Leading Lady

Jane Aiken Hodge

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

A Note on the Author

Princess Martha was playing truant. Instead of ordering a carriage for the ten-minute drive down the winding mountain road from Lissenberg's palace to its opera house, she had slipped quietly out by a side-door of the palace to take the steep footpath across the vineyards. It was good to be out, better still to be alone, away from the unspoken questions that hummed through the palace corridors.

The grapes were dark on the vines now, almost ready for harvest; they had been small green clusters when she and her husband had last come this way, the day before he left for France. But she had come out to forget her troubles. She shrugged them away and reached out to pick a ripe grape from a bunch temptingly close to the path.

‘Hey!' The angry voice startled but did not alarm her. She turned, smiling, to face the man who had come out from between the vine rows just behind her. He was dressed in the smock and fustian breeches of a fieldworker but his stance and tone suggested a foreman or overseer as he shouted angrily at her in Liss. American herself, she was learning the language of her new country fast, but was still often baffled by the broader versions of the local accent.

But everyone in Lissenberg spoke German. ‘I'm sorry,' she smiled her friendly smile. ‘But I am your landlord, you know, just sampling the crop.'

‘Landlord?' A sharp look, not a friendly one. Then: ‘The devil, so you are! Hey, boys!' He raised his voice. ‘Look who's here!' They grew their vines high in Lissenberg and Martha, who had thought the vineyard deserted, now saw her mistake as sun-bronzed workers emerged here and there from among the vines to which they had been giving a late pruning. Some held knives, others small sickles that gleamed in the sun. She fought cold terror as they closed around her on the narrow path. Most
of them were naked to the waist, glowing with sweat in the hot sun; she smelled them as they came closer.

‘The Princess herself,' the overseer went on. ‘Just the person we want to talk to. Right, boys?' A low growl of assent. They were too close now; she backed up against a small wayside shrine by the path. ‘About our wages, see, highness.' A note of mockery in the title? ‘When that husband of yours comes back, that surprise, Prince Franz. If he does come back! You tell him we want the same pay as the miners at Brundt he sets such store by. Raised their pay when they asked for it this spring, didn't he? And you doling out comforts for the women, and not a Lissmark for us.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

‘Why should you? No affair of yours. A woman! But I'm telling you now, since Prince Franz saw fit to leave you in charge here.' His tone was sceptical, and a voice chimed in from the crowd: ‘Prince Gustav wouldn't have, that's for sure.' Other voices joined in, disturbingly unintelligible, in Liss. They were working themselves up. To what?

She must not show she was afraid. She held herself very straight, caught and held the overseer's eye. ‘That's enough,' she said. ‘Get your men back to work and I'll look into your grievances.'

There was a short little horrid silence while she found herself glad for the first time that she was not beautiful. If crowd frenzy won, and they attacked, they would have to kill her. To die, here in the hot sun … Unbelievable … Never see Franz … The long moment extended, the muttering grew, they were pressing closer, then, from the back of the crowd, a new voice: ‘Hey! Here come the women with our lunch!'

The threatening crowd broke up, dissolving among the vines, and Martha turned without another word and walked back up the hill to the palace. Re-entering by the door from which she had emerged with such a cheerful sense of holiday, she was glad to get to her own rooms without meeting anyone. Her maid and ally, Anna, had had leave to spend the night with her mother down in the little town of Lissenberg, and it had been partly with the idea of meeting her on her way back that Martha had started out on what had proved such a dangerous venture. Anna would think nothing of walking
up through the vineyards. But Anna was a Lissenberger born and bred. Martha was shaking now as she thought of the danger she had escaped. It had been touch and go, and she knew it.

She knew too that she would tell no one about it, not even Anna. It was sad to think that she would never walk alone again. Not in Lissenberg, the country that had acclaimed her as its princess only a year ago. What had gone wrong? And would she tell Franz when he got back? But then, when would Franz get back? And why had there been no messenger? She was back in the vicious circle of worry she had tried to escape when she set out on her unlucky walk. She would do something about the men's wages, of course, but she had learned a grim lesson.

She had herself well in hand by the time Anna returned. ‘What news in town?' Casually.

‘Nothing special. My mother sends her respectful greetings.' They had first met when Martha had discovered the wretched conditions in which Anna's mother worked, long before she became Princess of Lissenberg. ‘But what about up here?' Anna went on eagerly. ‘Has a messenger come from Lake Constance?' Lissenberg's only road to the outside world ran past the palace and over a mountain pass to Lake Constance.

‘Nothing. You'd think we were cut off from the world as we are in winter. He must have written, Anna.'

‘Of course he has, highness! Something's happened to the messenger, that's all. You know what the roads are like all over Europe after all the years of war there. I sometimes wonder if we Lissenbergers are grateful enough for living at peace as we do. Mother says they are grumbling in Brundt again. It's hot even in the mines, this weather …'

‘It must be, poor things. But – grumbling, Anna?' With their pay just raised, she thought.

‘I wish Prince Franz would come home.'

‘Not half as much as I do.' Her laugh was dangerously close to tears. ‘I miss him so!'

‘Of course you do. And with Lady Cristabel also away. When do they get back, highness, the opera company? They're being sadly missed in town.'

‘I know.' It had been to enquire about this that she had
started on her unlucky walk. ‘We all miss them sadly.' Bread and circuses, she thought. Did she dare raise the labourers' wages while Franz was away? Did she dare not? What was happening in Lissenberg? She moved restlessly to the window to look for the messenger who did not come. ‘I wish the palace wasn't so far out of town. It's not good to be out of touch like this.'

‘I suppose Prince Gustav thought it safer.'

‘For a tyrant, yes. But you know my Franz wants to rule as a democratic prince.' Her voice warmed as she spoke of her husband who had found himself turned, all in one night, from revolutionary leader to reigning prince. Then, suddenly: ‘Look, Anna! Dust on the horizon; there's a carriage coming. If only it's Franz!'

‘I do hope it is.' Anna had been more worried by the state of things in Lissenberg than she had admitted to her friend and mistress. ‘No, it's the opera company!' Her eyes saw better than Martha's which were still blurred with tears.

‘Oh, well, that's something, I suppose.' Martha made an effort at cheerfulness. ‘Send a message to the hostel, Anna. Ask Lady Cristabel to come to me just as soon as she can. I long to hear how the tour has gone, and she is bound to have news of the outside world.'

‘And of Prince Maximilian in Vienna. I do wonder … I'll send at once, highness.'

Lady Cristabel arrived even sooner than Martha had hoped, as eager as her friend for the meeting. One long embrace and they drew back a little to look at each other.

‘You look wonderful,' Martha said. ‘The hot weather always did suit you. And the tour has been a tremendous success, from what I've heard. You've been sadly lacked here, I can tell you. Oh, Belle, I am so glad to see you. I've missed you so much.' Her friend was more beautiful than ever, she thought, dark ringlets glossy, amazing blue eyes shining, and a glow of happiness over all. She would not spoil it, yet, with her own anxieties.

‘I've missed you too.' Cristabel did not feel she could return Martha's compliment. ‘You've lost weight! It's elegant, but is it such hard work being Princess of Lissenberg?'

‘It's not easy. But then, nothing that's worth while ever is. And you know what a struggle my poor Franz had last winter, trying to make the Lissenbergers accept him as the democratic prince he wants to be. Strange to get rid of a tyrant like Prince Gustav, and then expect tyranny from the democrat who replaced him.' She could not forget the workmen's reference to Prince Gustav, deposed prince and attempted murderer.

‘They're a strange lot the Lissenbergers. Poor Franz! Fancy mounting a democratic rebellion and then finding himself the legitimate prince all the time. It must have been a sad come down for him. But how is he? Worked to death as usual? I long to tell him of the success we have had with his opera. The world is mad for
Crusader Prince.
'

‘He's away, I'm afraid. I'm surprised you've not heard. He will be sad not to have been here to welcome you, hear all about the tour.' Before he had become, so surprisingly, Prince of Lissenberg, her husband had been a successful composer of operas, as well as a revolutionary. ‘But, tell me, Belle, did you see Max, when you were in Vienna? And his opera,
Daughter of Odin?
Is it going to be as brilliant as they say?'

Cristabel made a little face. ‘There is talk of a wild success – that Germanic stuff is all the rage just now. Frankly, not just our kind of music. As to Prince Maximilian, yes indeed we saw him. He's well. Treading the tightrope between court and musical society with his usual grace, I've a letter from him for Franz, and all kinds of messages. Remarkable how well those twin brothers manage to get on after finding each other so late.'

‘Yes,' Martha agreed. ‘I think it does them both the greatest credit, but specially Max, who had always thought himself the heir to Lissenberg.'

‘He still says he'd much rather write opera. I think he means it, but it's hard to tell with Max.'

‘I hope
Daughter of Odin
really is a success!' Martha was increasingly aware of a tension in Cristabel, under the glowing exterior, surely greater than the occasion warranted. She was glad that she had seen to it that they met first in private. ‘Cristabel, you keep saying “we”?'

‘Yes.' Cristabel, the prima donna who could hold an
audience in the palm of her hand, was blushing now like a schoolgirl. ‘Martha, do, please, be happy for me. I'm married, Martha, like you.'

‘Married?' For a moment she let herself hope that the old romance with her husband's twin, Prince Maximilian, had revived in Vienna. ‘Cristabel, who is it?'

‘Who could it be but Desmond?' Cristabel's tone belied the confident words.

‘Desmond Fylde?' Martha could not keep the shock out of her voice. ‘Your Irish tenor?' What could she say? She had neither liked nor trusted Desmond Fylde when he had played opposite Cristabel in the triumphant performance of
Crusader Prince
that had ended in revolution in Lissenberg, and her husband on its throne. The man who had then been plain Franz Wengel bad written the opera as part of his planned revolt against Lissenberg's tyrant, Prince Gustav, only to discover that he himself was twin heir to the principality. Acknowledged by his brother, Prince Maximilian, and acclaimed by the crowds, he had insisted on an open election and won it with ease.