Aria to Death

by Nupur Tustin

  He returned to his brother’s side, stretching the stiffness out of his fingers and wrists. “And to think we assumed he was only sending Fritz Dichtler away—” He broke off just as Haydn’s head jerked up. “Why, then—” he turned to his brother.

  Haydn nodded. “It was not to take in the sights that Fritz Dichtler was on the Graben this morning. We were on our way to see Kaspar’s lawyer when we saw him sauntering along,” he explained to Luigi. “Not above a yard from Herr Anwalt’s chambers. One of the prospective buyers Herr Anwalt mentioned to us, no doubt.”

  Luigi’s gaze had been swiveling back and forth between Haydn and Johann. “Then it was Kaspar’s bequest that Herr Rahier was interested in all along? But how could he have known of it? Kaspar cannot have mentioned it to him.”

  “Herr Anwalt, I suppose,” Johann said, although his faltering voice as he made the suggestion expressed his own doubts on the matter.

  “It is a possibility,” Haydn murmured as he glanced down at the newspaper. But as he cast his mind over his conversation with the Estates Director, a few more details churned up to the surface. And now quite another possibility was beginning to occur to him.

  He turned the paper over, aware of his brother and his Konzertmeister staring at him.

  “It seems to be the only possibility,” Luigi said at last. “Unless you have thought of something else, Joseph.”

  “Have you, brother?” Johann wanted to know.

  “Maybe,” Haydn said, turning the paper over again. “I can see why he kept it. But I don’t see why he took it,” he muttered. “And this article, marked as it is…”

  Luigi peered over the top of the paper. “It must have caught his attention.” His voice rose to a question, and he frowned, clearly unable to fathom why the fact required any explanation at all.

  “Precisely.” Haydn raised his head. “But that means he wasn’t expecting to see it.”

  * * *

  “Yes, it is already here.” Rosalie saw the milliner wave her hand dismissively as she spoke, her voice so low Rosalie had to strain her ears to hear the words.

  What was Madame Chapeau referring to? The necklace? Caught up in her own thoughts, she missed most of the milliner’s next words. “…arrangement for Sabina?”

  The soprano had been leaning over the counter, but Rosalie saw her straighten up as soon as she heard the name, glancing over to where her friend stood arranging bolts of silk.

  “You should have waited until you received my message?” The soprano sounded furious, but she tempered her normally strident tone to an angry hiss before continuing. “Do you trust me so little?”

  “She was supposed to be gone by now, Elsa.” Overtones of suppressed rage vibrated in the milliner’s low voice. “We agreed to that. Or have you already forgotten.”

  “Well it is no fault of mine that she remains,” the soprano hissed back with a quick glance over her shoulder. Rosalie withdrew from the door, pressing herself against the section of wall between the doorway and the glass window. “God knows, I have tried hard enough to rid myself of her.”

  What Frau Dichtler said next, Rosalie could not quite hear, but Madame Chapeau’s words were unmistakable.

  “Oh yes, the money! That is all you think of, Elsa.”

  Rosalie peeked through the window just in time to see Frau Dichtler tucking her reticule under her arm. “I will do what I can, Anna, but I make no promises.” The soprano turned toward the door, a small smirk of satisfaction on her face. “You still have me. Let that suffice.”

  A narrow cobblestone alley ran down the side of the building. Rosalie hastily turned onto it and concealed herself under a sheltered doorway. A covered rack wagon stood behind her, the horse’s harness jingling at intervals.

  The soprano was not likely to spare the dingy little alley a single glance, but Rosalie didn’t want to chance being seen. She had heard little that warranted her following the singer. There was no sign of the necklace. And yet…

  She saw the soprano sweep past the alley. Frau Dichtler’s friend was nowhere in sight, although Rosalie was beginning to suspect she was no friend at all. She decided to wait a few minutes before venturing out of the alley.

  She was about to come out of her hiding place when a sharp tap on her shoulder made her jump. She would have shrieked out had she not bitten her tongue.

  “What business do you have here, then?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rosalie turned slowly around and found herself staring at a brown button. Her gaze traveled up the coat to which it was attached, past a muscular neck and a firm mouth, straight into the intense blue depths of Gerhard Heindl’s eyes.

  “What business do you?” she retorted. Why he should make her feel so guilty, she couldn’t fathom. The tavern keeper was expected at the Wallnerstrasse wine cellar with a delivery of wine from Eisenstadt. What was he doing loitering around in an alley at the outer limits of the city?

  The corners of Gerhard’s mouth twitched. Then a smile spread slowly across his handsome features. “It is not to commit any murders, I assure you. I have deliveries to make here. At the Karlskirche and the civic hospital beyond”—he tipped his chin toward the city walls—“and a few other establishments as well. I usually do them before driving to Wallnerstrasse.”

  Rosalie’s cheeks burned. Word of her suspicions of him during the past winter had somehow gotten around all of Eisenstadt and even spread to Kleinhöflein where Gerhard had his wine tavern. She had barely time to recover her composure when he directed a few more questions at her.

  “But what brings you here? And so far from the palace, too?”

  Rosalie scarcely knew how to respond. After his teasing remarks, telling him the truth was quite out of the question. Fortunately, he continued to speak, saving her the trouble of a lie.

  “Is it to chase rumors of poor Madame Chapeau, the milliner, being a fence?”

  “What?” Rosalie’s eyes widened. “Is she really?”

  Gerhard’s smile grew broader. “Your ears perk up at such talk, don’t they? But that is all it is, talk. Her very success seems to breed it. As though a milliner could not thrive so far from the fashionable enter of town without being a fence.”

  Rosalie frowned. “But how does she thrive? Her wares must cost more than anyone who shops here could afford.”

  Gerhard rolled his eyes. “What I said was in jest, but I see I should have held my tongue. Madame Chapeau does well because she caters to every sort of person. A maid like you could get outfitted there just as well as could the Empress herself.”

  The rattling of a bolt being drawn back gave Rosalie a start. “That will be Sabina,” Gerhard said. “Come to take delivery of Madame Chapeau’s wine.”

  * * *

  “Ah, Herr Kapellmeister! It has been a while since I last saw you,” Rahier said as soon as Haydn entered the vast chamber that served as the Estates Director’s office.

  The veiled insinuation was typical of the Estates Director, but Haydn brushed it off with a smile. “I suppose it has.”

  It was information he was after. Allowing Rahier’s jabs to nettle him would yield no good.

  The Estates Director’s expression had soured at Haydn’s response, his lips compressing into a thin line as Haydn approached his cluttered desk and gestured toward one of the ornate wood chairs in front of it. “May I?”

  “If you must, Herr Kapellmeister.” Rahier leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and allowed a ponderous sigh to pass through his pursed lips. A martyr nailed to the cross could not have looked more put upon.

  Haydn lowered himself into the blue velvet-covered seat and reached within his coat for the copy of the Diarium Luigi had discovered in Rahier’s possession.

  “We may have had our differences, Herr Rahier,” he began as he spread the paper out on the desk, carefully smoothening the wrinkles out. “But if you wished to read my copy of the court newspaper, all you had to do was ask.”

  A pinkish tinge suffused Rahier
’s pale cheeks. His ice-blue eyes met Haydn’s briefly, then flickered away. “As I explained to your Konzertmeister, I merely meant to borrow it,” he said at last. “That it was not returned sooner was an unfortunate oversight on my part.”

  “And I see you marked an article here.” Haydn turned the page over to the article describing the Empress’s interest in the great master’s operas and slid the paper across the table toward the Estates Director.

  Rahier withdrew his hand as the paper touched it, barely deigning to glance down. “It was something that caught my attention. Yes.” He uttered the words in clipped tones.

  Haydn suppressed a smile. The Estates Director had so carefully concealed the object of his interest, he could not be pleased at being found out. And by someone he regarded as his rival. It was most fortuitous that Luigi had discovered the Diarium, or Haydn would never have known of the matter.

  “I thought it might have,” he said lightly. “Learning of the Empress’s interest in the works you were about to acquire must only have piqued your own interest. It was a collection of Monteverdi’s operas, was it not? What stimulated your interest in such old works, I wonder. How did you even hear of them?”

  Rahier’s lips tightened even further. His hands were resting on the table. He leaned forward, shifting his weight on them. “I have my sources, Herr Kapellmeister. I see no reason to reveal them to you.”

  “No need at all, Herr Rahier. I saw Fritz Dichtler on the Graben, and—”

  Rahier sat back in his chair. “You think to procure those works yourself, I suppose. I have long known of your interest in them.”

  “My interest in them?” Haydn began, but was interrupted before he could say any more.

  The Estates Director held up his hand. “You may have them. Although I doubt you have the means, any more than I do, to pay the substantial assurance the owner seeks for a potential buyer to so much as look at the works.”

  “The owner seeks a substantial assurance?” Was the Estates Director referring to Kaspar’s widow? Or was it Herr Anwalt who had imposed such an audacious stricture? The lawyer, most likely. Amelie was too eager to see the works sold to wait until they had been examined.

  The Estates Director’s mouth crinkled up in the slightest hint of a smirk. “You were not aware of that condition, were you, Herr Haydn.”

  Haydn regarded him with a frown. Was Herr Anwalt really the sort of man to keep potential buyers dangling? “It was to negotiate that condition, then, that you sent Fritz Dichtler to the Graben?” It was such an outrageous condition, he did not have the heart to berate the Estates Director for sending one of his men out without permission.

  * * *

  “What made you bolt like that?” Gerhard urged his horse forward with a gentle prod in the ribs, then turned his head to give Rosalie a quick look. “I could’ve acquainted you with Sabina.”

  “Whatever for?” Rosalie wanted to know, inwardly thanking the Lord it had not come to that.

  She had caught no more than a glimpse of Sabina, struggling to open the ancient door—with its wood panels swollen and warped from long exposure to the elements—at the millinery’s side entrance. But it was long enough for Rosalie to recognize the woman who had presented herself as Frau Dichtler’s friend, and she had instantly fled from the alley.

  The thought of what might have happened had the milliner’s assistant seen her, much less been introduced to her, made her quail.

  “I thought you might want to take a look around. Madame Chapeau allows Sabina to make her own sales from the surplus she stocks in the cellar. And if something in there caught your eye—a brooch, a fancy pin, a bit of lace or ribbon—Sabina would have cut her usual prices.”

  “Why would she do that?” Rosalie asked, cursing herself for not staying on. To scour the milliner’s premises unfettered, and all in the guise of looking for some fancy bauble. No opportunity could be more heaven-sent! And she had foolishly lost it.

  And now that she considered the matter, Gerhard’s presence might even have afforded her a degree of safety. After all, Sabina could scarcely accuse her of following Frau Dichtler without admitting to her own presence at the palace.

  But Gerhard was speaking, and she had not heard a word he had said. “Wine?” she said, repeating the first thing she heard.

  He smiled down at her. “Yes. A discount on the wine. It is all I have to offer, but the wine is of excellent quality and just expensive enough for it to be worth it to Sabina. Oh, I take care not to make a loss on the deal. And I am sure Sabina does the same. It is a common enough practice among tradesfolk.”

  “Oh,” said Rosalie, feeling more confused than ever. Gerhard Heindl, the tavern keeper, would’ve offered Sabina a discount on his wine so that she could get a discount on the milliner’s wares? Now, why would he do something like that?

  * * *

  “It was not at Herr Rahier’s behest that Fritz Dichtler went to the Graben this morning?” Johann watched as Haydn, seated across from him in the carriage, sorted through several volumes of madrigals borrowed from His Serene Highness’s library. “Did he tell you that in so many words?”

  He was seated as close as he could get to the carriage window to accommodate the volumes the Kapellmeister had stacked next to him. Now, as Haydn reached across to add another volume to the pile, he edged himself still closer to the window.

  “He was quite adamant on the subject.” Haydn leaned back in his seat and raised his eyes toward his brother. “And to tell you the truth, the more I think on it, the less trouble I have believing it.”

  He turned toward the window, attempting to marshal his thoughts. It was late afternoon, and all of Vienna seemed to have congregated on the streets to bask in the golden warmth of the midday sun.

  He gazed out at the multitude of carriages and people thronging the streets, his mind gathering up the numerous threads that made up the tapestry of his conviction. “Frau Dichtler was hanging onto the Estates Director, beseeching him to consider some proposition or other the day he sought my permission for a leave of absence for her husband.”

  “I recall your mentioning it,” Johann uttered the words carefully, like an unskilled musician attempting to decipher a piece at sight. “It was the reason for our thinking he was after some sort of dalliance with her. Was it not?”

  Haydn drummed his fingers on the windowsill. “The promise of something of the kind must have induced a man as cautious as Herr Rahier to even consider the proposal.” He continued to stare out the window. “Quite naturally, he would have no desire to part with his money without examining the items. And Fritz, of course, could have no recourse to the items without first purchasing them.”

  He patted the chest beside him as he turned to face Johann. “Even Kaspar would not have let these out of his sight on the mere likelihood of a purchase.”

  Johann stared back at him for a space, brows slowly gathering together. The dizzying buzz of innumerable conversations and the steady clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones outside pervaded the carriage.

  “The Dichtlers are paid far more than they deserve, but I doubt they have the means to make a substantial purchase on their own account, brother,” he said after a while.

  “They do not.” Haydn untied the silk tassels gathering the heavy brocade drapes together on either side of the window. As they fell across the window, the interminable noise from the streets muted to a dull drone.

  “But what better means,” he continued, “to wheedle the money out of the Estates Director than to make him feel he would be losing out on a tremendous opportunity unless he acted immediately? That was likely their reason for taking the Diarium.”

  Rahier had inadvertently pointed the finger at the Dichtlers for that particular crime.

  “I knew it was none of his doing,” Haydn said. “It is too petty an offense even for him and completely out of character. It must have been Fritz who mentioned my apparent desire to acquire the music. I had no sooner mentioned his name th
an the Estates Director said he knew of my interest in the works.”

  Evidently, the couple had played skillfully upon Rahier’s ambitions, stimulating an unlikely interest in the great master’s music. To what end, Haydn knew not. He hoped his brother might furnish an answer.

  But the furrow on Johann’s forehead only deepened. “That would mean the Dichtlers knew of the bequest even before we did. That is surely not possible.” He regarded Haydn with his head tilted to one side.

  “I cannot tell how they obtained their information, but I am convinced they must have known. Herr Rahier, I am certain, was expecting the scores in the mail. The necessity of dispatching Fritz to Vienna only arose because the seller was apparently loath to part with them. Unless that was a ruse. Perhaps Fritz never intended Rahier should get too close to the scores.”

  Haydn paused, taking a breath before continuing. “Still, how the Estates Director can have believed anyone would be foolish enough to entrust items of such value to the mail coach, I don’t know. Further evidence of that infernal woman’s influence upon him.”

  Johann’s face broke into a smile. “Then our venturing out to Vienna must have completely foiled the Dichtlers’ plans.”

  Haydn smiled back. “And the outrageous story that it necessitated appears to have utterly spoiled Herr Rahier’s appetite for the music.” His smile faded as he continued. “What I would like to know is why Fritz Dichtler is so eager to get his hands on the music. Although now that we have it, I suppose that question does not need an answer quite so urgently.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Whyever did you let him go?” Greta wailed, casting a longing look at Gerhard’s departing wagon. “You may not have wanted a ride back. But I did. My legs are sore from walking all over town.”

  Rosalie bit her lip. Why had she insisted they could walk the distance back to Wallnerstrasse? There had been room enough in Gerhard’s wagon for them both, and he had seemed willing enough. Even so, it would be imposing on the poor man, wouldn’t it? And she had done nothing to earn any favors from him.