Nightingale (27 page)

Then the time came which Klara most feared. She and Max were alone, the party over, the last guest gone. They were sitting in the small parlor before a fire, the very one in which she had rehearsed with Akos and Ernst Dauer. The Count was sipping brandy, but Klara had declined. She knew what was coming, could feel it in her bones.

His spider's embrace, wrapping his web around, drinking her soul!

"You sang like an angel, Klara, and how beautiful you look tonight. I was away from you for so long this time, I had begun to think that I was making you up, that something as lovely as you could hardly be real
….” It began, as it always did, with warm words, words not spoken in rushing passion, in the manner of a young man, but with a graceful touch of amusement at the emotional extravagance of his desire. Max pressed a warm kiss into her palm. His pale eyes, like silver coins, seemed to pierce straight to her deepest thoughts.

"Max," she said softly, "Not tonight, please. I'm really very tired."

There was a momentary flash of anger on a face which only a moment ago had been so full of playful indulgence. He leaned his large body back beside her on the sofa and sighed.

"Whenever I am gone, I return to find that you need to be chased and caught again. Some day you will understand that this is really rather an exhausting task for a man of my age." One of his warrior's hands reached, the fingers, glittering with rings, traced the round outline of her soft and youthful cheek. "Take pity on me, Nightingale! There has not been a day when I was absent from Vienna when I did not think of you." Again his handsome head, inside that severe wig, bowed over her hand.

"I beg you, sir." Although trembling at his touch, she did not dare to take her hand away from the caresses now lavished upon it. "I have a trouble, woman's trouble, for which I have had to send to the apothecary."

Max sat back and shook his head. There was disbelief in his pale and dangerous eyes, but Klara gazed back at him with all the sincerity that she could muster. Firelight rippled over them, gleaming on satin and brocade, but Klara felt a tell tale trickle of sweat emerge from beneath her elaborate wig and make its way slowly across her cheek.

"Then you should have Doctor Hundchowsky."

"It is not necessary for such a simple thing. I’ve Frau Molke’s remedy and am already using it."

Max, his face unreadable, propelled himself to his feet, and went to poke brusquely at the fire. Sparks flew. Klara watched nervously while he settled another piece of wood into place. Perhaps because he was a soldier, Max was not like other noblemen. He was quite able to do tasks others insisted upon calling a servant to perform.

"Klara, my dear, I have been considering a number of things pertaining to you while I was gone, especially when delay kept me from our usual Christmas rendezvous. You are twenty four now, are you not?" He returned to sit beside her and captured her hand again.

"Yes, sir." His closeness was alarming, for she read all the signs which usually communicated desire. His longing for her, coupled with the compliance to which he'd schooled her, amounted to an overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

"It has been unfair of me to deny you certain rights of womanhood simply because I want you to sing for me, simply because I've imagined that it would be best if nothing distracted you from your art." Max had begun to touch her again, once more tilting her chin with tender fingers. Hawk's eyes studied her face with intense appreciation, a collector gazing at a prized possession.

He expelled a fierce sigh when she could not meet his gaze. "All right, then, angel. I shall court you again, Maria Klara, if that's what you would like. After all you are entitled to a few caprices. I would be the Pasha you like to call me in truth if I simply forced you. However, I believe," and here he smiled, experimentally stroking, "that you will soon rediscover, just as you always do, that I know how to please."

Klara caught his hand between hers. "Herr Count, please! Really, sir, I am so embarrassed, but it is not possible, just now."

"Well, then." Max nodded, as if something long taking shape had suddenly crystalized in his mind. "Hear my plan. After the winter season, when you have had your time before the public and added sufficiently to your glory, we shall go out to my house at Josephplatz. A summer in the country should be both an excellent time and an excellent place to conceive a child."

"What?"

Klara leapt from the couch. In a whirl of pale satin, she put most of the room between them before she halted. Oettingen remained where he was, legs apart, leaning easily back upon the couch. Oddly, he was smiling, his expression supremely, unbearably, knowing.

"You are well past the time when, had you not been the mistress of a sophisticated man, you would have experienced this particular fulfillment. I have always found that bearing settles a woman down."

"
Grosse Gott!
" Klara gasped, one slender hand flying to her throat.

"Don't be so alarmed. I have consulted with both singers and physicians. All of them assure me that childbirth may be just the finishing touch your voice needs. The great Madame Wranitzky says that in her experience, it alters the shape of the diaphragm in a most beneficial way."

During his speech, Klara continued to back up. She was half expecting one of Max's servants would appear to block the way.

"You've grown very wild, haven't you, Maria Klara?"

He got off the couch with dignity, but made no move to follow her. Klara, her heart pounding, put one hand upon the high latch of the door.

"Never forget, Nightingale," Max said quietly, "that you are mine. Everything to enhance your art shall be done for you." His hand, encased in a cascade of ruffles, stretched towards her. "Why does my notion frighten you?"

Seizing her skirts in one hand, Klara threw open the door. She knew that a man usually sat outside, but there was no other way. She must escape!

The liveried servants she dashed past flew to attention. Not daring to seize her, they turned their wigged heads back to the room from which she'd come, automatons, awaiting their Master's guidance.

Racing down the wide stairs, blue dress pouring and hissing behind her, Klara gripped the rail desperately. Full Court dress made speed not only uncomfortable, but risky. If she lost her balance while laced into stays, there would be nothing she could do but fall over on her face like a sawed tree.

Behind her, Maximilian's voice boomed over the clatter of her heels on the marble stairs.

"Erik! Lukas! Hurry! Escort Fraulein Silber safely home!"

***

What Klara did not know, was that only a moment after her departure, the tapestry which covered the door to the secret room was lifted by a long, white hand. Light from behind, reflecting on the interior mirrors, flowed into the larger chamber and caused the Count to turn. He smiled at the tall goddess in a red silk morning gown who stood there, her long hair cascading over her shoulders in a jet-black wave.

“Oh, my poor dear Max! She sings so beautifully! God in Heaven, I’m quite jealous, but what a silly little chit! ‘Tis exactly as you’ve said.”

“I’m afraid so, my love. My little bird is in love again, but this time, at least, the handsome musiker has some genuine talent. I think we shall have some fun, though, you and I. We’ll play a few more games with her and that tall bastard of Vehnsky’s before we bring down the curtain.”

“Yes, my darling
, you are always so clever! And if she breeds a girl for you to raise … well, it couldn’t be more perfect.”

The Count frowned slightly as he reached for her hand. “Yes. It must be a girl. If not…
.”

“Well, my dear sir, a boy has his uses. Send him to Italy and let the Italians cut themselves a pretty new Manzoli! But let’s don’t worry anymore about that. You and I are together again, aren’t we, and that’s all that really matters. Come inside now, my dear lord, and let’s open this splendid wine before it gets any later.”

The Count drew her into his arms. Shortly afterward, the door to the secret room closed behind them with a soft click.

Chapter
16

Below in the street, her lover’s friends were serenading, musicians from Prince Vehnsky’s, disguised tonight as an ordinary pick up band. Klara opened her window and leaned out. The cat sat on the sill beside her, gazing down with interest into the street.

"Most charming, gentle musicians! Who sent you?"

"An ardent admirer of your sublime talent, Fraulein Siber, who wishes to remain anonymous!"

"Fraulein Silber! Close that window! You mustn't encourage them."

Here came Liese, full of complaints and scolding. Klara turned to face her. The play they’d devised was going according to plan.

"Why ever not? Their music is charming and such a compliment to me."

"Of course it is, my lamb. But isn't Count Oettingen already annoyed enough, without you encouraging whoever it is that sent these fellows?"

"Oh, Liese! How will he know? Unless you or that creeping old spy Hermann tell him."

"Oh, dear! Don't be so cross with poor Liese and good Hermann! We're only looking after you! Now, here, let me close the window."

"Oh, Liese! Just let me hear one more song.”

"Mistress, all the heat is going out."

"Well, if they can endure to stand outside and sing, I can certainly do them the courtesy of listening."

"Mistress!"

"Go away, Liese!"

"One more song." Liese shifted her plea out the window to the musicians below, "and then you young fellows must go! Truly! Singerin Silber will catch her death of cold otherwise. She has already been ill once this winter!"

"Must you obey the old woman, peerless Singerin?"

"I fear I must."

Another song was sung, while Liese rushed away to put more coal in the stove. Every bit of warmth in the room had flown out.

"To bed now!" Unceremoniously, she pushed Klara away and slammed down the window shut.

Klara, shivering, did as she was told, climbing straight away into her alcove bed. Once inside, she drew the curtains.

"Good night, then, Liese!” She tried to sound meek and resigned.

The first part of the plan had gone like clockwork. In her room, beyond the curtain, she could hear Hermann stumping heavily in with another sack of coal for the wall stove. There was a crash as he dropped it. He complained to Liese: "Thank God that rabble has packed off at last! Be careful with I’ve just brought, but this is costing Fraulein Silber a pretty penny, what with leaving the window open in the depths of February to hear some rag-tag play. As if she don't get enough music, what with singing every day, rehearsals, lessons, operas!
Grosse Gott!
"

"Hush! She's probably listening to every word."

"Why else would I be talking? Only way to get advice listened to."

Sitting, legs folded beneath her, feather comforter tugged over her shoulders, Klara smiled. Later, when they both had settled, she got out of bed, lit a candle, and began to put on a pair of leather front-laced stays.

Next, she slipped on a warm brown petticoat and a checkered flannel bodice. Over this, she'd throw a brown broadcloth cloak, an old one that had been bought for her, long, long ago when Oettingen had taken her from the convent. She’d given it last year to her new maid-of-all-work. This young servant, like the concierge's son, was vulnerable to bribery. Wearing this cloak, if she could sneak past Hermann, she'd be able to go downstairs without drawing attention.

Of course, Klara was well aware that asking the servants to help could work both ways. Servants might collect more money by betraying her, but she was desperate enough to be with Akos to dare anything. Besides, Carnival was well underway, and the spirit of masking was abroad in the cold air.

A muslin cap with warm side flaps and a chin tie would complete the disguise. No prima donna, but only a servant girl sneaking out to meet a boyfriend would slip from the old apartment house, Der Erste Rosenbaumhaus, on the Judenplatz. Quickly, Klara finished dressing. Then she went to the window to watch.

It was snowing a little now, a few fat flakes drifting past. Occasionally a carriage, torch men trotting ahead, came along. Drunks, too, stumbled past, their wandering way lantern-lit by patient urchins. Sometimes dark, cloaked figures passed, arm in arm. The sight of these maskers gave Klara a thrill.

Soon, she would be one of them!

It was close to a long hour later when she heard singing. Liese had promptly gone off to sleep. Klara knew because could hear the familiar purring rattle of her snore through the wall. Hermann would have gone to sleep, even quicker, behind the panels of his front hall cabinet. Day, for both of them, began before dawn, with lugging water, fetching fuel and stoking fires. They needed their sleep! It was what she’d counted upon.

***

The lovers sat by a creaking wall stove, holding hands. The tavern room in which they had taken refuge had a certain practicality. There was noise, a crowd, and much meeting and greeting. They were anonymous, although, to anyone enough interested to look, it would be clear that they were not what they played at
– mere servants – for Akos wore a sword beneath his cloak.