Leading Lady (2 page)

That September of 1804, nearly a year ago, it had all been romance and roses. Franz had married Martha, his American heiress, on a wave of popular enthusiasm, and his brother, Prince Max, had gone off to Vienna, to work on his own opera,
Daughter of Odin
, at the Burgtheater. Martha had always hoped that one day Max and Cristabel would find their way back into the childhood romance that had been shattered by Napoleon's intervention. Now she could only look at her friend with a kind of mute horror.

‘My Irish
prince
.' Cristabel emphasised the last word. ‘Do, please, rejoice with me, Martha.' The note of pleading went to Martha's heart. Could she, already, be having doubts about the ‘Irish prince' whom Martha's knowledgeable friend Ishmael Brodski had described as an adventurer from the Dublin slums?

‘What does Lady Helen say?' Martha went straight to the point. She herself had been Cristabel's backer and adviser during the years of her training as a singer, before Lissenberg and
Crusader Prince
had made her a star. She had been (she faced it now) a little anxious when her friend went off on tour
with the too handsome tenor playing opposite her, but had counted on Cristabel's fierce Aunt Helen, sister of the Duke of Sarum, to keep him in line.

‘You haven't heard?' Surprised. ‘My father invited her home to England for the christening.'

‘And she went?' Anger mixed with Martha's amazement. Lady Helen had been a voluntary partner in her bold and successful plan to make Cristabel into a prima donna. Her presence in the little party had been its guarantee of respectability. ‘How could she?'

‘How could she not? The heir to Sarum, after all these years.'

‘I hope the divorce from your mother was through in time.' Martha could not help a note of wry amusement. She and Cristabel had discovered the mother everyone had thought dead, very much alive, in scandalous luxury at Venice. ‘Have you written to your mother about your marriage?'

‘No … not yet. It all happened so suddenly. Just the other day. Oh, Martha, it was the most romantic thing!'

‘Tell me about it.' More and more, unhappily, she was aware of an insecurity in Cristabel. ‘More romantic than my marriage?' She had been summoned up on to the stage of Lissenberg's opera house by its enthusiastic citizens to plight her troth, in public, to the man she had just learned was its prince.

‘It was the day after Aunt Helen left.' Cristabel plunged into her story. ‘The news came when we were at Salzburg. Such a romantic place – and a delightful audience! They had been starved of opera under the prince bishops. They went wild over
Crusader Prince.
Well, it's been a
succés de scandale
everywhere, of course. It's not every opera that starts a revolution.'

‘And it's a good opera,' said Martha, whose husband had written it.

‘Of course it is! Will he ever have time to write another, I wonder, your Prince Franz?'

It was something Martha wondered too. ‘So – Lady Helen heard from the Duke,' she prompted.

‘Yes. Pleased as punch; announcing an heir at last and asking her to stand godmother, along with Queen Charlotte. Well, Martha, you can see …'

‘I can indeed.' Martha liked and respected Lady Helen, but, being American, had always been aware that she did not understand the English aristocracy. How odd, now, to find herself trying to pass as a princess. ‘So, she left you? Just like that?'

‘What else could she do? My father's letter had been delayed. There was no time to lose. The only thing was to hurry back to Vienna, decide there whether to take the northern route, or go south and home by sea. It's going to be a terrible journey either way, I'm afraid, with France and so much of Italy closed to the British.'

‘And Bonaparte up at Boulogne, inspecting his invasion fleet,' said Martha.

‘You must call him the Emperor Napoleon now.'

‘Must I? And King of Italy? I wonder what your mother and Count Tafur think about that.' She came to one of her sudden decisions. ‘Of course! I will invite them to come and pay us a visit, before winter cuts us off, here in Lissenberg. And I'll give them your news at the same time, shall I, Belle? But, first, tell me all about this romantic event.'

‘It was after we left Salzburg, on our way to Munich. It was so strange without Aunt Helen. And you, Martha! It was always the three of us before. I hadn't thought I'd miss her so. Mr Fylde – Desmond very kindly offered to keep me company in my carriage.' She was blushing again, the vivid colour enhancing her brilliant looks. ‘He said we had never had a chance to talk. It was true, you know, Aunt Helen was always there. Oh, Martha, when we were alone he said such things … How he worshipped me, adored me … His sun rises and sets in me … And then – we hadn't noticed, but our carriage had fallen behind the others – suddenly there was a crash, the coach rolled over. He saved me from harm, Martha, at the risk of his own life. We'd lost a wheel, crossing a tributary of the Salzach … No one in sight … We had to spend the night in a little hovel of an inn. He was so good to me, Martha, treated me like a princess. Not a word, not a look out of line.'

‘And in the morning?' Martha kept her tone rigorously neutral.

‘Such an unlucky chance … Well, not really, since the outcome is so happy. The carriage had been repaired overnight,
but it could not come up to the inn, the lane was too narrow, so we walked down, Desmond and I, and found it waiting, ready for us. But with another carriage beside it. Would you believe it? They were friends of Desmond's, singers in another troupe, bound the other way, for Vienna. They had recognised the carriage and stopped to see if they could be of any help. And there we were, the two of us, coming down from our inn, for all the world like Darby and Joan. The road was rough, Desmond had my arm, and I am sure I looked absolutely nohow when I saw them, standing there by the carriage. Desmond didn't lose his head for a minute. He pressed my arm, no time to say anything, greeted them with enthusiasm. And introduced me as his wife. No explanations, nothing, just the announcement. And then, of course, it was all kissing and congratulating, and I had a little time to recover myself. It was over in a few moments, none of us had any time to lose. Then, we were back in the carriage, Desmond holding my hand, apologising, asking me to forgive him. But what else could he have done? It was only anticipating a little, he said. When the accident happened he had been about to beg me to marry him in Munich, quietly, to avoid all the fuss and botheration it would mean if we waited until we got back here. He had a friend there, a Protestant minister, who would tie the knot. Now, he thought we had no alternative.'

‘And you agreed?'

‘Of course I agreed! I love him, Martha. And when we got there, his friend was kindness itself, arranged everything for us. Oh, it wasn't the wedding I'd meant to have – I suppose we all have our dreams. We just slipped off between rehearsals. Desmond said we wouldn't announce it till we got here, until I had told you and Franz. Then, you see, there can easily be a bit of confusion about whether it actually happened in Munich or back in Salzburg.'

‘But you have been living as man and wife?' Martha went to the heart of the matter.

‘Martha, we didn't mean to … I hadn't thought … Desmond behaved so perfectly all the way to Munich. Treated me like a queen. I think I'd assumed we'd wait … But then, by some strange chance, our rooms at the Munich inn were next door to each other, in a remote wing. It was hard to find.
When we got back late from the opera house, Desmond came with me, to show me the way. He opened the door for me, followed me in, kissed my hands, said I was his wife …' Her hands were twisting together in her lap. ‘Then he kissed me. Our first kiss … And then …'

‘I can imagine,' said Martha. ‘And afterwards – at Ludwigsburg – what happened there?'

‘Desmond said he could not bear to be parted from me. He arranged for adjacent rooms. He can manage anything, my Desmond. You will love him for my sake, won't you, Martha?'

‘I'll do my very best.' What could Martha do but kiss her and promise? But in her heart, she put a very different gloss on the story. Altogether too many coincidences, too many obliging friends. Desmond Fylde had pushed Cristabel into marriage, but he had done it successfully. They had been living together, in the full public eye, for almost a month. ‘Belle –' How to ask it?

‘Yes?' Something heart-rending about Cristabel's look of a child who expects to be scolded.

‘You aren't by any chance increasing?' She got it out.

‘Oh, no.' Cristabel was glad to be able to reassure her on this point. ‘Desmond said … He thinks of everything, my Desmond. He says my career must come first for a while. He truly loves me, Martha, thinks of me. Says he wants to see the world at my feet.' She smiled, turned the tables on Martha. ‘But you, Martha dear, have you any news for me?'

‘No, alas. I'm afraid I am a sad disappointment to the Lissenbergers. Almost a year married, and still no sign of the heir they long for.'

‘Well,' said Cristabel. ‘If Franz stayed at home a little more. Or if you went with him on these foreign tours of his …'

‘But how can he? And, come to that, how can I? You know how things are, here in Lissenberg. We have to face it that there are many in Franz's revolutionary party who were sadly disappointed to find that instead of an elected president they had got themselves a prince after all. I think, in many ways, he was disappointed himself but, once he found himself the heir, there was nothing for it but to make the best of things. No use pretending it's been easy this last year. Of course
he has had to visit the neighbouring courts, try for their approval, their support. And equally of course I have had to stay at home and run things here. He trusts me to do that. It's a great compliment.' She was beginning to wonder if it was one she deserved.

‘One you have earned! But where is he this time? Surely he has reached agreement with the neighbours? They speak well of him in Bavaria and Württemberg, and Princess Amelia must have taken his part when she got home to Baden. I know she died in the end, poor lady, but you did save her life, you and Franz – and Max – when her husband was poisoning her. Tell me, Martha, how is the wicked Prince Gustav? Has Franz thought better of letting him retire to Gustavsberg? I always thought that an act of mad generosity. He's too dangerous a man to be let loose, that one.'

‘I'm afraid I rather agree with you,' said Martha. ‘But there has been no persuading Franz of it. He says Gustav's teeth are drawn; why spend money we cannot afford keeping him in prison, when banishing him to Gustavsberg will do just as well? I think an eye is kept on his visitors, and his mail, though Franz hates even that. He's such an idealist, dear man.'

‘Crazy,' said Cristabel. ‘In a world like ours. Where is he this time, Martha?'

‘He's gone to France, to try and find out how Napoleon's mind is working.'

‘Into the lion's mouth! The Emperor can hardly be best pleased with little Lissenberg since the way Prince Gustav turned against him after the murder of the Due d'Enghien last year. But I remember Franz was a great admirer of Bonaparte's back in Paris when we were all there. Strange to think that he was a penniless young musician then and now he has gone back there as Prince of Lissenberg. How will you feel, Martha, if he returns to announce an alliance with France against England?'

‘I must make myself feel as a Princess of Lissenberg should,' Martha told her. ‘And I do beg you to help me, whatever your own feelings.'

‘You can rely on me. I'm no politician as you well know. Desmond says the world of art has no frontiers, and I agree
with him. And, as for you, Martha, after all, you're not British at all, but American; your country is an ancient ally of France.'

‘I keep reminding myself of that, but just the same, I can't like what Napoleon is doing. Still less trust him. I shall feel much safer when Franz gets home.'

‘At least he can't try and marry him to one of Josephine's nieces,' said Cristabel, whose own romance with Franz's brother had been abruptly broken off when Napoleon demanded that Max engage himself to Minette de Beauharnais, his wife's niece by her first marriage.

‘No,' Martha smiled a little wryly. ‘I do serve that useful purpose.' And then, quickly changing the subject: ‘But aside from the great fact of your marriage, you've told me nothing about the tour, Belle, or Signor Franzosi's plans for the winter season.'

‘Grandiose, as usual. Oh, Martha, I am disappointed Franz isn't here. I hadn't realised how much I had counted on him to make Franzosi see reason a bit, and, besides,' colouring, ‘I thought he'd make the announcement about my marriage. He'd know just how to do it.'

‘You'll have to make do with me.' Martha, too, had been wishing her husband was at home, to advise whether they should announce the marriage or insist it be annulled. But how could they do that? Desmond and Cristabel had been living together as man and wife for a month in the close conditions of a touring company. Desmond Fylde had played his cards too well. She thought there was nothing for it but to yield him the game, but with the darkest forebodings for the future. ‘I shall give a celebration dinner tomorrow,' she said now. ‘To mark your return. And make the announcement then. I doubt it will come as much of a surprise to the company.'

‘No,' Cristabel admitted. ‘There have been some knowing looks, I've thought. My Desmond adores me so, he says, it's hard for him not to let it show. He's singing better than ever, Martha.' She had seemed increasingly restless, now rose and moved over to the palace window. ‘Oh, there's the carriage. He said he would come and fetch me. Martha, you will receive him, congratulate him?'