The Accidental Empress (43 page)

“Oh, it matters not.” Sophie sighed, waving a hand and the buttered roll in it. “What matters is that you are pregnant, and we shall have a male heir at last.”

“At last? Why, we’ve been married for less than two years. I’ve conceived immediately both times. My dear lady, patience is a virtue.” Sisi sipped her coffee, enjoying this new position of power she suddenly wielded.
She
was the one carrying Franz’s child, and he had kept her secret, abiding by her requests, these past few months.

“Oh, you are so argumentative today, Elisabeth.” Sophie wrung her hands, throwing a frustrated glance at her son as she finished off the last of her roll and served herself a macaroon. “But never mind, do you think it is a boy?”

“I do.” Sisi softened, reaching across the table for her husband’s hand. She took it, ignoring the disapproving look that this too-public display of affection solicited from her mother-in-law.

Sophie nodded curtly. “I do, too. I just
know
it this time.” How Sophie was so certain, and to what logic she had subscribed, Sisi did not know, but for once, she hoped that her mother-in-law would get what she wanted.

But they were both mistaken. Months later, in the thick midnight hour of July’s hottest week, Sisi gave birth to her second daughter. A little girl whom the archduchess promptly swept up into her arms, naming her Princess Gisela, and placing her in the nursery to which she had already laid claim. For someone who had longed for a boy, Sophie certainly seemed delighted at the arrival of yet another little girl, wrapping her in a blanket she herself had stitched and insisting that this granddaughter, like the sister before her, remain with her at all times.

The baby being safely delivered and removed by her cooing grandmother, the doctor had fixed a draft for the exhausted, depleted mother. Too fatigued to protest, Sisi had taken it, slipping into a welcome sleep.

When she awoke the heat had broken. Sisi blinked, noticing absently that a bird sat on her windowsill, trilling a song of puzzling simplicity. “Hello?” She opened her lips to speak, but her mouth cracked with dryness. She blinked again. The sun seeped in, a spear of light slipping through a gap in the gently swaying curtains. Sisi was alone in the room. “Is anybody here?” She blinked again, tugging on the bellpull. And then she remembered: she had delivered a baby. A baby about whom she knew nothing.

“Franz? Franz!” Sisi began to weep, frustrated by the dryness of her throat, by the pain below her abdomen. She didn’t understand what had happened—why she felt so weak and why she had awoken alone in this bed in the middle of what appeared to be a clear summer afternoon. When she realized that crying would not bring her baby to her, she attempted to lift herself from her bed. She was successful only as far as collapsing into a kneeling position on the floor. The wood felt hard as her knees smacked the floor.

“Agata? Hello?”

“Your Grace!” Countess Marie swept into the room from the direction of the antechamber. “Majesty, please, you must stay in bed. You are weak still.”

Sisi allowed herself to be lifted from the floor and helped back into the bed. Even though it was July, it felt nice when Marie tucked the blankets around her—in just the few moments out of bed, Sisi had caught a chill.

“Where is my husband, Marie? And my baby?”

“Please, Your Majesty, you must rest.”

“Marie, please, my baby. Was it . . . ?”

“You delivered a baby girl, Majesty. Wait until you see her, the Imperial Princess is just perfect.”

Sisi began to weep.

“She’s healthy and strong, just like you soon will be, Your Grace.”

Sisi shook her head.

“Don’t cry, Majesty. A healthy baby is cause for joy, no matter the gender.”

“A girl. Please, Marie, where are they? I must see my baby and my husband.”

“The emperor has been called to meetings, Your Majesty. Seems something has come up from Budapest.”

“Budapest? The Hungarians?” Sisi’s mind raced, dazed by the fact that the world’s affairs had continued their forward march as she had slept.

Marie fluffed the pillows behind Sisi’s head. “His Majesty only left your suite when the doctor assured us that you were resting comfortably.”

Sisi absorbed this news, but didn’t feel any less disoriented. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“You’ve woken a couple of times, though you did not seem to know your surroundings. It’s been nearly two days, Empress.”

Sisi shook her head, fending off the fogginess that persisted, like stubborn cobwebs. How potent had that sleeping draft been?

“At one point you awoke and asked for your mother and Helene. And Franz. And little Sophie.”

“I don’t remember that,” Sisi said.

“Not to worry, Majesty.” Marie rested her palm on Sisi’s forehead. “Your body has been through a lot, but you shall be back to full strength in no time. How do you feel now?”

“Cold,” Sisi answered. Cold. Alone. Frightened. Angry. She stopped at “cold.”

“Yes, Empress. You look pale. I’ll alert the doctor that you’ve awoken, and if he thinks it’s all right, I’ll have Agata fetch some warm broth for you.”

“No, I want to see my baby first.” Sisi insisted. Her throat still burned with dryness. “A little girl.”

Marie paused, the hesitation apparent on her broad, honest face.

“What is it, Marie?”

“Majesty, I’m afraid your baby . . . the Imperial Princess . . . is not here.”

Sisi’s heart dropped out of her chest. “What do you mean, not here? But . . . you told me she was healthy.”

“Healthy, yes, Majesty.” Marie seemed unable to meet Sisi’s eyes as she answered. “But the weather has been so hot, and the fever has taken hold of much of the city. The archduchess was fearful that the little princesses might be at risk. She’s taken Sophie and Gisela to Laxenburg. Just until we send word that the fever was gone from the capital.”

“Gisela?”

“That’s the name on which the archduchess and the emperor settled. I’m sorry they didn’t wait for you, Madame. I know how you had hoped to name her Helene.”

“Never mind that.” Sisi shook her head. Why should she be surprised that her mother-in-law had taken the liberty of naming her second daughter, as she had the first? But to leave the palace without Sisi, removing her daughters without her permission? She could hardly believe Sophie’s audacity. Sisi’s frame began to tremble with fury, compounded by the realization that her babies were out of her reach, and she was completely powerless to fetch them back.

“Franz allowed her to take our babies?”

“I’m afraid the emperor has been so preoccupied with his council and his envoys, he seemed to think it was rather a good idea.”

“How that woman could think it wise to travel with a baby and a newborn . . .”

“She took the wet nurse, and several of the other nurses. And Countess Esterházy.”

“So all of those people get to see my baby, and I don’t?” Sisi ground her teeth, setting the muscle in her jaw atremble. “That is the final blow. It will end right now.”

“Please, Majesty. Just stay in bed.” Marie pushed gently against Sisi, stopping her from rising. “I shall go fetch Doctor Seeburger and some of that soup.”

“You take this—” Sisi reached for paper and scrawled a quick, biting note—“to my husband right this instant. You tell him to come to me immediately!”

Again Marie’s gaze rested on Sisi, a barely perceptible line of—what was that, worry?—knitting her brow. “Madame, I’m not sure if now is the best time to have an audience with the emperor.”

“Why not?” Sisi snapped. “You’d have me wait until tomorrow? When is the best time to berate your husband for allowing your children to be stolen from you in your slumber?”

“You must rest, Majesty, regain some of your color. Perhaps tomorrow might be better for a visit with the emperor.”

Irritated, Sisi reached for her small ivory mirror on her dressing table. When she saw the reflection staring back at her, she nearly gasped in horror.

The face into which she stared was pale, almost gray in hue. The eyes, once vibrant and alert, the color of molten honey, now sat deeply in a sunken face, framed by purple rings. Her cheeks appeared like hollow ruts, her cheekbones twice as sharp and prominent as they had been just days ago, and her hair was flat and unkempt. The worst part of all, however, was the frantic, hopeless expression that pulled tight across the haggard features. She had the appearance of a cornered animal—willing to fight, but exhausted and disheartened.

Sisi sighed, her shoulders drooping as tears pooled in her eyes. “You’re right, Marie. If Franz sees me like this, he might be inclined to send me to the asylum. I look half mad.” Sisi shuddered, placing her mirror back on the bedside table, face down. “Bring me some chicken broth and some wine. And have Agata come in. We must wash my hair.”

“Right away, Madame.” Marie tugged the blankets so that they formed a tight cocoon around Sisi. Because she could not bear to look once more at the bedroom, empty of her daughter and any sign that the baby even existed, Sisi closed her eyes. Within minutes, she drifted into a merciful sleep.

The sun rose the next day on the heels of a warm breeze that rustled softly through the open windows. After a breakfast of broth and dry toast, Sisi felt achy but strong enough to rise from bed. With the help of Agata and Marie, she dressed and then sent word to Franz, requesting that he meet her for lunch.
“It’s a lovely day outside
.
How about we meet at the Gloriette?”
It was perhaps the most picturesque spot in all of the imperial gardens, a set of stone archways perched atop the hill, overlooking the Neptune fountain and the mazy network of tulip beds below.

She would meet him at lunch appearing chipper and fresh, no matter how she felt. The better way to earn Franz’s accord, she had learned, was to charm him, not berate him. He only obeyed a bossy and domineering woman when that woman happened to be his mother, Sisi admitted to herself, her stomach knotted with resentment. Well, if charm was
her
best weapon, then charm him she would.

Sisi selected a light summer gown of pale, rose-colored brocade. She washed and perfumed her hair, arranging her braids in a loose coronet that framed her face. Franz’s preferred style. She covered her sunken cheeks in rouge, and her colorless lips with painted lard. She splashed a fresh jasmine scent on her neck and wrists. And she was certain to wear the gold pendant that Franz had given her at their first Christmas.

Franz appeared at the table, stepping lightly up onto the stone path, a pile of oversized maps and papers tucked under his arm. “There’s the mother of my girls!” He handed the documents off to the nearest footman and leaned forward to kiss his wife. “Elisa, my empress.”

“Franz!” She smiled widely, leaning into the kiss and suppressing the urge to launch a series of insults at the man who had allowed her children to be taken from her. The man whose frame remained so light and agile through the birth of their children, while hers felt ruined.

“Good to see you looking well, Elisa.” Franz took the seat beside her, reaching for her bare hand. She had deliberately kept her gloves off, flouting Sophie’s ridiculous rule.

Franz’s eyes traveled now to the low neckline of Sisi’s gown, noticing how her breasts, full from the infuriating ban on nursing, swelled. He didn’t speak for several moments.

“You look . . . very well, Elisa. Very . . .
healthy
 . . . indeed.”

“Thank you.” Sisi smiled, leaning toward him, allowing him to gape. “I feel as if I slept for days and days.”

Franz nodded, his eyes still fixed on her ripe curves. “And when . . . when do you think you shall be able to resume your usual”—he swallowed, stammering—“well, has the doctor told you when you will be ready for . . . back to normal?”

“Soon,” she said, smiling as she surmised his thoughts. She looked out over the hillside now, the tidy flower beds intersecting the perfectly groomed grass. The palace in the distance. Turning back to Franz, she cocked an eyebrow. “And I awake to the news that our little daughter was named Gisela?”

“Gisela. Yes.” Franz looked up into her eyes now, smiling as he thought of his second daughter. “It’s been so hot. Ghastly hot. Fortunately Mother had the wise idea to remove the girls to Laxenburg.”