The Loves of Leopold Singer (16 page)

“I suggest I take the usual third of this current cargo and an additional payment of twenty-thousand pounds.”

Sir Carey glanced at Millie. It was a far lower sum than either of them had anticipated. He didn’t like Singer, but he hadn’t thought the fellow that stupid.

“The
Maenad
will be yours once she takes me across the Atlantic,” Singer said. “I’ve spoken with Captain Dahms. He’s amenable, and he believes the other officers will stay on.”

Sir Carey began to mentally hatch the golden eggs that frigate would bring. Many fortunes had been made these past years during the blockades of this or that war. Considering Napoleon’s ambitious bent, it wouldn’t be long before France and England were at it again. The
Maenad
was a lucky ship, and now his quarter interest would double. If Singer wanted to go build a land of freedom and justice across the ocean, so be it. His contempt for the man only increased.

Damn!
He’d better stop Delia’s mouth. It wouldn’t do now for Singer to discover this evening’s little indiscretion. The man might reconsider or cut Sir Carey out of the deal altogether. Hell, there might be a duel and the attendant mess.

“For my part, Mr. Singer, I accept.” He offered his hand. He’d never expected to see the five thousand on Delia’s chit anyway. “I’m sure we’ll miss your counsel, as we miss your father’s, but it seems you have a fire in your belly for something new. The United States will be all the richer for having added you to its citizenry.”

“Fine speech, fine speech,” Millie muttered.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Sir Carey bowed. “There is something I must attend to.”

He didn’t have to search far for D. She was just outside the door. “Did you hear, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Right. There’s been a change in plan. Don’t worry, m’dear. Here is your marker.” He handed her the IOU. “Don’t look so satisfied.” He grabbed her wrist and led her away from the door, out of Singer’s possible hearing. “I want to talk to you.”

“That hurts.”

He squeezed more tightly. “You will not, alas, be able to tell your friend about his wife’s amours.”

“I will tell whoever I want whatever I—ouch!”

“Mr. Leopold Singer has just made a very agreeable financial arrangement with myself and your husband.
Very
agreeable. That Austrian is far too honorable. I fear were he to discover his wife’s indiscretion I should have to kill him—and you, dear lady, would be in trouble with your husband all over again.”

Delia looked furious. This soiree was delivering pleasures of all sorts. “Alas, your triumph over Singer must remain unknown to him, but you’ll get over it.” He chuckled at her impotent glare. “It’s in your nature, D. You’ll let it go. Call it a small defeat and go back to tormenting that housekeeper you hate so much.”

Frustration played over D’s face. As she ripped the chit to shreds, he almost felt sorry for mentioning the poor servant.

-oOo-

In the garden Marta leaned against the fragrant jasmine, too stunned to move. The night sky was muted by the lights of London, but there was Venus and the moon still placid and full. The faint line of a shooting star streaked and faded. The world moved on as if nothing had changed.

What had she done? What did it matter if Leopold
had
had an assignation with the duchess? Perhaps it was as he’d said their first day in London. Maybe he didn’t welcome her advances and only meant to set her straight about his feelings.

Marta’s mind issued muffled commands which her body received in a detached, delayed response. Stand, balance. Look, see. Listen, hear. She had been blasted into parts; she must collect herself. But nothing seemed amiss. Her dress appeared untouched. Even her hair was still arranged atop her head as Gray had fixed it, Greek fashion, pearl braids intact.

The silence was pierced by the duchess’s satisfied purr. “Out in the moonlight for a

“Are you ill, my dear?” Leopold said.

“Oh. No. It is Sir Carey,” Marta said. She put a hand over her flushed throat. “He was…teasing me.”

“I had thought you rather liked it.” Leopold’s voice betrayed a trace of irritation, perhaps jealousy. She would have been pleased to hear it earlier. Now it was too late.

“I did not.”

“Leopold, show her.” The duchess looked directly at Marta with a knowing expression.

I hate her
.
Marta had never deeply disliked anyone with such intensity.
She knows
.

“Her grace and I committed a little conspiracy today.” Leopold handed her a velvet box. She opened it in slow motion. Did he see her fingers tremble? It held the enamel tree and snake. Mere hours ago, this was what she wanted, a piece of jewelry, and she had chastised herself for her craven taste. If only that were still her worst crime.

Leopold was proud of himself, full of innocent pleasure. The beautiful serpent mocked her from its branch, a silent witness. “Oh, Mr. Singer.” She must say more. She must appear unmolested. She must
be
unmolested.

“Then I can congratulate myself on a successful choice?”

“Dearest, I am a little tired.”
Do not cry. Do not cry
. “Do you think we might leave without causing insult?”

“Yes, by all means. Go.” The duchess sighed. “Sir Carey can be a savage.”

Marta looked at the duchess sharply. What was she going to say?

“He’s about to ravage the squire at billiards,” her grace continued, smiling pleasantly. “You couldn’t bear to watch.”
  

In her room at Gohrum House Marta turned the brooch over in her fingers, tormented. Did Leopold suspect something?
Had
he made love to the duchess this evening? The thought was repulsive. At least her encounter had been against her will—no, no. She couldn’t excuse or justify what had happened. Ever.

Outside the window a line of torchieres flickered against exterior walls. She could still feel that animal riding her, the humiliation. She closed her eyes, only to hear again the sounds of Sir Carey’s desire, to feel his breath on her neck. She recalled Reverend Haas’s disdain for her beauty and Oktav Haas groping her on the cathedral road, moaning “You are so pretty.” And the Madonna in the cathedral. Was this degradation punishment for her prayer to an idol? Then why had she felt so close to heaven when she’d gazed upon that bronze rendition of Mary’s agony?

She jumped as Leopold put his hands on her waist. She hadn’t heard her door open. “Lovely.” He kissed her ear. “My beautiful wife.” She shuddered. “Forgive me not being there to protect you.”

He knew! How could he be so calm?

“Sir Carey is a bit of a cad, I am afraid. In my defense, you’ve shown yourself quite able to hold your own among these people.”

She could hardly understand him. He apologized as if he had spilt salt. Was the world debauched and she a laughable innocent?

“If Sir Carey was successful in stealing a kiss from you, as a man I can’t blame him for trying—any more than I blame you for your charms. The fault is entirely my own for not guarding you more jealously. My precious, my beautiful wife.”

“Oh, Mr. Singer.”

He opened the top hooks of her dress. “I think Lady Delia will not keep us apart tonight.”

The door opened, but it was only Gray with tea. “Shall I bring another cup, madam?”

“We’ll share the one.” Leopold answered for her, standing behind her, kissing her neck as Gray watched.

Marta had never felt so much like an object as this night. Not when Oktav kissed her, nor Beethoven, nor the prince. She could still hear Sir Carey’s hiss. And now Leopold—Leopold, whom she loved—touched her this way in front of Gray.

“Mrs. Singer won’t need you again tonight,” he said.

Gray’s eyes met Marta’s before she turned away. It seemed as if the maid shared in her suffering, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

-oOo-

With no word and no curtsy, Susan fled down to the kitchen. She pulled the letter she’d written to Leopold from her pocket and threw it into the fire.

Matthew Peter came into the kitchen just as the paper turned to ash. “Are you unwell, Miss Gray?”

“Dear Matthew Peter,” she said. “I’m merely exorcising an old daemon.”

“You speak in the oddest way.” He gave her a cup of tea, and his hand trembled a little. She smiled when she accepted the cup, and her eyes stayed with his when she raised it to her lips. She was quite aware that she had called him “dear.”

-oOo-

Leopold continued to unhook Marta’s dress. He petted her and kissed her as he removed each piece of her clothing. She stood numb beside the bed, still as a doll. She couldn’t bear to have him inside her so soon after…

But a new thought burst into her mind, so horrific it drove out all other thoughts. The world went truly black. She saw into an abyss that held a horrific possibility. Leopold might be unable to get her pregnant, but what if Sir Carey had no trouble?

Everything in her cried out against it. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen, but Leopold caught her up and took her to the bed. He slipped her chemise off her shoulders.
      

He didn’t see her, not really. He saw wife, his beautiful prize. He had no idea of her as anything apart from him. She didn’t care. She reached for him, pulled him close. With the deliberate intent of an Ann Boleyn, she opened herself to him. With each of his kisses, she murmured. With each caress, she surrendered another measure. Her response inspired his greater response until his passion washed over her anguish.

She needed him to cover her with everything that he was. To obliterate the memory of that strawberry red heart.
 

Leopold went on deck to clear his head. He was never at ease near water, and now he was over an ocean of it. He kept thinking of Susan Gray. When he had seen her the day he and Marta arrived in London, all the pleasure of their time together had come back to him. He’d wanted to say something then, but she’d seemed so unhappy to see him.
 

It was ridiculous to suppose he could have made a life with her, not like Marta where he was content and in harmony with the greater world. His feelings for Susan were more personal. She touched his spirit or soul—a selfish indulgence, really, unrelated to the world.

He forced his thoughts elsewhere, to Zehetner and the farm. Everything in his life now would be new. He would be part of something extraordinary—in the adventure, as Zehetner called it.

Alongside the ship, a school of whales surfaced in a playful mood, calling out to the stars. He suddenly felt as one with all creatures. He called out to the whales, imitating their song. One returned his call, and then another joined in. He was a pinprick in the scheme of things, drunk on Nature. The stars flung across the night in a fierce sparkle confirmed the notion there
are
greater things in heaven and earth than any man could dream.

“Oh, the world is too beautiful!” Marta had come to find him.

“Shall we watch the night?” He put his arm around her, and she snuggled against his chest.

In the quiet between bells, he became aware of many of the crew scattered through the rigging, also watching the night sky. Then it began. Over the next hour hundreds, even thousands, of shooting stars streaked through the heavens above them.

Seven weeks into the voyage, Marta came up to watch the sunrise. The ship’s dip and whoosh would be lovely if it did not make a person want to throw up. At the horizon, the night stars began to steal away. She understood now why the ancients called Dawn a rosy-fingered goddess.

Light pink rimmed the low sky to announce the coming day, color graduating through reds, purples, up into a still-cobalt zenith. Icy silver, the new moon drifted between pink and blue-black, aloof to both earth and heaven. Now oranges and yellows pushed through soft pinks, and Dawn gave over to Helios, Apollo’s charioteer. Only the boldest stars remained as accessories to the fading moon.

Marta liked to be present at this daily pageant. As on most mornings lately, she wanted to be out of bed and moving around, drawing cold air deep into her lungs to try to calm her stomach. Ahead of the
Maenad
, she spotted a dark lump low on the western horizon.

“Good morning, my love.” Leopold joined her on deck.

She pointed to the lump. “Another pod of whales.”

“Whoo! Ooh, whoo!” he sung to them.

“They aren’t so playful today,” she said.

“Perhaps they’re not such early risers as some.”

The sea mammals did not seem to be moving at all, though they did grow larger. Marta felt the same uneasiness with the distant growing mound as she’d been feeling for several weeks. But then her fears were eclipsed by excitement.

“God’s grace!” she cried just as the lookout confirmed her suspicion.

“Land ho!”

“Land! It’s land, Mr. Singer! Now I understand how the dove felt when she escaped the ark forever.”