A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4)

by Jacki Delecki

  Lord Weston remained at the door. He bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. I will return to the party.”

  Lady Sauvage stood and swept her billowing skirt around the small table separating the two chairs and lifted a flute from the side table. “French champagne.”

  Gabby took the goblet from the thin woman who stood over her. Gabby leaned back in the chair and the imposing woman. “Thank you, Lady Sauvage.”

  Gabby pretended to sip the chilled champagne and waited, to avoid blurting out her questions about her brother. The way the woman had arranged for Lord Weston to escort her to this separate room away from the party, and provided a comforting and familiar French room with exquisite French champagne was suspicious.

  “You know you look a lot like him. Your eyes, the same turquoise blue, the same flaxen curls, and the full lower lip. You’re beautiful, but he too was beautiful. Not effeminate in his beauty. It was probably the strength of his personality.”

  Lucien and she looked like their mother, but Lucien had inherited their father’s mercurial temperament.

  The need to speak of her brother fueled her longing to trust this woman, to learn the details of his death from someone who recently knew him. “I know not of whom you speak.”

  “Please, no games. You are Mademoiselle Gabrielle De Valmont. I’m not sure why you’re hiding your identity, but it was obvious when I first met you that you were Lucien’s sister.”

  “How did you know my brother?”

  Lady Sauvage’s eyes glowed. “I was a very good friend of his.”

  Gabby stared at the intense, thin woman who wasn’t beautiful in any traditional sense, but her flair for style, her strong, almost harsh personality, and confident forcefulness would have attracted Lucien. But what did she really know of the kind of woman who could attract Lucien’s attention?

  “Do you understand what my relationship was with your brother?” Lady Sauvage’s astute gaze tracked her.

  “You were his mistress?” Gabby stared back at the woman. “His French liaison?”

  Lady Sauvage’s deep laugh was almost in the low male register. If she were a singer, she would have had to sing a man’s part. And for some inexplicable reason, Gabby believed the woman would enjoy playing a male part.

  “Lucien and I shared many of the same appetites.”

  Heat flooded Gabby’s face. Her brother was dead. How dare this woman? Gabby didn’t want to discuss his intimate relationship with this crude woman.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve offended your sensibility. How insensitive of me, but I assumed you understood about men and their needs.”

  A calculating Madame Sauvage knew exactly what reaction she would get. “I will not discuss my deceased brother in this way. Is there anything else you wish to say to me?”

  “Please, I didn’t mean any offense.”

  Gabby stared at the woman’s catlike, opaque eyes and the small smirk in the corner of her painted lips.

  “I loved Lucien. And I feel it my duty to help you in England.”

  “That is very kind of you. But, as you know, I have family friends to assist me.”

  “You think I believe the story of your family being close with the Rathbournes? You’re in the house of English spies. They’re plotting against France. And you are a pawn to be used when Rathbourne needs a negotiating piece. They won’t protect you from whatever threat you perceive that has caused you to side with the English.”

  Icy fear engulfed Gabby, a dark, sinister feeling pulling her down, like a forceful undercurrent of a rapid river. She couldn’t breathe and couldn’t calculate how to respond in this game with this cunning woman. “You sent me the note?”

  “Yes. You must take your rightful place in society, not as some French emigre with no history, no lineage. Your father was a marquis. Your brother was proud to be French. Your brother worked for our country, not against it. How would he feel to learn you had aligned yourself with his enemies?”

  Gabby’s lungs constricted, making it impossible to move air in and out. Gabby stared at the sophisticated French woman, trying to comprehend everything that woman claimed. And what she said rang true of Lucien. He was proud of his heritage, as she was of their long line of distinguished ancestors. But why would he spy for France? He abhorred the brutality of the new regime. If he supported the New France, why had he hidden her away from Napoleon?

  Gabby had to get out the oppressive room. She had to get away from this scheming woman. Panic fluttered around her. Her breath came faster while her heart jolted in an uneven rhythm. Gabby stood, wanting to escape outside where there was air, where she could breathe. She might not be as clever in playing games, but she knew that she couldn’t allow this woman to see her as vulnerable.

  She quickened her pace down the hallway, confused by the next hallway to take her outside away from the party and the staring eyes. The hallway twisted on itself. This ancient abbey was utterly confusing. She was about to turn around and retrace her footsteps, but she first needed to slow the pulsating panic. She held her hand to her chest, trying to ease the painful inspirations.

  “It is quite a confusing, convoluted place. Don’t you agree? Were you lost or exploring?”

  Gabby stared at Aunt Euphemia marching down the hallway, brightening the dark and eerie space with her shocking chartreuse dress, turban, and the umbrella swinging on her arm. Gabby’s chaotic mind wandered to the incongruity of the umbrella for a sunny day and Aunt Euphemia’s sudden appearance.

  “You’ve had more wretched news, if I’m not mistaken by your pallor and quickened breath.” She took Gabby’s elbow. “Come along, my dear. I’m going to take you home. We’ll go out this side door so no one will see or learn of your distress.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Michael had to steel himself and call on all of his self-discipline to leave Gabby at the party. She was well-guarded, and the sooner he figured out if codes were being passed at the opera the sooner his association with Madame Abney would be finished. He bumped along in a hired hackney on the dirt road to Covent Garden.

  The leather seat of the hackney was cracked and the cab reeked of smoke and other odors he decided to avoid considering. He wasn’t exactly going incognito to meet Pudgy, but he had decided the arrival of the Earl of Kendal in his own carriage so close to the opera house would attract unwarranted attention.

  Finally, he alighted from the revolting hackney on Wellington Street and walked the few blocks to the Bountiful Cow Pub, located far enough away to avoid probing eyes.

  Entering the dark and dingy tavern, he spotted Pudgy bent over reams of paper at a table near the window. The low hanging wood beams and the smell of ale and roasting meat assaulted his nostrils and flooded him with memories of their favorite Oxford pub, The Cock and The Camel. The young gentlemen of titles enjoyed mixing with the lowlife, avoiding the responsibility and respectability that faced them once they ascended to their family titles.

  “Kendal.” Pudgy stood and waved from his spot in the corner. Besides being a gifted musician, Pudgy composed. His ginger-brown hair was mussed, his cravat open at the neck, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Pudgy never had time or care for his appearance.

  “Composing?” Michael asked.

  “A small string arrangement.”

  While most men would need to expound on their success, Pudgy was more interested in the work than the accolades. It was Pudgy’s modesty that had laid the foundation for their unlikely friendship. Pudgy, the son of a clergyman, and Michael, an earl’s son, were both prodigies at Oxford. Their extraordinary abilities separated them from most of the men at Uni. Michael and Pudgy were more interested in their fields of study than tavern wenches, gambling, and brawling.

  “Pudgy, it is good to see you. Thank you for meeting on such short notice.” Michael offered his hand.

  Pudgy’s protruding, crooked nose that didn’t fit his thin face wrinkled in amusement. He shook Michael’s hand.

  “I haven’t heard the
name ‘Pudgy’ in a while. The nickname rather dates our friendship.” Pudgy patted his lean stomach.

  Michael sat and placed his elbows on the scarred wood table. “Still hard for me to reconcile the change in your appearance.”

  Pudgy chuckled. “I was quite a rollie-pollie before I grew.”

  Towering over most men, Pudgy had a long, thin torso, long neck and arms, unlike the round fat rolls and chubby face he’d had at Oxford.

  “Thank God my fingers were never fat or I would have stopped eating.” His long slender fingers helped his reach on the violin.

  “You were the only one I knew who could consume two entire chickens in one sitting.”

  “Yes, I don’t seem to have the extreme appetite of young men.”

  The men shared a convivial laugh, appreciating all the extremes they had pursued as young men at University.

  A burly waiter approached, a jagged scar across his face, like a tomcat who spent his nights fighting in the grungy back alleys. “You gents be wanting ale?”

  Michael looked to Pudgy, who shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ll need some sustenance in a bit.”

  Pudgy waited until the waiter had moseyed away and leaned over the table, speaking in a hushed tone. “You have had me curious since receiving your note. Why are you suddenly interested in opera?”

  “You know I’ve always been interested in the mathematical nature of music.”

  “Yes. How could I possibly forget the long hours of discussing the mathematical patterns of scales and harmony? But what does that have to do with this music?”

  This was the tricky part for Michael. He trusted Pudgy completely, but Michael wasn’t at liberty to divulge his work.

  “I recently heard a linguist from Germany speak on the history of hiding messages in music. I found myself intrigued, unaware of the endless possibilities of altering patterns in music as a means to communicate.”

  Pudgy sat back in the narrow chair that barely held his long frame and crossed his arms over his flat abdomen. “Suddenly you’re interested in this one piece of music, sung by Madame Abney, who, by coincidence, has spent a great deal of her career in France. And just happens to now appear in London when war has been declared.”

  Michael should have known Pudgy wouldn’t accept his story. And would immediately draw all the correct conclusions.

  “Dammit, Pudgy. Put that brilliant mind to rest.”

  “You can’t tell me the real reason for your sudden interest?”

  Michael wanted to confide in his close friend, but he would be putting Pudgy at risk with any information. “I cannot. But I would appreciate any help you can lend me in understanding how someone might send hidden messages in this opera.”

  Pudgy ran his long, narrow index finger back and forth between his dark shaggy brows. “An intriguing question theoretically. And I’m happy to offer my assistance to help my country.”

  Michael neither denied nor admitted anything. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”

  “I’ve one condition for my assistance.”

  Michael damn well hoped he wouldn’t have to lie to Pudgy. “Of course. If I can, I will.”

  “When this is all over, you will tell me what this damn secret business is about.”

  Michael didn’t want to speculate on how long his role as code breaker would be necessary, now that England was at war with France again.

  “Of course, and you do know, Pudgy, if I could confide in you, I would.”

  “You don’t need to explain any further. I’ve brought my copy of the orchestration of the opera.”

  “Outstanding.” Having Pudgy’s brilliant mind for assistance buoyed Michael’s hope to solve the problem quickly.

  “You realize that Madame Abney has her own music with her own notes.”

  “Yes, I’m working on it.”

  And Pudgy gave a loud bark of amusement. “I’m sure you are.”

  Michael pushed thoughts of Gabby to the back of his mind. He was on a mission for King and Country.

  “I want to study your score and then I plan to listen to the opera to learn if there are messages that might be delivered in the performance rather than the written music.”

  “Of course, we might glean patterns in the written music. But we’ll also need to listen to Madame Abney every night if she is the one delivering messages, since she can alter her lines and only she and a few others will know the changes.”

  Michael didn’t want to contemplate how many hours he would have to listen to the arias.

  “Pudgy, I appreciate your help. But I don’t want to put you in danger. After you look over the score, I don’t want you to be further involved.”

  “Dammit, Kendal. I want to be involved. Besides yourself, who else could be more fitting to figure this out?”

  “I’ve already put you at risk by asking you for the score.”

  “I’m not the fat boy from Oxford. I can handle myself.”

  Michael realized he had unintentionally pricked Pudgy’s sense of gentlemen’s honor. “If you detect anything, get a message to me.”

  Pudgy barely nodded. But Michael didn’t miss the grin before Pudgy looked down at the table.

  “Before we start analyzing the music, can you share your impressions of Madame Abney and her brother?”

  Pudgy leaned back on the back two legs of his chair. “I don’t believe she or her brother are involved in espionage.”

  “I haven’t said anything about espionage.”

  Pudgy rolled his eyes while shaking his head. “Hypothetically speaking, I’m having difficulty believing either of them would be involved.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, what are your reasons?”

  “Both are consummate, dedicated musicians. Music is the center of their lives. Nothing else matters. I don’t believe they care about whose country is at war as long as they can make music.” Pudgy’s ardent defense of the Abneys was interesting and very insightful.

  “The one thing I’ve learned—” Michael caught himself before he said in France—“is that understanding people’s motives is quite confounding. And wartime brings out the worst and the best in people.” Michael considered how hurt Gabby would feel when she learned of her brother’s role as a spy for the country that murdered her parents. He hadn’t considered if Gabby would find it upsetting about his work on behalf of England. He hoped she would understand his own need to work and protect his country. “But tell me more of the brother.”

  “He is an excellent pianist like his sister. Her career is more acclaimed. He could have his own career, but he chooses to help his sister. He is her voice coach. They rehearse together, and I believe he manages her career. It is rumored that he is very savvy in promoting his sister’s career, and that he negotiated a very high salary for the diva for her London appearance.”

  “Interesting. And what of the husband? Is he also a musician?”

  “He was trained in music, but isn’t involved. What I’ve heard is that he’s more involved in the dancers.”

  Michael sat back and crossed his legs. “What else have you heard about the husband?”

  “I only know the rumors. That neither are very interested in the marriage.”

  “Have you witnessed any discord between the couple?”

  “Never. He escorts her to rehearsal every day. They barely speak and he often reads the Morning Post during rehearsal.”

  “If anything raises your suspicion around either man, will you contact me?”

  “Of course. Is this interest in the men anything to do with Madame Abney’s possible performance for King George?”

  Michael sat forward and lowered his voice. “How do you know of the performance?”

  “Nothing suspicious. Madame Abney approached me about the arrangement of the strings for a Bach cantata that she is planning to sing for the performance.”

  “Why did she contact you?”

  “She wanted me to add more strings to the composition. And she wants me to pe
rform with her.”

  Considering all the dangers involved with this concert, Michael was grateful his job wasn’t guarding the king. But then, in a flash of insight, he realized that his deciphering of the codes was the best protection for the king. He exhaled and squared his shoulders. “I’ll need to see the music for the cantata also.”

  “Of course. But if you believe that the messages are being sent by Madame Abney to others in the audience, I would wager it would be in her aria. The Castrati Farinelli made this aria famous with his amazing vocal technique. Every line is varied and every rest provides basis for interpretation. Everyone comes to hear what Madame Abney will do with the famous aria.”

  “Excellent. This is most helpful. Especially if I don’t have to listen to the entire opera each night.” Michael must have sounded desperate since Pudgy laughed heartily.

  “But if the messages are in the written music then there are many painstaking ways of using the music to hide codes.”

  “Yes, trust me. I’ve been thinking of all the possibilities, but I also thought it might be helpful to consider who has access to her music. Besides her brother, her husband, her dresser, and the maestro, who else would have access?”

  “Since she rehearses with her brother, who also is her manager, he is the person most in contact with it. The manager of the opera company is someone else who frequents her dressing room. And then all of her admiring fans, including hordes of gentlemen who flock backstage.”

  Michael hadn’t really considered all the possibilities of how she could easily pass messages. It really wasn’t his job to monitor her visitors, but to use his skill as a linguist to decipher the music. Rathbourne definitely would already have been watching her and her visitors.

  Pudgy gathered the papers he had been working on and placed them in a leather satchel. He then retrieved the score for the opera. “I’ve only two hours before I must return for tonight’s performance. We must get started.”