Leading Lady

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  ‘Or such planning,’ agreed Martha ruefully. ‘But, Lady Helen, what does Cristabel say? Were you able to talk to her? He’s been making it impossible …’

  ‘She’s in a very strange state,’ said Lady Helen. ‘There’s more wrong with her than mere unhappiness, I think, though she is unhappy enough, poor child. She is in a terrible fret about the performance next week. She talked mostly about that, about her voice. She was shaking, Martha, actually shaking.’ And then, recollecting herself: ‘Forgive me, highness.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Martha. ‘I am so very glad you are come. We had been talking of sending for Cristabel’s mother, Count Tafur and I, but this is better. Shaking, you say? Should she see a doctor?’

  ‘She won’t hear of it. Well, you know the hostel doctor; a gossip if ever there was one, and that is something she most absolutely cannot afford. She’s just tired, she says; needs a rest, needs a holiday. She even thanked me for getting her the allowance, says now she and her husband can have some time to themselves, go on a little wedding tour. She said it as if it was a sentence of death. And then we were at the hostel, and there were all the arrangements to be made about my arrival. I had looked forward to it so much! All confusion, disappointment … And then he arrived, very angry in a quiet way and I’ve not had a private word with her since. What are we going to do, Martha?’

  ‘Two things,’ said Martha. ‘First, I am going to ask Franz to see to it that there is someone ready to take her part next week, if the worst comes to the worst, to get that load off her mind, though she won’t like it. But Franzosi must see the need for this, maybe he has already. And the other thing is to get a doctor to her. And I know the very man.’ She described Doctor Joseph without going into the circumstances of their first meeting. ‘I’ve been meaning to invite him to come to the palace as our doctor, specially now that we are thinking of having little Gustav to live with us –’ She silenced Lady Helen with an imperative hand. ‘I’ll tell you about that some other time. There has been a great deal going on here while you have been away, and I shall be glad of your advice, but for the moment, Cristabel must come first. I shall send Doctor Joseph down to see her, or rather Franz will. He went to a rehearsal the other day, and was shocked at her appearance. He’s her employer after all. He has every right to send his own doctor to her.’

  ‘Fylde won’t like it.’

  ‘There’s nothing he can do about it. Their new contracts haven’t been signed. I thought they should wait until Franz returned.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t care about that, now that she has the allowance.’

  ‘Oh, no, he’ll care. He’s an ambitious man, Desmond Fylde, and a greedy one. He’ll take the allowance as an agreeable extra, but it won’t satisfy him. He’s insatiable, I think.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘What’s done is done. I feel just the same, but what we have to do is think about freeing her.’

  ‘Divorce?’ Horrified.

  ‘Her father managed it.’

  ‘He’s a duke.’

  ‘You mean, he’s a man. Why is everything easier for them?’ And then, remembering Franz, ‘No, not everything. I don’t know how soon I shall manage a word alone with Franz,’ she warned Lady Helen. ‘He’s been so busy since he got back that I almost have to make an appointment to see him. Everyone seems to have saved their problems for him, which is scarcely flattering to me as his substitute.’

  ‘But understandable, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, yes, entirely understandable.’ Did she quite manage to keep the note of bitterness out of her voice? ‘Specially here in Lissenberg. Lord, I’ll be glad when this anniversary is well over and the roads closed and we can settle down for the winter.’

  ‘With Napoleon God knows where? Oh – it’s a relief, of course, that the threat of an invasion of England has lifted. There was near panic when I was there, and the mob in the streets shouting for Lord Nelson as if he were all the heroes rolled into one. I heard them myself. I’ve never been so shocked! Living in open sin with Lady Hamilton as he does. There are even rumours of a child. Tell me, my dear –’

  ‘Better a flawed hero than none,’ Martha forestalled her question. ‘As to Napoleon, from what Franz says he’s more than half way to Vienna by now. I hope the snow comes early this year, and walls us in. It’s a great advantage we have, that time of safety.’ Would there be time, then, in the long winter nights, for her and Franz? At the moment, he came to bed so late and so exhausted, that her only thought was to let him get enough rest to prepare him for the next day’s problems. Should I be more selfish, she wondered, and made herself listen to what Lady Helen was saying.

  Prince Max would have found the boredom of life with the Trappist Fathers intolerable if it had not been for the company of Doctor Joseph, who had welcomed him with open arms and a volley of questions about the outside world. They had become firm friends by the time the messenger from the palace found them sitting over a hard fought game of chess. ‘Prince Franz wants me to go and see Lady Cristabel?’ Doctor Joseph looked surprised. ‘What do I know about singers? Or ladies, come to that, specially noble ones!’

  ‘Lady Cristabel is ill! What’s the matter?’ Max almost snatched the note his new friend handed to him. ‘He doesn’t say. But it must be serious for him to intervene. You’ll go at once? Oh God, I wish I could come with you. She’s … Poor Cristabel … You’ve heard the talk about her voice of course?’

  ‘A little. And about her marriage. Will the husband be pleased to see me, do you think?’ Doctor Joseph was interested in his new friend’s vehement reaction.

  ‘Furious, I should think. He’s bound to make it as difficult for you as possible. That’s why it is a direct commission from my brother, I’m sure. To smooth the way for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Doubtfully. ‘I find it an awkward enough compliment, this commission! But I don’t need to leave yet. Tell me about Lady Cristabel, since I can see you are a friend of hers.’

  ‘A friend!’ It was almost a groan. ‘I love her. Always have, always will. She came to Lissenberg with her father, the Duke of Sarum, when we were children – well, young; for a children’s opera, Orpheus and Euridice. I was to sing Orpheus, naturally, she was Euridice. She persuaded me to change parts. I loved her. She could have persuaded me to anything. She was … I cannot tell you what a miracle she was. The first time on any stage, and she held that audience in the palm of her hand. We were masked, you understand, they all thought it was I. We had intended to keep the masks on, but when it came to the applause, I could not do it. She had to have the glory that was hers. Both our fathers were furious. The duke took her away next day, immured her in his country house. We did not meet again for years. You know the story, I expect. The princess was Martha Peabody then, a rich American’s heiress daughter. She fled the American fortune hunters, met Cristabel in England and brought her to Europe to further her career. I met them in Venice, lost my heart all over again, if there was any of it left to lose. They came here, to the opera house. I was biding my time to speak to her, fearing that she might not have remembered me as I had her.’ He paused, looking back over the old disaster.

  ‘Yes?’ prompted his friend. ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘Napoleon! Oh, he was Bonaparte still, but a power to be reckoned with. Thinking dynastic thoughts. He proposed a marriage between me and his wife’s niece, Minette de Beauharnais. I held out as long as I could, but – you don’t know my father! The threats he used. Franz is wrong to think he can co-operate with him.’ He realised this as he remembered the past. ‘He’s mad; I must tell him, warn him.’ He made as if to rise.

  ‘Not instantly!’ said his friend. ‘You’re in hiding, remember, on his orders. Wait until I’ve seen Lady Cristabel, got a feel of things in town. I’ll volunteer to do the Fathers’ marketing in Lissenberg,’ he explained. ‘Might as well, by the time I have been down to the opera house. That way I can pick up all the talk.’

  ‘Not come straight back?�
� Disappointed.

  ‘You’ll have to possess your soul in patience, my poor friend. I may even spend the night in Lissenberg, drop in on a few acquaintances, hear what they have to say, do my errands in the morning. You’ll just have to bear it! And don’t, I beg you, for everyone’s sake, do anything foolish.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise. After all, I promised Franz.’

  Doctor Joseph rode down the hill to the opera house on the flea-bitten old cavalry horse on which he had arrived in Lissenberg, and Max, watching him go, was amused at the contrast between his monk’s attire and his military seat in the saddle.

  In his note, Prince Franz had promised to tell Lady Cristabel the doctor was coming and leave it to her whether she chose to see him in her dressing-room at the opera house or at home in the hostel. Calling at the opera house first, Joseph drew a blank. Lady Cristabel had gone home early, the doorkeeper told him, with a knowing look.

  At the hostel, as he had expected, he found Desmond Fylde awaiting him in the downstairs reception room. ‘Doctor Joseph?’ He wasted no time on courtesy. ‘My wife can’t see you, I’m afraid. She has enough on her mind, with the performance next week, without being troubled by quack physicians.’

  ‘Ah.’ Joseph had seen the handsome tenor on stage often enough, but had never been close to him before and his acute eye was busy summing him up as probably ten years older than he looked in costume. Maybe more? No wonder he had decided to set himself up with a wife to support him. He said no more, but put down his instrument case on a table, reached leisurely into an inner pocket and produced a parchment scroll. ‘My qualifications, Herr Fylde.’

  ‘Latin!’ Fylde looked at him with dislike.

  ‘Paris.’ Pointing at the word. ‘Seventeen hundred and ninety-six. I am afraid the date is in Latin numerals. But I can promise you it is all quite in order. Does Lady Cristabel perhaps read Latin?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ It was obvious to Joseph that Fylde did not at all want to reveal to his wife that he could not. ‘Well,’ he said now, grudgingly, ‘I suppose that is something. That you are properly qualified at least. But I still don’t want my wife troubled. It’s all in her mind, you know.’ Man to man. ‘A case of nervous strain. She thinks she can’t sing, then, of course, she can’t.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Joseph. ‘And, in fact, rather what I had thought myself from hearing her. I can see that you are a man of perception, Kerr Fylde. I wonder how you proposed to convince her that she can, in fact, sing?’ And then, as Fylde hesitated, searching for an answer: ‘May I venture to suggest that if you were to let me see her, and I was to tell her that it was all in her mind, it might form just the kind of cure you suggest? The word of a medical man, you know? Husbands do tend to be partial judges, she may think you are sparing her feelings, while there is no reason why I should.’

  ‘And you’d do that?’

  ‘If I thought it was best for her. Naturally, I would need to see her, satisfy myself that there is no physical problem. But, frankly, I am convinced there is not. It is a question of medical ethics, you understand. I’d need to see her alone, just a few very simple questions, and then I could give her the reassurance she so badly needs. It would be a tragedy, would it not, if this anniversary performance which should be the cornerstone of her career should mark its end.’

  ‘That’s what they are saying?’

  ‘I am afraid so, Herr Fylde. You know how it is, the nearest and dearest are the last to hear this kind of rumour. And, another thing, the expectation so often brings the fact. If the audience arrive convinced that Lady Cristabel is going to fail, the chances are very strong that she will. How sad it would be. Such an immensely promising career, such a future opening before her.’

  ‘A disaster?’ Was Fylde facing it for the first time?

  ‘Whereas if I were to see her,’ Joseph went on. ‘And go down into Lissenberg afterwards, as I mean to, and mention, quite casually, here and there, that I have found out what was the matter and dealt with it. Well, do you know, without flattering myself, I think it might make a difference.’

  ‘Admirable man. She shall see you at once. I was only wanting to make sure that you would not do more harm than good, you understand?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Left alone, Doctor Joseph smiled to himself, rolled up the useful piece of parchment and put it back in his pocket.

  Five minutes later Desmond Fylde ushered him assiduously into the big bedroom which showed signs of a rapid tidying. ‘This is Doctor Joseph, my dear. I am sure he will do you good.’

  ‘Joseph?’ She was sitting on a chaise longue, dark hair curling loosely around the pale face, brilliant blue eyes summing him up. ‘Joseph what?’ The extraordinary eyes moved to see the door close behind her husband.

  ‘Just Doctor Joseph, madame.’ He felt as if the blue eyes were penetrating, layer upon layer, through to his naked heart.

  ‘Doctor Joseph.’ She said it thoughtfully in French. ‘Would you be so good, monsieur, as to put back your hood? I cannot persuade myself to discuss my problems with someone whose face I cannot properly see. Thank you.’ Blue eyes met blue eyes for a long moment. ‘And now, tell me how you persuaded my husband to let you see me alone.’

  ‘Easy, madame.’ The laughter in his eyes somehow communicated itself to hers. ‘I blinded him with science and told him I would tell the world you were cured.’

  ‘And shall you?’

  ‘When you are.’

  ‘So easy?’

  ‘I rather hope so. I have been studying you a little, madame. I hope you won’t mind this, but it’s a dull life up with the Trappist Fathers.’

  ‘And you have enlivened it by studying me? Thank you, monsieur.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure. So –’ His eyes held hers. ‘What has he been giving you?’

  ‘You know?’ She put a hand to her heart.

  ‘I am a doctor, madame. And not a fool.’ He took her hand, and felt the shock of it pass through them both. ‘You see, it is shaking.’ He was holding it professionally, counting her pulse, ignoring the shocks that still ran through him.

  ‘Of course it’s shaking. Who are you, monsieur?’

  ‘You are more honest than I am, madame.’ He did not answer her question. ‘But – it was shaking before. Why was that?’

  ‘Because I stopped taking his drops.’ It was the most natural thing in the world to answer him straight.

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘I don’t know. He said they were handed down by the princes, his forebears.’ Her tone proclaimed her disbelief in them. ‘I didn’t like what they were doing to me. On stage. I couldn’t remember, afterwards, how it had gone. And there was something missing, something wrong … I felt wonderful at the time. It’s been hard …’

  ‘I’m sure. Does he know you have stopped?’

  ‘No. It’s only been a couple of days. I’ve contrived to get rid of them … I’m surprised he let you see me, even with Prince Franz behind you.’

  ‘I think I managed to frighten him. Besides,’ once again that instinctive, vital exchange of smiles, ‘I promised I’d cure you.’

  ‘Cure?’

  ‘Of the affliction of the nerves that is affecting your voice.’

  ‘That’s honest, at least. You have heard me then? I thought –’ What in the world had she been thinking?

  ‘That I was a Trappist, vowed to silence and the cloister? No, madame, I am merely a refugee whom the Fathers have charitably taken in. I’m Swiss, conscripted into the French army of Italy – a nobody – worse, a deserter.’ He made it a challenge. ‘And my exile, here in Lissenberg, has been brightened by listening to you.’

  ‘You’ve been here some time, then?’

  ‘Since the spring. Long enough to have heard the change – forgive me, the trouble when you came back from your summer tour.’

  ‘I was so tired … He said it was just that … Gave me the drops … They made everything seem easy!’

  ‘And you sang brillia
ntly,’ he told her. ‘I’ve never heard you better, technically.’

  ‘Technically? What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I was at a rehearsal of Night of Errors the other day. What a waste of your genius! But never mind that. You had every one of Franzosi’s old-fashioned trills and shakes to perfection! And no heart in it, no life, nothing. You could have been a music machine. The audience felt it, of course.’

  ‘That’s what it is! What I’m missing. The feel of the audience reacting. Oh, I do thank you for telling me. But what can I do? Without Desmond’s drops I can’t sing; with them I can’t act! Does that sum it up?’

  ‘You’re a remarkable woman. How long do you think before he interrupts us?’

  ‘I’m amazed he’s not done so already. Have I told you about the drops?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve forbidden you to take them. Ah –’ They had both heard the door open. He turned: ‘Herr Fylde! And in the nick of time. I’ve a hard regime to prescribe for your wife, I am afraid. For both of you. If you will forgive us, madame? A word with your husband alone?’

  ‘Oh.’ They could both see that she did not like it. Then: ‘Very well.’ Coolly. ‘Goodbye, then, doctor, and thank you.’ She held out her hand and he surprised them all by kissing it.

  ‘How old is your wife?’ Back in the downstairs receiving room he surprised Fylde with the direct question.

  ‘How old? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? What’s that to the purpose?’

  ‘A good deal, I think.’ Doctor Joseph’s cowl was back in place, and he had shaken his head at Fylde’s offer of a glass of wine. ‘You are, shall we agree, a good deal older?’

  ‘A few years. Yes?’

  ‘And naturally, much wiser. A man of the world. Responsible for her; anxious about her, as any husband would be. That’s why you gave her that family medicament of yours. That extraordinary potion that seems to have done her so much good.’

  ‘Ah. She told you about that?’

  ‘In answer to a question. I have followed her career with great interest, sir. With great admiration. We cannot afford to lose so brilliant a singer.’