‘Indeed I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. Having endured the rigours of your mountain road once, I mean to make it worth while before I face it again. I promised Lucia that I would leave well before the snow makes it impassable, of course. She can’t spare me all winter, she says. But until then I am your grateful guest. So, when do I meet Cristabel and this disastrous husband of hers?’
‘I thought, quite informally, a reception tonight?’
‘Admirable. And the less said about anything, the better. Oh, by the way, we passed another carriage on the long pull up from Lake Constance. I caught a glimpse of its occupants, a pair of old admirers of yours and Cristabel’s.’
‘Not Lodge and Playfair?’
‘I thought you might not quite like it.’
‘I most certainly do not. Birds of ill omen! What conspiratorial brew are they stirring now, I wonder? They nearly wrecked Franz’s plans last year, with their bungling. I sometimes wondered, afterwards, if they could be quite such inept plotters as they seemed, but Franz would never believe me. I think, if you will excuse me, I had better find out where they are staying. I wouldn’t like to think they were planning to pay a visit to Prince Gustav.’
‘He’s allowed to keep his own court at Gustavsberg?’
‘Yes, rather against my instincts, to tell you the truth. It seems to me that one can carry magnanimity too far.’
‘And the bastard boy?’
‘With his father. And the countess, his mother, and all the sisters. All thriving they say.’ A rueful glance down at her own neat waist. ‘I’m a great disappointment to everyone, I’m afraid. It’s good of you not to have asked.’
‘It’s not a year yet. Early days to be fretting, Lucia says. But I am keeping you from your business. May I make a suggestion?’
‘Please.’
‘Why not invite Lodge and Playfair to your reception? I saw them; they must have seen me; it would make perfect sense.’
‘Thank you.’ With her warmest smile. ‘I can’t tell you how I hate to play the spy.’
After she had given her instructions, she sat for a long time gazing out at the darkening view of mountain and forest and empty road, while she probed at the failed heart of her marriage. What had gone wrong between her and Franz? Tears throbbed behind her eyes as she remembered the perfect happiness of that public onstage engagement, the glowing promise of their first kiss in front of all Lissenberg. After that it had been nothing but business, discussion, arrangements, and at last wedding and crowning all in one day. And, at the end of it, ceremonial bedding by the whole court – a barbarous custom no daughter of hers should ever endure. But what chance of a daughter – she came to the heart of the matter – when she was still a virgin. Her fault? His? What went wrong? How should she know, who knew so little? And what use thinking of ‘fault’? If Franz would only discuss it, with her, with anyone. But, among so much success, it must be specially hard to admit, even to himself, to such a failure. She had hoped that time would take care of it; had practised small enticements, a new dress, a glass of mulled wine in their bedroom, other things she did not care to remember. All to no avail. Did he notice her trying? She could not be sure, but felt the mounting desperation in him, making everything worse. She thought he was glad to go away now, on affairs of state, and pay her the empty compliment of leaving her behind to rule in his place. Suddenly, desperately, she wished Lucia Aldini had come. Had it been, really, on her own account that she had invited her? You could talk to Lucia about anything and in her lazy, relaxed way, she would have helped.
More water under another bridge. She rang for Anna and began to prepare for the evening’s reception.
‘So Tafur has come to look me over! And we must trail up to the palace instead of rehearsing tonight for tomorrow’s command performance. Franzosi won’t be best pleased.’ Desmond joined Cristabel at the looking glass where she was adding just a touch of rouge. ‘That’s right. A little more, I think. We must put out all our flags for the old man. Mustn’t have him take a poor report of you back to your mama.’
‘Old man? I doubt you’ll think him that when you meet him.’ Cristabel was surprised how little she was looking forward to introducing her husband to Count Tafur.
‘Then he must carry his years very well. He was quite in his dotage, by all reports, when I was last in Venice, and that was some time ago.’
‘Before we were there.’ Cristabel remembered that Desmond had been a failure at the Fenice Theatre in Venice, his Italian not good enough for those sharp critics.
‘Ah, if only I’d been still there when you arrived … How happy we would have been in that magical city, you and I … To think of those wasted years, when I might have held you in my arms.’ He swooped down to embrace her, and she was aware, for the first time, that he smelled, ever so slightly … Tobacco? … Wine? … Garlic? Or all three?
She smiled and pushed him gently away. ‘If we had met then, my dear, I doubt if I’d ever have succeeded as a prima donna. You are altogether too distracting. And, now, I must really finish myself, or we will be late.’
‘And we must not be late at the palace, or our precise Princess Martha will scold us.’
‘And have every right to do so.’ There had been something in his tone that she did not quite like.
‘Poor lady, yes. She needs all the support she can get just now. Have you noticed that she gets plainer every day, poor creature? I am glad to see you such a faithful friend to her, my beauty. I am sure it makes a great difference in her awkward position.’
‘Awkward? What do you mean?’
‘You’re such an innocent! Do you not listen to any of the talk in the green room? The word there is that everyone now feels the husband is away too often and too long. The Lissenbergers put a bold face on it last year, but not all of them much relish having an American commoner for their princess. What with the upper classes resenting the two of them for upstarts, and his revolutionary followers regretting the president they didn’t get, things are on the boil below the surface here. And, now, these rumours that Prince Franz has sold out to Napoleon …’
‘What rumours? I haven’t heard any!’
‘That’s just what I’m saying, my star. That you are such a blessed innocent, people spare you the sharper facts of life. I don’t know how you managed to go on before you had me to look out for you. So no one has mentioned to you that there is a lady in the case?’
‘A lady? What can you mean?’
‘You even know her, I believe. Josephine’s niece, Minette de Beauharnais. She’s a great beauty these days, a star of the Emperor’s court. It’s not only politics keeping our prince in Paris. Imagine the contrast, a lady of the court, a beauty, with the world at her fingertips, and our poor, plain, well-meaning princess …’
‘I don’t believe a word of it.’ But her hand shook as she fastened the pearls he had given her as a wedding present. She had sometimes thought her husband did not much like her old friend, now she was afraid to recognise that he hated her. It was a relief when a servant announced that Franzosi was below, waiting for them, and she was glad all over again that Martha had invited him too. It meant that the conversation in the carriage on the way up to the palace was confined strictly to general topics and the opera they were to put on next night. Franzosi had chosen his own version of The Barber of Seville, and Desmond, who knew himself least successful in comic parts was still vainly trying to persuade him to change his mind. But Franzosi was firm, and she was grateful. If Desmond disliked playing Figaro, the comic barber, she knew herself very much at home as the heroine, Rosina, and wondered, anxiously, if Franzosi was trying to make things easy for her.
‘By the way,’ he said, as the carriage drew up at the palace gates and servants leapt forward to let down the steps. ‘If you should be asked to sing tonight, signora, you have my orders to refuse.’
‘Orders?’ Desmond took it up, bristling.
‘Advice then. Lady Cristabel is an old friend. I know she won’t
take it amiss if I urge her to save her strength for Rosina tomorrow night. And I am sure the princess will understand.’
It was still strange for Martha and Cristabel, who had lived so closely together as friends, to meet as princess and employee, a strangeness compounded by the fact that Cristabel was Lady Cristabel, a duke’s daughter, and Martha merely the daughter of a self-made American. Kissing now, each thought the other not in the best of looks. ‘Here she is at last,’ Martha turned to Count Tafur, beside her.
‘More beautiful than ever.’ But he did not think it true. ‘And the fortunate husband. We are all to congratulate you, Mr Fylde.’
‘The luckiest dog in the world, and I know it. You must render my thanks, count, to the Signora Aldini, when you return to her. She will be missing you sadly, I am sure.’
Something in his tone made Martha want to hit him, but Tafur merely turned to Cristabel. ‘Your mother sends all kinds of idle, loving messages,’ he told her. ‘She says she longs to hear you, now you are a prima donna, but you must indulge her by coming to Venice. I am charged with a carte blanche from the Fenice Theatre, by the way. They want to know if you have considered an Italian version of Crusader Prince, which we are all agog to hear.’
‘Last year’s triumph!’ Fylde spoke before his wife could. ‘Dead as mutton now, count. And untranslatable, you can take my word for that. German opera and Italian are oil and vinegar: won’t mix, a waste of time. And if Lady Cristabel were to think of Italy, it would be La Scala, not the little Fenice.’
‘You have had an offer from La Scala? The two of you?’ Tafur sounded merely curious, interested. ‘I’m delighted to hear it. You must have made great progress with your Italian, since last you were in Venice, Mr Fylde. How very wise of you. You’re entirely right, of course,’ he went on smoothly. ‘Now it is the capital of Napoleon’s Italy, Milan is very much the place to be heard. I can only rejoice with you, and promise that I will do my utmost to bring your lazy mother there to hear you, Cristabel.’
‘But we haven’t – ‘Cristabel was blushing savagely. ‘Desmond is just talking possibilities … It’s good of the Fenice, but, truly, I want to stay here for a while, establish myself, find my feet. Besides, I owe it to Martha … to the princess.’ Her colour was higher than ever.
‘No, no –’ Reaching out a loving hand to clasp Cristabel’s, Martha was glad of a distraction: ‘Here are some old friends. Mr Lodge, Mr Playfair, welcome to our court. I am so glad my messenger found you.’
‘You’ll always find Lodge and Playfair at the town’s best inn.’ Playfair bent to kiss her hand. ‘We are happy to find you so well established, highness, and only sad not to see our old friend the prince at your side.’
‘He will be sorry too,’ she said automatically. ‘But I expect him any day. Now you are here, you will surely stay a while?’ It was the nearest she felt she could get to asking them what their business was in Lissenberg. After they had so signally failed as allies to Franz in the early stages of his revolution, they had turned up, like bad pennies, to represent Austrian interests at the celebrations of Gustav’s twenty-fifth anniversary as Prince of Lissenberg that had ended in his downfall.
‘With your good leave, we certainly hope to,’ said Lodge. ‘As a fellow American, I long to cheer at the anniversary of your coronation, princess.’
‘And to visit old friends,’ said Playfair, ‘celebrating the freedom you and your husband have brought to lucky Lissenberg.’
‘And to enjoy the hunting, if it is permitted,’ chimed in Lodge.
‘Permitted?’ Martha looked him up and down. ‘An odd word, in our free country, surely? But it’s true, you will find things changed here, gentlemen. You will be free to hunt, just as all the Lissenbergers now are. It was one of my husband’s first reforms, to throw the forests open to the people.’
‘With rather drastic effects on the supply of game, unless we were gravely misinformed,’ said Playfair. ‘When my friend spoke of permission, highness, he had in mind the area around Gustavsberg, where, we understand, the game is still preserved.’
‘I see.’ What a fool they must think her. ‘Yes, my husband has reserved the hunting round Gustavsberg for his father and his little court. You will have to apply to Prince Gustav for leave to hunt there.’
‘But we have your permission to do so?’ asked Lodge.
‘Of course.’ It was what Franz would have said.
Chapter 3
‘I never thought of those two young men as passionate huntsmen,’ said Tafur to Martha over a late breakfast next morning.
‘I’m quite sure they are not.’ They were eating alone in her comfortable, chintz-hung private parlour. ‘It’s an excuse, to see Prince Gustav. I wish Franz would get home. Cristabel brought a letter for him from his brother, and I am beginning to wonder if I ought not to have opened it.’
‘Prince Max is in Vienna still? And Lodge and Playfair have acted as Austrian trouble-stirrers before now.’
‘You think that too?’
‘I know it, my dear. I’ve had it in mind to apologise to you for introducing them as your cicisbeos, back in Venice. That was before I knew, you understand. But we soon began to suspect that they were in Venice to infiltrate the revolutionary movement there, destroy it from within.’
‘Just what they tried to do here in Lissenberg. And then they turned up, bold as brass, as Austrian representatives at the anniversary opera. I happened to notice their faces while Franz was being acclaimed. It was not what they had expected at all. And they left first thing the next day, I remember it well. We said “good riddance”, Franz and I. He won’t be pleased to find them back here.’
‘Trying to get in touch with his father. No. I think maybe you should open Prince Max’s letter, my dear, though I do see that it is awkward for you. But I take it your husband left you with absolute powers?’
‘Of course. He trusts me.’ It was true, but had she managed to keep her voice quite steady?
‘Naturally. And he will see, as you must, that this new alliance of Austria and Russia against Napoleon changes everything. I confess I am surprised that news of it has not brought the prince hurrying home.’
‘New alliance? What new alliance?’
‘You haven’t heard? Signed back in August. There were rumours, when I left Venice, of a campaign to be mounted in the Tyrol, rather near home for us all, but nothing certain. The Austrians were still trying to persuade Prussia to join them against Napoleon, and then, of course, there was the question of British subsidies to be negotiated. But you can see why I was surprised not to find your husband here. If it does come to war, and war in this part of the world, you and he will have some hard decisions to take.’
‘Couldn’t we just sit it out as neutrals?’
‘I doubt it, my dear.’ He smiled and passed her his empty coffee cup. ‘You must know by now that the minerals they mine in Brundt are too important to the cannon-makers.’
‘I hate it!’ Her hand jerked as she poured his coffee, spilling it into the saucer. ‘I can’t tell you how I hate it. And so does Franz. He was appalled when he learned. We both were. This whole country lives on death. We export it to the highest bidder. It’s horrible, count. I’m sorry.’ She was ineffectually dabbing at spilled coffee with a delicate lace handkerchief.
‘I’m afraid I agree with you, but I’m glad you know. It’s always best to face facts, however unpleasant. But what do you hear from your husband?’
‘Nothing since he reached Paris. I have begun to wonder if he thinks it not safe to write. Or even if his letters may be being intercepted. Do you think that idiotic of me?’
‘Not in the least, I’m sorry to say. We have to face it that since Fouché became Napoleon’s Minister of Police again last year, he has been developing a network of secret agents. I think you also have to recognise that your husband may not have been receiving the letters you have written to him.’ He finished his coffee and looked at her across the empty cup. ‘Have you heard the r
umours, I wonder?’
‘Rumours?’
‘I very much dislike mentioning them. But as your old friend … They have certainly reached Venice, and something Desmond Fylde said last night made me think they must be rife here too.’ He put down his cup. ‘I don’t need to tell you how much I dislike and distrust that man.’
‘No, you don’t. Poor Cristabel … But, these rumours, count. Please …’ He still hesitated.
‘You know of course that Napoleon is beginning to think in terms of dynastic alliances.’
‘Why, yes. He sent Josephine’s niece here, ages ago, Minette de Beauharnais, meaning to marry her to Prince Max. You must have heard about that, because of poor Cristabel. It broke up her relationship with Max.’
‘Yes, well.’ Had she ever seen Count Tafur ill at ease before? ‘As a matter of fact, it is Minette de Beauharnais again. I have to tell you, my dear. No one else will. The word is that Napoleon is urging your husband to divorce you and marry her.’
‘What?’ She put down her cup with a sharp little click on its saucer. ‘He won’t do it. Franz.’ But he could, if he wanted to, on grounds of non-consummation.
‘Of course he won’t. I haven’t even met him, but I know him, by report, better than that. And we must hope that Napoleon is man enough to recognise an honourable man when he meets him. But he has done it to his brothers, you know. Made them marry.’
‘He made Talleyrand marry his mistress.’
‘Well, he himself married Josephine all over again, in church, last year, so that she could be crowned Empress of the French. You have to think of him as capable of anything.’
Leading Lady Page 3
