The Accidental Empress (4 page)

“We are at the top of the world,” Helene had gasped, as the carriage had climbed higher and higher. Sisi remembered wondering at what point the sky stopped and the heavens began.

On the first night in Innsbruck, her mother had left them in a dark nursery, rushing away beside her elder sister and a crowd of men in clean, crisp uniforms. The adults had all seemed very busy and very cross—tight-lipped whispers, creased foreheads, darting eyes.

Innsbruck passed, for Sisi, as interminable hours with stern, unknown governesses in that quiet nursery. Karl had been perfectly pleased; the imperial nursery was well-stocked with candied nuts and their cousins’ trains and toy soldiers. But Sisi had longed for her mother. At home, they were never separated from her for more than a few hours. And they seldom spent summer days entirely indoors, but rather conducted their education by climbing the mountains around their beloved “Possi,” fishing the lake, riding horses, and studying the local flowers.

Sisi had spent the hours of that trip staring out the glistening windows of the nursery at the mountains, wondering where the birds that flew overhead landed in the rocky, barren vista.

On one such afternoon, restless and aching for a glimpse of her mamma, Sisi had slipped unnoticed out of the nursery. After a fruitless search, Sisi found herself wandering the long, empty halls, lost. Now she had no idea how to find her mother, or how to get back to Helene and the stern imperial governess, a woman by the name of Frau Sturmfeder. It was then that Sisi had stumbled upon the familiar figure of her aunt, the woman’s heeled shoes clipping down the long hall.

“Auntie Sophie! Auntie Sophie!” The resemblance to her mamma had been such a relief that Sisi had flown toward the woman, arms outreached and expectant of a hug.

Sisi was met, instead, with a cold slap to the face. “Calm yourself, child.” Sophie scolded her, the skin around her lips creasing into a patchwork of well-worn lines. “You do
not
run in the palace, and you do
not
accost adults. My sister is more determined to raise a pack of wild things than to groom you into civilized little nobles. Now, why are you alone? Back to the nursery at once.” With that, the woman had straightened her posture, patting down the place where Sisi’s tiny hands had pressed into her skirt, and continued her determined march down the long hallway. She did not glance back toward her niece again.

“That’s right, Helene.” Her mother’s response to Helene’s query disrupted Sisi’s remembrances, bringing her back to the dinner table and the duchess’s announcement. “My elder sister, Sophie, the Archduchess of Austria.”

“You know what they say about your Aunt Sophie?” The duke glanced at Sisi, a mischievous grin tugging on his lips.

“Max, please, it’s really not appropriate—” The duchess lifted a hand, but failed to quiet her husband.

“They call your Aunt Sophie ‘
the only man in the Viennese Court
.’ ” The duke erupted in laughter, pushing his coffee mug to the side as he opted instead for wine.

The duchess, her lips pressed together in a tight line, waited for her husband to finish laughing before she addressed her daughters once more. “It has been extremely difficult in Austria since the emperor, Sophie’s brother-in-law, abdicated the throne.”

“Didn’t that happen when we were in Innsbruck?” Sisi asked, recalling once more that unpleasant trip. Her parents seldom discussed politics, and the remoteness of Possi was such that Sisi’s indifference toward the topic was allowed to go unchecked. But still, she knew that her aunt occupied a powerful position in the Austrian Empire.

“Yes, Sisi,” her mother replied, nodding. “You remember that trip?”

Sisi nodded as her mother continued: “My sister has had to rule, more or less, to keep the throne safe for her son until he grew old enough to assume power.”

Sisi remembered her cousin from that same visit to Innsbruck: a stern teenage boy, his hair the color of cinnamon. He had been too old for the nursery, but it had been his trains and toy soldiers that Karl had hoarded. Sisi had only seen her cousin a handful of times, always in the company of his military tutors, attendants, and his mother. Sisi recalled how Franz, a narrow-framed boy to begin with, had seemed to shrink whenever his mother had spoken, looking to her for cues as to where to stand, awaiting her subtle nod before answering a question posed to him. Why had that reserved and taciturn boy been selected as emperor to replace his deposed uncle? Sisi wondered.

Ludovika turned now to Sisi, as if speaking only to her younger daughter. “My sister, Sophie, has managed to survive in Vienna where men have failed. Though perhaps she has at times exhibited a strength which some have called unladylike, she has preserved the empire and always maintained the . . . how should I say this?”—and now Ludovika cast a sideways glance at her husband—“
decorum
that is expected of her high position.”

“ ’Spose you’re right, Ludovika. Let’s drink to good old Soph. She’s got more stones than the rest of us.” The duke took a keen swig of his wine, oblivious of his wife’s scowl.

“So, is Cousin Franz old enough to assume power now?” Sisi asked, turning to peer at her sister. Helene sat quietly, nibbling on a small bite of potato. Helene never had much of an appetite.

“Indeed, Sisi,” the duchess said, her expression brightening as someone took interest in her narrative. “Your cousin, Franz Joseph, has ascended to the throne. He is emperor of Austria.”

“And doing a damned good job so far, too.” The duke spoke with a mouth full of meat and cabbage slaw. “The way little Franzi fought at the Italian front—that was baptism by fire. That’s the way a boy becomes a man, Karl my boy. Those Italians threatened to leave his empire.” The duke landed a fist on the table, sending some of his son’s frothy beer over the brim of its mug. “And once he finished them off, he did the same to the upstart Hungarians. Crushed them, with the help of the Russians. ’Course, I’d never trust a Hungarian, that’s the truth.”

The duchess interjected: “Your father is referring to the fact that your cousin, the emperor, has preserved his empire even as, in recent years, several territories have risen up in revolution.”

“How did Cousin Franz become emperor when it was his uncle’s crown?” Sisi asked, trying once more to picture that timid, red-haired boy on a throne.

“The people demanded that his uncle step down,” the duchess explained. “I give my sister Sophie much credit for putting her son forward as the viable alternative that would please the people and keep the Habsburgs in power, while managing not to upset the rest of her family.”

“Probably why all the men like to point out the stones on that one, that Sophie,” the duke muttered, grunting out a quiet laugh. Ludovika threw a pointed glance at her husband. Sisi shifted in her seat, looking sideways at Helene as a tenuous silence settled over the table.

Her mother continued after several moments: “Now that Franzi—Franz Joseph—is in power, he faces one task of the utmost importance. A duty which his whole empire wishes to see fulfilled.”

“What’s that?” Sisi asked.

Ludovika breathed in a slow inhale, tenting her fingers on the table as she assumed a thoughtful look. “He must marry, of course.”

Sisi swallowed, unsure why this simple statement caused her stomach to flip as it did.

Duchess Ludovika turned to her eldest daughter now, eyebrows arching in a quizzical expression. “Franz must find himself a bride and produce an heir to the Habsburg dynasty.”

But why was Mother staring at Helene like that? Sisi wondered. A shadow of a suspicion took root in her thoughts, like a shapeless form barely detected through a fogged window. No, Mother couldn’t possibly mean
that
. The room was silent. Karl tugged on his cravat and ordered more beer. Helene, her cheeks as colorless as the table linens, kept her eyes down.

The duchess pushed her plate away, crossing her hands resolutely on the table. “Néné, I never allowed myself to hope for such a fate for my daughter.” Duchess Ludovika’s voice caught on the words, and Sisi was surprised at the moment of rare sentimentality in her usually composed, stalwart mother. Before Sisi could untangle the meaning of these words, her mother continued.

“To think . . . one of my girls sitting on the throne in Vienna.”

Helene struggled to utter even the quietest of replies. “Mother, surely you don’t mean . . .”

The duchess nodded. “My sister has asked for you, Helene.
You
are to be Emperor Franz Joseph’s betrothed.”

Helene dropped her fork to her plate with a jarring clamor.

“Helene, you are to be Empress of Austria!” The duchess beamed at her pale daughter, but no one else at the table spoke. Sisi understood Helene’s mute shock. Her own sister, Helene, the girl who had just returned with her from picking wildflowers. The sister who slept beside her at night, burrowing her cold feet under Sisi’s warm legs. The painfully shy girl who loved philosophy and religious instructions, but pled sickness to avoid her dancing lessons. Helene, Empress of Austria? Presiding over the Imperial Court at Vienna?

“And just think, Néné,” the duchess continued, undaunted by her daughter’s silence. “Once you give birth to a son, you shall be the Imperial Mother, the most powerful woman in the world.”

The duke raised his glass and took a celebratory swig of wine. “To Helene.”

“To Helene,” Sisi echoed halfheartedly, still probing her sister’s features for some hint of a reaction. But Helene’s face was blank.

“We are moving up in the world, the House of Wittelsbach, eh, Karl? You won’t have a hard time running this duchy with a sister sitting on the Habsburg throne!” The duke was now in a full celebratory humor.

But the reaction elsewhere at the table was mixed: Sisi sat in silence, mining Helene’s face for clues as to her thoughts; the duchess, exuberant at first, now appeared incredulous, stunned by Helene’s expressionless quiet; and Karl seemed far from joyous over the news of his sister’s elevation.

Eventually Karl broke the silence. “Helene, a bride. You know what he’ll expect you to do?” He speared a long link of meat with his fork and held it toward Helene, letting it hang menacingly before her. “How about some sausage?”

“Karl! Have you no shame?” the duchess hissed at her son, staring at him until he lowered the outstretched fork.

Sisi reached for her sister’s hand, clammy and cold, under the table.

“Helene, it is the greatest of honors, and we are all proud of you for being chosen.” The duchess turned back to her food, which she began to cut with quick, jerky motions.

“But, Mother,” Helene spoke at last.

The duchess looked up at her daughter. “Yes?”

“Mamma, I . . .”

“Out with it, Helene.” Ludovika had little patience for Helene’s timidity, a trait which surely had not come from her side of the family.

“I don’t want to marry Cousin Franz.” With that confession, Helene dropped her face into cupped hands. Across the table Karl sniggered.

The duke, eyes watching over his raised beer stein, looked to Sisi as Helene’s translator. “What’s wrong with your sister?”

Sisi lifted a hand and placed it gently on Helene’s shoulder, whispering a small conciliatory remark about how she ought to let the news sink in. Then, to her father, Sisi answered: “It is such momentous news, Papa. Perhaps she is just overcome by the shock.”

“You presume to know my thoughts, Sisi?” Helene turned to her sister, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. “You’re not the one being given away like chattel.”

This remark, a rare instance of causticity from the usually sweet Helene, served to quiet Sisi. Helene was correct. Sisi was not the one whose fate was being discussed before her, the one who had no say in her own future.

The duchess sat observant, weighing how to respond to this unexpected turn. Finally, she spoke. “Helene, I don’t understand. Every girl wants a fine husband.”

Helene shook her head. “Not me.” She wept, noiseless tears slipping down her cheeks.

The duchess sighed. “Why, Helene, you knew you would have to marry someday. It might have been a Saxon count, a Venetian prince . . . and yet you weep over the emperor of Austria? That is the best match you could hope for.”

Again Helene shook her head. “Please, Mamma, I beg you not to make me do it.”

The duchess let loose a heavy exhalation. “Helene, Franz is a good boy . . .
man
. He will treat you kindly. And you’ll have Aunt Sophie to help you settle into your new life at court.”

“But I don’t want to marry him!” Helene insisted.

“Surely you knew this day was drawing near, Helene? You
are
eighteen.” The duchess looked to Sisi, as if seeking assistance.

“But, Mamma, I don’t even know him,” Helene said.

Sisi noted her mother’s mounting exasperation. “What does that have to do with anything? When I was sent to your papa for my wedding, I had never met him before.” The duchess looked to her husband, who drained his beer mug in reply. Her jaw set, her eyes expressionless, she continued: “Why, I spent my wedding night in tears. But I did my duty.”

The duke did not look at his wife, nor did he reply, but Helene erupted into fresh sobs.

“For heaven’s sake.” The duchess rose from her seat and approached her weeping daughter. “Helene, my foolish, scared little girl, you must not be so upset. This is the best fate that a girl in your position could possibly dream of. Your husband will be the emperor of Austria, and a good, kind man. What more could you ask for in a match?”

“But I don’t wish to marry—at all.” Helene allowed her mother to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Hush, Helene. Surely you understand that to avoid marriage would leave you with no option but to enter a nunnery,” her mother reasoned. “You cannot possibly want that for yourself. Don’t you want a nice home of your own to manage? And babies?”

Helene’s silence was her answer. Now Sisi felt the same surprise that she saw reflected back from her mother’s face. She, Sisi, who knew Helene better than anyone in the world, had not suspected that her sister dreamed of such a solitary future. Eventually, her voice barely a whisper, Helene said, “I
had
thought often of the nunnery, Mamma.”