Masks and Shadows

by Stephanie Burgis

  Had the Baroness bestirred herself for Mass that morning? Praying to wash away the memory of her mistake?

  Carlo’s nails bit into his palms.

  He should have known better. He had known better. And yet, still, he’d let himself believe . . .

  Too late. He couldn’t change the past, or unmake the memory of his own idiocy. All he could do now was vow never to repeat it.

  He unclenched his fists and forced himself to focus on the view outside as the ornately gilded royal carriages swept to a halt and footmen ran up to open the doors. The Prince advanced toward the front carriage, his arms held wide in welcome and his powdered wig spotless in the sunshine.

  The door opened at the hands of one footman, while a second lowered the steps. A young man in dazzling colors leapt to the ground, ignoring the steps. He grinned and waved at the Prince, then turned back to the carriage. A second, older man walked down the steps after him, wearing the uniform of a field marshal. Spare and lean, he walked with quick precision, his gaze sweeping hawk-like around the wide courtyard.

  “My God,” Carlo breathed, straightening.

  The Emperor. How had Prince Nikolaus managed to keep this news such a secret? And why? Carlo would have expected the Prince to have swaggered for weeks ahead of time at the honor of receiving the second-most-powerful figure in the realm as a guest in his summer palace.

  Emperor Joseph II nodded, smiling, at his host, but made no move to step forward. Instead, he and his nephew turned back together to the carriage door to assist the last figure down the steps, a massive, billowing woman with a prow-like bosom.

  Prince Nikolaus fell to his knees on the ground. It did not, even to Carlo’s jaded eye, look a well-rehearsed gesture. It looked painful. The Prince, too, had apparently been taken by surprise.

  Empress Maria Theresia, supreme ruler of all Austria, Hungary, and half of Italy, and mother of several of Europe’s other monarchs, allowed her son and great-nephew to assist her down the stairs before she nodded for Prince Nikolaus to rise to his feet.

  Deep within the palace, Carlo imagined bells being frantically rung. His lips twitched. How quickly could a suite of rooms fit for an empress—not to mention her co-regent son—be prepared on demand, even in this efficient palace? And how long could the Prince delay his imperial guests, while his servants panicked? It was amusing enough to merit a close viewing. Carlo turned aside and rang the bell for his own valet.

  The nobility of Eszterháza would assemble with haste to greet their true rulers, and Carlo would not be absent from the performance.

  “I just can’t understand how you could have done it.” Sophie sprawled across Charlotte’s bed, pouting as she picked at the covers. “He’s a freak, Lotte! Hadn’t you even noticed that?”

  Sitting at her dressing table, Charlotte gritted her teeth to hold back a scream. Marta was arranging and powdering her hair. Hopeless to think she wasn’t also listening in.

  “Could we please not discuss this any more, Sophie? It’s done! It’s over.”

  Over. The word echoed through her head, magnifying her throbbing headache. Her face in the mirror looked pale and tense, her eyes deeply shadowed. She had barely slept. And when she had . . .

  Hopeless madness, to dream back all of those sensations, when she would never have the chance to feel them again.

  “It’s just not like you!” Sophie said. “What were you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” Charlotte said crisply. “Obviously.”

  She met her own eyes in the mirror and winced.

  Last night had been madness. Sophie was right. Charlotte had abandoned propriety, honor, and her responsibilities to Sophie herself, as Charlotte’s hostess.

  But she still wanted to throttle her younger sister.

  “It’s so embarrassing for me. Hadn’t you even considered that much? Imagine if Niko had been with me when I came! What if he had seen—”

  “Seen what?” Charlotte swung around, driven past endurance. “A widow and an unmarried gentleman, kissing? And on your direct orders, I might add?”

  “I would never—!”

  “Don’t you recall your own words? ‘Be wicked,’ you told me. And—”

  “It was only a jest!”

  “It didn’t amuse me.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean it seriously!” Sophie’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “I only meant to tease you a little. You’re so prudish, it’s irresistible. I thought you’d be shocked. You should have been shocked! How could I know you’d be mad enough to actually throw yourself at him?”

  “Sophie—”

  “And you can hardly call him a gentleman! You’re the one who said, days ago, that we don’t know who his family was.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Not to mention his freakishness. Doesn’t any of that matter to you anymore? It would be one thing if it were only a game, to amuse yourself for a week or two. I wouldn’t even care—I’d be relieved you were acting like a normal woman, for once, not such a boring patterncard of virtue. But I know you, Lotte! You wouldn’t have let him touch you unless you meant something more by it.”

  I meant everything! The retort rang in Charlotte’s aching head as if she’d shouted it, hurting even more for its truth.

  But that was the hopeless fantasy of a girl, not the common sense of a grown woman. Charlotte drew a long breath through her teeth. “Sophie—”

  “It isn’t even legal for him to marry, you know. And you’re a baroness—and the daughter of a count! He wouldn’t be an eligible match even if it hadn’t been for the operation. Think of your honor! Our family’s honor! Mine!”

  “Yours? You think, by kissing Signor Morelli, I could have damaged your honor?” Something inside Charlotte snapped. A broken laugh pushed its way up her throat, like jagged glass. She stood up, waving Marta aside. “Don’t you think that’s a trifle rich, Sophie?”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. She drew herself up on Charlotte’s bed. “I don’t know what you can mean by that, Lotte. I think your mind has been disordered. And it was that castrato—”

  “Musico,” Charlotte said.

  “That castrato who did it, too! When I tell Niko—”

  “Sophie! You—”

  The outer door opened, without a knock. A maid curtseyed hastily to both of them and hurried straight to Sophie.

  “A message from His Highness, madam. He said it was urgent.”

  Sophie blinked. “Thank you.” She took the folded note off the silver tray. “It must be about the Archduke. Perhaps he’s already here! Perhaps . . .” Her voice trailed off as she read the note.

  “Any reply, madam?”

  Sophie crushed the paper in her hand. “No,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  The maid curtseyed again and left at a near-run. Charlotte stared at Sophie’s white, sick face, torn between anger and concern. Concern won out.

  “Sophie, what is it?” She sat down beside her sister and took Sophie’s free hand in both of hers. “What’s the matter?”

  Sophie opened her clenched fist. A ball of crumpled paper rolled out and fell onto the bedcovers.

  “It’s my congé,” she whispered. “Niko doesn’t want me here.”

  “What?” Charlotte scooped up the note. “He’s sending you away? How—why—?” She stopped, gathering her breath. “It will be all right. I promise. Dearest, perhaps it’s better this way. We’ll go back to Vienna, and—”

  “No! Don’t be a fool. He’s not sending me away. Just read it!”

  Charlotte bit back a sharp retort as tears welled up in Sophie’s blue eyes. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the note. Prince Nikolaus’s scrawl covered the page, for all that he’d written only a few lines.

  Sweetheart, there’s been a surprise to all of us. I’ve been honored by the arrival of the Emperor and the Empress herself, come with the Archduke. You’ll see that we have to change our plans. Marie will be my hostess these few weeks. I will attend upon you as often as I can. Yrs, N.E
., Rex.

  “It’s the Empress.” Sophie’s voice was low. “That bloody cow. The Emperor wouldn’t care. He has affairs of his own. And the Archduke means nothing. It’s the Empress’s fault.”

  “Sophie . . .” Charlotte set the note back on the bed.

  “She can’t stand anyone to enjoy themselves. That’s why Schönbrunn and the Hofburg are so deadly dull. She noses into everyone’s morals, stomps out any bit of fun . . . just because she had sixteen children by her husband doesn’t mean we all have to follow her example! And anyway, from what I’ve heard, the old Emperor had plenty of flings she didn’t know about, or couldn’t stop! Well, who could blame him?” Sophie’s voice broke into a nerve-jangling wail.

  “Sophie, please! You’re overset. It won’t be so bad. It’s only—”

  “It’s going to be terrible!” Sophie collapsed into Charlotte’s arms, weeping. Tears leaked through Charlotte’s sleeves, onto her skin. “Oh, Lotte, I’m so miserable.”

  Charlotte stroked her sister’s powdered hair through its layers of jewels and feathers. She closed her eyes, trying to think.

  “Can you still attend the meals?”

  “What would be the point? I’d have to sit at the bottom of the table and watch Niko pretend not to know me. And listen to the whole court laugh at me for it!”

  Charlotte sighed. “Well, this visit isn’t set to last so long, is it? Only a week, two weeks at the most—”

  “It’s practically forever! And it’s just what that old witch always wanted.”

  “Old—?”

  “His wife,” Sophie gritted. “The bloody Princess Esterházy. Can’t you see? This is going to be her revenge. She’s going to show herself off with Niko to everyone. As though it were her place—her right! While I have to hide here in my rooms, forgotten, invisible . . .”

  Just like the Princess, Charlotte thought bleakly.

  “Oh, Lotte, what if he forgets me?” Sophie wailed. Her soft body quivered in Charlotte’s arms. “She’ll be speaking against me, I know it—making horrid comments—”

  “I . . .” Charlotte shook her head. What could she say? “I’m so sorry, darling. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll keep you company and—”

  “No!” Sophie jerked up, staring at her with tear-drenched intensity. “You must go, Lotte. You have to watch them for me. Watch everything! I need to know what’s happening.” Her lips quivered. “It’s so unfair! I’m the one who helped Niko prepare for this visit. And now I won’t see any of it.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Watch the Princess,” Sophie ordered. “Tell me exactly what Niko says to her. How he acts. How everyone else acts, too.” She bit her lip. She looked more sixteen than twenty-two, as helpless and vulnerable as a child. “Please, Lotte. I need you. I’m sorry—I know I said horrible, unjust things to you, earlier, but I truly didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was only so afraid for you! Afraid that you’d forget who you are, forget what you deserve—”

  Afraid I’d forget you, Charlotte finished silently. But the cynical small voice inside her didn’t matter. Couldn’t be allowed to matter, next to the pain in her younger sister’s voice.

  Sophie had been right. She couldn’t let herself give in to such irrational feelings, no matter how powerful they might be. And without them . . . without them, Sophie was all that she had left.

  “You could have lost everything.” Sophie clung to the sleeve of Charlotte’s wrapper, blinking away more tears. “You do understand, don’t you, Lotte? And you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” Charlotte’s lungs felt half-choked. She was suffocating. But she forced herself to smile back at her sister. “I would always forgive you. You know that.”

  “I do.” Sophie leaned into her shoulder and let out a small sigh, like a kitten. “You’ll always take care of me, Lotte, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte repeated. “Of course.”

  Franz found the note in his closet-like room when he returned from the morning’s rehearsal. He hadn’t been able to face dinner with the rest of the company.

  The event we’ve been awaiting has arrived. Meet me tonight at the same spot for your instructions.

  The distinctive seal was stamped at the bottom.

  Franz took his candle stub and lit it, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt at its expense. It was the only candle he was allowed for the month from the Eszterháza storerooms.

  He watched the note char and burn away. The final, blackened fragments dropped from his fingers.

  At last, he thought. It was exactly what he’d been waiting for, ever since that first meeting in the darkness of his prison cell.

  All he felt now, though, was dread.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Sala Terrena had never seemed so full, nor the crowd of courtiers so intimidating. Dinner would not be served for another four hours, but Prince Nikolaus’s entire court had already assembled to greet the imperial visitors. Without Sophie to pull her in and sweep straight through them . . . Charlotte set her jaw and stepped inside, breathing in the overpowering smells of lavender water, powder, and sweat that emanated from the mass of bodies around her. She was out of place indeed now, and every person in the room certainly knew it—but she would not let that stop her. She would remain on the sidelines, quiet and unobserved, and fulfil her promises to her sister.

  “Ah, Baroness!” The Princess’s cool voice hailed her. She stood, resplendent in ice-blue silk, her gloved hand resting lightly on her husband’s arm, before two familiar, imposing figures. Her smile glittered with satisfaction. “Won’t you come and be introduced to our guests, my dear?”

  The Prince gave a visible start of surprise and looked askance at his wife, whose smile only deepened. The Princess stepped back to make room for Charlotte, and courtiers cleared a path between them. In the distance, Charlotte thought she caught a glimpse of a small, upright figure, the Princess’s female attendant, looking as martial as any soldier as she kept a watchful gaze on the shifting crowd around her mistress . . . but Charlotte’s own gaze was caught only a moment later by someone much closer.

  Signor Morelli stood just behind the Prince, included in the small circle of conversation. His dark eyes met Charlotte’s. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She had thought of nothing but him all through the long walk from her apartments to the drawing room. His kiss, his warmth, his skin beneath her fingers, the look on his face as she’d turned away . . . and what she would do when she had to meet him again, in public.

  The best tactic, of course, would be to avoid him entirely. Any voluntary encounter would be too difficult, too awkward . . . too tempting. She’d told herself she didn’t even wish to risk it.

  Every one of her resolutions fell away as she saw him. She stepped forward, holding her breath.

  His eyes narrowed, and he turned pointedly away . . . just as she had, last night. Pain stabbed through Charlotte’s chest.

  Just as well, she told herself. Yet the pain did not subside.

  She walked to the Princess’s side. Prince Nikolaus’s smile looked forced. And no wonder, Charlotte thought grimly. No doubt the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his mistress in this company.

  “My dear Baroness, let me introduce you to the Empress and the Emperor,” the Princess murmured. “Your Majesties, the Baroness von Steinbeck.”

  “Your Majesties.” Charlotte curtseyed deeply, quashing down her emotions. “I am honored.”

  “You look familiar, Baroness.” The Empress’s plump hands raised Charlotte from her curtsey. She smiled warmly as she studied Charlotte’s face. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Who are your parents, child?”

  Charlotte had not been called a child for over twelve years, but she bowed her head submissively. “The Count and Countess von Hinterberg, Majesty.”

  “Ah, yes. I spoke to your mother at our last ball, a few weeks ago. She mentioned that you had been widowed.” The Empress sighed. Her own billowing, old-f
ashioned gown was the unremitting black of first mourning, though her husband had been dead these past fourteen years. “I am sorry for your loss, dear.”

  “I thank you, Majesty.”

  “And . . .” The Empress glanced at her son as if for support, but the Emperor was gazing off into the distance, looking bored. “You have a sister, do you not? She was presented to me at court before her marriage. I think your mother said she was here as well?” The Empress turned to the Princess. “Marie, isn’t the Baroness’s sister one of your ladies-in-waiting?”

  The Princess smiled faintly as her husband’s face tightened. “In a manner of speaking, but the title is purely honorary.”

  The Prince cleared his throat. “The Baroness is a fine musician, Your Majesty. She accompanied Signor Morelli in his recital and even supplied us with an addition to our opera troupe. Our new second soprano, Fräulein Dommayer, was previously in service to the Baroness.”

  “Really?” Emperor Joseph blinked and came to attention. “I look forward to hearing her. My own new opera troupe, in Vienna—”

  “Ah, but what do we care about Vienna? The operas are always so much finer here at Eszterháza.” His mother turned her smile to the Prince. “I could not resist accompanying Ferdinand and Joseph to hear your fine performances, Nikolaus. I’ve been longing for some really good music.”

  “They are fine here because Esterházy gives them proper support and attention,” the Emperor said sharply. “They will be just as fine in Vienna, soon enough, once we’ve found more truly outstanding singers for my own national opera troupe. And their all-German performances—”

  “German is far too dull a language for opera,” said the Empress. “Italian may be well enough, but you know your father always preferred the French performances best.”