Nightingale (25 page)

"Tell me what he did, Klara." The words were spoken softly, close to her paling cheek.

"He rubbed my feet and then he rubbed my hands, and then my neck and shoulders." The words came out fast; his menace was palpable. "He also prescribed tinctures to drink and medicinals for the steam which I breathed. You've no doubt heard it all from Liese. Why ask me?" Suddenly angry, Klara pushed the intrusive hand away and jumped to her feet.

Max, however, was just as quick. Following her up, he caught her arm.

"Let go!" Klara pushed at his broad chest.

"Now, now! Whatever is the matter, Maria Klara?"

"Your manhandling is the matter."

"All I've done is to ask you a few questions."

"You are insinuating, and you know it. Let me go."

She knew she had paltry skill as a liar, but she was cornered, desperate. She felt love and hate, gratitude and loathing, desire and shame, welling inside in a nauseating broth.

"I was not insinuating anything." He carefully studied her face. "I was merely curious about such an unusual method of cure for my precious prima donna."

"Oh, indeed?”

"Why are you so upset? Why can't you just talk nicely, hmm? Little wild bird…."

"Don't." This time she managed to jerk free of him. "Haven't your spies told you everything? Why bother asking me?"

"It was a simple question, Klara."

"Nonsense!" She moved to put the low table between herself and him. "You are bullying me."

"Perhaps I really should give up the army." Max gave an exaggerated sigh. He sat down upon the divan as if he'd never move off and extended his arm along the back.

"And why should you do that?"

"Because two winters ago I came back and found you debasing yourself with that greasy little knave of a tenor. Christ! All I had to do to straighten that mess out and now this year I come to Vienna quite exhausted, Klara, hoping for a little solace after that hell in Silesia, and I find this."

"This what?"

"This!" In a bound, Max was on his feet. The tea table, the china, the dregs of the tea and the few remaining hard rolls were sent flying with a kick of one booted foot. China shattered, rolls and tea slop flew, one slender table leg cracked.

Klara whirled to run, but Max's hands closed upon her shoulders, spun her around. In the next moment he'd yanked her off her feet, forced a bruising kiss. Klara, although terrified, began a frantic struggle to push him away, sobbing, clawing, every bit of muscle she had engaged.

Oh, he mustn't touch her as Akos had! She'd die!

"
Mir reisst die Geduld!
" Max roared. In the next instant he threw her away, so hard that she struck the wall and then fell. "I'm too old for this nonsense. I warn you, I'm not going to waste time courting you like I did before, you capricious, ungrateful little bitch." Raising the crop high, he struck her hard across her shoulders.

She fell and huddled against the wall, protecting her face while he beat her, gasping at the stinging pain. Her long hair spilled free from the cap and fell in an auburn cascade. She was hurting and frightened, but today there was also anger, a huge anger, surging within. When he stopped, she turned and screamed up at him.

"Are blows and insults your notion of how to be a lover? By God, sir, you had better remember that I am neither one of your little country heifers, nor your wife, either!"

There was a pause while Oettingen glared down through narrowed eyes. Then, suddenly, he threw back his white head and let out a harsh bark of laughter.

"So! This year, the transformation is complete! My meek convent lamb gives as good as she gets." Shaking his head and with a rueful smile, he took a step forward. An impeccably gloved hand was extended.

"The metamorphosis was inevitable. Pax, Fraulein Silber," he said formally. "You are quite correct. Please accept my apology. I have not behaved as a gentleman should."

Klara studied his hand coldly, but Max continued to patiently hold it out. Finally, she accepted. Inwardly, she was shaken and weak, but knew that she could not rise without his assistance. In the next moment, the contrite brush of his lips upon her fingers sent a new shudder coursing through her. Shaking his head again, his fierce pale gaze penetrated.

"Damn it, Klara! Will you tell me what is going on?"

Klara, feeling his grip intensifying, tried to jerk away, but he took her by the shoulders again and marched her firmly backwards until they came to a stop against the wall. After a moment of staring into his clear gray eyes, Klara said, "The trouble is that I don't love you, Max. I never did. I never will, either, and you can't change that."

"I thought we had settled that last year.” He kept a firm grip on her shoulders. He was striving not to lose his temper again, and it was suddenly clear that he was hurt as well as angry. "I thought I went through a great deal of trouble to prove that you do, in fact, love me."

"You only did what you've always done, Herr Count. I believe it is called seduction."

He thumped her once against the wall, not nearly as hard as he doubtless wished to, and then released her. He didn't step away, though, just stayed where he was, keeping her in place with the intimidation of his body. "Which answer, of course, brings us back to my original supposition," he said, regarding her with ferocious satisfaction.

"Which is?"

"The danger of allowing a man to touch a susceptible young woman in less than formal ways. Touching is a pleasant and easy way to gain control, as any rake, or any horse trainer, will tell you." Max ran his index finger along the line of her jaw.

"You should know!" Klara pushed his hand away.

"Devil take you, woman! I've proved my devotion in a thousand…
."

"Devil take you, sir! Herr Almassy is an admirer, who has been of the greatest service to me this winter. I believe that his care has made it possible for me to sing during what remains of Carnival." She found she could hold her voice level, despite their proximity and her own thundering heart. "I won't bother to deny I enjoy his company. He's educated, intelligent, genteel and a good musician. He's the finest accompanist with whom I've ever had the pleasure to sing."

"And a handsome young buck," Max interjected the sour conclusion. "I understand you are rehearsing with him for Prince Vehnsky's Shrove Tuesday party."

"Yes. The music is quite marvelous." Moving away from him now, she carefully negotiated the broken china, lifting the folds of her gown away from a brown puddle of tea. There had quite a few of these scenes last winter. It was regrettable about the pretty trompe l'oeil rosebud tea set. It had cost her a pretty penny, and had been, aside from the usual compliment of prima donna's costumes and clothes, one of the few indulgences she'd permitted herself last year.

"I hear you've got that impertinent child Mozart to set the piece." Max's voice pursued. "'Tis fortunate I didn't knock off his too wise little head right there at the Mehlgrube – another piece of your damned folly."

"Not half as foolish as what you did, Max. I only wanted to go dancing."

The Count's growl was audible, but he didn't pursue the argument. They both knew that the gossip, the day following his invasion of the cabinets, had been along the lines of "some jealous old fool of an aristo in search of his hot young mistress….”

"Is the brat's composition worth hearing?"

"'Tis perfection." Klara settled back on the divan and dabbed at tears with a handkerchief. Although her shoulders stung fiercely, she felt more secure now, for Max was, as often happened after an outburst of this magnitude, showing signs of remorse. "Wolfgang Gottlieb Mozart is unbelievably talented."

"Signor Manzoli echoes you."

"Oh, you've been around to visit everyone, haven't you? What's the matter, Max? Don't you trust your regular spies anymore?"

"Damn it, Klara, do you want me to take you over my knee? Don't tempt me."

His threat, however, was interrupted by a tentative scratching at the door.

"Come in," Klara sang out.

One of the Count's footman, accompanied by Liese, peeped in nervously.

"Well, what is it?" Max roared at them.

"Um, sir, um, we wondered….” Liese, Klara noted, had arrived, broom in hand.

"I think in future you should wait until you're called for!" Max retrieved his crop from the floor and pointed it at them. "Well, stop cowering there like idiots! Since you're so impertinently here, get busy!"

The servants entered the room, bobbing anxiously to the Count, and then, crouching, they began to pick up pieces of china. Their eyes remained warily upon Max, clearly fearful that he would now take his temper out on them.

"Fraulein Silber," the Count said, drawing himself up to his full height. "Good day to you."

Obediently, Klara rose and curtsied deeply, inclining her head. As she did, one long lock of trailing mahogany dropped over one shoulder. "My Lord," she murmured, barely able, despite the pain she felt, to suppress a smile.

Somehow, she'd won this round! Oh, he suspected
, he was no fool, but he knew nothing for certain….

"When may I expect you to honor me with your company again?"

The powerful hands came to gallantly raise her from the curtsy. In front of the servants, she meekly submitted to a kiss, one for each cheek, and then to a longer, harsher one, full on the lips.

As he let her go, he said, "Wouldn't you just like to know?" With a smile, he turned upon a booted heel and strode out, the riding crop in brisk motion. In the hallway beyond, Hermann could be seen rushing after with the Count's hat in hand, his cloak draped over his arm.

As the door closed, Klara sat down on the sofa and surveyed the wreckage. Liese was crawling around, still collecting china bits.

"Your lovely tea set, Fraulein!" Lines of worry marred the round face.

She really does care about me, Klara thought, in her own duplicitous servant's way.

"Never mind, Liese. He'll probably replace it, so keep the pieces in case he sends a servant over to see what make they are, or rather, were."

"You shouldn't provoke him so, Mistress. You shouldn't have insisted upon allowing that young man to stay."

"Should I have sent Herr Concertmaster Almassy, who has saved my voice, and therefore my life, out into a winter's night to catch his death? Only because the Count will be suspicious? Why, you yourself locked us in. Don't you believe your own eyes?"

"It was imprudent, Mistress. If the young Concertmaster cared a whit about your reputation, he would have gone on his way before Count Oettingen, your patron, came visiting."

"Neither of us knew that the Count was going to pick this morning to visit. He rarely goes out before eleven when he’s in town. Besides, I enjoy Herr Almassy's company very much." Liese shook her head, but Klara continued. "I told Marshall von Oettingen the same thing I now tell you. It is necessary for a musician to have the companionship of her own kind."

"You have the friendship of Herr and Frau Adamberger as well as the friendship of that dreadful unnatural creature of whom you think so highly."

"One of Concertmaster Almassy's many talents is accompaniment. I've never sung with such support. It's a wonderful experience. You may report to the Count that I intend to enjoy more of his company before this carnival season is over, and the Concertmaster returns to Hungary with his prince."

"He could have put up at the White Rose. It's just there on the next platz." Unlike Max, artistic musings were wasted on Liese.

"Be quiet, please, and help me get dressed. I'm going out."

"But, Mistress!"

"Just do as I say."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, Hermann will report on that, never fear. Go get my blue brocade and send Hermann to the coachman. I intend to spend the day away from here."

"Oh, Mistress, no! Not after all the work Herr Muller's gone to this morning, over the Count's breakfast that he never called for. Now your luncheon, too, will go to waste."

"Tell Muller that I'm sorry. You are all welcome to the food."

"Fraulein Silber…."

Liese began to complain of Klara's fondness for spoiling the subordinate staff, but her mistress, impetuous prima donna manner on, interrupted.

"Could you manage to get this mess cleaned up and a new tea table before I come back? A nice one, like the old one, from that shop I like?" As Liese gaped, Klara added, "Now, come. Help me dress. I am not inclined to spend another instant in a place which that wicked man has so profaned."

When she was alone for a few minutes in her room, Klara shrugged the gown from one shoulder and studied her reflection in the mirror. Several long thin red welts were already rising across her white back.

Chapter 15

Liese laid out a party dress. A woman from Oettingen's flounced around, working on Klara's hair, or rather upon her wig, which was a towering mass of silver ringlets, interwoven with ribbons and glittering silver chains and pearls. Klara's dark hair was twisted down flat in two braids which had been bound tightly around her head.