Rondo Allegro (22 page)

Anna clapped her hands over her ears. “If I have to hear
about being a ‘lady’ I shall scream. The first thing I must do when we reach
Paris again, if this new Civil Code is still in force, is get an annulment. It
ought to be easy enough, considering the other party is a devil-dog
Englishman!”

Parrette’s frown became a scowl. “You ought not to joke
about such things, Anna.”

“Very well, very well,” Anna said soothingly. Parrette must
be feeling exactly as hot, tired, and dispirited. Anna refused to start an
argument when Paris lay so far in the future. “I might see if anyone wishes to
walk out to look at the Alcázar, which Pierre said is a famous Moorish palace.”

Anna pulled her mantilla around her head to ward the sun,
and walked down to the room Therese shared with Lorette. When she knocked,
Therese opened the door.

Anna invited her along on her walk. Therese blinked her long
eyelashes, smiled her false smile, and professed herself very ready to explore.

Anna waited until they reached the street, then said, “I
wanted to talk to you myself, Therese. There is something I think you should
know.”

Therese Rose flushed, then passed a hand over her
magnificent bosom, and her middle, which would be plump if she were not encased
resolutely in stays. “You mean in
embonpoint
,”
she said, flushing. “It is this olive oil in all the food.”

“It is no such thing. I wish to talk about singing,” Anna
said firmly. “This theater is enormous. You know how I strain in large spaces;
I cannot maintain both purity and volume. I believe we ought to ask M. Dupree
if you can take Argia in
I riti
.”

“You would do that?” Therese’s wide gaze narrowed. “What do
you want in return?”

“Nothing untoward,” Anna said.
Deflect and disengage.
“Merely that when we come to a smaller
theater, where I know my own strength, that I resume the role again.”

Therese’s smile of triumph lessened a degree. Anna sensed
that Therese still believed she was destined for greatness; she did not seem to
hear the truth of M. Dupree’s admonitions about shrillness on the high notes,
or sloppiness of tempo.

“Very well,” Therese said, and began to gush about how they
would always be friends, and how great Anna was to think of her.

When Anna made no answer, Therese said a little less airily,
“Perhaps we might explore the Moorish palace another time, and find M. Dupree
now. He might be busy later, rehearsing the orchestra.”

They both knew she meant,
You might change your mind
.

But Anna was not going to change her mind. They went
together, and as soon as it was done, she felt a curious lightness of heart.

The rest of the cast heard of the switch that afternoon.
Most accepted it without interest, a few with mild surprise.

Jean-Baptiste Marsac waited until rehearsal was over, and
fell in step beside Anna. “Why did you relinquish your role? Has she some hold
over you?”

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Surely you have heard
how much effort I expend in a great theater like this? I do not want to strain
my voice.”

“Surely,” he retorted with good humor, “you can employ any
of your pretty little tricks to draw the audience’s awareness away? I speak as
your friend. You must see how stepping aside for such a person as Therese Rose
is to lower your status in everyone’s eyes.”

“Such a person as? What does that mean? She has improved
immensely, and she is pretty.”

He said gently, “She lived behind a mansion, not in one—I
saw her sing in Lille, and discovered at the prefecture that she was a runaway
cook’s apprentice. M. Dupree was taken in by a pretty face, but that is his
affair. Can you not see how stepping aside for her is unwise, given your place
in life?”

“My place in life?”

He turned his wrist up in a way that recalled expensive lace
in embroidered satin sleeves. “Madam—oiselle, if you wish to perpetuate that
little ruse—Mademoiselle Bernardo, with Bonaparte having crowned himself
emperor, I believe the pretense of republicanism can said to be well and truly
over. I have hesitated against speaking until now, but you have demonstrated in
a thousand ways your gentle birth, for I have been observing you.”

They had reached their street. The patio was empty. Anna
paused beside the fountain. He smiled down at her, his curling brown hair
touched with gold in the sunlight, a smile of expectation in his handsome face.
He was beautifully dressed in a fine new coat of blue with silver buttons, worn
over a waistcoat of ivory silk, and camel pantaloons above his fine shoes. She
knew that her mother would have agreed with everything he said. If he had been
English, she might even have thought him perfect. And yet Anna was aware of a
pulse of resentment.

“I have noticed your interest,” she admitted. “I did not
understand it.”

“Then you must be the only woman who does not,” he retorted,
his humor unimpaired. “Permit me to speak as a disinterested admirer, then.
This impulse of yours really is unfortunate, though perhaps it can be spoken of
as a tribute to your sex. Generous, giving, as a woman ought to be. And yet, even
these days, especially these days, I believe it behooves those of us born to a
rank to set an example.”

The words rolled out as easily as if he spoke on stage.
Perhaps he had practiced them before a mirror, she thought as he gestured
again, turning his palm toward her. “I believe that you would grace a company I
am considering forming. I am minded to tour the capitals of Europe, where
refinement and order still abide. My company will be made up of those of gentle
birth, for the
true
aristocracy
recognizes good blood. It is the way of nature.”

“A company?” Anna repeated, only half-aware of the words
that followed. She had to laugh at herself—here she had been dreading a
declaration like Auguste’s. But he wasn’t thinking of that at all!

“Surely you did not believe I would remain with this rabble
of blacksmith’s sons, cooks’ daughters, and the rest of the spawn from the back
alleys of Paris!” He extended his hand to sweep around the balcony, then with
his other, took her fingers lightly in his grip. “Dupree has taught me how a
company is run. When I assemble
my
company, we will perform only at royal theaters, in Vienna, in Berlin, in
Prague, in Stockholm. Wherever there are kings.” He pressed his lips softly to
her fingertips. “And you would, I am convinced, grace my life as well.”

Oh. So she had
not
been wrong. “You know that I am married,” she said gravely, freeing her
fingers.

“What of it?” He spread his hands. “I have gained the
impression that you are related to a ducal family, though at a distance, is it
not so?” And when she nodded, “If you were single, the duke’s daughter, and
came with a dowry, things might be different. But under these circumstances, we
could arrive at an understanding—”

“I am married,” she said, and though she knew herself for a
hypocrite, it was the fastest way to get out of a conversation she did not at
all wish to have. “So I must honor my vows. I made them according to the laws
of God and man.”

“To an enemy of the state?” he retorted, his smile less
complaisant. “As for your laws of man, they appear to change with the seasons,
these days. And finally, as for God, if he even notices us anymore, I have yet
to be convinced of the evidence.”

Her resentment flared. She itched to slap that smug smile
off his face, but memory of Auguste stayed her hand. He had been full of soft
words until she crossed him, and then he set the theater on fire. Men could do
what they liked; they had the strength in their hands.

But that did not mean she ought to throw away her wits.

“I am honored,” she said therefore, dropping a curtsey.
“However, I have no ambition beyond singing with the Company Dupree.”

Anna walked up the stairs to her room.

Jean-Baptiste watched her straight back, her uplifted chin
as she retreated. His first reaction was a laugh of astonishment. He had
imagined gratification, even gratitude, perhaps the blushing pretense of
coyness to which women were so prone. That she would dismiss him so cavalierly
took him utterly by surprise.

He waited for her better sense to bring her seeking him, but
the days turned into a week, and the weeks to a month. She sang the smaller
role in the great theater, she danced every morning with the canaille, and she
went out shopping for fans and mantillas and cashmere shawls with the former
cook’s apprentice Therese Rose.

His amiable generosity turned to disgust. Presumptuous
coquette!

o0o

One day Pierre came around before the siesta period was
properly over, summoning them all to the theater.

Weary and overheated, the company gathered. M. Dupree bounded
in from the recesses of backstage, his bald head shinier than usual. “Don
Alejandro is back,” he announced. “We have received a special invitation to
perform in Cadiz.”

“Cadiz?” several repeated.

“Is that not where the army is gathered? It will be like
Badajos all over, no horses, bandits . . .” Madame waved her
hands limply.

“No, no army. That is, I believe there is a garrison, but it
is the
navy
that is gathered there.
Our horses should be in no danger.”

“Ah, the navy. Well, that is different,” Madame said, thinking
privately:
That means ships, which in
turn means we are that much nearer to France
.

Others agreed with satisfied nods and murmurs.

“Don Alejandro has been appointed adjutant to a French
admiral, and particularly requested us. It seems this admiral is just returned
from a hard chase to the West Indies. Don Alejandro says he needs diversion,
and what could be better than a French company who has also met with success
among their Spanish allies?” He smiled.

Paul Bisset thumbed his chin, and observed hopefully, “A
French admiral would have the ear of Bonaparte.”

“Exactly!” M. Dupree clasped his hands. “If we are
successful, who is to say we might not be put in the way of something better, something
imperial?
”

“We could go home to Paris,” Madame murmured aloud, and this
time, no one demurred.

“So we shall finish our contracted time here in Seville, and
I will send Pierre ahead to make arrangements,” M. Dupree said, beaming at his
company.

Pierre soon reported that the easiest way to travel to Cadiz
would be down the river by sailboat. It would be speedier than overland, “but
there is no accommodation on board. And the travel might be at most three or
four days.”

With Don Alejandro’s help, they were able to hire a series
of barges, on which tents were set up. The women had one to themselves.

Glad to be at this distance from Jean-Baptiste’s cold looks,
Anna found it restful to sit under a tent and watch the Spanish countryside
slip by, but though she had made peace with her diminishing ambition, she
brooded about the future once again.
What
do I want?
she thought.
Women seldom
get what they want, even wealthy women of rank, these days. Princesses are sent
off to dullards who happened to be born princes, and duchesses get their heads
cut off. What am I willing to settle for?

She sighed in the hot, humid air. Sliding sweetly along this
river like Cleopatra of ancient days made her feel as her life were slipping
away along with the Spanish scenery.

At last they drew near the sea, and there were other things
to think about. From the Isla to Cadiz, the road was raised on a causeway, the
foot of which was washed by the waters of the bay on one side, and by the
Atlantic on the other. At the end of the causeway stood the diamond-bright city
of Cadiz, dominated by an enormous fortress built at the highest point.

Cadiz was built after the Moorish fashion, with high
parapets, frequently castellated. The bone-white walls of the houses were
blinding in the September sun. They stood in rows carved into the side of the
palisades, affording a magnificent view of the Atlantic.

The streets were very narrow, the balconies all painted
green, many decorated with flowers. The streets were quiet, which the tired,
travel-worn French took for peaceful, though there were a great many guards with
helmets and pikes and muskets about.

Accompanied by men wearing the livery of Don Alejandro, the
company was conducted to the theater, and pointed to their lodgings nearby. Completely
unaware of the tensions between the recently formed Combined Fleet, M. Dupree
and his flock assumed that the Spanish were as well disposed toward them as
they had been in Seville.

The sea breeze, sweet-smelling as it ruffled over her damp
face, prompted Anna to forgo the usual siesta, and to walk past the colorful
booths in the marketplace on the narrow street below. She might venture all the
way to the ocean.

“What are you about?” Parrette asked when Anna picked up her
mantilla. “Are you not going to rest? You know the performance is to be this
evening.”

“I need fresh air, and movement. It will be infinitely more
refreshing than another hot, stuffy room.”

“Then I am coming with you. You cannot go alone,” Parrette
said in a scolding voice.

“I see women alone here and there. There is one directly
below, carrying a basket of fish.”

“Common women. And they live here. Besides, I want extra
thread. Surely I will find some in one of those market stalls.”

Parrette did not find her thread, but they did discover an
amazing array of colorful lace, embroidered cloth, straw hats, boots, shoes,
elaborate horse gear, and of course fans.

Anna carried out her plan of walking all the way to the
point, where she stood gazing out at the forest of masts heaving gently in the
bay. She loosened her mantilla, the better to feel the salty breeze carried
over the water from the sea. So many ships! How it reminded her of Naples!