Nightingale

by Juliet Waldron

  Strong arms held her. Klara let her head fall against his chest, heard his swiftly beating heart. Every sense engaged as he caressed her, this dark angel who kissed her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring love in both German and mysterious Hungarian.

  Klara recognized and responded to his passion, but somehow it was entirely different from what she had felt with any other man. Flamboyant Giovanni had drawn an amusing cock of the walk assurance from the warmth of her response. Max, on the other hand, was a strategist, a man who made love much as he campaigned. With calculating skill, he reduced Klara, like some Silesian town, to quivering surrender.

  Although she had experienced male taking, Klara had never before felt so much giving. His love-making was like a healing balm. The fire kindled deep inside by the abandoned, impossible to stop delight of the kiss was familiar, but this time response came not only from her awakened body, but from heart and mind as well.

  As they paused to fetch a panting breath, Klara whispered, "Sir, this puts you in terrible danger."

  "As long as you will kiss me like that, I'm not afraid of man nor beast. Not even of High Councilor of War Oettingen."

  "You should be. He'd do worse than killing if he found out." Klara rested fingers upon his mouth, held him away. She'd come to a decision. If this was what it seemed to be Love, terrible, dangerous Love, again come to rake her with its claws, he must learn something of the danger he was falling into, about the fallen state of the woman for whom he was risking his life.

  "Klara, nothing that has gone before matters to me. I shall never abandon you."

  She allowed him to embrace her, to kiss her, let the passion flow from his mouth into hers. Inwardly, she felt ashamed, of what she was feeling, of her past … so many secrets.

  Oh, that summer at the Count's Italian palace, the shame and the lust, the lessons Max had taught about the body's desire for ‘unbridled concupiscence’. All those unholy scenes! She could never, never, tell anyone.

  "Klara! What is it?"

  She pushed him away, shaking her head.

  "Go now, Akos. You must. I can't bear it."

  When he stared, confusion in his eyes, she stammered desperately, "I – I – I – " Explanation was impossible. "Just go! Leave me. For me, this is always wrong! And it so very, very dangerous for you."

  Akos gazed at her for a long moment, and then nodded, as if he guessed something of her memories.

  "As you wish, Fraulein." Taking her hand in his he kissed it softly and then arose.

  Klara wanted him to stay. She wanted his kisses so much, but, oh, Blessed Mother, how she feared the unfolding of another affair! There was no safety, no trusting, for betrayal was everywhere.

  Perhaps even here, with this beautiful dark-haired stranger….

  "It is not you, Akos Almassy, but myself I fear." This was, after all, the truth, the terrible thing that Max had taught. For a moment he lingered, hand upon the latch, gazing at her with sorrow and longing.

  "This is another sickness that we shall have to cure, my lady."

  Then, leaving her shivering with desire, pondering his words, he bowed and left her.

  ***

  Advice from Signor Manzoli came, just as Akos said it would.

  "Allow the cold to pass," he'd written, "and do not sing, not even a scale. When your physician says you have passed the infectious stage, send, and I will come to see you myself."

  Klara also had a letter from her patron which had initially brought a sigh of relief. Max said that he thought he would stay where he was for now, although he hoped to arrive in Vienna for the last week of Carnival.

  "As for the Empress," he'd written, "I believe that having quelled this last insurrection, I may be rewarded with some span of time in which to tend to my own affairs. I hope to remain near Vienna in the Josephplatz house right into summer. Knowing how you love that simple country place, I thought we could spend some time together. I am, I confess, looking forward to escaping the formality of Vienna and the strictures of the Court and celebrating a long reunion in the arms of my darling little Nightingale."

  Klara's initial relief had quickly turned to a shudder.

  "Oh, may the Holy Blessed Mother, protect me!" She showed Akos the letter. "I could never bear to have him touch me again! Never!"

  "And he will not, Klara. Don't be afraid."

  "Oh, but what to do? If I leave him, how shall I live? He will banish me from the Court, perhaps even try to harm me! And, oh, Akos, as wicked and selfish as it sounds – I must sing!"

  "Of course you must go on singing. It would be a crime against the gift with which God has honored you, and it would be a sin for anyone to ask for such a sacrifice. I will appeal to my Prince for help."

  "But Prince Vehnsky, I have heard, is hard against servants who dare to leave their masters. Isn't that true?"

  "Yes, sometimes, but there have been some notable occasions upon which he has shown himself to be flexible, even when it goes against his aristocrat's pride. I must find a way to touch his heart."

  "I must confess that I'm not very brave, not like a few years ago when I imagined I was and that I could dare to leave Vienna. And I live in fear that something will happen to you. All I can seem to think of are ways things might go wrong, ways we might lose each other."

  "Hush!" Akos caressed her cheek. "Keep faith with Love, dear Nightingale, and it will make you strong. We will find a way."

  Another week passed. Akos came to attend Klara daily, to bring her medicines, to massage. Liese or the Messer often attended, but circumstances were usually such that at least once a visit they would be alone for a brief time. Then she would open her arms and he would come into them; they would share a few passionate kisses.

  "Oh, how I was wanting to hold you!"

  "Yes, angel, your lovely eyes called me."

  Klara felt no reluctance. This was the best love ever. In his worshipful, careful touch, in his mouth, too, was the taste of righteousness. Unhesitating, she parted her lips. Klara was familiar with a male habit, once love-making had begun, to want to taste not only her mouth, but every inch of her sweet body.

  With only a few gentlemanly exceptions, the Count had taught her all the sensual pleasures that could be given short of the act itself. Now, after a few minutes of kissing Akos, of that searching, liquid intimacy, Klara burned to yield. In imagination, she lay back upon the divan, naked, ready to submit to what she knew would be a long and passionate exploration. Klara took Almassy's beautiful hand in hers – that hand that held the bow, that touched the keys, with such mastery – and pressed it against one hard-budded breast. Fired by her urgency, he caressed through the gown. A moment later, his deft fingers had opened a button, had made their way to the fine muslin of her shift, to the swelling beneath. Oh, how much more they wanted! Her nipples rose, straining at the thin barrier. Gently, he tugged the aching points, all the while sipping her lips, inhaling her fragrance, breathing love words which wove about the melody of her name.

  The ecstatic minuet of their stolen moments could not last. Heavy feet would come clumping, either Liese's clogs or the boots of Messer. Panting and aching they'd move apart, straighten their clothing and hope flushed faces would not give them away.

  Chapter 5

  "It's the Adambergers, Fraulein," said Liese. "May they come in?”

  She had barely got the words out when the door to the parlor burst open. Into came trooping a burly, great bellied man with a villain's black beard and a short, round and rather disheveled woman.

  The Adambergers were also singers, some years older than Klara. Florian's talent paid their bills, for Olympia's voice had never been exceptional, although for a time, her acting, or perhaps it had been her heart-shaped ingenuous face and sprightly, spontaneous personality, had brought her some Viennese success. Too many babies in quick succession had ended her career.

  Florian was a deep bass baritone who usually played the part of villains. He had been Klara's nemesis in two of the first operas in
which she had sung a leading role. Shy among the sophisticated singers of the Court, Klara had been particularly glad for Florian's kindness.

  Count Oettingen hadn't interfered in her relationship with the older couple. In fact, he approved, recognizing that it was natural and desirable for Klara to attach herself to an experienced singer who knew his way through Court theater politics. That the Adambergers were not only older but very married made them eminently suitable for friends.

  "Vogelchen!" Olympia rushed to give Klara a kiss. "Are you well? How is your voice? "

  "Better, thanks to his kind and clever gentleman," said Klara. Smiling happily at Akos, she began an introduction. "Herr Florian and Frau Olympia Adamberger, please meet my new friend, Concertmaster Akos Almassy. Herr Almassy is in service with Prince Vehnsky."

  "Where he performs music as well as healing," rumbled Florian in his rich deep voice. "Sir, I listened with vast approval while you handled both cembalo and violin last year at the Musician's Charity concert."

  "I am honored that you remember such a trifle, Herr Adamberger. In return, I must say that memory of the Death you sang last year in Alceste still gives me a chill."

  After the exchange of compliments, the gentlemen bowed again. Adamberger had had a long career in Vienna, riding Dame Fortune’s wheel. When Olympia had lost her voice after a difficult childbirth, the couple had shared the pain and financial privation. Fortunately for them and their ever growing family, not only had Florian's voice steadily improved, but appreciation for it continued to grow. It was now widely agreed among Vienna's connoisseurs that the last two seasons had been among Herr Adamberger's finest.

  Florian had always been a good actor, too. In Olympia's heyday, when they'd married, he'd actually been doing more acting than singing. These days, his portrayals of evil, those swaggering, basso villains, profited from his acting. Olympia, resigned to her fate, said she had too many children to even think about the stage anymore. And why should she spend her life fighting with those dreadful Italian donnas for scraps?

  "We're sorry we only sent a note earlier, Liebchen, but you know how careful Florian must be."

  "Oh, indeed!" Klara said. "Please don't come anywhere near me, Florian. I would be devastated if you caught anything."

  "You will think me an awful coward, but I believe I will salute you from here, little one," Florian replied, blowing a kiss across the room.

  "Where are Amelia and Georgi?"

  "Oh, we left them at home. All you need is children running all over the place. Liese looks out of temper as it is."

  "We left Ute and Adolfus to mind them. God knows what we will find when we get back."

  The Adambergers’ elderly servants had been with Florian since his childhood. Tales of their indulgence to the whims of the children were well-known. On one spectacular occasion Florian and Olympia had returned home to find both white-haired servants tied to chairs, surrounded by ‘wild Indians’. Once they had captured their caretakers, the young Adambergers had bounced upon a bed until the frame collapsed, and then popped pillows by using them for pitched battles. The apartment had been ankle deep in feathers. Not only that, but the children had capped their misdeeds by devouring an entire torte which the baker had just brought up that morning. While Olympia wept and apologized as she untied the servants, Florian had wreaked vengeance upon them all with the palm of his hand.

  "Is Adele at home? She'll keep them in order." This was the oldest girl, now sixteen. She was tall, handsome and very responsible. Klara took a special interest in Adele because she too studied with Signor Manzoli.

  "Unfortunately not, but the reason why we’re here is the most wonderful news! Adele’s got a part at the Court Theater, a trouser role in Kapellmeister Salieri's new opera. Signorina Bibiena fell sick last night. Perhaps with the same catarrh you've had. She opened her mouth in the first act and only screeches came out."

  "Not that much different than the usual," Florian chuckled.

  “We hear that Signorina Bibiena sent to the Court apothecary and is in her bed. We're just hoping that Adele will have three weeks in order to make her mark. Why, we've just come from lighting candles at the Lady Chapel at Saint Stephen's."

  "Not, I gather, for Signorina Bibiena's recovery?" Herr Almassy smiled at her.

  "Ah, sir," Olympia replied, "I fear you misjudge us. Of course we asked the Blessed Mother to allow the Signorina to regain her voice – but only much later this year."

  "Well, it's only fair," Florian said, "for we've exchanged far too many Italian singers for Germans over this winter. Signorina Bibiena's indisposition is a small attempt at balancing the scales. Klara, dear, do you think they'll give you back your Alceste?"

  "No. I've relinquished the role to Signorina Amelli. It seemed the only thing to do, especially the first few days when I was so horribly ill."

  "Of course you'd be conscientious, my dear, but when the day comes one of them is as reasonable, the Second Coming may be in view."

  "And what is the verdict of this able Herr Doctor?" Florian nodded at Akos.

  "Fraulein Silber should be able to exercise her voice in a few days. At that time, Signor Manzoli will give us his opinion, but I believe she will be able to sing before Carnival is done,"

  "Yes, thank Heavan!" Klara was fervent. "I would be miserable to the core to lose this season entirely."

  "We all have a lot to thank you for, Concertmaster Almassy, if you have preserved Klara's voice and can bring her so quickly back to our stage. I have always believed my wife's career was ended by the advice of a poor doctor."

  "They bled you, Frau Adamberger?"

  "Among other things. I shall never permit it again, no matter how much the quacks chatter about adjusting the humors."

  "My grandfather rarely used blood-letting in his cures. Perhaps that is why his title remains 'Gardener’."

  Everyone laughed. Klara said, "Herr Almassy has been such a support." Her enthusiasm was followed by a flush. "He has been playing to me, too. It is just so lovely to have good music when I can't go the theater or make any for myself."

  Liese brought in coffee and a plate of sugar-dusted lemon cakes and they settled to chat in the cosy parlor. The stove in the corner creaked, sending a wonderful deep heat. The Adambergers brought gossip from the Court, too, about the quarrels that the Crown Prince was having with his mother, the aged Empress, over matters of policy, particularly the conflict in Silesia, where Oettingen had been so long detained.

  Klara and Akos sat side by side on the sofa. Sometimes their hands, childlike, found their way together. They had to remember to move apart, remind themselves that they were not alone, especially when Olympia's bright eyes seemed to be noticing.

  She spent some time asking Akos questions about Prague, his nearest big city. She had apparently visited there during her ingénue days and enjoyed it very much. While she did talked and Akos answered, Adamberger drank his tea, taking small, cautious sips, which made the delicate cup even more preposterous in his large, well-cared for hands. Klara was aware that her friends were studying Almassy closely.

  After an hour which passed all too quickly for the company-starved Klara, Florian drew out a large, heavily jeweled pocket watch.

  “For once, I believe it is actually running! Wonderful convenient things, watches, when they are not in need of repair.”

  “A beautiful piece of work, Herr Adamberger.”

  “Oh, he’s so naughty!” Olympia patted her husband’s arm. “He’s showing off his present from Baron von Schlegal.”

  “The Baron must have been well-satisfied.” Klara’s eyes widened as she took in the number of jewels encircling the gold case.

  “Indeed,” said Akos. “A princely gift.”

  “Ducats would have been more immediately useful, but sometimes it is a treat to brandish such a toy.”

  Everyone nodded. This watch would be worth a tidy sum from any pawnshop, but it also was a fine advertisement for the singer who could afford to wear it. />
  “Nevertheless, I am trying to say, my dearest wife, that it is well onto 3:00 and you must use the light to return home. I must to the theater to earn our bread. We’re so happy to see you on the mend, Klara, and to meet the Concertmaster.”

  With farewells and many bows and promises to visit soon again, the Adamergers departed. Liese carried away the cups and plates. As twilight came on, Akos and Klara were alone once again.

  "They're my best friends. The only real ones, I guess. Herr Adamberger was in my very first opera. I was rather scared of him, if you can imagine, just because he was so well-known. And I was such a goose in those days – I thought he looked rather dangerous."

  "It's hard to imagine you as a shy maiden." Akos smiled at her. "Herr Adamberger is an imposing character, but one look into his eyes should have told you he is a gentleman."

  "I didn't see his eyes for months. They were too far up. I didn't dare to look! And the first time I ever saw him, he and Olympia were having a fight, shouting at each other in the wings of the theater. I thought a man who could yell at his wife in public must be a real brute. Now, of course, I have seen a great deal more of the world."

  Akos leaned close to gently kiss her cheek.

  "You know, my angel, we must be more discreet than we have just been this afternoon. I believe your friends may have already guessed a great deal about us."

  "Why do you imagine the Adambergers know anything? How could they? You and Olympia talked most, and it was all about Prague."

  "The look in Frau Adamberger's eyes spoke volumes. She is happy for you. Her husband is reserving judgment, but he is apprehensive on your behalf."

  "Do you read people like books, Herr Concertmaster?" She caressed his lean cheek.

  "Everything is in the eyes, windows through which the soul displays."

  They shared another soft kiss, but even as they parted, there were footsteps, the sound of Liese's voice. Conversation came to an abrupt end. The preemptory rap was followed by a swiftly opened door.