Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

  But at eleven-fifteen on that particular day I still had not sung a note. Yet another Theatrical Consultant had come to pester me. This one, a Monsieur Legrange, said he would be satisfied with only a third of the profits after each concert, instead of the half I had come to expect.

  “And how do you propose to earn your third?” I asked him.

  “I would arrange everything for you, Baroness!” he said eagerly. “Hotels, food, rehearsal space, the finest pianos, the best theaters, advertising, interviews!”

  Anna came in with another calling card on a silver salver. I put it aside without even reading it. Where did these people come from?

  “After you sing in New Orleans,” Legrange went on, “we’ll travel up the river by steamboat, playing every little town—”

  Anna pulled at my arm. I shook her off and said impatiently, “For Heaven’s sake, Anna, can’t it wait until later?” She shrugged and went out, casting me a smug look over her shoulder.

  I turned to Legrange. At the piano, David Thatcher was scribbling notes on an opera score. I took a breath.

  “What if I don’t feel like playing in these little towns?” I asked Legrange. “Suppose you make me an engagement three months from now and in three months I do not feel like singing? I came here not to perform but to rest. If I had signed some stupid paper and agreed to do a concert here, I would not be resting. I would be working, working, working. Isn’t that right, David? I work, work, work anyway because I love to sing, but nowadays I sing for myself and for my friends, not for strangers. Perhaps I shall never perform in public again. Who knows?”

  “Oh, Baroness,” moaned Legrange, “that would be a great tragedy!”

  “Yes, you think so because you can see your third of the gross receipts flying out the window. If I do not work, you do not get your share, right? But for me there is nothing tragic about living in this beautiful city and meeting its people in my home and not having to look at them from the stage. I like this city. Suppose I decided I want to stay here for the next three months or the next three years? What would happen to my engagements then?” I demanded.

  Legrange stuttered an incoherent reply. David plunked at the piano keys and hummed to himself.

  “I will tell you. Monsieur Legrange, ever since I came to this country I have sung where I wanted to sing. I arrange these things myself, with David’s help, and I do not get thirty-three and a third percent. Monsieur Legrange. I do not get fifty percent. I get the whole thing! Why should I pay you for doing things that I can so easily do for myself? Do you think I pay for space in the newspapers? Only for the smallest box to announce the date and time of performance, and the reporters take care of the rest. I pay nothing for that. Do you think I cultivate notoriety because I like to be stared at and pointed at and jeered at? Of course I don’t mind because this notoriety attracts people to my concerts who would not otherwise come. Isn’t that right, David?”

  “Yes, Baroness.” Plunk, plunk. Scribble.

  “And once these people come they are treated to the most beautiful music man has composed and woman has sung. I am performing a great public service! I am bringing Art to people in this country who have never seen Art! And Beauty! These people go away from my concerts and they feel as though they have seen a fairy princess. A Baroness! A real, live Baroness has touched their lives! A beautiful woman who sings better than the nightingale!”

  “That is true, Baroness, that is true!” Legrange quickly agreed.

  “Besides,” I said bluntly, “I cannot afford you. I do not have a third to spare. I am a poor woman, Monsieur, with many obligations. So many mouths to feed, a house to maintain, a staff—! There is nothing left! You have taken up enough of my time, sir. Good day to you.”

  He bowed and stumbled out of the room. I forgot all about the visitor who was waiting in the hall. I rubbed my temples.

  “Ah, these people will drive me mad. Always someone who wants to take. Is there no one in this world who gives except me? My God, I have a headache already. What would you like to work on?”

  “Beethoven.” David rooted through a pile of music. “Beethoven,” I grunted, “in this heat! You really are crazy.”

  I went over to the piano and studied the music through a pair of pince-nez spectacles. David started to play the song, “Adelaide,” which was one of my favorites. Music filled the room, the brightest and happiest place in the house. The curtains and upholstery were yellow chintz patterned with lots of birds and flowers. Pillows of many colors were scattered around the floor. Potted palms and ferns stood on pedestals in the corners. Cheerful pictures in gilt frames hung on the pale yellow walls. On a table in the center of the room stood a large brass samovar.

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” said a masculine voice from the doorway.

  “Great Heaven, another pest!” I said, exasperated. I whirled, ready to give the intruder a piece of my mind.

  And there stood Steven McClelland, looking cool and immaculate in a white linen suit. His face was deeply tanned, and his blue eyes looked like inviting pools. His hair was lighter than I remembered, sun-bleached.

  With a glad cry I tossed my music and spectacles onto the clutter on top of the piano and went forward to greet him.

  “Oh, my dear friend! What a wonderful surprise!”

  We clasped hands warmly and stood silently for a whole minute, just grinning and admiring each other. I wore a pink dressing gown with thousands of ruffles at the neck, hem, sleeves—all over. Dora had told me that morning that I looked gorgeous, like a giant camellia.

  “You are more beautiful than ever,” he said in his straightforward way. “How do you do it? Work, work, work?”

  I laughed and said, “So you were eavesdropping on my tirade to that man—what was his name, David?”

  “Beethoven,” growled my accompanist. I performed introductions, then David said, “I’m going down to get some coffee. Do you want some?”

  “You drink too much coffee,” I scolded him. “Have tea instead.”

  “I loathe tea.” He shambled past the samovar. “I hope that thing blows up someday.”

  “He’s really going to smoke one of his filthy cigarettes,” I confided to Steven when David had gone. I took his arm and led him to a plush settee near the samovar.

  “He says he didn’t have any vices before he met me and now he has hundreds! He even drinks champagne! At least let me offer you some tea, Steven. I know it’s dreadfully hot today, but I find it so refreshing.” I poured two cups of tea from the small pot on top of the samovar, then diluted them a little with hot water from the spigot at the bottom of the urn. “Ah, it is so good to see you! And you are looking so well, too. Not a bit tired. But listen to me, talking too much!” It was true, I felt as nervous and fluttery as a debutante. I handed him his cup and settled back against the cushions. “How do you like my house? Isn’t it grand? I do love it. I was so tired of travelling.”

  “You’re quite famous, I hear,” Steven smiled. “I’m very proud of you.”

  “ You are wonderful,” I said, pressing his hand. “I knew you would call on me when you came back. How are your children? And your parents? Did your father tell you I danced with him at the President’s house? To think, he is Vice-President of the entire country! What an honor!”

  “He’s no longer Vice-President,” Steven told me. “There’s a new party in office now. Zachary Taylor is President instead of Polk.”

  I stared. “So quickly? A new president? Was there a revolution?”

  He laughed. “No, there was an election.”

  “You will think me very stupid. The only things I read in the newspapers are the pieces about me. Ah, your father is so handsome. Like you!”

  “He’s looking forward to seeing you again,” Steven told me. “I’d like everyone to meet you.” He grinned suddenly.

  “And I would adore to meet—but what are you laughing at?”

  “I’ve found you out,“ he said. “I read in the newspapers this morning
that you can’t read a note of music and that you have to learn all your songs by ear. When I came in you were not only reading music, but reading it through spectacles. Dear, dear!”

  I laughed merrily, “Yes, it’s so silly. I can see a bee on a lamppost at a hundred yards, but those wretched little dots—! I will soon be as blind as David Thatcher. And I tell people that I can’t read music because when they hear me sing they will marvel all the more at how wonderful I am. Isn’t that wicked?”

  “Terribly wicked.” He gave me a searching gaze and then dropped his eyes.

  What is it, Steven? Something is bothering you. Please tell me.”

  “It’s not important,” he said softly. “I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

  “No, Steven. I couldn’t be happy knowing that you were unhappy. Tell me why. I’m so selfish, prattling on like an idiot when you were trying to tell me something.”

  He sighed deeply. “You’ve been here three months, since July. And you’ve received lots of visitors, crowds of admirers. It’s been open house. You’re so generous you can’t turn anyone away without seeing him, like that idiot Legrange. You’re very popular with the young bloods of the town, and with their elders, too. You give them music, some food and champagne, and you even have a little gambling, I’ve heard.”

  “You’re disappointed with me because I’ve taken up gambling again,” I said quickly. “Oh, Steven, I had to! I was spending so much and earning so little. I’ve even had to sell some of Ludwig’s jewels. But it displeases you. I will stop, I promise.”

  “No, Rhawnie,” Steven said reassuringly. “I’m not much of a gambler myself, but I can understand the attraction it holds for you and for other people. Just let me finish.

  One of the young bloods who is so smitten with you is my younger brother, Sean.”

  “Your brother!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t even know. There are so many faces, so many names. Sean, you say? He is like you, fair-haired?”

  “He’s dark, more like—but I’m not concerned about Sean. He’s old enough to enjoy himself without hurting anyone. But the last few times he’s been here, he’s had a young girl with him.”

  “An undesirable match!”

  “Not at all. Our sister, Gabrielle. And my mother feels—we all feel—that the drawing room of a worldly, sophisticated lady is not the most suitable place for an impressionable girl to meet people.” He stopped, embarrassed.

  “Of course it isn’t,” I said sympathetically. “I don’t blame you for coming to me. I never dreamed—”

  Steven said, “We think she’s meeting someone here. Sean has helped her—he thought it was a lark—telling us he was taking her to this affair or that play, or to call on some friend or other. But all the time they’ve been coming here. It’s not your fault, Rhawnie. He’s a young fool and he won’t do it again, or so he says. But we can’t keep them prisoner—”

  “Who is he?” I asked. “The man she’s been seeing. Do you know.”

  “A Russian. A Prince Boris something.”

  “Boris Leontovitch Azubin,” I said. “I know him. He’s no more a prince than I am a baroness. He’s a gambler, and cruel. Oh, this is terrible. Dreadful! Oh, Steven, I am so sorry!” I jumped up and paced the floor. “It will be easy enough to put an end to their meeting here. If it is difficult for them to see each other, the infatuation may just end. We must try. I shall close my house to visitors—to all but the most special people. You must speak sternly to your little brother about his responsibilities to his sister. Azubin, of all people! He is a rogue, that one. I have heard—”

  “What?” Steven urged me. “What have you heard?” I shrugged. “Just a rumor. That he—killed a girl in Paris.” I saw the stricken look on his face and I ran to him. “Oh, Steven, it was just a story! A lie. I’m sure of it! Do not worry. Listen, I shall speak to Boris myself, and find out just what his intentions are. I know that kind—he will get bored soon and want to move on. Perhaps I could even buy him off—or seduce him myself!”

  Steven laughed and the worry left his face. “You’re a terror, Baroness. I beg you, don’t do anything drastic. I’m sure we’re worrying about nothing.” We rose together. "I'll see you again?”

  "You are welcome at any time,” I said, feeling disappointed that he had to leave. “And do not worry about Gabrielle. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

  After he had gone I rang the bell for Anna. “From now on I am not at home to anyone, do you understand, Anna? Only to Steven and members of his family. Tell everyone else that I am preparing to sing and that I need rest and privacy. But if Prince Azubin should call—I am home to him.”

  I sighed and walked to the window. I had forgotten how really handsome Steven was. And so kind and gentle.

  “I wonder,” I murmured, “if he would have come to see me if he hadn’t had that trouble with his sister. I think not. That château was far away, and he was not himself. He was playing at being a secret agent, an adventurer. But here he is himself again, a respectable man with a family and a good name and duties and responsibilities. He won’t want to associate with the Baroness of Ravensfeld now. Well, Anna,” I said aloud, “no more gambling. I’ll have to work for my living again. Send David up and send for my dressmaker. I must have a new gown for the concert. Something really special.”

  David shambled in five minutes later. “You mean you really are going to sing today? I don’t believe it. Your friend didn’t stay long, did he?”

  “I am going to do a concert here after all,” I announced. “After Christmas, I think, when the social season begins. And I want the program to be brilliant, is that clear? These people are cultured, they appreciate fine music. They have had opera here for centuries! I want Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms! Only the best!”

  “You mean you aren’t going to thrill them with ‘Home, Sweet Home?’ “ he asked sarcastically. “That’s the best part."

  “I will do Liszt’s ‘Five Gypsy Songs,’ but no more. You don’t have to mock my show of good taste!"

  “I’m not mocking. I’m just astonished that I’ve taught you something after all this time." He sat down at the piano and rippled off some quick arpeggios.

  Prince Boris Azubin called on me two days later. I received him in the drawing room downstairs and ordered tea. He was no longer young, about thirty-five, and his face reflected his dissipated life-style. His blond hair was thinning at the crown and at the temples. He had deep creases in his cheeks, like jowels. And his pale grey eyes were enmeshed in a fine red web, the result of hours of peering at playing cards through a fog of cigar smoke. Even though I did not feel attracted to him myself, I could see how a young girl like Gabrielle McClelland might find his bored, worldly air fascinating.

  “You have gone into seclusion, I hear," Boris said. “A shame. Everyone will miss the brilliant evenings spent in your charming company."

  “Ah, yes," I gave a martyred sigh. “I’m afraid I must deprive myself of these diversions for a few months."

  “I am sure you won’t deprive yourself unduly," he said dryly.

  “I was surprised to find such a fine gentleman as yourself in a provincial city like this. Don’t you find it dull?"

  “I could never find any city dull where you are. Baroness," he said with glib gallantry. “You are the most charming woman I’ve met since I came to America. It didn’t surprise me to learn that you were Russian."

  “Half-Russian,” I corrected him. “But enough to make me charming, eh? Well, now that I have closed my house to you immoral revelers, what will you do with yourself? Shall you move on, to a new city?”

  Boris shrugged. His eyes were hooded, like a turtle’s, and his lashes were as pale as his hair.

  “I take my amusement where I can find it,” Boris said wearily. “I confess I have found other attractions in this city besides yourself, Baroness.”

  “Have you? Tell me about her.”

  Azubin grinned. It gave his face a beaky look. “I didn’t think you would be interes
ted in my little conquests. But as a matter of fact, I have captured the heart of the only daughter of a very prominent citizen—a man who used to be Vice-President of the United States!”

  “Really!” I tried to sound impressed. “How clever you are, Prince. But surely she is only a dull, provincial girl with little conversation and experience. I fear you will tire of her rather soon.”

  “I could never tire of her fortune,” the Prince grinned wolfishly. “Her esteemed parent has vast wealth.”

  “Ah,” said I, enlightened at last, “so you want to marry her! Admirable, Prince. I congratulate you.”

  You know better than that. But surely a Vice-President would be willing to part with a little of his wealth, just to keep an unwelcome suitor from forcing his attentions on his daughter. Wouldn’t you think?”

  “I think you’ll be lucky if her brothers don’t kill you,” I said.

  “Fortunately duelling has been outlawed here,” he said smugly. “You know her brothers, do you? And you were the lucky recipient of a visit from that prig, Steven. He is following in his father’s footsteps. They say he could be the governor of the state in a few years.”

  You say he was here? I do not recall. So many—I don’t even know their names.”

  "Yes," said Boris, moving closer to me. “He called a couple of days ago, and after he left you issued your edict banning further hospitality under your roof. Quite a coincidence, that. I don’t suppose he mentioned me?”

  “Why should he?” I asked coldly.

  Boris picked up my hand and lifted it to his lips. “I thought he might have confided his concern about his sister to you. Did he say how much they would give to buy me off?”

  I snatched my hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I snapped. “Listen to me, Prince, no true gentleman would pursue a girl, knowing that her family did not approve. Why don’t you spare her this trouble? Leave New Orleans, please. Do it—for me?” I looked at him alluringly from under my lashes.