Thomas Ochiltree (20 page)

Somehow, going in seemed the easiest course of action. The Master of Ceremonies was announcing “the Prince of Prestidigitation,” which hardly sounded encouraging, but von Falkenburg had already inconvenienced a row of people getting to his seat, so he decided to stay put for a while.

The Prince of Prestidigitation was dressed in a vaguely oriental costume, but his tricks were the standard variety theater magic act. Von Falkenburg settled deeper into his seat, bored but finding in his boredom a refuge from his worries.

There was a comedy turn next, and then a giant who lifted weights.

And then the Master of Ceremonies announced, “and now, the sensational discovery of the year, the Singing Countess straight from ooh-là-là Paris, the Toast of Two Continents, ladies and gentlemen…”

“Good God!” he thought. The memory which, although deeply buried in his mind, had succeeded in impelling him into this temple of vulgarity suddenly broke through to the surface.

“I present to you…” the Master of Ceremonies went on.

Von Falkenburg’s thoughts chimed in exactly with the Master of Ceremonies’ next words:
“Mademoiselle Adèle d’Églantine!”

Von Lauderstein’s girlfriend. The little Viennese working girl from the Kaminski-Palais-Theater in the Ninth District for whom Helena had arranged a brief engagement at the Ronacher in exchange for the information about von Lauderstein that had led von Falkenburg to Madame Rosa’s.

The heavy red curtains soared back, and there she stood, a tiny figure on the huge stage. Game enough, for all that, for she belted out her first number with a verve which went a long way to make up for her lack of professional polish.

Von Falkenburg remembered now. Gambling was not von Lauderstein’s only weakness. He stirred in his seat, ready to make his way to the aisle in spite of all the whispered reproaches that would cost him. But at the last moment he realized that disturbing her act was something that “Mademoiselle d’Églantine” would never forgive.

Finally, she was finished, and von Falkenburg noted that she got a good round of applause. That was useful, he decided, because the more confident she felt of her success, the more independent she might feel of von Lauderstein.

The next number was being announced before he got to the aisle, and the people he was inconveniencing were glaring at him, but he had no time to worry about that now.

Once outside the theater he hurried around to the stage door, where some high school boys waited impatiently for the appearance of whatever goddess they worshipped. Who knows, perhaps it was Adèle, von Falkenburg thought.

“This is the artists’ entry, sir,” a determined voice said. It belonged to a very fat man who stood squarely in the doorway he wished to enter.

“At ease,
Herr
Heinkel,” von Falkenburg said, pressing a banknote into the man’s hand. He had always admired the way in which Heinkel could palm money almost instantly.

“Good evening, Captain. Sorry I did not recognize you at first, but it’s been a long time since the captain visited us.”

“Has, hasn’t it?” von Falkenburg replied negligently.

Heinkel, despite his bulk, was able to squeeze to one side to allow him to pass, then expand instantly again to prevent the schoolboys from following through. He was a man of many talents, and von Falkenburg liked and respected him.

An angel, or rather a good fairy, since she carried a wand, went glittering by. On stage, she would doubtless break plenty of schoolboy hearts. The effect of the heavy makeup under the backstage lighting was less satisfactory.

At any rate, she showed no surprise whatever at seeing an officer of the Austro-Hungarian army in the backstage of the Ronacher.

“Gnädiges Fräulein…”

“Sir?”

“Which is the dressing room used by Miss Adèle d’Églantine?”

“Three-B. But you know, Miss d’Églantine has a regular admirer.”

“Is he there now?”

“I believe so, sir.” The good fairy gave an arch smile which suggested that if von Falkenburg was disappointed by the news, there were, after all, other fish in the sea. Or rather, good fairies in the sky.

“Thank you, Miss.”

Rationally, he knew that he should leave. The admirer in question could only be von Lauderstein.

But von Falkenburg could no more turn back now than he could fly to the moon. And if he came face to face with von Lauderstein…who knows? He felt suddenly conscious of his fists and his sword, although he knew it would be folly to use either.

Self-discipline had to be the watchword, he told himself.

He made his way through the incredible confusion of the Ronacher’s backstage, with its air heavy with perfume, and the smell of makeup, and the smell of not too much bathing, for that matter.

He tried to remember where dressing room Three-B was. Heinkel was right. It had been a long time.

He asked another chorus girl, and was told by her too that Adèle had a caller. As he proceeded nevertheless in the direction indicated, the chorine turned to another and nudged her.

“Perhaps they’ll fight!”

“Here?”

“
Nein,
you silly goose. Officers don’t fight backstage at a theater. They do it in the Prater. At dawn!”

“With their swords?”

“Or with pistols, as they choose. Till one of them is dead. That’s the way honor is with the gentlemen from the army.”

Von Falkenburg could not help smiling as he overhead this, despite the seriousness of his mission. He realized that theatrical people had to have their own theater, and the world of high society and the officer’s mess filled the role. Doubtless the girls liked to imagine what it would be like to have a duel fought over them.

They were appealing girls. He remembered being second once to a friend who had just such a chorus girl as mistress. The friend had been killed, and even though the duel had not been fought over her, he had gone and informed the girl so that she would not have to learn about her lover’s death from the newspapers. He remembered how her fresh, lively young face had crumpled with pain.

Here was the dressing room Three-B, and there were voices coming from inside it.

“Don’t forget all that I’ve done for you Hanna!” a male voice said. So Hanna was Adèle’s real name.

“I suppose you want me to go down on my knees for you?” a woman’s voice replied.

“A little respect wouldn’t be out of order, young lady!”

“To get respect, you have to earn it!”

Most interesting: the male voice was angry, threatening…and yet von Falkenburg would have been willing to bet that there was an undercurrent of pleading in it.

“When I tell you to go to hell, we’ll see what happens to you!” the male voice stormed.

“Were you the one who got me an engagement at the Ronacher, Mr. Big Protector?”

Tart…sarcastic…but not altogether certain in its bravado. That was Hanna. The next sound was not that of a voice, but of a slap.

“Out, you pig! How dare you strike me! I’ll scream if you don’t leave at once!”

“Hanna…I didn’t mean it!”

“Out!”

“Please, Hanna…!”

Physical violence and bullying, then whimpering in the face of defiance. Von Lauderstein’s personality was much as von Falkenburg had imagined it.

“Say you’ll forgive me, Hanna.”

“I shouldn’t….”

That, von Falkenburg realized, meant that forgiveness was negotiable.

“I’ll show you tomorrow how much I love you,” von Lauderstein said.

That, of course, would mean a visit to a jeweler’s on the Graben. Von Falkenburg wondered if Putzi would have to pay for that too.

“We’ll see,” Hanna said. She should have been an actress rather than a singer, von Falkenburg decided. The tone of sulky, conditional half-forgiveness was pitched perfectly to ensure maximum generosity.

“
Show
me you forgive me, Hanna.”

“I
haven’t
forgiven you yet….”

“But you will, I know you will. Show me you will!”

“My friend, all this has given me a headache.”

“Please! I’m begging, Hanna. An officer, begging!”

“Maybe later tonight. Now please go away!”

Von Falkenburg realized that he had better withdraw. If von Lauderstein found him outside of his mistress’s dressing room, he would doubtless draw a conclusion as natural as it would be wrong. A hysterical scene or a challenge to a duel would certainly not fit von Falkenburg’s purposes at present. He walked quickly back down the corridor and struck up a conversation with one of the chorus girls. He could not resist the temptation to sneak a glance at von Lauderstein, however. For that matter, it might be useful for the future to know what the man looked like.

Von Lauderstein came steaming out of the dressing room and stormed by him. A red face, bull neck, and yet a small waist. Probably wore a corset, von Falkenburg decided.

Von Falkenburg headed back to the dressing room.

He knocked.

“Yes?”

The tone of the voice that came through the door contained just enough sharpness to let the knocker know that he had better not be von Lauderstein coming back to do some more pleading.

“I’m Captain von Falkenburg, the friend of Princess von Rauffenstein you met a few days ago.”

“Oh, please come in!” That tone of voice, he realized, was doubtless the same as the one she would use with the manager of the Ronacher.

“Ah, the handsome, inquisitive captain,” she said with a friendly smile that appeared largely genuine. Von Falkenburg realized that von Lauderstein doubtless brought out the worst in her, which was hardly surprising.

“Good evening Mademoiselle.”

“Between friends it doesn’t have to be ‘Mademoiselle.’”

“What should it be?”

“Hanna.”

“Not Adèle?” he asked with a smile.

“Such a dumb stage name. My agent thought it up.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t knock a few minutes earlier.”

“You can say that again, Captain. So jealous! And such a fool!”

“You could always send him packing,” von Falkenburg suggested.

“Don’t think I don’t. I did just now, ’smatter of fact.”

“For good?”

“Not right now. In some ways, foolish, jealous men are the best.”

Von Falkenburg thought of von Lauderstein standing stiff and humiliated in some jeweler’s shop, while an obsequious clerk said, “of course, pearls are always flattering to a young lady, and…if you’ll permit me to say so…always appreciated.”

“But when you’re a big star you’ll tell him to clear off for good?”

“I look forward to it every day. But becoming a big star is sooner said than done.”

“You have this engagement, don’t you?”

“For two weeks. But after that…. Now of course, if the Princess were to talk to the manager….”

Hanna’s eyes lit up like candles. She was the most mercenary little thing he had ever met, but he could not help liking her for some reason. Perhaps because there was something childlike about her self-centeredness.

“Princess Helena is willing to do everything she can to further your career,” he said, adding, “and if the career doesn’t work out, to give you enough money to retire from the stage.”

Helena could certainly do that, even if Hanna’s talent, coupled with Helena’s influence, was not sufficient to ensure the girl a good career.

“But…but why would the Princess be so good to me?” Hanna asked. There was suspicion on her voice. Hanna clearly came from a world where one never got something for nothing, von Falkenburg reflected. But then it occurred to him that one never did anywhere.

“She needs your help against someone, Hanna,” he said.

“Who?”

“Von Lauderstein.”

Hanna sucked in her breath, while her brown eyes grew as wide as saucers. Von Falkenburg could guess that it was not so much the suggestion that she act against the interests of her lover that bothered her. Rather, it was having to choose between two alternate sources of protection and income, when clearly she would prefer to keep both.

“Why…why does she need my help against von Lauderstein?” Hanna asked cautiously.

“Because without that help, he’ll kill her.”

What he was asking Hanna to do could involve some real danger to her, and he would not, could not, under those circumstances, deceive her.

“
Kill
her?”

“Yes.”

“
Kill
her? But
why
?”

“To harm me. Von Lauderstein and I are mortal enemies,” von Falkenburg said.

“Kill her?”
Hanna repeated, horrified.

“You may be able to help me save her. But if you try, it could be very dangerous to you.”

“Dangerous? You think
I
care?” Hanna asked with a flaring up of that spirit which was her best quality.

“
Very
dangerous, Hanna. Von Lauderstein has already killed a friend of mine.”

“That pig! That
pig!
” she almost screamed. “The one person to get me a break in show business, the one person who took an interest in my career, and that…that…that bloated bully, with his paunch held in by a corset like a woman…he’s going to
kill
her?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, I don’t care about a reward, or anything like that! Not a contract here at the Ronacher, nor money, nor anything! Just tell me! Just tell me what I can do to help the Princess, and I’ll do it!”

Von Falkenburg realized that Hanna was being completely sincere. She really was not thinking of the advantages she might obtain from helping Helena. What was it Helena had said to him…that for theater people, nothing mattered like a chance at the big time? Helena had given Hanna that chance.

“Just tell me!” Hanna repeated, almost hysterical.

“Very well,” he said, “I am going to go get a closed cab. Wait until I send the cabby to the stage door for you. I’ll explain the rest later. While I’m getting the cab, you can take off your paint and put on your regular clothes.”

She nodded her approval.

Von Falkenburg found a closed cab waiting outside the Ronacher for the show to let out.

“Where to?” the cabby asked him as he climbed in.

“Out onto the Ring and right. Then right again onto the Franz-Joseph-Kai, and right onto the Ring again.”