First Night

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  He was speaking in English, but Martha flashed him a warning look, more for his tone than his words. ‘A fine old Lissenberg tradition, I believe.’

  ‘Quite so. Ah, here comes Lady Cristabel.’ He held a chair for her. ‘I cannot begin to congratulate you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was always exhausted after a performance, but today she looked drained, blanched.

  ‘Hard work holding an audience like that?’ Lodge recognised this and turned back to Martha. ‘Tell me about this Lissenberg tradition, Miss Peabody.’

  ‘Later!’ The small orchestra had struck up the Lissenberg national song and those of the audience who had chairs had risen to their feet to sing it. Martha hoped that she was the only person who noticed that Cristabel did not join in.

  The long ceremony unrolled as Anna had described it. Oaths of allegiance, Max looking white and tense, little Gustav looking terrified, the rest of the court concealing boredom under sycophancy. Then Prince Gustav’s loving speech to his people, all rolling periods and empty phrases. He told them of Prince Maximilian’s forthcoming alliance with the niece of the great liberator Bonaparte, and got something between a gasp and a sigh from his audience. Martha, rigid with tension herself, felt Cristabel beginning to shake beside her and put a steadying hand on hers. Something was terribly wrong.

  Prince Gustav had finished. Trumpets sounded a fanfare. The Court Chamberlain stepped forward to announce that the time had come for the Christmas gift. Anna had warned Martha that the actual announcement would be in Liss, but the gist of it was that anyone who had a boon to beg must now come forward. She stood up, took a step forward and was aware that nobody else had moved.

  ‘A stranger asks the gift, Highness.’ The Chamberlain turned to Prince Gustav and spoke in German.

  ‘Let the stranger come forward, since it seems our beloved Lissenbergers are content with their lot.’ Anna had told her that Prince Gustav did not speak Liss, so she would be able to understand him. The audience did too; she felt a kind of frisson when he spoke of their contentment and wondered whether he was aware of it. But she was being helped up the improvised steps to the stage by another flunkey. She had never felt plainer, dumpier, less sure of herself. ‘Breathe deeply,’ Cristabel had said, their rôles reversed for once. ‘Take your time. Speak slowly. No fear of losing your audience.’

  She breathed, curtsied to the Prince, who had stood to receive her, saw Prince Max’s anxious face behind his father’s shoulder, and spoke her piece. As she made her offer of a hot meal for the women porters every day they worked, she realised, for the first time, just what an affront the Prince might feel it to be. She was telling an absolute monarch how absolutely he had failed his subjects. Where are the dungeons in Lissenberg, she thought wildly, bringing her short, well-prepared speech to a close? There were doors here and there off the tunnel. Torch-bearers hurried past them. Dungeons there, in the cold, and dark, and damp? And no news to the outside world till spring.

  She had finished. The Prince was looking at her coldly, thoughtfully. Behind him, Prince Max made an infinitesimal move. The crowd in the theatre began to sing, in a whisper, the Lissenberg national song again.

  Prince Gustav relaxed into a smile. ‘My loving subjects have spoken for me, Miss Peabody. We accept your generous offer and are only sad that it has been necessary for you, a stranger in our midst, to tell us about the plight of these poor women. This must be looked into.’ A glance for the Chamberlain. ‘Now,’ he held out his hand. ‘It is my privilege to take you to supper, Miss Peabody, as winner of the gift.’

  Anna had warned her about this too. ‘If he decides to treat you as a commoner,’ she had explained, ‘you will be given supper by the Chamberlain. It’s hard to tell …’

  Martha had known exactly what she meant, but had bet with herself that her money would put her above the salt. She had dressed for the possible occasion, and had been proved right. The diamonds had, in fact, been Salomon Rothschild’s suggestion. A Venetian lady had had to sell them to fund her retreat from the city and he had got them for Martha at a price he described as ‘making everyone happy’. ‘They will act both as your passport in Lissenberg Society and your insurance policy if you should need to leave in a hurry.’

  ‘Like the poor Venetian lady?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Today, she felt comfortably invisible behind their glitter and was able to return Prince Gustav’s polite nothings in the detached spirit in which they were offered. They would get through the rest of the evening well enough, and she was happy to have won her point. Tomorrow she would arrange a trip to Brundt to buy kitchen equipment. Should she ask Franz Wengel to help her?

  The Prince had turned to his other neighbour and she was free for Prince Max who had been quiet beside her. Beyond him Cristabel was pushing food about her silver plate. Musicians were playing in the gallery above.

  She had not seen Max for some time, and now realised with a stab of surprise that he looked even worse than Cristabel. There had always been a kind of glow about Max, the burnished look of one who may have known anxiety but has never known discomfort. Now he was sallow with fatigue and – something else? Despair?

  She racked her brains for a safe subject. ‘When are we to hear if the libretti have been approved?’

  ‘Some time in the New Year, I believe. The Prince has been very much occupied with affairs of state.’ Like his stepmother, Prince Max now always referred to his father as ‘the Prince’. ‘You picked a lucky day for your request.’ He did not explain why, plunging instead into a series of extremely knowledgeable questions about her plans for her soup-kitchen. ‘You’ll need to go to Brundt for the equipment, of course. Be sure you wait until the roads are hard-frozen and you can do it by sledge. You will find it an interesting experience, I am sure, if you dress warmly enough. Will Lady Cristabel go with you?’

  ‘I most certainly shall.’ Cristabel had stopped pretending to eat. She had turned a shoulder to her other neighbour and was unashamedly listening. ‘Can we hope for your escort, Prince?’ She used the title, Martha thought, as if it had been his Christian name.

  ‘Ah, if I only could. But, should you, Lady Cristabel? Your voice … It will be ferociously cold.’

  ‘Oh, my voice! That’s all I am to any of you! A voice.’ She turned ostentatiously back to the neighbour she had been neglecting.

  ‘What in the world is the matter with everyone?’ asked Lady Helen next day. ‘The poor Princess looked like death last night, and so did Prince Max. And Cristabel has gone off to rehearsal without eating any breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, dear, has she?’ For once Martha had slept late, after a night spent dreaming of dungeons. ‘Yes, I did think Prince Max looked wretched. I’m afraid I didn’t notice Princess Amelia. One does tend not to. But the Prince himself seemed in good enough spirits.’

  ‘Not necessarily a good sign,’ said Lady Helen. ‘Tell me, Martha, do you sometimes wonder if we were wise to come here?’

  Martha moved to the door and made sure it was shut. ‘Frankly, yes. I was afraid last night. I’m ashamed to tell you, but I was actually afraid of what might happen when I made my request.’

  ‘And in fact, the Prince seemed pleased,’ said Lady Helen thoughtfully.

  ‘Prince Max said I had picked a lucky day for my petition. I wonder what he meant.’

  ‘It’s frightening to know so absolutely nothing about what is really going on,’ said Lady Helen. ‘Whatever we do, Martha, let’s not plan to spend another winter cut off here in Lissenberg.’

  ‘No, indeed. I wish I knew what was the matter with Cristabel.’

  10

  Prince Gustav did not give orders for another opera during the Christmas festivities, and neither did he invite the three ladies up to the castle for any of the merrymaking there. Instead, the company were to give a New Year’s Day performance for the citizens of Lissenberg. Signor Franzosi had written The Bride Confused for the occasion.

  ‘The rascally lover is a ma
rvellous part for me,’ said Cristabel. ‘But it’s sad enough stuff otherwise. Just as well the royal party do not mean to honour us with their presence.’

  ‘Not even Prince Max?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Especially not Prince Max.’ Something in her tone drew a quick look from Martha.

  ‘Cristabel, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing! Everything. Oh, Martha, sometimes I wish I was dead.’

  ‘That’s wicked.’

  ‘I know. I can’t help it. What am I going to do? I love him! And I can’t help that either. Not his fault. He didn’t mean it to happen. Or want it to! He only touched me on the shoulder; he was showing me how to move; when we were rehearsing.’ It came out in a series of hiccups. ‘It was like catching fire, Martha. No, like freezing. I don’t know what it was like … The end of the world … Well, the end of me.’

  ‘Cristabel! But … what about him?’

  ‘I doubt he even noticed. It was the last rehearsal for Il Re Pastore. You remember what it was like, up at the castle, afterwards. He talked to you mostly.’

  ‘He’s engaged to be married, Cristabel.’

  ‘Of course he is! To Minette de Beauharnais who always knew her uncle would make a good match for her. Not an idea in her head save clothes and class. I don’t think I can bear it, Martha.’

  ‘Oh, Belle, I am so sorry! I thought … I hoped you had got over it – whatever there was of it. A childhood thing, one of those stories one tells oneself. I thought … I believed …’ She was actually blushing. ‘… I truly thought it was Franz Wengel.’

  ‘Herr Wengel? Martha, you must be joking! Oh, he’s well enough, and his music is extraordinary, but, Martha –’ she was almost laughing, ‘imagine me as Frau Wengel! Keeping my kitchen among the good people of Brundt, with Frau Schmidt for my granddame!’ She paused, savouring the humour of it.

  ‘I’d rather have Frau Schmidt for a grandmother than Lady Helen for an aunt.’ Martha was surprised at herself.

  ‘Good gracious me!’ Cristabel forgot her own affairs for a moment to gaze in astonishment at her friend. ‘What in the world has got into you, Martha Peabody? What can poor innocent Aunt Helen have done to offend you?’

  ‘Nothing! Not really. Only, sometimes Cristabel I just cannot understand you aristocrats. Your rules aren’t my rules, something like that.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Cristabel thoughtfully. ‘Well, Martha dear, they’re not going to be mine either from now on. I wonder …’ She paused for a minute. ‘Did I really decide to be a prima donna in the hope of meeting Max again? If I did, I’ve paid for it, have I not? I’ve met him with a vengeance. Max, the affianced young man. I’ll make him sorry! When he has five fat little sons by Minette and is wondering who their fathers really are, I shall be prima donna at La Scala, feted, courted, adored. Why are you laughing?’

  ‘I was thinking you sound just as bad as poor Minette.’

  ‘Oh, Martha, I do thank God for you.’ She threw her arms round her and burst into tears. ‘I shall understand my tragic parts better now,’ she said, much later. ‘Do you think Franzosi would put on Dido and Aeneas for me?’

  ‘Don’t ask him, Cristabel. At least, not until Prince Max is safely married.’

  ‘Safely? Not the word I’d choose! Poor Max… Oh, Martha, let’s do something wild! I know! Let’s go to the masked ball tonight. Shall we? No one’s seen me in my breeches as Glarus in The Confused Wife, and they wear dominoes for New Year’s here. Let me be your escort.’ She rose, swept a professional bow. ‘Do … do … do say yes!’ And then as Martha battled with her wiser self. ‘I need it, Martha, believe me, I need it.’

  Martha knew how she felt. With snow piling up outside, life was more and more a matter of dour routine. No wonder the Lissenbergers anticipated the licence of carnival time. Much later, as Cristabel handed her into the crowded Opera House where the New Year’s ball was held, she thought she must have taken leave of her senses. But it was true that Cristabel looked every inch a young blood in the costume she was to wear in Franzosi’s modern comedy. ‘I’d not have known you myself,’ she comforted herself by saying it, and by observing that Cristabel had got her young man’s stride to perfection.

  ‘A useful rehearsal for me,’ Cristabel adjusted her mask for the plunge into the crowded theatre, where the revelry was already at its height. A fine, bright night had eased the way up from town and the theatre was so crowded that only a pretence of dancing was being made near the stage, where the orchestra was playing. Martha had stipulated for just one dance, a look at the decorations and the jovial crowd, and then a strategic retreat, pointing out that though Cristabel might pass for a German, there was no chance that she herself could. ‘We’ll speak French,’ said Cristabel. ‘They all speak it so badly here, there is no chance of their spotting us.’

  It had seemed sensible enough, back in the safety of their rooms, now it struck Martha as pure madness. No one had entered or left Lissenberg for more than six weeks. Inevitably, any foreigners had to be well-known.

  She was about to make a last protest; turn and flee. Too late. Cristabel had seen an opening in the crowd and handed her solicitously through towards where one could hear the music. ‘Our dance, Madame.’

  Bow and curtsy. A minuet had just ended, now, to Martha’s relief, the orchestra struck up one of the modern Polonaises, made fashionable by the light-hearted court of Dresden. All one had to do was parade, two and two, in time to the music. They fell in step behind a couple dressed as clowns in baggy, identical costumes.

  The man turned and saw them. ‘You’re wearing dominoes!’ He spoke French. ‘Both of you! A forfeit. You don’t know it’s against the rules? Never mind.’ Taking Martha’s hand. ‘Singly you’ll do well enough.’

  Lodge. He had tried to disguise his voice but the English accent, with its slight transatlantic twang, was unmistakable to anyone who knew him. Well, it could have been much worse. Impossible to exchange a glance with Cristabel, masked as they were, but she had obviously already started playing along and was bowing over the female clown’s hand. Playfair of course. Both sexes can play at dressing-up, and he was both shorter and more slender than his friend.

  As the two of them fell in behind, Lodge bent to kiss Martha’s hand. Then: ‘Who are you?’ Sharply, a total change of note.

  ‘M’sieur forgets, this is a masquerade.’ She tried to pitch her voice into the unintelligible squeak used on such occasions, but knew she had failed.

  ‘God Almighty! Miss Peabody!’ They were moving forward now, bound by the rule of the dance. ‘And your companion?’ He remembered to speak French. ‘Of course! This is madness, Mademoiselle; you must leave at once.’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better.’ Tartly. ‘We had agreed it was just to be for one dance. Now you have separated us!’

  It was true. Other people had now pushed in between the two couples. ‘Damnation,’ he said. And then, ‘Forgive me. Of all the unhappy chances!’

  ‘Dominoes aren’t really forbidden,’ she worked it out. ‘Just rare. And you had an assignation with two of them.’ What secret plot were Lodge and Playfair hatching now? Not a very sensible one, she thought. ‘Look! Those must be your friends.’ Across the room a pair of dominoes were moving the other way in the great circle of dance. Who could they be? Who would be mad enough to involve himself with these two incompetent conspirators?

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘No. This was the meeting place. What should we do’. Distracted. ‘We’d better go there to sort things out.’

  ‘I don’t like it!’

  ‘No more do I, but we must do something. Where must we go?’ A sense of urgency was growing in her as he havered.

  ‘The refreshment room, but only as a last resort; in an emergency.’

  ‘If this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is. Look!’ She saw Cristabel and her partner move out of line, ‘the others are going.’

  ‘Maybe we can catch them.’ But the crowd was too thick
and too good-humoured for anything but the slowest of progresses, if one did not want to be unduly conspicuous.

  Refreshments were to be served in the artists’ green room, behind the stage, and Cristabel understood her companion’s reluctance when she realised what a cul-de-sac it was. Like the artists’ lodgings, the Opera House was built into the slope of the mountain. To reach the green room they had to cross the stage, getting venomous looks from the orchestra. The rest of the revellers would not come up here until the supper interval, when the orchestra had its break.

  In the green room, servants were busy setting out a lavish cold collation, and here too they got angry looks as they crossed the room to join the four people who were there already, deep in agitated talk. Cristabel and her clown, and the two other dominoes.

  ‘Thank God!’ Cristabel saw her. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘A promise first,’ the male of the two unknown dominoes spoke falsetto, but Martha’s heart lurched. ‘Not a word of this contretemps, if you value all our lives.’

  ‘What in the world –?’ Cristabel had forgotten to disguise her voice.

  ‘Best not to ask,’ said Martha. ‘Yes, you have our promise sir. Time to go,’ she turned to Cristabel.

  Too late. There was a stir among the servants at the entrance from the stage: a ringing curse, the crash of breaking glass, and six soldiers of the Prince’s Guard pushed their way through the servants, one of them angrily mopping syllabub off his jerkin. Behind them came the Prince’s Chamberlain, also looking ruffled. ‘You’re under arrest! All four of you!’

  Four? Concentrating on him, Martha had not noticed that the two other dominoes had disappeared.

  ‘There were six, Excellency.’ One of the soldiers had noticed too.

  ‘Six? Nonsense. Two clowns and two dominoes, conspiracy against the State. Take them out the back way; cells for the night; they’ll be glad to talk in the morning.’