Masks and Shadows (26 page)

He stepped out of the men's changing room just in time to see Lieutenant Esterházy stride backstage as confidently as if he owned it. Franz bowed, biting down rage. The lieutenant gazed evenly at him and nodded infinitesimally. Then his face lit up.

“Fräulein Dommayer!” He crossed the wide floor in a few quick steps to bow over her hand.

Franz hesitated—then crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, bracing his muscles against the pain. Why shouldn't he stay and watch, after all? If it afforded Esterházy the slightest hint of embarrassment, then Franz would be richly rewarded indeed.

“Lieutenant Esterházy.” Anna curtseyed awkwardly, one hand in his and her other arm occupied with her bouquet. “You are very kind, sir. The roses are beautiful.”

At first, she'd thought they might have come from the Baroness, who had sent her a small bouquet and a kind note the day after her first performance. But a card had been buried deep in their midst, and she'd found it while changing out of her costume.

Anton Esterházy. In admiration.

It was a terribly strange feeling. It was nearly intoxicating, like the scent of the dozen roses in her arms. She felt her breathing quicken as she looked up at the intensity of his gaze.

Anna swallowed and withdrew her hand. “Where . . . wherever did you find such beautiful flowers, sir?”

“I begged them from my cousin's gardens.” His face opened into laughter. “I hope you'll not think the less of me for it! I would have ordered them from Vienna or Paris for you, if I could. But as such beauties were blossoming here already, only waiting to be picked . . .”

Anna flushed. “They are perfect.” She buried her face in them for a moment to escape the meaning in his eyes. As she lifted her head, she saw Herr Pichler glaring at her from across the room. She sighed.

“Are you tired?” Lieutenant Esterházy leaned closer. “You gave a marvelous performance. My cousin was most impressed, and I—I was bewitched.” He smiled crookedly. “I think my heart may never recover from it.”

A maid curtseyed before Herr Pichler and handed him a note. His eyes widened as he read it.

“Fräulein?” The lieutenant frowned.

“Forgive me, sir. I am only tired. As you said.” Anna smiled up at him, but half her attention remained on Herr Pichler, who had folded up the note and slipped it inside the inner pocket of his frock coat. His gaze slipped from side to side, as though he were calculating an escape route. He began to saunter, ever-so-casually, toward the back door.

There were so many mysteries in this palace . . . but perhaps Anna might solve this one tonight.

Lieutenant Esterházy had been speaking words she hadn't heard. Anna curtseyed again and held out her hand to him.

“Please forgive me,” she said, “but I must go to sleep. I've been rehearsing so much for tonight's performance. And . . . and, of course, I must find water for my roses.”

“We could find a maid to do that,” he said quickly, “and then perhaps a short walk outside in the evening air—”

“Not tonight.”

She backed away, smiling apologetically. Herr Pichler had already disappeared out the back door. She'd have to find somewhere to deposit the roses, then circle around the building and try to find him in the miles of parkland. Difficult, but not impossible—if she hurried. She fought down images of ghouls and demons out in the darkness.

“Perhaps tomorrow, sir?” she offered, and fled.

Franz turned past the first tall hedge, as the message had directed—and a hand reached out to seize him by the throat.

“You've disappointed us, Herr Pichler.”

The gloved hand was too strong to fight. If he squirmed, his breath would be cut off entirely. Franz went limp, breathing shallowly through his nose. He couldn't see his captor in the shadows of the hedge, but he recognized the voice.

“How?” he gasped. “I haven't—”

“I told you to be discreet. I ordered you not to make yourself unpleasant to the Esterházys or draw their notice.”

“And?” Franz swallowed against the iron grip around his throat.

“Anton Esterházy complained to the Prince of your impertinence today. His Highness has asked Rahier to keep a sharp eye on you and report your every doing.” The hand tightened around Franz's throat. “Now do you understand how you've failed me?”

Franz closed his eyes, lanced by horror. “I didn't—I only meant—”

“Yes?” The hand loosened infinitesimally. “Do explain yourself.”

Franz paused, licking his lips. What could he say? That he'd been too jealous and discomfited to even consider the consequences of irritating Anton Esterházy? That he'd been foiled in his own plan to insinuate himself deeper into the Brotherhood's secrets by making up to Fräulein Dommayer? That—

No
. He opened his eyes and took a rasping breath. “It won't happen again.”

“It won't have the chance to happen, ever again. You should know that already, Herr Pichler. We do not tolerate failure.”

“I haven't—” His captor's hand pressed hard against Franz's Adam's apple and he choked. When he recovered, he gasped out the words. “I haven't failed. Yet.”

“You think not?”

“Rahier is a suspicious bastard. But he delegates the work, he doesn't do it himself. He trusts Haydn and Delacroix to report back to him.” Franz took another shallow breath. “Herr Haydn detests Rahier. He'll only speak to me himself, give me a warning, and then turn a blind eye. That's his way.”

The hand remained firmly wrapped around his throat. “And Monsieur Delacroix?”

“He hated me already. This will make no difference to him. Anyway . . .” Franz swallowed, fighting dizziness. Too little breath . . . how much longer could he last like this? “The man's a fool.”

“Then how did he find you out the first time, for aiding his wife?”

“He didn't. It was someone else. They sent him a letter.”

“Mm.”

“It must have been a stableboy. Someone who saw me take the horses. Or—I don't know! Not Delacroix. He couldn't sniff out a conspiracy if his life depended on it.”

“Which it may.” The hand tightened. “Yours certainly does.”

Franz's vision blurred. Stars formed in front of his eyes. He couldn't breathe—couldn't—

Abruptly, the hand released him. “You're a fortunate man, Herr Pichler. I've decided to give you one more chance to redeem yourself.”

Franz stumbled back, rubbing his throat. “How? When?”

“You'll find out after tomorrow night's masked ball. Once the royal visitors arrive.” The voice hardened. “In the meantime, stay away from Esterházys. Irritate no one. Be a paragon of public virtue. Do you understand?”

Franz's throat throbbed with pain when he spoke. “I understand.”

“Good.”

The hedge rustled. A moment later, Franz was alone in the beautifully laid-out garden.

He stood for a long moment staring at the peaceful Greek sculptures in the fountain six feet away. The water was still and smooth as glass, and lit by moonlight.

He'd never thought to come so close to death on this adventure.

A cool night breeze blew against the nape of his neck. He shook his head and turned to leave.

When he turned the corner of the hedge, he walked straight into Fräulein Dommayer.

Anna stumbled back. At first, Herr Pichler didn't even seem to recognize her. Then he laughed, in a tone that frightened her.

“You're too late, Fräulein. He's already gone. You shouldn't have let your officer delay you so long.”

Anna stepped forward, frowning. “I was looking for you.”

“Me?” He backed away, into a patch of grass illuminated by the moonlight that glanced off the water of the fountain. His face looked pale as death. “Why look for me? It hardly fits with your plans to play at romance with another singer. Not when you have an Esterházy to reel in.”

“What?” Anna's cheeks flooded with heat. “I have no plans, Herr Pichler. Nor
instructions
, either, unlike you. And I—I would never—!” She shook her head, too angry to speak. She'd crept all the way across the gardens in the darkness, terrified by every noise—for this? “How dare you say such things?”

He blinked. “Then—”

“I have no intention of reeling in anybody, no matter what their name might be! I'm not so—so—I just wouldn't. And I am not playing at romance with you, either!” She lifted her chin. “You may think yourself very wonderful, sir, but I am not so easily taken in by playacting.”

He stared at her. “Then what in the name of God are you doing here, Fräulein?”

“I followed you, of course.” Her cheeks burned, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “I'm not in love with you, but I do have eyes. You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you?”

He rubbed his throat and looked away. “Are you seriously telling me that you don't know?”

“Well . . .”

“And you aren't involved in it at all?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Anna said.

He dropped his hand from his throat and began to laugh. “Oh, sweet Christ and all the saints . . .”

“Sir?” She stepped forward, but he put his hand out to stop her.

“It's nothing. I'm only a fool beyond compare.” He shook his head and glanced at the thick hedges that rose up beside her. “If he is still here watching us . . .”

Anna jumped back—then moved forward, neck prickling, to peer into the black depths of the hedges.
Nothing
. Only the night breeze rustled through the thick branches. She let out her held breath.

“We're alone,” she said.

“Thank God.” He slumped down onto the low stone wall of the fountain and put his head in his hands.

Anna felt her chest tighten as she looked at his crumpled figure.

She'd spent half her time, as she crept after him—when she wasn't imagining demons out of the shadows that surrounded her—berating herself for her own foolishness in falling prey to a handsome face and romantically injured figure, when she'd known full well he wasn't interested in her in that way. Now, though, as she looked down at the lead singer she'd been so struck by, all that she could feel was compassion.

“You were trying to charm me this morning,” she said. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? It's naught to do with you. Not anymore.”

“Herr Pichler . . .” Anna felt the whispering night breeze on her neck and shoulders. She fought down the urge to glance behind her in search of watching eyes. “You've been drawn into some dangerous endeavor,” she said softly. “Can't you take yourself out of it? I would help you, if you'd let me. I would like to be your friend.”

His lips twisted. “You're very kind, Fräulein. But it's far too late for me to escape it now.”

Chapter Nineteen

“I can't,” Charlotte said. “Sophie, see reason! I'm a widow.”