A small, hard silence: Cristabel had turned very white, Martha was biting her lips. In the end, Lady Helen spoke: ‘I am sure Lady Cristabel will be happy to see the Prince if he can get leave to come to her. There are all kinds of things to discuss about the forthcoming season.’
‘What season?’ asked Minette, vulgarly direct. ‘There won’t be a season if Max don’t see sense. More like a season of war, with Uncle Bonaparte’s armies walking over little Lissenberg. Don’t ask me why, but he does seem to want to be sure of an alliance here. Your English friends know by now what happens to people who cross him.’
‘Illegal arrest,’ said Martha. ‘Yes, we are aware of how your uncle behaves, but we thank you for the reminder, Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. You have given us a great deal to think about.’ She looked at the clock. ‘It is time for Lady Cristabel to go to the Opera House. May I suggest that you use your great influence on Prince Gustav to arrange for Prince Maximilian to visit us tomorrow? I am sure we will have good advice to give him then.’ She had risen. ‘May I show you out? You see, we treat you quite like an old friend.’
She took Minette down two flights of stairs to the front door and parted from her with a cool curtsy. Returning, she was waylaid by a servant with the information that a gentleman was waiting to see her. ‘A Jewish gentleman.’ A slight sneer suggested that the man thought it a contradiction in terms.
‘In that case he is most certainly a friend of mine. I’ll see him at once.’
Salomon Rothschild’s friend was called Ishmael Brodski. He was tall, dark haired, beak-nosed, immensely handsome. ‘Miss Peabody,’ he surprised her by kissing her hand, ‘by sheer good fortune your letter found me here in town. In what way can I serve you? You spoke of funds for a journey?’
‘I think I am even more in need of advice,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ he smiled at her, ‘that is much harder than money, and comes more expensive. But for a friend of my friend, Salomon Rothschild, I will do my absolute best.’
‘I am sure of it, thank you. And I propose to trust you, Mr. Brodski.’ She quickly outlined the situation in which they found themselves. ‘What should we do?’ she asked finally.
‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘most interesting. I knew, of course, of Mademoiselle de Beauharnais’s coming. And rumour had guessed at the reason for it. Bonaparte is setting himself up, already, in the dynastic line. It would not be a wise moment to cross him, I think. It was Bonaparte, Miss Peabody, who saw to it that Lissenberg was “forgotten” when the Treaty of Rastatt was drawn up. I think you should remind your friend how easily he could have it remembered, even at this late stage.’
‘And Lissenberg would cease to exist?’
‘Just so. Which would be –’ he paused, ‘unfortunate, for all kinds of reasons which I would rather not go into. Do, please, persuade your friend to urge the young man to give way. I think she can honestly tell him it is a sacrifice he must make for Lissenberg.’
7
The engagement was announced a few days later and was celebrated by an ‘impromptu’ performance of Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito with Cristabel singing the part of Sextus. There had been no word from Max, and Martha wondered what threats had been used. Cristabel said nothing, but threw herself passionately into rehearsing her new part. Max, dancing attendance on his fiancée, had kept away, and so, to Martha’s great relief, had Minette, who was to leave the day after the performance for Paris, and preparations for a spring wedding.
‘A great deal can happen between now and spring,’ said Martha.
‘Please don’t think like that.’ Cristabel gave her a very straight look. ‘Or rather, yes, indeed it can. Between now and spring I intend to become a prima donna, someone to whom La Scala, or the San Carlo, really will throw the handkerchief.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. Or La Fenice perhaps? Do you know who came to see me this morning, while you were rehearsing? Lodge and Playfair.’
‘Our Venetian cicisbeos? What in the world are they doing here?’
‘Languishing after us, if you choose to believe them. But in fact they make no bones about it – they had made Venice too hot to hold them. The Austrians are not to be so easily expelled as they and their friends imagined.’
‘They mean to spend the winter here?’
‘So they say. I wish I quite knew why. They have secured seats for the performance tonight and asked me to tell you how passionately they look forward to it.’
‘So I am sure of two pairs of applauding hands.’
‘Oh, I think you will find everything quite different tonight.’
She was right. This time the royal party arrived in the blandest of spirits. Prince Gustav paused for a friendly word with Franzosi, then moved on to greet Lady Helen as if for the first time. ‘Welcome to Lissenberg! I hope you will all dine with us tomorrow, so that Lady Cristabel can receive the congratulations I am sure she will earn tonight.’
Behind him, Minette was radiant, Max grey with misery beside her. Martha was glad Cristabel was not there to see.
In the intervals of frantic, last-minute, rehearsal, Cristabel had told Martha about the problems of her part, written for a castrato. She was to play the hero/villain who tries to kill the Emperor Titus for a woman’s sake, and goes on adoring her through disgrace and the threat of death. When the curtain rose to reveal her, kneeling at the soprano’s feet, the audience burst into applause and Martha could not help a gasp of surprise. It was Cristabel there on stage, of course, but it was also a young, elegant, tunicked Roman. From then on, she had the audience with her, every inch of the way. Tonight, Martha thought, it would not have been possible for Prince Gustav to quell the applause, but tonight he led it.
At the end, when the Emperor Titus had forgiven everyone, and the singers came forward to take their bows, the stage was strewn with flowers and Prince Gustav was standing to applaud, like everyone else.
‘A better début than Orpheus would have been,’ said Lady Helen as they made their way to the lobby.
‘Certainly more tactful.’ Martha had never heard Mozart’s opera before and was amazed at its glorification of the merciful sovereign.
The royal party was leaving. There was some colour in Max’s cheeks now, and Minette looked slightly subdued. Was she remembering that cruel remark she had made about Cristabel’s being able to count on offers from the great opera houses? Martha rather hoped so.
Minette paused for a moment beside Lady Helen. ‘You will convey my congratulations to your niece, I beg. I am sorry not to be able to give them in person, but I leave in the morning for Paris. There are a million things to do before my darling Max and I can marry, and every moment’s delay is an anguish to us, is it not, my dear?’ He was not listening, and Martha thought she saw Minette pinch his arm.
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, Lady Helen, I was thinking of Lady Cristabel’s triumph. Tell her, from me, that the world is at her feet, but that I do hope she will stay with us, here in Lissenberg.’
‘She’ll have to, won’t she,’ said Minette. ‘Unless she decides to come out with me tomorrow, which I do not recommend.’
‘He did come to hear me!’ Cristabel exclaimed a few days later, ‘Franz Wengel! He’s written –’ her colour was high. ‘Praise, from him! …’ She read on eagerly. ‘He sends you his regards, Martha, and to you, Aunt Helen. He was in the gallery, of course, with the other Lissenbergers. Didn’t feel he could venture to make himself known to you.’ Her face fell. ‘And now he’s back in Brundt, writing what he calls my opera.’
‘Does he tell you the subject.’ Martha controlled her disappointment.
‘No. Too soon, he says.’
‘I wonder if Prince Max has hit on a theme.’
‘Or whether he’ll give it up,’ said Cristabel. ‘I cannot imagine that his future Uncle Bonaparte would approve. Do you realise that he has not been near us since Minette left?’
‘I had noticed,’ said Martha drily. ‘Understandable enough,
surely.’
‘Busy with royal duties? I hope he doesn’t mean to wash his hands of the Opera House entirely. Signor Franzosi is well enough as a substitute but I doubt he’s got the character to make a real company of us. Some of the chorus work in Clemenza was deplorable, and did you hear how flat Annius was in her big aria?’
‘Poor girl,’ said Martha, ‘you have to see it was hard on her to know what a fright she looked in her tunic, when you were so admirable in yours. Does Herr Wengel say whether your part in his opera is male or female?’
‘No, nothing, wretched man… I have it! Next time Franzosi decides to rest us for a day or so, shall we go sightseeing? Go to Brundt and beard the lion in his den? It’s crazy only to have made that one short visit to Lissenberg town, not to see a little more of the country before the valley roads get bad. Aunt Helen, do let us go! You know how hard I have been working!’
‘It would mean spending at least a night away,’ said Lady Helen doubtfully, ‘and we could hardly go unescorted.’
‘Lodge and Playfair would be happy to do that,’ said Martha. ‘They were saying yesterday that they wanted to see more of the country, especially Brundt, and the mines there.’
‘Not planning to stir up trouble, I hope,’ said Lady Helen. ‘Frankly, I wonder if we might not be better without their escort,’ and then hastily, ‘which does not mean I think it a good plan at all, Cristabel. If you really want to talk to Herr Wengel about his opera, I think you should ask him to call on you here.’
‘But he won’t come.’
‘Well, then …’
Cristabel returned from rehearsing Orpheus a few days later gleaming with pleasure. ‘I’ve news for you, Aunt,’ she announced. ‘Signor Franzosi has accepted an invitation from the citizens of Brundt. We are to perform for them in their Town Hall, just before Christmas. Will that be respectable enough for you?’
‘Prince Gustav does not object?’
‘Why should he? And Prince Max is actually going to give us the benefit of his company. I rather think it is intended as some sort of a sop to the good people of Brundt, who pay their taxes and don’t see much return for their money. We shall have to stay a week at least, getting things set up in the Town Hall. It will be a real holiday.’
‘A working one,’ said Martha.
‘The best kind. It’s just what we need as a company, a challenge to overcome together.’
‘What are you going to put on?’
‘Ah, that’s the question! Franzosi suggested Clemenza, but Prince Max seems to be against it.’
‘The citizens of Brundt maybe not quite so devoted to their Prince as the courtiers of Lissenberg?’ suggested Martha. ‘I do look forward to going there.’
In the end, they settled on the Orpheus that was already in rehearsal and the whole company set out in the highest spirits, half-way through November. The only disappointment was that, at the last moment, Prince Gustav intervened to prevent Max from accompanying them. ‘He’s afraid he might make himself too well liked in Brundt,’ said Cristabel shrewdly.
‘I wouldn’t say that even to Lodge or Playfair,’ Martha warned her.
Cristabel made a face, ‘Lissenberg is turning us all into politicians.’
‘Better a live politician than a dead innocent,’ said Martha, and then regretted it.
Brundt was a dour, dark, mining town, a striking contrast to Lissenberg’s cheerful mix of timbered houses, vineyards and farms. They were lodged comfortably enough in the town’s main inn, which had been entirely taken over for them, and stood on the same side of the town square as the hall where they were to perform.
‘The people don’t like us much, do they?’ Cristabel had just returned from the first meeting of the whole troupe in the Town Hall. ‘From the sour looks we are getting, I am beginning to wonder whether we will even have an audience. I’ve never felt myself so disliked before. It’s not pleasant.’
‘No.’ Martha had felt it too when she and Lady Helen had gone out to explore the dark and crowded little town. ‘What’s that phrase in the Bible, about drawing aside the hem of one’s garment? They manage it without actually doing anything. I smiled at a child in the street. Her mother pulled her away as if I were the devil incarnate.’
‘Imagining things,’ said Lady Helen. ‘And better not, don’t you think?’
‘Imagining?’ said Cristabel. ‘It wasn’t imagination that nothing was ready for us in the Town Hall, as it was supposed to be. The way things are going, it looks as if we are going to have to do everything ourselves. Poor Franzosi is at his wits’ end. I can’t think why they invited us in the first place.’
‘I wonder just who did,’ said Martha thoughtfully.
Ishmael Brodski called that afternoon and she greeted him with enthusiasm. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.’ Lady Helen had gone with Cristabel to the Town Hall. As moral support? ‘I don’t much like the feel of things here,’ Martha went on. ‘Do you think there is any chance that there might be some kind of demonstration against the opera? It would be a complete disaster for Lady Cristabel. She’s not experienced enough to face it yet. It could mean the end of her career. What can we do, Herr Brodski? And why did they ask us if they don’t want us?’
‘No one has told you? I thought probably not.’
‘Told us what?’
‘Of the swingeing new taxes Prince Gustav has just announced, to pay for his son’s wedding. As always, they hit harder here in Brundt than they will in Lissenberg. And will be levied with less mercy. Citizens of Lissenberg can sometimes appeal to Princess Amelia with some hope of success. Here, they have no hope at all. If Prince Gustav thought the opera would sweeten the pill he was far out in his calculations, as he often is when it comes to things here in Brundt. At least he had the wits not to let Prince Maximilian come. That really would have been a disaster.’
‘It’s bad enough as it is,’ said Martha. ‘What should we do?’
‘What can you do! The singers are in Prince Gustav’s pay. They can hardly refuse to perform. The road out is closed, remember. You’re all here till spring.’
‘Yes.’ She shivered. ‘And Prince Gustav would stop their pay?’
‘Of course, and throw them out of their lodgings.’
‘Into the snow?’
‘Into the snow. I always believe in facing facts, Miss Peabody. I only wish I could be more help to you, but frankly, I am unpopular enough myself just now. We Jews are always blamed when there is trouble. I just hope I have not made your position worse by coming to see you.’ He rose. ‘And I should not stay longer. Believe me, Miss Peabody, any help I can give, you can count on.’
‘Thank you.’ After he left, she moved restlessly to the window, wondering what to do next. As usual, the square was crowded with dark-clad, grim-faced people going dourly about their business, but there seemed to be some kind of disturbance outside the inn. She heard shouts, saw a thickening turbulence in the crowd. Now she watched Brodski try to push his way through a mob that was not yet openly hostile, but might turn so any minute. She held her breath. No way she could intervene; the windows were already double-sealed for winter. Probably as well. She would do more harm than good.
A rare carriage was approaching from the far side of the square. She saw its window go down and a white head emerge. A woman’s head? A black-sleeved arm demanded silence, and, amazingly, got it. The woman uttered a short, sharp sentence, inaudible through the double windows. The crowd was beginning to disperse already; Brodski bowed to the woman in the carriage, received a nod in return, and went on his way, head high, as the carriage rumbled forward and disappeared out of sight through the archway into the inn-yard.
A caller? They were the inn’s only occupants. Martha gave a quick look round the room and recognised, for the first time, that it had a slightly neglected look. There was a faint blur of dust on furniture and mirrors, a plant, in a pot, drooping for lack of water. How could she not have noticed? She was moving to fetch water from her bedr
oom when the door swung open and a scared-looking servant-girl announced ‘Frau Schmidt,’ bobbed a curtsy, and was about to withdraw, when the white-haired woman behind her said something short and sharp in Liss.
Another, deeper curtsy and the girl scuttled away. ‘Forgive me, Fraülein Peabody,’ Frau Schmidt smiled and held out her hand. ‘You have been ill served here, I am afraid. I took the liberty of speaking to the girl about it. It will not happen again.’ She was immensely tall and formidably upright, a valkyrie of fifty-five or so. ‘My grandson asked me to call on you,’ she went on in her surprisingly fluent English, ‘Franz Wengel. He deeply regrets not being here to greet you and your friends.’
Martha’s heart sank. ‘He is out of the country?’
‘Oh, no. He always tries to be home for the winter, my Franz. No, he felt it his duty to go to Lissenberg, to try and make the Prince see reason about these new taxes, about which, I have no doubt, Herr Brodski was telling you.’
‘Yes,’ said Martha. ‘Lucky for him you came along.’
‘You saw? I’m afraid there are strong feelings here in Brundt, focused on all the wrong targets as usual. Franz will be furious when he gets back and finds the way you and your companions have been treated. I’ve told the ringleaders so; I think you will find things go better now.’
‘You seem to have a good deal of influence yourself. That was a very ugly situation down there in the square. I do hope there is not going to be trouble at the performance, Frau Schmidt.’
‘There won’t be,’ she said with absolute confidence. ‘I’ve sent for Franz; he’ll be back tomorrow to talk some sense into them. But in the meantime I am come to you, Miss Peabody, with a suggestion.’
‘Yes?’
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