly, running her hands over the silky cherrywood top of the table. Everyone else was surprised; they had forgotten about her.

  Denny said, “Yeah, I was just making a joke. ‘Crummy’ means—uh—not good, not fine, Nadyha. Nothing about the Queen of Bohemia is really crummy. So let’s just pop across the hall and I’ll show you an exterior room.” The room was basically the same, except it had a six-by-six window with damask drapes that matched the bed coverlets. “Just to show you that there’s a small difference in price in the exterior and interior staterooms because of the window,” Denny explained, closing the door. Waving at the far end of the hallway, he went on, “Down there is the Sumava Mountains Restaurant, which is the third-class dining room. It also has a small secluded dining room, nicely appointed, for ladies who don’t want to eat in a public room, and the Elbe River Saloon for gentlemen. You can see all that later, if you want. Right now I want to take you back out to the grand entrance, which leads up to the Salon Deck.”

  They went back outside and walked around the promenade to a wide rosewood staircase, fronted by two tall pillars that were topped with the same device, the lion rampant, that was on the shield hanging between the two smokestacks. “Is that design something your company came up with?” Gage asked as he again picked up Baba Simza to mount the staircase.

  “It’s actually the coat of arms of the country of Bohemia,” Denny replied. “My uncle has what you might call a deep interest in Bohemia, and it’s really such a coincidence—but I’ll tell you about it later. Now, this staircase leads up to the Salon Deck, where the second-class staterooms are, and inside is another staircase that leads up to the Texas Deck. No third-class passengers are allowed on this staircase, which is why they have their own outside entrances. The staircase comes into the Moravian Room, a salon for second- and first-class passengers.”

  The salon ran the entire width of the boat. In the exact center, as one topped the grand staircase, was an enormous six-tiered granite fountain. The top of the fountain was a beautiful woman in simple robes with a golden crown on her head. Even now, though the boat seemed to be deserted, the fountain was running. Clear rippling waterfalls fell from the lady’s feet and down into each successively wider bowl. “She’s the Queen of Bohemia, of course,” Denny said, looking up at the figure six feet above their heads, “or I guess you’d say she represents the Queen of Bohemia. They’ve never actually had a queen, only kings, but a small detail like that doesn’t bother my uncle.”

  The room was filled with sofas, settees, armchairs, side chairs, and tea tables, all made of expensive black walnut. The front and back walls were lined with sideboards that held great samovars for coffee and tea, and crystal glasses and bowls for punch, and silver tubs for ice. On one side of the room, with side chairs set in neat rows by it, was a grand concert piano. On the other side were glass-fronted bookcases, with many books, and also busts and decorative urns and carvings and statuettes.

  Denny pointed to two doors on the left, plain wooden sliding doors. “Those doors lead to the second-class staterooms.” He walked to the other end. Centered amidships was a pair of real doors, ten feet high, painted white with gold trim and ornately carved golden doorknobs. They all followed him into a wide hallway, plushly carpeted, with many small gold gas lamps with alabaster shades hung over oil paintings. Denny pointed out, “That’s the Queen, you can see . . . all of these are paintings of our ports of call . . . and that’s my Uncle Zeke, and this one is of Captain Humphries.” They gathered around the portraits. Gage studied the one with the brass plate that said: “Zedekiah Wainwright, Owner of the Queen of Bohemia.” He saw a man with bluff, heavy features, sharp-eyed. He didn’t look much like Denny, Gage thought, except for the thick curly brown hair, although Denny didn’t have any gray, and he didn’t sport the fluffy sideburns.

  They heard a low giggle and again were startled to notice Cara. She was staring up at the portrait of “Edward T. Humphries, Captain of the Queen of Bohemia.” He was a man with coal-black hair and bushy black eyebrows over stern brown-black eyes. His face was square, his jawline hard and pronounced. He had a perfectly groomed black mustache. “Oh, dear, he does look forbidding,” Cara said. Glancing slyly up at Denny she teased, “Are you certain you want to face him down with this entourage, Captain Wainwright?”

  “Aw, I’m not scared of him,” Denny replied, then anxiously added, “But don’t call me ‘captain,’ please, Miss Cogbill. He’s the only captain on this tub. Not that I care, of course.” The others exchanged amused glances.

  Denny opened another white-and-gilt door on his left. “This is the Lady of Silesia Salon, for ladies, of course. No, no, let’s don’t go in there right now, I’m getting anxious to get to the Bohemian Dining Room. On the other side, that’s the door to the Lusatia Cardroom, which is just another hoity-toity Bohemian name for a saloon. C’mon, everyone, let’s go into the dining room, straight through.”

  Denny threw open the double doors. It was an enormous room, with tables, each seating four persons, filling it. All of the tables were made of rosewood with intricate satinwood inlay, and the rosewood chairs were ornately carved, with gold or red velvet seats. The floor was of blonde satinwood, so highly polished it gleamed like satin. The walls were wainscoted with black walnut, with red-and-gold striped wallpaper above. Two huge chandeliers of silver and crystal hung from the carved plaster ceiling.

  But what everyone particularly noticed, when they had finished gawking, was that at one end was a stage, a big stage, with red velvet curtains pulled to the side. “You put on performances of some kind here?” Gage asked. “That’s not just for an orchestra, it’s too big.”

  “Sometimes it is just for the orchestra,” Denny answered. “Because we have grand balls in here. We also have had solo artists; Adelina Patti was one of our first performers. We also have operas. And we have theatrical productions.”

  “Is that right,” Gage said dryly, glancing around at the Gypsies. They were still looking around at the lush appointments, and seemed not to have been paying much attention to Gage and Denny. But Cara had a knowing, slightly amused, but very intent look on her face.

  “This is all yours,” Nadyha said in a hushed voice. “Poor Dennis, all over spots, in a dirty mokadi lalo shirt and bloomers. No! Dennis baro gaje, dhon dhon bestipen! Dennis bujo even Gypsies!” Simza, Niçu, and Mirella all burst out laughing.

  Denny looked at Gage anxiously. “What’d she say? Was that good or bad?”

  “How should I know?” Gage said, blue eyes alight. “All I know in Gypsy is the Lord’s Prayer. That wasn’t it.”

  Denny grumbled a little while the fun, in Romany of course, continued. Finally he said, “All right, I’m glad to be so entertaining to you ladies and gentlemen, but how about we go on up to my uncle’s stateroom? We’ll have refreshments, and we can talk.”

  “But we didn’t get to see the second-class staterooms,” Cara objected.

  “They’re the same size as the third-class,” Denny said, “but the furnishings are better. I will show you a first-class cabin, though, because my uncle’s stateroom isn’t—er—typical. There’s a staircase up to the Texas Deck in the Moravian Room, but let’s just go back through the galley and take the servants’ stairs.” He led them back behind through a big, spotless kitchen.

  “Why do you call it the Texas Deck?” Nadyha asked curiously. “Texas is a state in America, isn’t it?”


  “I know this one,” Gage said, with Baba Simza in his arms as they went up the narrow back staircase. “The first passenger steamboats named their passenger rooms after the states, that’s why they’re called ‘staterooms.’ Texas was the biggest state, so the biggest and best rooms were named after it, and then the passenger stateroom deck got nicknamed the Texas Deck.”

  “I told you, my uncle has a great love of Bohemia,” Denny said. “He’s named all 174 staterooms on the Queen after towns and cities in that country. No one’s ever heard of them and no one can pronounce them, but luckily the rooms are numbered, too.”

  There were no interior staterooms on the Texas Deck. Denny opened the first room they came to, which had a brass plate on the door: Lebnitz pokoj * 315.

  It was fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long, bigger than many cottages. The beds were Louis XV, of ornately carved black walnut. The table, chest, and a sideboard were all of rosewood with marble tops. Instead of a hardwood floor, it had a thick, luxuriant Turkish carpet. The bedcovers were of heavy red velvet, the draperies of gold velvet with red satin tasseled tiebacks. Double glassed French doors faced the promenade, and when they were fully opened they in effect formed a private balcony.

  “The promenade on this deck isn’t public,” Denny told them. “The public promenade is the one down on the Salon Deck. Here, I gotta show you this. All of the first-and second-class staterooms have a private bath, but the first-class bath—well, you’ll see.” It was a roomy bath, with a large copper marble-lined bathtub and marble sink, and the fittings were of silver. The mirror mounted over the sink was framed in rosewood with silver inlay.

  Baba Simza frowned at the bath. “Pah, sitting in mokadi water, so like a gaje.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that,” Denny murmured, then brightened. “Never mind, Baba Simza, I’ll think of something . . . anyway, let’s go on to my uncle’s stateroom, it’s at the end of the hall.”

  When they came out of the room, they met the august personage of Captain Edward T. Humphries himself. He was dressed in evening clothes, white tie and a tailed coat. His visage was dark indeed. “Mr. Wainwright, what’s the meaning of this? Does your uncle know that you’ve brought these people on board the Queen?”

  Denny did enjoy the staid captain’s outrage, but his delight was slightly lessened by the fact that Gage wasn’t actually carrying Baba Simza at the time. “Yes, sir, he certainly does,” Denny answered confidently. “In fact, he told me to bring them on a tour of the boat.”

  Humphries looked at the Gypsies long and hard, particularly noting that Mirella, Simza, and Nadyha were barefoot, and the motley crew was accompanied by a dirty beggar boy. His eyes narrowed. “Your uncle told you to bring a pack of Gypsies on the boat. It’s that obsession he has with Bohemia, right? Well, try not to mess anything up, Mr. Wainwright. We’re all set for the next boarding.” He turned on his heel and went down the hall toward the bow, where he had a private cabin.

  “Hey, that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be,” Denny said with disappointment.

  “What does he think we’re going to mess up?” Gage muttered. “Sleep in all 174 beds—no that’s 358 beds—drink out of all the glasses, sit on all the chairs?”

  “He didn’t call you a pack of Gypsies,” Nadyha said, fuming.

  “We’ve been called worse,” Simza reminded her.

  “I am sorry about that,” Denny said. “If it makes you feel any better he calls me a worthless idle lazy ne’er-do-well. Here’s my uncle’s stateroom, all of you please come in and sit down.” It was an enormous room, all red and gold and gilded. An iron stove framed in marble made to look like a fireplace was on the back wall, which was the stern of the boat. Two Louis XV sofas were placed along the side, with Louis XV armchairs all around, and convenient walnut side tables. The Gypsy ladies sat on a gold velvet sofa, while Niçu and Gage took the armchairs. Cara perched on the very edge of a fat, tufted slipper chair, and her ladylike position—back not touching, hands folded demurely in her lap, legs to the side and neatly crossed at the ankles—made a ludicrous contrast to her clothing. Denny smiled at the sight, then sat in a chair by her.

  At the other end of the room was a dining table and sideboard, and Hervey stood by. The sideboard held several crystal decanters, bottles of wine, crystal glasses, a silver tea service, and a gold coffee service. Lounging in his chair, Denny said, “Over there is Hervey, my uncle’s man. He’s so quiet and unobtrusive he’s almost invisible, but I spot him whenever I want a drink. What will you all have?”

  Hervey came and bowed in their direction. Everyone gave him their orders, and immediately Denny started talking. “As I’ve explained to you, the Queen of Bohemia is so named because my Uncle Zeke has such an avid interest in Bohemia. But what I haven’t told you is why he does. It’s all because of an opera called The Bohemian Girl. He loves that opera, he goes all over, to see it wherever it’s being performed. And his favorite thing about the opera is that it’s about Gypsies.”

  Nadyha and Mirella exchanged knowing glances. Nadyha said, “We’ve heard something of this. Mrs. Perrados, the wife of the eldest son, Jerome Perrados, used to bring people to our cottages. We built them like we build our vardos, and then we are Gypsies, our dress is—well, you know. These people, they walk around, they watch us like when people watch Boldo. They were always saying things like, ‘Oh, they really are so Bohemian, so exotic, so wild,’” Nadyha mocked in a high persnickety voice. “But I don’t know this opera.”

  “It’s about a Polish count named Thaddeus, and he is in exile because he was a Catholic and the Hapsburg Empire—oh, never mind about the politics,” Denny said with exasperation. “Anyway, the Polish count is in exile in Austria, and he joins up with the Gypsies. And there’s a Count Arnheim who has a child, a daughter named Arline. Arline is attacked by a deer—”

  “What!” Nadyha exclaimed. “Attacked by a deer! What did he do, try to nibble her to death?”

  “Okay, forget about the deer. Sometimes operas have what you might call kind of fanciful plots. Anyway, the leader of the Gypsies, Devilshoof, kidnaps the Countess Arline—”

  “All the time the gaje talk about us kidnapping their children,” Nadyha grumbled. “Why should we want their stupid gaje children? We have perfectly good Romany children of our own.”

  “Uh—actually, that rumor might have kinda gotten started because of this opera,” Denny said apologetically. “Sorry. Anyway, so Devilshoof kidnaps Arline—”

  “No romoro would ever be named Devilshoof!” Nadyha snapped.

  “Nadyha, if you don’t let him tell this story we’re never going to find out what he’s been hinting at all night,” Baba Simza said impatiently. “Go on, Dennis.”

  With despair Denny talked very fast, “Thaddeus falls in love with Arline, who doesn’t remember she’s an Austrian countess, and thinks she’s a Bohemian girl, like the Gypsies, and the Queen of the Gypsies falls in love with Thaddeus, Arline gets returned to her father, Thaddeus decides to chance going to her even though he’s a wanted rebel, the Queen of the Gypsies tries to kill Arline, Devils—I mean, the leader of the Gypsies stops her and she’s accidentally killed, Thaddeus and Arline get married and live happily ever after.”

  Niçu said slowly, “So now we know that your uncle is taken with Bohemia and Gypsies, we know all about the plot of this opera The Bohemian Girl, and we know that whoever wrote it knows nothing about the Romany. What’s it got to do with us?”

  Denny got excited, jumped out of his chair, and started pacing. He almost bowled Hervey over, who was bent over, handing Simza a cup of tea. “See, this opera started what you might call a ‘Gypsy craze’ in the big cities—London, Paris, Vienna, Hamburg, of course Prague, New York, Boston—and probably here too, Nadyha, which is why Mrs. Perrados was showing off her real Gypsies to her friends, if you’ll pardon me for being so impudent. And actually the music is much simpler and more understandable than most operas; one aria in particular has been perform
ed in drawing rooms all over the world countless times, errand boys whistle ‘The Gypsy Life,’ clerks hum snatches of the songs, men sing them in saloons. So some of the songs could be performed by even the most amateur singers.

  “But the music of the Gypsies, it’s nothing like the music I’ve heard you all perform, it’s just pretty standard opera. And your lives, your dress, your—your”—he waved one arm wildly—“your performances, the real Gypsy music and dance and ways, are a thousand times better than the opera. So. How would you all like to star in a production that would be very similar to The Bohemian Girl, only it would be really authentic Romany?”

  A long, stunned silence greeted this. The Gypsies all looked at each other and at Denny, astounded. Gage didn’t look surprised, and he noticed that Cara didn’t, either. She was smiling a little, a private expression, and her eyes were focused in the distance, intense and thoughtful.

  Niçu asked, “Are you talking about us being in a play, or something, here, on the Queen of Bohemia?”

  “Exactly,” Denny said with satisfaction. “Naturally, you’d live here, in the staterooms, not the crew quarters. And you would be paid.”

  Frowning, Nadyha said, “But what kind of performance are you talking about? We can’t sing an opera. We sing and dance because we love to, but we’re not actors.”

  “You can act,” Denny shot back. “That’s why I wanted you to recite ‘Tyger, Tyger’ with Anca. I knew you could act anyway, Nadyha, because of the way you performed that night, with the Proverbs, the religious stuff you said. But I wanted to prove it to my uncle, and to me William Blake could have written the poem for Anca, and I needed something from the arts to show that you really can act. It went so well that I’ve already decided to use that same exact poem in your opening scene with Anca.”