Chapter Eleven
Jeanne
Surely it was not possible for Beethoven to sound as deadly tedious as this singer made his music seem. Where had Mesnera Arulik found him? The earlier tenor had been the same. She’d heard more engaging performances from street urchins in the Plaiz. The entire season had been remarkably flat, but one couldn’t sit at home endlessly staring out the window. Jeanne raised her fan to hide a yawn.
Count Chanturi caught her movement and leaned closely to whisper, “You need a new lover.” His dark eyes glinted with amusement below arching brows that had broken many a heart when they both had been young. From any other man the comment would have gone far beyond permission, but Rikerd was scarcely offering himself; they both knew that.
Jeanne snapped the fan shut and rapped him on the knuckles just for form’s sake. “What I need is a new tenor.”
He dropped his voice even softer. “What you need is a new soprano. Confess,” he continued. “You’ve been as dull as lead all autumn. When will we see our de Cherdillac sparkle again? You always sparkle when you’re in love. Will you be going to the ball the ambassador is holding in Efriturik’s honor? It’s sure to be teeming with sweet young things.”
Jeanne sighed. “The sweet young things they’re dangling in front of the young Atilliet will be well guarded against the likes of me. Give them a few years to grow tired of married life. Then I can see which ones are inclined for my little games.”
“Like Mesnera Perzin?”
“Oh la, no! Tio isn’t tired of marriage, only of propriety. In our day, she would have been a revolutionary only to make people stare. But yes, I’ll be attending the ball, a demure widow, chatting with the vizeinos.” She fluttered her fan coyly to belie the description. “Everyone will be there and I’ve been remiss at keeping my hand in.”
It was true, all true. She had been letting her distraction show. If it started being whispered that de Cherdillac had grown tedious and dull, the invitations would decline. Hostesses would find someone else to advise and assist them. Perhaps it was time to look around for a new flirtation. That would put the world right side up again.
* * *
The second snowfall of the year had stayed, building little drifts against stone walls and laying a blanket over gardens and parks. Jeanne turned up the collar of her pelisse more firmly, anticipating the chill when she stepped out the door, as Marien went down to the corner, where there was always sure to be at least one fiacre waiting for fares. The driver recognized her. Handing her up the step he asked, “Where shall it be today, Mesnera?”
“Charner’s library.” On impulse she added, “And if you don’t mind waiting, take me to Trez Cherfis after that.” That was the thing to lift the tedium. She wanted to see how Antuniet’s work was coming along. And she was worried. On the last few visits, Antuniet had been distracted and drawn-looking. She was impatient with the work—that was clear—but it was more than that.
If it hadn’t been for the smoke rising from the chimney in quantities indicating a firing, Jeanne might have thought they were gone for the day. The windows were all shuttered tightly and her knock went unanswered for long minutes. At a second knock, Antuniet’s voice called out sharply, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Jeanne. Do let me in; it’s freezing out here.”
The door cracked open enough to let her enter, then while Marien was helping her out of her coat and bonnet, Antuniet refastened a set of elaborate locks. Her face was pale and the shadows under her eyes looked near to bruises.
Jeanne threw propriety aside and took Antuniet’s face in her hands and turned it toward the light. “Toneke, what’s wrong? You look awful. Do you mean to work yourself to death? Why all the locks?”
She shook her head and backed away. “It’s for them. They’re waiting out there, watching. They’re always watching.” She turned and started back toward the workroom.
Jeanne stopped her with a hand on the arm. “Who?”
This time she didn’t flinch at the contact. “My enemies. They want to steal my work. They follow me everywhere now.”
With too many questions on her lips to even begin, Jeanne followed Antuniet into the back room, where Anna was tending bellows and coal tongs to keep the fire at just the right heat. She glanced up briefly, then returned to her task. Between the unnatural dark and the furnace’s glow Jeanne could imagine herself plunged into the tale of Faustus. Antuniet had returned to the equipment and was adjusting vessels and tubes that fed through the head of the furnace.
Jeanne wandered idly about the room, poking carefully at the various materials laid out on the bench. Enough time passed in silence that it seemed impossible that the work required so much uninterrupted concentration, but at last Antuniet straightened up and wiped the sweat from her brow and offered what was clearly meant to be a smile.
“There, that will do for now. I’m so close. Another three or four days, I think.” She paused a moment to check on Anna’s work and said a few words of quiet encouragement. “The ceration shouldn’t take more than a few more hours and then it can be left for the congelation to proceed on its own. Let me know if you grow tired.”
“I won’t be tired, Maisetra,” Anna responded, not looking up from the furnace.
This time the smile was genuine, though the apprentice couldn’t see it. Antuniet untied her work apron and washed her hands at the basin then led the way back into the front room. “She’s dedicated to the work, there’s no question of that.”
“Could we open the shutters?” Jeanne asked abruptly. “It’s like a tomb in here.”
Antuniet shook her head and the smile faded again. “They come in that way. It’s too much work to go around and undo the locks every day.”
“You’ve had thieves in here? Why didn’t you…Antuniet, this is madness. Why didn’t you ask for help?”
“Ask whom?”
Jeanne could only guess at what lay behind that bleak question. “I don’t know. Ask the city guard?”
“And have them poking around in all my things? They’d only tell me to lay a charge if I have a name. Even if I had a name to give them, I can’t prove anything on him.”
“Then what about your patron, Monterrez?” She knew better than to suggest Barbara again.
Antuniet looked over her shoulder toward the workroom and lowered her voice. “I can’t ask him to put himself forward. You know what a delicate position he’d be in. It’s too dangerous.”
“But surely there’s someone—an old family friend?—someone who would take up your cause.”
“If there were, where were they the night my mother died? Where were they when our house was seized and I was left on the street with nothing but two traveling trunks?”
The bitterness hung heavy between them. Jeanne tried to remember those days after Estefen’s execution. She’d barely known Antuniet then; now she wished she could go back and take her in. “What about me?” she asked. The question left her feeling exposed, and she waited for a rebuff.
Antuniet stared at her. “And what could you do? Can you hire guards to stand watch at all my doors night and day? Can you secure me royal protection? Can you have my enemies banished?”
“At least let me take you around the corner for some food and daylight,” Jeanne said, a sense of practicality returning. “This can’t be good for you.” The gloom was beginning to make her share Antuniet’s fears. It bred strange noises in the dark. She could see Marien waiting in a chair by the door, looking nervously about, infected by the mood.
“No, I don’t want to leave Anna alone.” Antuniet’s mouth twisted in wry apology. “I’m not much of a hostess today, am I? I couldn’t spare you as much as an hour even if it were safe to leave. One more week and it may be better.”
“And then what?” Jeanne felt her imagination caught up in the hints and mysteries.
“Then…” Antuniet hesitated for long moments. “Then, God willing, I’ll have enough of a gift to offer to Princess Annek to ask
for her protection. Something real and solid as an earnest of my work, if my enemies haven’t poisoned her against me or stolen it.”
“Stolen what?” From anyone else, Jeanne would have thought it all mad raving. But not from Antuniet, not the Antuniet she’d come to know.
“Would you—” Antuniet hesitated as if fearing refusal. “Would you be willing to keep something for me? Just for a week? Just until I’m ready?”
Jeanne nodded. “Anything you ask.” Antuniet motioned her to wait and disappeared briskly down the corridor. She returned long minutes later with a small purse. Jeanne felt it pressed into her hand.
“Just until I ask for it. I don’t want to risk losing all my labor. I don’t think they’re looking for this in particular, but better to put it out of their reach.”
Jeanne could feel the contents through the rough cloth; a handful of gravel it might have been, but she could guess its true nature. “Just until you come to fetch it,” she assured her.
And then there seemed nothing else to say. No sharing a pot of tea, no quizzing Anna on her studies, none of the amusements she had come to enjoy on her past visits. None of that seemed important. There were worse fates than a dull season.
When the door closed behind them and Jeanne heard the bolt sent home, Marien asked plaintively, “Mesnera, is it safe for you to keep coming here?”
Jeanne looked down the street, noticing a man who seemed to be taking a deep interest in Antuniet’s visitors. “Of course it’s safe.” But she went in the opposite direction to hail a passing carriage.
* * *
In the privacy of her dressing room, Jeanne opened the purse and spilled the contents out into a tray. The stones were mostly rough and dull with flecks of darker matrix embedded where the surface was irregular. Several had been polished to show the varied colors inside and a few glowed green even in the pale winter sun. Three had been shaped more carefully but only one had been set into a plain gold band. She picked it up and held it before the lamp’s flame, momentarily losing herself in the translucent red of the stone. Impulsively, she slipped it onto a finger, then shifted it to another where it fit better. The carnelian felt almost warm against her skin. Instead of the standard cabochon, it was a more of a double-lens shape, curved underneath to press closely against her finger. I’ll wear it just to keep her in my mind and prayers, Jeanne thought as she scooped the other gems back into the purse and locked it away in her jewel case.
She dreamed that night, unsettled by the haunted look in Antuniet’s eyes and the gloom pervading the workshop. Faceless shadows pursued her and a cold voice demanded endlessly, Where is it hidden? She woke suddenly once, in the small hours of the night, surprised to find herself whimpering. A soft voice called out from the dressing room where Marien slept, “Mesnera, are you well? Do you need something?”
“Only a nightmare,” she answered. “Go back to sleep.”
* * *
The flavor of society in Rotenek had shifted in the past year. It had been more than a generation since the marriage market had encompassed a member of the house of Atilliet. Annek’s own match had been a hurried diplomatic bargain, years before an ordinary girl would have been out. Her brothers had been swept up in the French wars with no time for idle entertainments before their deaths at Tarnzais. Then for the last twenty years Princess Elisebet had been the center of court life and all the gossip and intrigues had centered around her set and her favorites and their interests. That was a field of play that Jeanne knew well. But now all eyes—and many hopes—were on Efriturik. And if his circle of boisterous young men were not exactly the leaders of fashion, they must be accommodated and courted if one’s entertainments were to be a success.
As Jeanne watched the currents of people flow through the ballroom, she contemplated what place she could make for herself in this new round of the game. The politics were beyond her reach and outside her concern. It was clear the Austrian ambassador had instructions to make sure of Efriturik’s interest for the hope of future influence. That was only to be expected. Efriturik himself was harder to read. Jeanne’s thoughts turned to what pleasures he might be enticed by that her friends were able to provide. Drunken revelry and loose women were out of the question but sport…
Recalling the soft fall of snow on the brief ride earlier, a vision came to her. A skating party. Scope for young men to exert themselves and display their skills. An opportunity for them to guide the young women in more sedate exercise. The same informality as a hunting party without the need for travel. But where to hold it? One couldn’t depend on the Rotein freezing hard enough; that had only happened five times in her memory. But a shallow pond on one of the properties at the northern edge of the city? They were sure to freeze by sometime in January. Now who might benefit from the suggestion?
Jeanne cast her eyes over the assembled company and made her way over to a woman standing slightly apart for the moment. “Maisetra Saltez! How is dear Chazerin doing? I haven’t managed to spot her yet.”
“Vicomtesse,” she murmured. “Very well, thank you. There she is, in the pale gold.”
Jeanne followed her gaze and said all that was proper. The girl was only in her first dancing season, so her parents might host ordinary parties but not yet a formal ball. And she was scarcely a contender for Efriturik’s attention. Jeanne knew better than to dabble in serious matchmaking. But she could peddle dreams and fancies. “What a pity you haven’t managed to lure the young Atilliet to any entertainments yet. Wasn’t your son one of his guests at Feniz?”
“Oh yes, but only through young Peskil. It won’t be enough of a connection to allow an invitation after the New Year’s court.” She lowered her voice in the way one did when sharing a secret that everyone knew. “They say Her Grace will be granting him a title at last. He’ll be above our touch then.”
It was just that complication of the social rules that Jeanne was depending on. “But what if you invited him now? Before the court?”
“Don’t be absurd!” Maisetra Saltez laughed. “There’s no room to squeeze in so much as a luncheon before then, and we could hardly ask him too particularly. It would need to be a sizable affair.”
“I had in mind a skating party. To be held whenever your little lake freezes. But that’s the beauty of it, you see. Because of the uncertainty, you send the invitations now. The season is always a little slow late in January.”
She saw her eyes light up. “What a clever idea!”
“And you could set up a pavilion for the refreshments with little braziers for keeping warm.” Jeanne smiled as Saltez nodded eagerly. It seemed she hadn’t lost her touch after all. “Let me know if you need any advice on the planning, though I’m sure you’ll have it all in hand.”
With a flourish of her fan and a nod she moved on. Now who else might benefit from a word and a little push? She felt a twinge of guilt at spending her talents in frivolity when she could think of no way to apply that influence to help Antuniet. But the world turned and one must turn with it.
She spotted Margerit Sovitre lingering at the edge of the ballroom floor watching the dancers with a wistful look, and followed her gaze to see Barbara leading a set with one of the Pelniks. She drifted over as if by chance and whispered, “Someday we should hold a private little ball where we can all dance together without comment.” She saw Margerit blush as intended but the idea unexpectedly took hold in her mind. “We should! What are your plans for floodtide?”
“I…I couldn’t say,” Margerit answered. “We rarely go far because of the university, but I’m not planning to follow lectures in the Easter term. We were thinking of spending it in Chalanz this time.”
“But that would be perfect!” Jeanne urged. “It would be lovely to take a company there. It’s been ages since I saw it. Only give that dragon of yours a holiday. I doubt she’d approve.”
“Dragon? Oh, you mean my Aunt Bertrut. No, I suppose she wouldn’t be comfortable with the house overrun by your set. But they always spend flo
odtide with the Pertineks, so you needn’t worry.”
Jeanne noted that the plan had shifted from I couldn’t say to You needn’t worry. That was enough for now. She would have moved on, but one of the foreign guests was approaching with the look of someone desiring an introduction. She wracked her memory. His narrow, fox-like face looked slightly familiar but the name failed her. Margerit seemed to recognize him, though the look that crossed her face wasn’t entirely welcoming.
He bowed slightly to Margerit, murmuring, “Maisetra Sovitre!” and briefly taking her fingertips in salute.
With an almost apologetic glance, Margerit turned to her, saying, “Jeanne, have you met Mesner Kreiser? He’s some sort of aide to the Austrian ambassador, I think. Mesner Kreiser, Jeanne, Vicomtesse de Cherdillac.”
He bowed again. “An imperial emissary, more precisely. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
Jeanne hid her surprise by exaggerating it. “Me? Oh la! I can’t imagine what interest you would have. My only claim to fame is the success of my little parties, and it’s clear you need no help on that score.” She gestured around at the company with her fan.
His expression reminded her of a skilled card player considering which suit to lead. “My interest is in one of your friends. I understand you’ve been making regular visits to that unfortunate Chazillen woman.”
Jeanne would have been put on guard even without the frantic look Margerit gave her from out of his line of sight. Was this the man Antuniet feared? “Good heavens, have our stale scandals risen to the level of diplomatic attention?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “It’s a minor matter. We have no interest in whatever it was that drove her out of Alpennia, only what she may have brought back with her. You will forgive me if she is, indeed, a friend of yours, but we believe her to have taken something the emperor considers to be his.”
Then she is being shadowed, Jeanne thought. She allowed only a patient curiosity to show and made no response.
The Mystic Marriage Page 12
