The Musician's Daughter (19 page)

It wasn’t until Haydn took his place at the harpsichord to direct us that I suddenly realized why the faces around me struck chords of recognition. Most of them had been in the Gypsy camp on the two occasions I had visited it. Yet there they had mainly dark hair and wore bright-colored clothes. Here all of them had on white bob wigs or bag wigs and wore simple, dark clothing. None of their gold jewelry was in evidence, either, although I noticed a hole in one fellow’s earlobe that had clearly been stretched out by a heavy hoop. Scattered among the Gypsy musicians were only one or two of the prince’s regular musicians. No one I knew well—except for Schnabl.

I was brought back to the present when Zoltán gave the A, there being no wind players engaged for the evening. I put the viola to my shoulder. Its shape was comfortingly familiar. I cradled the neck in the V of my thumb and first finger, stretching my hand farther along so I could reach the tuning pins. It was a lovely instrument, I thought perhaps Italian. And the bow I drew across to test the pitch of each string was well balanced. I winced every now and again as I accidentally hit the tender spot on my hand where the splinter had been.

A short serenade began the concert. I played the simple viola part quietly, not daring to open up the sound in case I made a mistake. But despite my anxiety I was able to enjoy the sensation of sitting amid the players for once, not outside of them. The music sounded so different here. From my position, the cello parts sang out loudly, and I realized how carefully everything must be balanced to make the music blend into a harmonious wash of sound for the enjoyment of those who sat out in front. I had never really thought about it before, and wished I could be in two places at once: where I was in the orchestra and out in the audience, just to hear the difference.

There were three violists, and we all shared one score. I tried hard not to look at my deskmates, instead concentrating on the notes. I smiled to myself as I recognized what we were playing—only a few days ago I had heard Haydn sing that very line to me so that I could write it down. And then my smile broadened when I realized it was similar to something I had heard Danior play in the Gypsy camp. Here was evidence of how music could find its own way through the world.

The audience applauded without much enthusiasm after the serenade. They were not the usual collection of music lovers who attended the gatherings at the prince’s palace. Haydn stood and bowed to them, but rather than seat himself at the harpsichord again for the next selection, he remained standing until the applause died away—which wasn’t long.

“Ladies, gentlemen, Your Excellency, distinguished guests,” he began.

I looked up toward the audience when he said “Your Excellency.” I assumed he must be referring to the Hungarian ambassador. I saw a gentleman in a gold lace-trimmed coat wearing many honors and sashes. Perhaps that was him. If so, he did not respond to the greeting in a very gallant manner, only nodding and then turning back to the lady he was conversing with. I still saw no sign of my uncle, dreading that he would appear at any moment and see me in the orchestra. I hoped Zoltán was right, that he would never think to notice the musicians.

“We have several unique compositions to perform for you this evening,” the maestro said once the crowd settled. “The next requires only a small number of the players, as do the selections to follow, so please bear with us while certain of our performers are dismissed. They will return to take their places for the final work, a symphony whose extraordinary form will, I believe, prove surprising to you.”

I caught Zoltán’s eye. He raised one eyebrow and I stood up, laying the viola carefully on the floor by my stool before following about eight other players out through the door that had admitted us to the dining room. Among them were Danior and two other violinists, the percussionist, and the second cellist. I knew that Zoltán would not come with us. He had explained that he could not risk jeopardizing his sister’s position.
Trust Danior,
he had said. I hoped he was right. So far, everything was going smoothly.

I made the mistake of glancing around me just before I disappeared into the anteroom with the others. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the obnoxious maid, Hildegard. Her eyes met mine and opened wide. I saw her nearly stumble as she presented an elderly lady with a cordial.
What should I do?
I thought. It was too late to change anything. The plan was already under way. Perhaps I had mistaken her expression. But no. I knew that at any moment, Hildegard would seek out my uncle, and that he would send someone back to get me. The only thing to do was to accomplish our task as quickly as possible.

“This crowd just wants to get in to dinner,” grumbled the cellist who had left the orchestra with us, a new fellow whose name I didn’t know. He flopped onto the only chair in the anteroom. The percussionist—a man I recognized from the Gypsy camp—sat on the floor.

I’d better warn Danior,
I thought, trying to catch his eye. But he refused to look up at me, only lounging against the wall nonchalantly with the others, who I guessed were all Gypsies. I did my best to behave as they did despite my pounding heart and the certainty that soon we would be stopped from doing what we had come here to do.

I heard the beginning of a divertimento from the other room.

“I must excuse myself,” Danior said.

“Breath of air,” said another of the Roma, signaling to a violinist who sauntered after him.

They passed through into the kitchen. Danior gave a quick jerk of his head as he walked by me. Altogether four of us entered my uncle’s large, busy kitchen, where the cook and her helpers scurried around through clouds of steam, orders flying from one end to another. No sign of Hildegard or my uncle there. A scullery maid nearly crashed into me with a bucket of boiling water in her hands, which I could see were so chapped and cracked they bled. “Get out of the way!” she hissed.

We huddled toward the pantry end of the kitchen. A prayer circled through my mind over and over:
Please, God, don’t let her find my uncle; please, God, don’t let her find my uncle …
Then I noticed Maya, her arms deep in a vat of dough. She hardly looked up, only subtly turning her head in the direction of the pantry. I saw that the door stood slightly ajar. The cook yelled at us, “Don’t think you’ll get any food by standing there!” But soon all the kitchen staff were once again so absorbed getting the many dishes prepared to serve when the concert ended that I think they forgot us.

We made our way to the pantry door. Without actually looking at him, only noticing from the corner of my eye, I saw Danior reach out his hand and grasp the latch. At the moment of greatest confusion, he opened it and slipped inside. The next violinist did the same. The third fellow elbowed me over toward the door, and I waited for my chance to follow the other two. Before long all four of us were in the cool darkness of the pantry.

“The door to the cellar is at that end,” I whispered. One of the men fumbled around for a candle and a match bottle. I heard him strike the flint, and the tiny flame pooled over his hands as he touched the match to the candle’s wick. Without a word, he took the light to the low door, which had been somewhat disguised by the clever placement of a shelf above it. The door was not locked. He pushed it open, illuminating the stairs so we could descend.

The first rooms of the cellar were much as I remembered them from my frenzied exploration the night before. Some of the wine bottles had been taken out of their racks and placed on a simple table, ready to be served to the guests.

“How did you get out?” Danior whispered to me.

“Through here,” I answered.

I led them through the room where the beer and root vegetables were stored and was about to make my way toward the door to the last, long chamber, when Danior grabbed hold of me and pulled me back.

Ahead of us a guard sat slumped on the floor, his musket loosely cradled in his arms. His head lolled forward and nodded rhythmically in time to his breathy snores.

“There was no guard the other night,” I whispered into Danior’s ear.

I wanted to tell him about Hildegard then, to warn him that we had no time, but his hand tightened on my arm. “We’ll need to take care of him. You must not look.”

What would they do? The fellow seemed as innocent as the greengrocer, his face all slack and his body limp. But if he gave the alarm, it would be impossible for us to continue. And now it was clear that someone—or something—was being kept hidden in that cellar room, the one that had been so unaccountably empty before. I could still see the valet’s smug smile as he showed me the space and then let me walk unsuspectingly into the sewer.

I turned my eyes away obediently. Danior and the other violinist crept toward the sleeping sentry. I wondered what they could do that would be silent and still ensure our safety. I peeked and saw the other fellow slip a long, thin dagger out of a sheath. Danior reached into his sleeve and pulled out a length of rope. Would they stab him, as someone had stabbed my father? Or would they wrap the rope around his neck and squeeze the life out of him? I could not move. My eyes were drawn to them.

They acted so quickly and smoothly I hardly understood what happened. The guard opened his eyes wide in sleepy surprise just as Danior landed a punch in the center of his face that knocked him over and sent blood gushing from his nose. Quickly, they used the dagger to cut the rope into two lengths, one to bind his hands and one his feet. Then they wadded a rag and stuffed it into his mouth.

They moved the trussed-up guard away from the door that led to the long room beneath the dining room. We entered that chamber in the same order we had entered the pantry and the cellar. Danior’s and the other violinists’ eyes were already as round as dark chocolate bon-bons by the time I was able to look around the room at the sight illuminated by our single candle.

CHAPTER 22

L
ined up with their backs against the wall and their legs out straight, hands tied behind them, feet bound together, and mouths gagged so tightly the skin was stretched over their cheeks, were about a dozen young boys. The oldest looked to be a year or two younger than I was, the youngest about five or six. Some looked as though they had been beaten. All of them were frightened.

And right in the middle, one side of his face swollen as though he had been hit with a hard object, was Toby, still in the Esterhazy livery, which was now dirty and torn.

I ran to him as if in a dream, feeling as though my legs would not push against the ground fast enough to close the distance between us. When I reached him, I fumbled with the ropes tied around his ankles. Making no progress, I tried to untie his gag, but I had no strength in my fingers. All the while the faint strains of a string quartet, the beautiful adagio I had written down for my godfather only days before, filtered through the ceiling of the room.

I hardly noticed that Danior had come over and crouched beside me, using his thin dagger to slice through the ropes and the gag in an instant. Toby fell into my arms, weeping.

“I’m so sorry, Toby! He won’t get away with it,” I murmured into his matted and dirty hair.

Danior gripped my arm again. I looked around in annoyance, but he put his finger to his lips and glared at me. I held my breath, and heard what he had heard. The crunch of boots on stone. Someone was coming.

As quietly as the wild cats that slunk around the alleys at night, the three men withdrew into positions in the dark corners of the room. Danior motioned me to do the same, but I did not want to let go of Toby. I tried to get him to stand up. Either they had hurt his legs, or fear and fatigue had made him weak, because he could not support his own weight. “Come, Toby, lean on me!” I whispered. The violinist doused his candle with the palm of his hand, and we were instantly wrapped in darkness. I felt Toby’s quiet tears soak into my shoulder.

The next moments went by so fast, yet I have relived them many times since then as though they had happened under deep water, all movements slowed by the effort of struggling through liquid. First, I heard expressions of surprise and anger outside the door. They had found the unconscious guard.

“Must have been ten of them at least! I could not hold out.” Even as the guard spoke, the door was being opened.

Torchlight flooded into the room, fanning out from the door. A musket barrel advanced into the space, followed by three men in the black-and-white uniforms of the imperial guard, all of them with muskets out. The music from above flowed in with them—they had obviously left the doors to the pantry and the cellar open behind them. I heard the end of the string quartet followed by polite applause. The sound of my heart beating filled the silence in my ears, and I was certain they could all hear it.

I remember finding it almost comical that they would creep in slowly, as though certain an army of cutthroats lurked in the hidden corners of the room. But their posture became more relaxed and they stood more upright as the torch illuminated empty space around them and caught the gleam of the first young prisoners’ eyes, still staring in silent fearfulness, hands and feet still bound and mouths still gagged. I noticed all this as the pool of light shed by the torch crept closer to where Toby and I stood.
Danior, where have you gone!
I thought, willing the Gypsy men to leap out and surprise the guards.

I tried to shrink back, but the wall was in my way. I pulled Toby against my body, and felt the hard lump of the pistol in my belt. I had almost forgotten I had it. Without a moment’s hesitation I slipped my hand down to where I could grasp the hilt of the gun and eased it out. “Stay still, Toby,” I breathed into his ear, trying to quiet his trembling. I gripped him around his middle with my left arm, and aimed the pistol out from behind him with my right. By the time the light revealed us, I thought I would be prepared to pull the trigger.

The illumination of the torch felt warm and harsh. I blinked against it. The guard who saw us first registered surprise, then smiled slowly. “So these are the
ten men
who attacked you, Hugo!”

The others laughed, lowering their muskets to rest their stocks on the ground.

“I’ll kill you if you come closer!” I yelled. I wanted my voice to carry to the floor above, but the music had started again. It was a lively symphony, and the tympani rolled. The noise would obscure just about any sounds from down here, as had been part of the plan.

“You won’t be able to fire that thing when it’s not cocked, lad,” the main guard said, provoking more laughter from the others. His smile faded. “Tie them up,” he barked.

At that very moment, I caught a gleam of Danior’s eyes from the dark corner behind the intruders and saw the faint flash of his dagger.
Thank God,
I thought. He looked prepared to leap forward and surprise them from behind, but just as he tensed for action, a voice from the doorway stopped him.

“Is there some difficulty, gentlemen?”

It was my uncle. Hildegard must have found him and told him, and no doubt he could guess the rest. He came into view, his eyes taking everything in, and I saw that my disguise did not fool him for more than a moment.

“My dear Theresa, really. I thought the gown I purchased for you at great expense was much more flattering.”

I might have found the guards’ perplexed expressions funny if I had not feared for my life—and my brother’s.

“Quite enterprising of you, my dear,” Uncle Theobald said.

I wanted to spit in his face.

“Your father would have been proud of you, no doubt. He was just a bit too smart for his own good, and it seems he’s passed that dubious quality on to you.” He turned to the commander of the guards. “Secure her!” Then he addressed me again. “Your poor mother will be informed that, like so many children in this wicked city, you and your brother were abducted by Gypsies and sold into slavery in Turkey. She will weep, but with another on the way, I daresay she’ll get over it.”

I don’t really know how I found the strength or even knew what to do, but I released my brother from my arm, gripped the pistol with two hands, pulled back the firing pin, and squeezed the trigger.

The flash nearly blinded me, and the force of the shot threw me back into the wall. I hit my head and collapsed.