Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Prince Metternich's villa was one of the most magnificent estates in and around Vienna. Situated just outside the city walls opposite the Belvedere Palace, it had been built as a summer residence, a newly constructed, stately, neoclassical two-storey mansion with a vast park stretching into the distance.

" Famos! " Hecki and Les exclaimed in unison, their eyes wide as they gazed up at the imposing colonnades of the portico. ‘ Famos ,' a Viennese term for something absolutely fantastic, was currently their favourite expression. Everything was famos , such as Kn?del with Sauerkraut that their neighbour Emma, the good soul, had cooked for them earlier; the splendid fireworks that had lit up the sky the night before; the parade of emperors; the bag of roasted chestnuts they'd bought; the performing monkey they'd seen at the fair. Now, Metternich's palace seemed to have been added to the list.

"Hector, Achilles, don't forget the music stands!" Lena called, her nerves on edge. After careful consideration, she had decided to bring the younger boys along as musical assistants. They were to assist with setting up, turning pages, and carrying instrument cases and stands.

All were dressed as eighteenth century musicians, thanks to Emma, who had unearthed a trunk full of clothes once worn by her grandparents. It was this or nothing, as Lena couldn't possibly afford new outfits for them.

"It looks like carnival started early," her husband Karl had commented with a pipe between his teeth.

Dressed in matching brocade waistcoats and jackets, complete with breeches, stockings, wigs, and buckled shoes, the boys resembled charming little page boys from a bygone century. Lena herself was dressed in an unfashionably heavy, burgundy brocade gown with a low neckline, a fitted narrow bodice, and sleeves with laced cuffs.

"Not only do I look like I've stepped out of Empress Maria Theresia's drawing room, but these lace cuffs are completely impractical for playing the piano," she remarked, lifting the lace covering her hands and shaking her head in mild frustration.

"I think it's lovely," Mona chimed in, pleased with her emerald-green robe cut in the same historic fashion.

Theo, dressed in a distinguished grey velvet suit with breeches, buckled shoes, and a grey wig looked particularly dapper.

"The fashion suits you, Theo," Lena said with a smile, appreciating his appearance. "You look like a gentleman."

Adam Klein, who had joined them as a violinist, looked around nervously. His wig was crooked on his head and the dark blue suit seemed too tight for him.

Her dream was on the brink of realisation—they were to make their debut that night at Metternich's soiree. Yet, paradoxically, she found herself wishing they didn't have to perform. It was their first time playing in such distinguished company. What if they failed? What if they forgot their music, their fingers became unresponsive, or, worse, the boys burst out into one of their laughing fits during their performance? What if the elite discovered they were really impostors and expelled them in disgrace? Such a failure could end their budding careers.

Sweat gathered under her arms at the mere thought.

"Never fear, Mama," Theo drawled as he alighted from the carriage and picked up his cello. "We're all heading for a shipwreck for sure. Relax in the knowledge that it will all end in disaster, chaos, and infamy, and we can enjoy every minute of it."

"Thank you, Theo," Lena replied stiffly, "you're no help at all."

As she turned away, Theo tugged at her sleeve. "We know the pieces by heart. You could wake us in the middle of the night, and we'd play them perfectly half asleep. There's no one in Vienna who can match us. Deep down, you know that's true. Step Aside, Paganini, for the Arenheims are coming." With a swagger, he headed for the servants' entrance at the side of the building.

"There's nothing wrong with some self-confidence, but yours borders on arrogance, Theseus Arenheim," Lena scolded. Yet she couldn't help smiling. Theo had managed to calm her nerves. Squaring her shoulders, she followed her children through the side entrance into the grand mansion.

"This place is full of naked people, Mama," the incorrigible Hector reported. He pointed to the statue of a man that stood at the top of the marble staircase. Indeed, the entire corridor resembled a gallery of Greek gods and goddesses and heroes, all naked.

"I wonder why they always have to plant a tiny leaf over that particular body part…" Les muttered as he inspected the statue of his namesake, Achilles.

Mona hushed him and ushered him along. "The guests will be arriving soon, and we need to set up and tune our instruments. Help us, boys."

The rooms where they were to perform were bright and airy, with high stuccoed ceilings, buttery yellow wallpaper, freshly waxed parquet flooring and a massive marble fireplace. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls, reflecting the light from the crystal chandeliers and making the entire room sparkle.

"How wonderful," Mona gasped.

A pianoforte stood in the corner of the room. This was where they would set up their instruments.

The event turned out to be less daunting than Lena had feared. Their task was simply to provide background music in the grand salon while the guests mingled. This meant that instead of the audience sitting and staring directly at them, there was a constant buzz of conversation and movement as people came and went. This informal setting meant that their performance wasn't the sole focus, which was a relief. If they weren't the centre of attention, then minor mistakes or mishaps were less likely to be noticed.

On the other hand, this could also be a source of irritation. Could the children concentrate and perform when the room was restless?

It turned out that they could. Both Hecki and Les comported themselves well, turning the pages with unwavering concentration. Lena was proud of them.

They started with a Trio by Haydn with just the strings. Then Lena joined them on the pianoforte for a piece by Mozart. They played very well. In fact, they'd never played it so well before.

Lena was pleased.

The room began to fill with people. They were all dressed in the latest expensive fashion, and it was clear that these were people from the top echelons of society, the statesmen of the nations of Europe. A small crowd had gathered around them, clapping politely.

"The music is first-rate. They play exceptionally well," said one gentleman to another, lifting his lorgnette to study them. He tapped his fingers lightly on his palm.

Elated, Lena stood up and bowed. Pride filled her.

"Let's play Mozart's second quartet," Adam Klein said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Lena nodded and sat down at the pianoforte.

It happened in the middle of the Allegretto. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. It was as if the music absorbed her and she and the music became one. Everything around her ceased to exist, and she felt and saw nothing else.

The sharp sound of glass smashing on the marble floor nearby jolted her out of her reverie. She flinched, and there was an infinitesimal pause as the music stopped.

"Continue," Adam growled.

Lena gave a shake of her head and struggled to regain her concentration. Then her fingers continued to fly over the keys.

There was a long applause when they finished. They stood and bowed.

"Intermission," Theo mouthed.

"Well done, children, well done," she told them, wiping her moist fingers on a handkerchief. "Let's take a short rest. Afterwards Hecki and Les can perform one of their pieces." The boys had rehearsed simple folk pieces suitable for the recorder flute.

She had half an hour to mingle with the guests and do what she had been sent here to do: spy. While she had been performing, she'd been far too immersed in the music to do so.

The problem was: how did one spy when one had no idea how to go about doing it?

Her eyes swept across the room of well-dressed people. Here she encountered another problem. How was she to report who said what to whom when she had not an inkling of who these people were? Most of them spoke French. It was the common language of diplomacy.

Lena understood enough French to follow a conversation, but she was rather rusty in it .

Near the fireplace were two gentlemen. One lean gentleman in plain, dark evening clothes and a pale, angular face leaned against the mantelpiece with his arms folded across his chest as he listened coldly to the tall, moustached man in a blue uniform.

"This is unacceptable," the uniformed man said tersely. "I insist that Prussia has a historical claim to the territory in Poland, especially if we are to restore the status quo as it was before the war. As for Saxony, our aim is to create a buffer zone to protect Prussia from further French aggression. Surely, Saxony's allegiance to Napoleon during the war cannot be overlooked."

"Your Majesty," the lean gentleman replied, unmoved, "the annexation of Saxony stands in stark contradiction to the principle of legitimacy and the restoration of the political order. Britain will not budge an inch from this position."

"Damnation, Castlereagh, Britain will have to budge eventually."

So this was Castlereagh, the one Karl had mentioned the other day, the representative of the British delegation. Her eyes wandered to the tall gentleman in the blue uniform who was scowling. Could he possibly be Frederick William, the King of Prussia? Her hand wandered to her mouth to cover her gasp. If so, she was standing in the presence of a king.

"Do we?" Castlereagh raised an eyebrow, a flicker of steel in his gaze. "Prussia has much to gain from a stable Europe. Perhaps a compromise can be reached on the Polish borders. As for Saxony, surely his majesty will agree that a strong, independent, but contented Saxony would serve as a better buffer against French aggression than a resentful one under Prussian rule?"

Lena leaned forwards to listen further, but several people moved in front of the couple by the fireside, so she could no longer hear what they were saying.

That would have to do, she decided. Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry. Espionage made one thirsty. She grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of the nearest footman, not caring that it might be inappropriate as she was not a guest.

She wandered into the next room, drinking thirstily. There, too, were groups of people standing about, deep in conversation.

Her eyes fell on a handsome man who seemed to be watching her. He was well-dressed, medium height, with receding dark blond hair slicked back from his high forehead. When their eyes met, he curled his lips into a half-smile and—goodness! Had he just winked at her?

She glanced over one shoulder, then the other, then looked back at him, but there was no one else he could have meant.

A blush crept up her neck. Why did he do that? How dare he? She was just a musician, hadn't he seen her perform? How dare he flirt with her?

The man, now smirking outright, raised his glass as if to greet her, which threw her into even greater confusion. Did they know each other? She was certain she'd never met the man before in her entire life. Then he turned to his companion, an older gentleman with a wig, silk breeches and stockings, who was leaning on a stick and looking bored as he listened to the blond man talk .

Now that particular gentleman seemed vaguely familiar. Why was that? It took her a moment to register his identity. Didn't Karl say earlier that he was dressed in an old-fashioned style, just like she was? Excitement filled her. If so, then this must be Monsieur de Talleyrand…

As she tried to organise her thoughts about what she knew of the French statesman, her gaze drifted to the palm trees by the window, where a tall, dark-haired gentleman stood, staring at her as if she were a ghost.

Their eyes locked.

There was a stern, pale expression on his face, his jaw was set, and his eyes, his eyes…oh, heavens, his eyes!

They penetrated her very soul.

Her heart fluttered wildly and she began to tremble.

Who was he? And what did that look in his eyes mean? There was shock, anger…agony? No one had ever looked at her like that before. She was certain he was a stranger. Then why did she suddenly feel like bursting into tears?

Dazed, she began to drift towards him.

Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Helena. Hector has disappeared." Lena blinked and looked up into the familiar watery blue eyes of Adam Klein.

"Adam. What…what is the matter?" She blinked at him as if waking from a dream.

She glanced at the window again, but the man was gone. Had he been a mere figment of her imagination? It was hot and stuffy in the room and she'd downed that glass of champagne too quickly, leaving her dizzy. But surely, she couldn't be drunk from just one glass of champagne?

"Helena. Are you well?" There was a look of concern on Adam's face.

"Yes, yes, I am merely…dizzy." She shook her head to clear her brain. "What is the matter?"

"Hector. It appears he has run off," Adam said tersely.

Lena came to her senses. "Hector?"

"He's disappeared."

"He can't have gone far." Her eyes swept the room.

Theo arrived with the others in tow. "Where is he, Les? Surely you must know something. You two are always in league together."

Les shrugged. "I don't know. I was bored, so I kept myself busy counting the crystals in the chandelier. One moment he was here, the next he was gone."

"That little rascal," Theo muttered. "I'll tan his hide."

"What are we to do now?" Mona whispered. "We have to play again soon."

"Theo, go with Mona and search the rooms on the right. Les, Adam, and I will go to the left. We'll meet back here in ten minutes."

"Where could that boy be?" Lena's eyes swept the room.

"When it comes to Hecki, always follow your nose, Mama." Theo stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. "The smell of fondant, chocolate, and marzipan definitely coming from yonder room over there," he said with conviction, pointing to the next room.

Indeed, a lavish buffet had been set up there. True to Theo's prediction, Hecki was standing next to the cake buffet, his mouth smeared with chocolate. He was in the process of plucking the brandied cherries from each dish and popping them into his mouth.

"Hector Arenheim," Lena exclaimed, relieved and annoyed at the same time. "How can you leave us like this in the middle of the performance?"

"All thish shocolate ish sho goood, Mama," Hecki hiccuped. He grinned, then popped another brandied cherry into his mouth.

"Good heavens. Are you drunk? How many of those cherries have you eaten?"

"Many," Hecki grinned. "Very many. Couldn't shtop."

"The boy's as drunk as a fiddler," Adam said. "It takes but a handful of those brandy-soaked cherries to get a little boy like him roaring drunk." He shook his head.

This set Hecki off into a whoop of laughter. "Haha, drunk as a fiddler, haha!"

"For heaven's sake, child." Lena bent over the boy, worried. "What are we to do now? Quick, bring a glass of water," she told Adam, who immediately left to do so.

Theo arrived with Mona. "So this is where he is. Stuffing his face with sweets."

Les's eyes grew round and he, too, began to surreptitiously help himself.

"Don't touch the brandied cherries!" Lena exclaimed. Heaven help them if Les, too, ended up drunk.

Adam returned with a water glass and Lena lifted it to Hecki's mouth. He drank it with thirsty gulps .

In the meantime, the other children stuffed themselves with sweetmeats.

"We haven't had any supper, Mama," Theo defended himself as he bit into an eclair.

Lena looked around nervously. "Children, we are employees, not guests. I am not at all sure we're allowed to help ourselves here." She threw a furtive look around her shoulder, then she grabbed a piece of almond cake, a macaroon, a raspberry tart, and a piece of chocolate cake, folded them into a napkin and pressed them into Mona's hands. "Quick, take this."

In the meantime, Hector bowed to everyone in sight. " Küss die Hand, gn?' Frau ," he said gallantly, bowing to all and sundry, including the palm tree in the corner.

The ladies tittered. "Isn't he charming?"

"You were the performers from earlier," a low male voice said behind them.

Lena whirled around.

Hector beamed. "Yes we are, mon-monsieur. Did you likesh our music?" And then he turned pale, hiccupped, made a face, and vomited on Monsieur de Talleyrand's buckled diamond shoes.