The Figaro Murders (4 page)

I walked through the central archway into a courtyard paved with cobblestone. The white accent color of the street façade was prominent here, but there were no ornaments except for a row of small quatrefoil windows that lined the building directly beneath the roof. Below them were two stories of large windows, several of which stood open to the fresh spring air. A small fountain set into the left-hand corner of the courtyard bubbled gaily in the morning sun. Directly ahead of me was a large wooden door topped with a plain stone arch. To my right was a smaller door, reserved for tradesmen and servants. I hesitated for a moment, shook my head, and knocked at the main door.

Several moments passed. I knocked again and then again. Finally, as I was about to turn away, the door was dragged open by a girl in her mid-teens. She wore a fashionable English-style housemaid's uniform, but her apron was crooked, and her straw-colored curls had been hastily tucked under her cap. The top ribbons on her bodice were undone, and I could see the curve of her right breast, which had become loosened from her undergarments. She stared at me blankly with sapphire-blue eyes.

“Good morning. I would like to see Miss Marianne Haiml, please,” I said. I fought the urge to stare at her breast.

“Marianne?” Her voice was breathy. “Yes, please, sir, come in.”

I stepped inside and looked around me while she pushed the door closed. The foyer was small and intimate, its floor inlaid with black-and-white stone in a checkerboard pattern, its walls covered with pale gold brocade silk. A large mirror, set in a wooden frame simply painted with pale green and gold flowers, hung on the wall to my left. Below it sat a simple bench of white marble. The girl motioned for me to precede her up the stairs. I mounted a few steps. When I did not hear her behind me, I turned. She stood in front of the mirror, tidying her bodice. As I watched, she leaned forward to peer into the glass. Obviously pleased with what she saw there, she gave a small smile. I wondered what kind of household the Baroness Gabler ran, that she would allow such a disheveled, odd girl to open the door to guests.

I coughed, and she turned quickly, picked up her skirts, and ran past me up the stairs.

“This way, sir,” she said. At the top of the stairs, she turned to the left. I followed her down a short passage to a closed door. “You may wait in here, sir,” she said. “I will send Marianne.” She turned and ran down the hall before I could pull off my cloak and hand it to her. I turned the knob and entered the room, leaving the door ajar, and sighed with pleasure. I was in the baron's library, a large room paneled in dark wood, its walls lined with tall bookcases. To my left was a wall of tall windows with deep, high wooden sills and heavy drapes of soft golden velvet. The middle two windows stood open, letting in the morning sun, which danced off the leather-and-gilt bindings of the books on the shelves. To my right, a fireplace with a marble mantel carved with rosettes sat cold. I dropped my cloak on one of the richly brocaded armchairs, placed my satchel and stick on the floor, and began to peruse the baron's collection.

“Where are you, you—”

I jumped as a man ran into the room. He stopped in surprise when he noticed me. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not know anyone was here.” He looked at me with friendly, curious eyes set in a square face. He appeared to be a few years older than me, and was about the same height. His accent was Italian, one that had been changed by many years living in Vienna. “Are you waiting to speak to the baron?” he asked.

“No, I am here to see Miss Haiml,” I said.

“Marianne?” He came over to me and extended his hand, peering into my face. “I am Tomaso Piatti. Forgive me, have we met before?”

I shook his hand. “I don't believe so. My name is Lorenzo Da Ponte.”

He held on to my hand, and shook it up and down once more. “Da Ponte? The theater poet? I knew you looked familiar! I've seen you at the theater.” He continued to pump my hand up and down. “Signore, it is an honor to meet you! I saw your latest opera,
The Good-Hearted Grump
—why, I have never laughed so hard. Martín's music, of course, was wonderful, but your libretto—it was masterful.”

My cheeks warmed with pleasure at his praise.

“Come, signore, sit, sit.” He finally let go of my hand, and pointed me toward a small sofa. “No one has offered you anything? Let me ring.” He pulled a rope hanging on the wall next to the fireplace.

“I am fine, thank you,” I said, as I settled onto the soft sofa.

“But what are you doing here? Are you planning to use Marianne in your next opera?” His eyes twinkled.

I laughed. “No. I am here with a message from her fiancé.”

He sobered. “Oh yes, poor Vogel. He used to work here. We were great friends. He was very helpful to me, helping me move instruments and set up for recitals. I am the director of music for the household, you see. I teach the baroness, and arrange concerts here in the house, when the baron entertains.”

“From where in Italy do you come?” I asked.

“Bologna. I grew up there and was fortunate to attend the conservatory there.” He drew up his shoulders. “It is world famous—I'm sure you have heard of it.”

I nodded.

“When I finished my studies, twenty years ago already, I came to Vienna to make my name as a composer. Perhaps you have heard some of my work?”

I shook my head.

“Most of it is for the church service.”

Then I certainly wouldn't have heard any of it, I thought. A slight cough sounded at the door. I turned to see a tall, handsome middle-aged woman wearing a dress of plain gray linen, decorated only with a crisp white collar. The skin on her thin face was pale and almost flawless, not covered by the cosmetics most women of her age used. The few lines around her mouth were set in a disapproving frown.

“Rosa!” Piatti gestured toward me. “This is Signor Da Ponte. He has come to see Marianne and was left alone in here. The girl did not take his cloak or offer any refreshment.”

I pulled myself to my feet.

The woman eyed him coldly for a moment and turned to me. “I apologize for Antonia, sir. I am Rosa Hahn, the housekeeper here. May I take your cloak?”

Ah, Vogel's creditor. “I am very pleased to meet you, madame,” I said, giving a slight bow. I usually find that the unexpected courtesy warms women of the lesser ranks, but this one did not thaw. “There is no need to apologize. I will hold my cloak. I only expect to stay a few more minutes.”

“Perhaps some coffee and a pastry, Rosa?” Piatti asked.

A flash of anger crossed her face so quickly that I thought I might have imagined it. She gave Piatti a tight smile. “Oh, I am sorry, Signor Piatti. The baroness has been ringing for you for ten minutes now. She is ready for her lesson, and sent me to find you.”

I saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes as Piatti reddened and glared at her. “Yes, well, then,” he said, turning to me and offering his hand. “Signore, it was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we could meet and talk some other time? I would love to hear about your work.”

I shook his hand. “Of course. You can find me most days at my office in the theater. Anyone who is about can direct you.”

He smiled. “I will look forward to it.” He bowed, and with a final glare at the housekeeper, left the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Rosa Hahn looked after him, gave a grim smile, and turned to me with a puzzled expression on her face. “You are waiting for Marianne, sir?” she asked.

Before I could answer, the door opened, and a young woman entered. My mouth dropped at the sight of her. My eyes took in soft, light brown curls framing a face ornamented with clear, intelligent eyes; a long, thin nose; and soft, pink lips. She wore a dress in the English fashion, probably a castoff from her mistress, with no apron or cap to betray her status as a servant. A scooped neckline trimmed with white lace framed her lovely white throat, and drew my eyes to her vivacious bosom. My gaze traveled the pale green silk down to her narrow waist. From there, a green and yellow striped skirt cascaded over her shapely hips, ending at her thin, well-turned ankles, covered in white silk stockings. Finally, my eyes rested on her small feet, which were clad in yellow satin slippers dyed to match the skirt.

She came to me and curtsied. “I am Marianne. You asked to see me, sir?”

Before I could reply, the housekeeper grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. “Should you be entertaining a guest in the library, Miss Haiml?” she hissed.

Marianne's eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly clamped it shut. She took a deep breath and said, “I did not invite him here, Miss Hahn. Antonia told me only that I was wanted in the library.”

The older woman stared at her. “Next time, remember your place. This is the baron's library. You are a servant in this house, despite your inappropriate friendliness with the baroness. You would be wise not to forget that.” She released her grasp on Marianne's arm, bade me good day, and departed.

*   *   *

Marianne closed the door. “Decrepit old bat,” she muttered under her breath. She turned to me.

“Are you the Abbé Da Ponte? Johann told me you would be coming to see me.” Warmth surged through my chest as she smiled at me.

“Have you seen him? How is he?” I asked.

Her smile faded. She bit on her lower lip. “I saw him last evening, signore. He is very upset. I could tell he was trying not to cry in front of me. But the prison isn't as bad as I expected it would be. His room is clean, and there is only one other man with him.” Her mouth turned down in disgust. “The food looked awful, though.”

I nodded toward the closed door. “That was the lady who has put him there?”

She sat on the sofa and beckoned to me to join her. “Yes. I warned Johann not to borrow any money from her, but he wouldn't listen. He was too excited about starting the shop.”

“It does seem like a great deal of money,” I said.

“Yes. But he needed that much—the rent is very high, even for that one little room. And he had big plans. He wanted to have shops all over the city, with barbers working for him. I told him to wait until the first shop made some money, but he didn't want to. He tends to jump into things,” she said, chewing on her lip. “Miss Hahn offered him the money at a low interest rate, and he couldn't resist. I told him she was after more than just a return on her investment. I knew she wanted him.” She laughed. “Imagine, an old crone like her thinking she could interest Johann!”

“What led to the court suit?”

“Johann spent all the money getting the shop set up. He bought that fancy chair, and ordered all sorts of lotions and—what are they called?—pomades to sell. In the beginning it took a while for customers to find him. And not everyone likes the idea of going to a shop for a shave.” She picked up a porcelain figurine of Harlequin from the small table at the end of the sofa. “He wasn't able to pay the interest to Miss Hahn. At first, she was willing to give him more time, especially when he turned his charms on her.” Her lovely face set into a frown. “Whenever he came here to see me, he would bring her a little gift—a posy of flowers, some candies from the market.”

“That must have been difficult for you,” I said gently.

Her expression changed. “Oh no, I knew what he was doing.” She laughed brightly. “Did you think I was jealous? Of her?” She shook her head. “Johann and I were betrothed two months ago. That was when she started to make trouble for us. She demanded that Johann pay all the interest he owed at once, and part of the principal, also. Of course, he couldn't pay any of it. We both tried to talk to her, but she was very rude. She wouldn't even listen. A few days later, Johann got the court summons.” She took a deep breath. “You know the rest.”

“Do you believe she is willing to pay to keep him in prison the whole year?” I asked. The emperor had reformed the debtor laws, limiting sentences to just one year and replacing the dank, miserable prison with a modern facility. Under the new law, the plaintiff at court was required to pay a fee to cover the cost of incarcerating the debtor. If the plaintiff failed to make regular payments, the prisoner was released.

“She's so hateful toward us, I believe she will,” Marianne said sadly. She turned the small figurine in her hands. “Our only hope is to find his real parents—then he will have money to pay her back, and we can marry.” She looked up at me through lush brown lashes. “We are both grateful for your help, Signor Abbé.”

A deep feeling of warmth and tenderness rushed through my blood as I looked at her. What a charming young woman! No wonder Vogel was worried about spending a year away from her. I found myself determined to do anything I could to help the unfortunate lovers. I stood and walked over to the fireplace. “Tell me, why is he so certain his parents were aristocrats? Because of the things in the box?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I haven't seen them myself, but he told me there was a beautiful jewel and an expensive muff. He also said that all his life, he has felt that he might have some noble blood. His tastes are expensive, and he's always felt he is better than most of the other valets and barbers he has known.”

I winced. I often felt that way myself, and I knew for certain that my parents had not a drop of noble blood between them. “Does he have any other evidence to support this idea?” I asked. “I will try to trace the items in the box, but I must warn you, the odds are slim that I will be able to find their owner after all this time.”

She hesitated. “Yes, there is one more thing,” she said. “I haven't told Johann this. It would only upset him more. There is a boy here—a young man, really, in his teens. He is a page to the baron. His name is Florian Auerstein. His father is Prince Auerstein—perhaps you've heard of him?”