I knew that if the Baron caught me with those pictures it would be the end of Rhawnie, thieving Gypsy beauty.
“Just a second,” the Baron said. “I have some fine cigars in my desk. I’ll get them.”
My heart died, right inside my chest. I decided that I would scream, create a disturbance, and try to get away before he killed me. He walked over to the desk but didn’t come around to the front. A good thing: I saw to my horror that a foot-wide expanse of blue skirt was lying on the carpet, in plain sight.
“Oh, here they are. I filled the canister this morning.”
Good Baron, I thought approvingly. Such a neat, precise man.
He walked away again, towards the bedroom. I could still hear their voices and when I peeked out I saw that he had left the door open a foot. I couldn’t possibly get away without being seen. And I certainly didn’t want to stay while he and his friend practiced for their next picture taking session.
A breeze struck my face. The window was open, I saw. As quietly as I could I crept out of my hiding place, crossed the few feet to the window, and leaned out. It was a sheer thirty-foot drop to the rose bushes below. Not worth it. But I could dispose of my casket and the leather case, and brazen it out afterwards. The objects fell and crashed into the bushes, and I walked to the center of the floor and called,
“Hello, Baron, are you home?"
He came to the bedroom door. He was still dressed, only he was wearing a green silk smoking jacket over his trousers.
“Where did you come from?" he demanded, pulling the bedroom door closed. “How did you get in here?" “Don’t be so inhospitable," I scolded him. “I was passing and decided to drop in and say good-bye. I’ll be leaving Munich soon. Sad, isn’t it, after all we’ve meant to each other? How did you enjoy my concert tonight? It was a triumph, wasn’t it?"
“Unfortunately I could not attend, Baroness," he said. “I had more important matters to occupy my time. I consider music a frivolous waste.”
“Do you? A shame. The rest of the show was very amusing, too. Some men tried to disrupt the performance. But the King had drawn up a seating chart and he knew the names of everyone who bought a ticket and he knew where they would be sitting. You very nicely bought tickets, didn’t you? Ten or a dozen, singles, in all parts of the house. You made it very easy for the King to quell your riot.”
He flushed. “Don’t look so smug, Baroness,” he said dangerously.
“Oh, let’s part on good terms, shall we?” I offered generously. “I’ll have some very fond memories to take with me when I go. I’ll bid you farewell too, Wolfgang, dear.” I walked to the door and paused with my hand on the latch. I pulled. The door was locked. I turned the key and grinned at him. “Silly of me, to lock myself in when I came. Force of habit. Good-bye, then.”
“Not good-bye. Baroness,” he said, smiling at me glacially. “Au revoir.”
I exited as gracefully as I could and then raced down the hall as fast as a rabbit. I went outside, found my treasures in the rose bushes and extricated them from the thorns with difficulty. I knew what I would do with the jewels: I would have Anna sew them into the hem of one of my petticoats. And I knew, too, what I would do with those remarkable photographs.
Two days later there was a riot in front of the opera house. The newspapers didn’t even mention my triumph, but emphasized the enormous cost of the new building and its proximity to the Residence. As if, I thought caustically, I would run over to the King’s bedchamber for a quick rendezvous without disrupting rehearsals for too long.
The crowd swelled to five hundred, then a thousand; mounted soldiers were unable to disband the mob. They marched to the Prinzregenstrasse, to my house. They shattered all the windows at the front of the house, and only the presence of twenty royal guards, Ludwig’s men, prevented them from breaking down the doors and hauling me into the street.
That night Anna brought me a note that had been slipped under the front door in the confusion.
“A coach will be waiting outside your door tomorrow morning at eleven. Take only what you need for three days’ journey and send the rest of your things ahead to Paris. S.”
“Secret messages, orders from on high,” I muttered. Anna and I bustled to and fro, throwing things into trunks and valises.
We hardly slept at all that night. There were still shouts in the street, and occasionally a weighted missile would come flying in through one of the broken windows. The captain of the guards informed me that their number had been increased to fifty. I gave him instructions about my trunks, and pressed some money into his hand, “for beer when this is all over.”
All the servants had left the house, the cowards. In the morning Anna made us a light breakfast of toast and tea and I instructed her to pack a hamper of food for the trip.
"Lots of champagne and paté, and there should be a few jars of cavier lying around. Put them in. And some fruit and cheese. We don’t know what this Monsieur S. has in store for us.”
I put on a travelling costume of rose-pink satin trimmed with black ribbons. I wore a small-brimmed black hat with a high crown and a wisp of a veil. At eleven o’clock Anna and I stood on the steps of the Little Olympus for the last time. It had never felt like home, but I had enjoyed living there, among so many beautiful things, and I would miss it, a little.
A small crowd had already gathered in front of the house. Someone shouted, “There she is!”
I lifted my chin and started across the street. A carriage was waiting. The driver hopped down and opened the doors with a flourish.
“Whore! Jezebel!” a woman shrieked.
I did not turn my head. I swept through them as though they were so many sheep. They fell back to let me pass, removed by one stroke of an invisible scythe. Anna toddled along at my side, trembling with every step. The guards helped the driver load the luggage, and Anna and I stepped inside. The driver took his place over us, cracked his whip, and the carriage jerked into motion. Something large and red splatted against the window: a fine, ripe tomato.
“Peasants,” I sniffed. “What an outrage, Anna. To be driven from my home in ignominy, to be slandered and reviled—well, it’s over now. Let us enjoy the ride. It’s a beautiful day.”
The carriage took us to Augsburg, about fifty miles west of Munich. We met the Munich-Stuttgart train, which was waiting in the station when we got there. The coachman unloaded our things and handed me two tickets for a first-class compartment. As soon as Anna and I had made ourselves comfortable the whistle blew and the wheels of the train started to turn.
“So far our mysterious Monsieur S. has proved himself to be very efficient,” I remarked to Anna, who nodded happily. Poor Anna didn’t care for danger.
Just then a tall man came into the compartment without knocking. He pulled down the blinds on the door and windows to the corridor and said, “Take off your clothes. There’s no time to lose.”
I gave him an incredulous stare. It took me only a few seconds to place him: the stranger at the concert, Ludwig’s visitor, the man who had observed Liszt and me from the fringes of the crowd after the performance.
“You are too impetuous. Monsieur S.,” I said mildly. “I like to be a little better acquainted with a man before—”
“Time for wit later, Baroness,” he said briskly. He had a valise with him. He opened it and drew out a black dress, black cloak, and a hat with yards and yards of heavy black veiling. A full mourning costume. “Please put these things on—”
“Black!” I exclaimed, horrified. “How ridiculous. I never wear black. Or white. It’s bad luck.”
“You’ll have worse luck if you don’t do as I ask,” he said without cracking a smile. He peered under the blind. “You have about four minutes before they get here.”
I listened and heard sounds of disturbance farther along the coach. Doors opened and closed. Official-sounding voices barked orders.
“A search!” I breathed angrily. "They wouldn’t dare!”
"They w
ouldn’t dare,” my stranger said. “If you want to get out of Bavaria today, you’ll do as I say.”
Anna and I sprang into action. We stripped off my pink dress and jacket and I put on the black gown. The stranger put the discarded items into his valise. His eyes flashed over me while I was still in a state of semi-undress. My underthings were a vivid, prussian blue. I winked at him and said, “You see? I told you I never wear white.”
As soon as I had put on the cloak and the concealing hat, he shoved his valise into Anna’s arms and said, “Take this to compartment three, just down the corridor, and wait there until they’ve gone. Do you understand?”
Anna gave me an inquiring look and I nodded under my veils. When she left the compartment the man sat next to me and tucked my hand under his arm. With his free hand he pushed my head down so that my cheek rested on shoulder. At that very moment two men in uniform, followed by a frightened train conductor, barged into the compartment.
“Papers, please,” said one of the soldiers.
“I beg your pardon,” said my companion. He had spoken to me in fluent German, without trace of an accent. Now his German was awkward and stilted. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
“There is a spy and a traitor aboard this train, sir,” said the conductor in a shaking voice. “These men have orders to make a search.”
“In the name of King Maximillian of Bavaria!” one of the uniformed men barked. “May I see your papers!”
“Of course,” shrugged Monsieur S. He reached into a breast pocket and brought out a sheaf of documents. “My wife and I are British citizens,” he said. “We are returning from Vienna. We took our son there to see a well-known physician, a specialist. It was no use. We—we lost him.”
I gave a strangled cry and started to weep softly. The stranger put his arm around my shoulders. The men shifted uncomfortably.
“There, there, my darling,” said the handsome stranger in English. “I know it’s difficult to speak of it. But we must.”
“Please forgive me,” I said in English. “I didn’t mean to give way like that. He was so young, so young!” I lowered my head. My shoulders trembled.
The senior officer returned the papers and said in English, “We are sorry for your loss, Herr Martin and Frau Martin. But you will understand that a search like this was necessary or we would not have done it. Good day.”
They left the compartment. My “husband” took his arm away and let out a sigh.
“I congratulate you,” he said, still in English. “Your performance was most convincing. Baroness.”
I threw back my veils and faced him angrily. “It is very easy to be convincing when your heart is broken, when an old wound is reopened and a knife twisted in it!” I flared at him. “You are a very clever fellow. Monsieur S. To use a painful memory to elicit believable play-acting from me—!”
He looked quite taken aback and said, “I am really very sorry, Baroness. I had no idea that—you did suffer a loss, then?”
I nodded vigorously. “My infant son. In Vienna. A year and a half ago. You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t. It was an unfortunate coincidence, Baroness, nothing more. Please forgive me.” He looked genuinely abashed and penitent.
“Of course, I forgive you,” I said. “I shouldn’t have scolded you like that. After all, you are my deliverer. So they have had their revolution at last, have they? What a lot of nonsense, revolutions. Bloodless and noisy, just what I would expect from those people. I hope the King is all right. Do you know? Did he get away in time? Is he hurt?”
“So far as I know he is well and on his way to England, Baroness.”
I sat back. “That is good, very good. Those sheep have a new king now, and a new royal favorite to worry about.”
‘‘Baron von Zander?”
“Yes, Baron von Zander. So he’s looking for me! A spy and a traitor! Those were his men, you know. His personal guards. Their uniforms bore his own coat of arms.”
“So they did,” the man frowned. “He’s eager to find you. I didn’t anticipate having to use those weeds,” he nodded at my costume.
There were footsteps in the corridor. Quickly I pulled down my veils and slid closer to Monsieur S. I let my head fall to his shoulder again, and I wondered if he could smell my rose scent. The steps passed without pausing and we relaxed again. He stood and stretched and I lifted my veils and smoothed my skirts. He took a seat opposite me and regarded me thoughtfully, without smiling.
He was tall, lean and handsome. His hair was dark blond and very straight. He wore it combed to the side, but every so often it would fall over his eyes, giving him an unexpectedly boyish look. His brows were dark and he was clean shaven. Ludwig might have called his nose a little too large for perfect beauty, but his strong chin and large dark-fringed eyes certainly balanced it. His fingers were long, thin and strong. As I studied him I felt something that I hadn’t felt for a long time: desire, like a little imp waking from a long sleep, stirred and stretched and came alive inside me. A slight flush mounted to my cheeks.
“I don’t really look like the wickedest woman in the western hemisphere, do I?” I asked softly.
He jumped, startled. I knew I had read his mind correctly.
“You were wondering if all those terrible stories you have heard about me could possibly be true,” I went on.
“Can one woman really have corrupted a monarch, sacked the treasury, brought down a government, caused outbreaks of hives and plague, and prompted crops to dry up and cattle to die?” I laughed lightly.
He smiled for the first time. “You are a beautiful and talented lady. Baroness. I enjoyed your concert with Liszt very much. You put him in the shade. I suspect there are few women in Europe capable of doing that.”
“Only because he permitted it,” I said generously. “He was very kind to me.”
“I hope I’ll be able to hear you sing again soon?”
“Who knows?” I shrugged. “This revolution nonsense has disrupted everything. And if I am to be harassed by ruffians wherever I go—. Where are we going, by the way? I hope you don’t think it impertinent of me to ask.”
“Not at all. Stuttgart first, and tonight we’ll travel to Strasbourg. The sooner we get out of Bavaria, the happier I’ll be. This sort of thing really isn’t in my line at all.”
“But you do it so well!” I said. “What is your line?”
“Very prosaic,” he grinned. “I’m a lawyer.”
How did you become involved in Bavarian politics?”
“I had business in France. King Ludwig is an old friend of my father’s. He sent for me, said it was urgent. I confess I was intrigued, and I had a few weeks to spare while some papers were being readied, and so I came.” He gave me a penetrating look that made my little imp swoon, and he said, “I’m not sorry I did.”
“I suppose you read the lies about me in the newspapers?”
He nodded.
“The Baron’s doing. Don’t believe any of them. What did Ludwig tell you about me?”
“He said that you were his dear friend and that he didn’t want anything to happen to you.” He paused, as if there were something else, but just then Anna came into the compartment and I decided it was time to open the food hamper.
“You didn’t think to bring food, did you. Monsieur?” I asked him gaily. “Men never do think of food in times of crisis. But that is when you need it most.”
We had a pleasant little party in our shuttered compartment. I saw Anna giving the stranger assessing looks, and when she bent over me to fill my champagne glass, she gave me an approving wink. I made a little move with my mouth that said I was willing, but was he? Anna and I rarely had need of words.
“Did you bring your wife to France, Monsieur—?” I asked.
“The name is McClelland,” he told me. “Steven McClelland. I didn’t want to disgrace my country—or implicate her politically—if there was any trouble.” I nodded. Very wise. “I have no wife. Baroness
. She died some time ago.”
“Ah, how sad for you. But you have children?”
“We had five. Two died soon after my wife. It was— typhoid.” He looked down, but not before I saw the pain of remembering in his eyes.
“That’s very sad,” I said. And I meant it. “But fortunate in a way.”
He looked up. “What do you mean?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Your dear wife died without knowing that her babies were dying, too. That was good, for her. She could feel peace and contentment at the end, knowing that you had all those wonderful children to comfort you when she was gone. She did not know then how great your sorrow would be.”
He was silent for a while, then he said, “That’s true. She did seem—at peace.”
“Please tell me more about your other children,” I asked. “How lucky you are to have three! How old are they?”
“The oldest, John, is thirteen. Philippe is ten. And Marie is eight. My wife died seven years ago.”
“So small when their mother left them!” I exclaimed. “And who cares for them?”
“They had a governess for a while. And my mother was wonderful. They all adore her. The boys are in school now and only Marie is left at home.”
“And she is beautiful, your daughter,” I said gently. “Like your wife.” He gave a little smile and a nod. “You should marry again,” I said firmly. “You are too young to be without a wife! She would have wanted it that way, you know. She wouldn’t like you to be lonely.”
“And how do you know that I’m lonely?” Steven McClelland asked. A smile lurked behind his eyes.
I spread my hands and said, “Gypsies know everything! But you have the look of a man who works too hard. A happily married man wouldn’t need to work hard. And he wouldn’t want to.”
“You’re very wise,” he laughed. “And very observant.”
I shrugged and spread some caviar on a piece of dark bread. “My Gypsy upbringing, my friend. I knew before I asked that you were not married now. You are too thin and you look a little worried. Your wife would have replaced the missing button on your coat and when I cried you would have offered me a handkerchief but you couldn’t because you didn’t have one. A wife would have made sure that you had one at all times. But I knew you had been married, because only a married man with children could have thought up that very convincing lie about the little son who died in Vienna.”
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