The Figaro Murders (21 page)

The horse gave me another sad look. “What do you have to worry about?” I asked him. He flicked his tail. I sighed, and with a heavy heart, trudged down the Herrengasse toward the palais.

*   *   *

Back in my room, I gathered my papers and tucked the pin into my pocket. As I approached Caroline's chamber, I heard her voice through the door.

“You must do it, you must!” Her voice was loud, angry.

“Caroline, you have no right to tell me to do this,” Urban Rausch said.

“Of course I have the right! This is my house!”

“Caroline—”

“I know everything now! You must confess!”

“You know I cannot—how can you ask me to do this, after all I've done for you, all I've given you?”

“If you do not, I will tell—”

“Please, Caroline,” Rausch pleaded. “I cannot. You know I cannot. What will happen to me?”

I pressed my ear to the door, but Caroline had lowered her voice, and I could not make out her reply. Someone coughed behind me. I jumped, and turned to see Bohm standing at the end of the hallway, a sly grin on his face. My cheeks grew hot. I rapped sharply on the door. It flew open. Rausch, his face purple with rage, stormed out.

“Get out of my way!” he yelled, pushing me aside. I stumbled, then righted myself, gagging at the wind of cologne that followed the doctor down the hall.

*   *   *

I looked into the room. Caroline sat in a chair by the fireplace, her posture stiff and erect, her face white. I tapped on the door.

“Oh, Lorenzo, come in. I didn't hear you.” She smiled tightly. “Please close the door.”

I crossed the room and sat in the other chair. “Are you all right, Caroline?” I asked.

She waved her hand. “Yes, I am fine. Just a disagreement with my guardian, that is all.” She looked closely at me. “Did you deliver my message, Lorenzo?”

I nodded miserably.

“And?”

I reached into my pocket and handed her the pin. I hated the smile that came to her face. Jealousy surged through me. Why could she not smile like that for me? I cursed the day I had agreed to help Vogel find his mother. Had I walked away from the closed-up shop, I never would have met this bewitching woman, never would have felt this misery.

She rose and slipped the pin into her jewel box, then crossed over to the window. “Now, what poems have you for me today? Any more from Petrarch, about his mysterious love?”

I took up my notes and shuffled through the poems I had copied out, settling upon the last one I had chosen. My throat was dry as I read to her.

Love has locked me in a lovely, cruel embrace

that kills me unjustly; and if I protest

he doubles my suffering; thus it is better

that I die in loving silence, as I would.

For her eyes could burn the Rhine however much frozen,

and shatter his every rugged rock;

her haughtiness is so equal to her beauty

that to please others seems to displease her.

I looked over at her. She stood staring out the window, a contented smile on her face, her eyes far away. My heart wrenched. I took up my reading.

I cannot with my wit wear down

the lovely diamond of her hard heart;

the rest of her is a marble that moves and breathes;

But neither can she, with all her contempt,

and with all her darkened looks,

take away my hopes and my sweet sighs.

She stood silently for several long moments. I cast my papers aside and rubbed my forehead. She came and stood over me.

“Do you judge me, Lorenzo?” she asked softly.

“Madame, I have no right to judge anyone,” I said. Oh, how I wished I could stand up from my chair, leave this wretched room, this miserable house!

“You don't understand what it is like to be a woman, Lorenzo,” she said, her voice tightening. “You spend your youth waiting to be chosen. You do everything you can to please your husband. You watch while he chases after every young woman he sees.”

“Madame—”

“You have to put up with that! You have to put up with everything!” She paced the room now, her hands balled into fists.

“Caroline, I—”

“You are humiliated, day after day!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Your husband brings a young man into your house and you must do everything to keep the boy happy, because if you do not, your husband's career could be ruined. So you put up with him, you let him paw you, fondle you, you cannot stop him as he tries to go further—”

I stared at her, my mouth wide open, my heart pounding.

“Would you deny me a few moments of happiness?”

A knock sounded at the door. “Madame, are you all right?” Marianne called. Caroline froze. She did not look at me as she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt.

“Come in, Marianne,” she called.

“Are you ready for me to do your hair?” the maid asked as she entered. “Oh, Signor Da Ponte! I'm sorry, madame. I thought you were alone.”

“It's fine, Marianne. Signor Da Ponte was just leaving.” She sat down at the dressing table and began to undo her hair.

I gathered my papers and fled.

*   *   *

My heart was still pounding as I entered my room and shut the door. I went over to the desk, pulled the little notebook from the pile, and sat in the reading chair. Slowly, I turned the pages. It was a diary of sorts. The first few pages were carefully lined with staves, where Florian had jotted down snatches of music. I remembered Piatti telling me he had been a gifted composer. About ten pages of this, then journal-like entries, each dated and written in a neat, small hand:

Attended opera with K., singing good, plot boring;

Walked in Prater, saw C.G. there;

Lesson today, the passacaglia;

Letter from P., he wishes I were home;

Argument with R.H.;

Received 20 florins from C.G.;

J.'s name day;

Saw U.R. coming out of pawnshop?;

Received 30 florins from C.G.;

Ask A. about G.B.'s past?

The entries went on for several pages, the dates covering the last six months.

My heart was numb. A scene came to my mind. The library, its windows open to the sunny, warm day. A rapacious boy pulls a slight woman toward him, onto the window seat. She tries to pull away, but he taunts her with what he knows. He quickly unties the laces of her bodice and, despite her protests, fondles her breast with one hand, while pulling her skirt up with the other. She tries to push him away. He squeezes her breast, hard. At that moment, the rage she has kept buried for years rushes to the surface. She shoves him off her. He tumbles through the open window to his death on the rocks below. His victim's hands shake as she ties up her bodice. She takes a deep breath, tucks a loose auburn strand behind her ear, and walks to the door.

Ice spread through my heart as I tucked the book away in my cloak pocket for safekeeping. I did not know if I could find the will to give it to Troger.

 

Sixteen

The old city hospital covered two large blocks between the Hofburg and the Karntner gate in the city wall. Founded in the Middle Ages as a small infirmary attached to a church, the institution had grown in both size and utility, encompassing a hospital for the city's poor, an orphanage, and a modern medical clinic, until it was closed three years ago. The emperor opened his new general hospital in the northwest suburb right outside the city. The medical patients had been transferred to the new facility; the orphans had moved to new space less than a mile away on the Rennweg; and the large, empty buildings were in the process of being converted to apartments. Everyone benefited: the sick and the orphans now enjoyed the healthier open spaces of the suburbs; residents of the suburbs who wanted to move into town would soon have apartments available; and the city's builders were making a hefty profit.

The emperor had given the oldest part of the complex, formerly occupied by the orphanage, to Deaf School, a school founded by his mother. It was there that I headed the next morning, Tuesday, to find the ex-nun Maulbertsch had mentioned. Despite my worries about Florian Auerstein's diary, I allowed myself a scintilla of excitement about my progress on Vogel's matter. Surely between this visit and Maulbertsch's efforts to find the convent records, I was nearing the solution to the mystery of the medallion and its owner.

I passed under an arched doorway and entered a small foyer. A young man was seated at a desk. When he saw me, he rose, and greeted me with a smile and a nod.

“Good morning, I am looking for Josepha Hassler,” I said. He nodded again and pointed me toward a bench along the wall. As he hurried down a corridor, I took a seat and looked around. The room's low, vaulted ceiling gave it a coziness, and although there was no furniture besides the desk, a small chair, and the bench on which I sat, the room did not feel sparse. The walls appeared to have been recently whitewashed, and I could smell the pine soap with which the ancient stone floor had been scrubbed clean. A tapestry woven of gaily colored wool hung behind the reception desk, offering a warmer welcome to the deaf students than I imagined had ever been extended to the building's previous occupants, Vienna's poor orphans.

A moment later, the young man returned, accompanied by a tall, thin-faced woman with keen gray eyes and skin as smooth as porcelain. My heart sank as I rose. She seemed to be about my own age, too young to have resided at the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin convent when Vogel had been born, thirty years before. She glanced at me, turned to the young man, and began to gesture at him frantically. He nodded at her and responded with his own gestures, moving his fingers wildly. When he finally returned to his chair behind the desk, she turned to me and, seeing my astonished expression, smiled.

“I gather this is your first visit to a deaf school, sir,” she said.

I nodded.

“Heinrich is a student here. We were conversing using the signing method developed by the Abbé de l'Epée in France.”

“The boy is deaf? But how did he understand me when I asked for you?”

“We train all of our students to study lip movements. While Heinrich would have had trouble following you if you had made a long speech, he was easily able to recognize my name and assumed you wished to see me.” She smiled again as I shook my head in amazement. “Now, how can I help you? Are you here to learn about the school?”

“No, madame, I am here to see you in particular,” I said. I introduced myself and explained about my investigation for Vogel and my discovery of the medallion. Her smile turned to a frown as I finished my story.

“I'm sorry, signore. It still saddens me to think about the sisters. I lived at the convent for twenty years. My life was turned upside down when the emperor closed it.”

“You seem to have made a new life for yourself here, Sister,” I said.

Her look was sharp. “You must call me Miss Hassler. I am no longer a nun. The emperor saw to that.” She took a deep breath. “Yes, you are right. I was able to land on my feet. Because I was the cellarer for the convent, I had good business experience. But many of the nuns, especially the older ones, had nowhere to go. I often wonder what happened to them.”

I decided to spare her the sad fate of the Abbess Elisabeth. “Do you remember anything about such a medallion?” I asked.

“Oh yes, sir. One was given to every novice upon entry to the convent. I have mine tucked away somewhere, if you would like to see it.”

I shook my head. “Do the initials ‘K.S.' mean anything to you? Was there a nun in the convent with those initials?”

She thought for a few moments. “No, no one comes to mind. But I did not join the convent until ten years after the year your friend was born. I'm sorry I cannot be of more help to you, signore. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Please, madame. If you could answer one more question. I apologize if it sounds fantastical to you.”

She raised her eyebrow.

“Do you remember any stories you might have heard while you lived at the convent—about a novice, or even a nun, discovered to be with child years before you arrived?”

She laughed. “No, signore. And I'm sure I would have heard about it if such a thing had ever occurred. Nuns love gossip just as much as other women!” Her expression grew thoughtful. “I don't see how it could have happened. The Abbess Elisabeth kept a sharp eye on all the younger sisters. It's more likely your friend's mother was a patient at the convent's hospital. It was a very busy place in its time. Rich or poor, married or unmarried, they all came to us. The abbess placed many babies in adoptive families.” She looked at me sadly. “I am sorry, signore, but I don't think your chances of finding your friend's mother are good.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I said softly. I thanked her for her time and watched as she strode purposefully down the corridor. The young man at the desk had his head buried in a book, so I turned and left the building. Another dead end! I had felt sure that Vogel's mother had been a novice or a nun at the convent. Why else would the medallion have been hidden in the muff? Yet Josepha Hassler seemed sure that she would have heard about any scandal befalling one of her fellow nuns. I plodded back to the Hofburg, the optimism of the morning dissipated. My hopes of finding Vogel's mother lay solely with Maulbertsch now.

*   *   *

I stopped by the theater to see if Rosenberg was in his office. “He's out hunting with the emperor,” the secretary told me. “He's due back this evening. You might catch him at the theater tonight.”