Leading Lady (6 page)

‘And suffering from the inevitable comparisons with Mozart's
Figaro
,' said Martha. ‘I'm a little puzzled that Franzosi decided to rework that old story.'

‘Particularly since his lead tenor is so significantly weak in comic parts,' said Tafur.

‘Unless that's the reason,' suggested Max. ‘But what in the world has happened to Cristabel? She used to act as well as she sang. Last night, oh – she sang like an angel but she moved like a puppet.'

‘She wasn't getting much help in the acting from Fylde,' said Tafur. ‘He really is hopeless in comedy, that man. If that is what Franzosi intended to demonstrate, he has succeeded. A problem in such a small company.'

‘Yes,' Max agreed. ‘It has always been one of Cristabel's outstanding gifts that she is equally brilliant in serious and comic opera. What a disaster if this husband of hers is going to drag her down.'

‘What a disaster,' said Martha, and all three were silent for a while.

‘I'll call on her, of course, on my way to Gustavsberg,' said Max at last.

‘Do, and give her our congratulations. Invite her to dine the day you get back, would you Max? You won't stay long at Gustavsberg?'

‘Not a minute longer than I must. And send for me at once, please, if Franz returns.'

‘What am I to do about the Austrian ultimatum if he does not come?' And then, before either of them could answer, ‘What he would, of course. Reject it. But it would come better from him.'

The last time Prince Max had visited the artists' hostel beside the Lissenberg opera house it had been to smuggle his near-dying stepmother in through the tunnel that led down from the palace. It was strange to remember this now as he was ushered up to the star's apartments. The receiving-room he had known so well when Cristabel shared it with Martha and her aunt had changed slightly but significantly. What was it? Lady Helen's embroidery frame was gone from the corner by the window and there were no piles of books on the tables. And instead of pot pourri, the room smelled faintly of cigars.

‘I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.' Cristabel looked exhausted, drained. ‘I'm ashamed to confess that I overslept this morning. It's so good to see you, Max.' She held out both hands to him. ‘Tell me I wasn't a total disaster as Rosina.'

‘Nothing of the kind.' But it fretted him that she had used the word they had. ‘You sang it beautifully, as you must know.'

‘But I don't. I was so tired … I don't seem to remember … I'm so glad to see you, Max. I needed to ask someone how it went, and you're the very person.'

‘The person for what?' Desmond Fylde appeared behind her in the doorway. ‘Greetings, prince. I take it you are come to congratulate our prima donna on the way she shone in that dull piece of work.' He was dressed, Max saw with distaste, in an elaborate velvet frogged coat that, on a woman, would have been described as a négligée. ‘We are treating you quite as an old friend, you see.' He must have noticed Max's look. ‘These late nights at work are hard on a young couple like us.' He gave Cristabel a Turkish look.

‘And I am sorry to disturb you so early,' said Max, very formally, knowing it was nothing of the kind. ‘But I am on my way to Gustavsberg.'

‘Ah, the wicked prince of the fairy tale. I trust you will find him suitably contrite – and adequately guarded. But, forgive me, I quite forgot that he is also your father.' He turned to Cristabel. ‘We must offer Prince Maximilian some refreshment, my queen, if he is off on his travels already. I hope you have been able to comfort the princess, prince, in her husband's mysterious absence. We miss him sadly here. Petticoat rule does not suit these Lissenberg boors. But, shame on us, we are quite forgetting! Your great opera,
Daughter of Odin.
Has it been greeted, in Vienna, with the acclaim I am sure it deserves?'

‘I'm afraid not.' Why was Max so sure that Fylde knew already that his opera had failed disastrously? ‘My only comfort in my failure,' he turned to Cristabel, ‘is that you were not involved in it.'

‘Oh, Max, I am sorry! But – I can't believe it. Everyone said you were set for a great success.'

‘Everyone was wrong. And, to tell you the truth, Cristabel, I don't quite know what the trouble was – why they hated it so.' Warmed by her sympathy, he hardly noticed that he had used her Christian name, as in the old days when they were childhood friends. But then he had called her Bella. If only Fylde would leave them, he felt sure that Cristabel, who had worked with him so long, was such an old friend, would help him to understand why he had failed so lamentably. But it was brutally evident that Fylde had no intention of leaving them. Why should he? He was Cristabel's husband. Max rose to his feet, civilly refused the offer of refreshment and took his leave.

‘Ach, the poor fellow,' said Fylde. ‘Let's go back to bed, my queen.'

‘Frau Schmidt! It's good to see you at last.' Martha had been sitting alone, drafting and redrafting a reply to the Austrian demand, when the formidable old lady was announced. ‘How long have you been in Lissenberg? You should have let me know, come to the opera the other night.'

‘Good of you, but I am just this moment arrived.' Frau Schmidt was as ramrod straight as ever, not a white hair out of place. ‘I have a message for you, highness. We won't be
interrupted?' She took Martha's arm and coaxed her gently towards the window, as far from the door as possible.

‘Not unless it's a matter of urgency. But – a message, Frau Schmidt? From –' She looked at her husband's adoptive grandmother with wild surmise.

‘Yes, from Franz. He's at my house, arrived after dark last night. Famished … filthy … exhausted …'

‘Franz?' She knew the old lady for the most reliable of witnesses, still could hardly believe her ears. ‘I've been so worried about him; not a word for months … But, Frau Schmidt … Filthy? Exhausted? And – in Brundt?'

‘He wants you to come to him, help him. It's an impossible situation. It certainly defeats me. He says no one must know he is here until you and he have decided what's best to do.'

‘His brother is here.'

‘I heard. Gone to Gustavsberg. Let's hope it keeps Prince Gustav occupied until we get things sorted out. But it's you Franz wants, not his brother.'

‘Thank you.' Impossible not to mind that Franz had gone to the old lady first, but she must not let it affect her. ‘Why would I be coming to Brundt?' Practical as always, she was applying her mind to the immediate problem.

‘I thought of that. There's been an accident in the mines, I am sorry to say. I brought you the news. You decided to pay a royal visit of condolence. A surprise visit. How soon can you leave?'

‘It's as urgent as that? Well, of course it is. Returned in secret! I'll give the orders; you can explain on the way. I'd best come alone, had I not? May I stay with you, Frau Schmidt?'

‘Of course.'

‘Is there anything else I need to know, before I give my orders?'

‘I don't think so. A fast carriage, not a state one; I'll have mine follow behind. As it is we are likely to finish the journey in the dark, but that is the least of my worries.'

Half an hour later, they were driving down the hill from the palace to Lissenberg and the road to Brundt. ‘You are well served,' said the old lady. ‘Franz said you would be quick,
but I hardly hoped for this. We should be there not long after nightfall.'

‘If we don't lose a wheel. And now, explain. It's Napoleon, of course.'

‘Yes. He's kept Franz dangling at his side all summer, first at Paris, then Boulogne, then back in Paris again. You've heard, I have no doubt, about Minette de Beauharnais?'

‘Kind friends have told me.'

‘I was sure of it. Franz refused even to discuss it, found himself civilly prevented from leaving. One excuse after another … He must go with Napoleon to see his invasion fleet, recognise the importance of the alliance he was being offered … Then came the news of the Austro-Russian Treaty. Napoleon acted like lightning! Back to Paris, his armies marching at full speed across Europe, insisted that Franz go too, see his might at first hand. They were at Strasbourg a few days ago, met the Imperial Guard there. In the confusion, Franz managed to slip away. He had to pawn everything he had on him to pay for the journey. He came by the secret road, of course. Much quicker.'

‘The secret road?'

‘You don't know? There's a path across the mountains, north of Brundt, takes you down to a tributary of the Danube. Only an expert mountaineer can manage it, but Franz has walked it many times in the old days when he needed to come and go in secret. That's why he came to me, as nearest. And now, you and he have to think of an explanation, he says, that will not involve a fatal public affront to Napoleon.'

‘My goodness, yes, I do see.' It warmed Martha's heart that Franz had had such a good reason for going first to Frau Schmidt in Brundt. ‘How many people know he is here?'

‘No one but me.' The old lady smiled and patted Martha's hand. ‘Don't forget, child, that your husband has a past as a desperate revolutionary. He's had a secret way in and out of my house ever since he was a boy. And a hidden room where he used to hide his firebrand friends when they were in trouble with Prince Gustav in the bad old days. So now he's trying the feel of solitary confinement for himself. I can tell you, he doesn't much like it. He is going to be remarkably pleased to see you!'

‘It's all extraordinary,' said Martha. ‘But what in the world are we going to do?'

‘I am sure you and he will think of something,' said the old lady comfortably. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, my dear, I think I will get some sleep. I didn't get much last night, I can tell you, what with feeding the poor man and finding him clothes. He was in a bad state when he arrived. It's snowed early in the mountains this year and I think he'd had a hard time of it, though of course he won't admit it. I imagine he will have slept all day today, so I hope you will find him a little better. But he's going to need some cherishing for a while, I think.'

‘Bless you, Frau Schmidt!' Martha reached out a hand to take the old lady's.

‘Franz!'

‘My dear!' They were in each other's arms, laughing a little, crying a little. ‘I've missed you so.' Which of them said it?

‘You look worn out.' Martha drew away a little to look at him. ‘Thin as a rail! But, thank God, you're here. Will he be very angry?'

‘Napoleon? Bound to be, but it will be hard for him to show it, since I was never officially styled a prisoner. We have to think of some way of saving his face for him.'

‘Yes, I'd been thinking about that. And it's easy, really. You got to Strasbourg in his train – you can't have been at his side all the time?'

‘Oh, no, he had a million things to do, as you can imagine, organising that amazing march across Europe. I was just – watched over.'

‘Not closely enough, thank God.' They were sitting side by side now, on the cot bed of the bleak little room where he had been hiding, and it was good beyond anything to feel his arm around her. ‘You heard, somehow, a rumour that all was not well here in Lissenberg. Strasbourg's a great place for rumour, they say.'

‘Yes, indeed. So, what I did hear was wrong?'

‘No problem about that, I'm afraid. Has Frau Schmidt not told you?'

‘About my father? Yes, a little. He's been stirring things up?'

‘I think so. And so does Ishmael Brodski. He came to see me the other day. To warn me.' She told him quickly what Ishmael had said. ‘We are neither of us so popular as we were, you and I, but I think what brought you home must have been the rumours about me, don't you? You're laughing?' It was good to hear it.

‘You're wonderful, Martha. And you're absolutely right, as usual. You're suggesting that I got anxious about how you were managing here and came hurrying home to your side? Now that is something Napoleon would understand. He does rather think a woman's place is in the bedroom. But why did I come in secret?' He returned to the matter in hand.

‘Because it was the quickest way? No pomp, no ceremony, no delays?'

‘Yes.' Doubtfully. ‘The thing is, I don't much want the secret of the path blown. Now I've watched Napoleon at work, I think he's quite capable of invading us by it. Using it to our disadvantage one way or other. It really is a secret, you see.'

‘And might come in useful again some time. Max is here, did Frau Schmidt tell you? He brought an ultimatum from the Austrians.'

‘She didn't tell me that.'

‘She didn't know. They want all our mineral exports. I take it that's what Napoleon wants too. That's what this is all about.'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘I have it, I think!' She had been exploring various possibilities as they talked. ‘Did Frau Schmidt tell you about the mine disaster?'

‘She said something about it.'

‘That's my excuse for being here. I'm going to visit the survivors tomorrow. It will turn out that one of them has no one to look after him. I shall take pity on him, like the soft-hearted female that I am, and take him back with me to the palace for nursing. Heavily bandaged, of course.'

‘Head injuries! Yes. That gets me to the palace. And, from there? I can see by your wicked look that you have thought of something.'

‘Not yet, but I will!'

If she had hoped he would ask her to share his hiding-place for the night, she was to be disappointed. But it was inevitable that she must sleep in Frau Schmidt's luxurious guest bedroom, enjoying the sense of being treated more like a member of the family than visiting royalty. Frau Schmidt had cheerfully taken on next day's arrangements, and reported over an early breakfast that everything was in train. ‘The women of Brundt would do more than this for you. They don't forget their friends. It's not only the soup kitchen you set up for the women porters at Lissenberg. Even more than for that, I think they are grateful for the way you tried to get them the vote last year.'