Joanna Maitland – His Reluctant Mistress (страница 3)
‘So we’re leaving immediately?’ Jack asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. As soon as may be. Castlereagh has already left for Paris.’
‘Oh. I see. But what about—? I mean—I can’t leave England if—’
‘Forget about it, brat. Your little Prussian friend took ship for Holland over a week ago, with all his winnings tucked safely in his pocket.’
Jack’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.
‘And now, if you don’t mind,’ Leo said pointedly, ‘I should be grateful for the return of my coat.’
‘Again.’
Obediently, Sophie took a breath, braced her stomach muscles, and began again, humming the top three notes and then opening her throat to allow the volume to increase as she sang down the scale. Her head was buzzing from the humming. Very satisfying. Her voice was placed precisely as it should be.
‘Hmm. Good enough. Now, a semi-tone higher, if you please.’ Verdicchio touched a key on the pianoforte.
Sophie sang the scale. But she had to repeat it three times before her voice coach was satisfied. Then, gradually, he took her up another half-octave until she had reached the top of her range. The sound was good, and right in the centre of the notes. Sophia Pietre was famous as the Venetian Nightingale, the singer who was never shrill, and never sang flat. It had taken her years to perfect that round, gleaming tone. It had brought her wealth, and a certain notoriety. But she remembered, very well, what it had been to be poor, totally dependent on Verdicchio, and never sure whether she would be thrown out on the street for failing one of his interminable tests.
‘Sophie! Pay attention!’ He slapped his hand down on the keys, producing a loud, discordant sound.
‘I apologise, Maestro. I will do better.’ She swallowed. ‘What would you have me sing now?’
He took her through a number of simple ballads, of the kind she sang to entertain the guests at private parties. They showed off the range and colour of her voice, without overpowering the audience as operatic arias sometimes did. After the songs, Verdicchio insisted she rehearse two of the arias from the operatic role she was currently performing. Sophie did not need to practise them, but she humoured him, omitting only the highest notes, as he always advised her to do during practice. ‘Your top Cs, my dear Sophie,’ he used to say, ‘are diamonds of the first water. Not to be squandered. Only to be shared with those who are prepared to pay the price for them.’
He was nodding now. ‘Good, good. Excellent even. Your phrasing has improved here.’ He pointed to a passage in the score. ‘It makes the words clearer and the effect more emotional. You will have the ladies swooning in their boxes tonight.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Let us hope so. For we have only two more performances and no promises yet of any further roles. We live a very expensive life now, Maestro.’ She gestured round their rehearsal room which, at Verdicchio’s insistence, had been furnished with every possible luxury, just like the rest of their Venice apartment. ‘If I am not offered another role soon, we shall be hard pressed to pay the bills.’
‘You do have another role, my child.’
Sophie’s stomach clenched. How long had he known? Why had he said nothing until now?
‘You are to sing for a most august audience.’ He looked up from the pianoforte and smiled into her face. It was a sly, knowing smile. She distrusted it totally. ‘You are to sing at—But, no. Let it be a surprise. We leave Venice on Friday.’
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Verdicchio was no longer looking at her. He had turned back to the pianoforte and was idly playing a composition of his own, closely modelled on a Mozart sonata.
She bit her lip. After so many years, he still had her in his power. He controlled not only her career, but also every penny she earned, for he was determined that she should never be able to break free. He was succeeding. For now. The little cache of money she had saved was not yet enough to allow her to flee from him. But it was growing, week by week, and month by month. In another year, perhaps, she would have enough.
‘That was beautiful, Maestro,’ she said dutifully, as he played the final extravagant arpeggio and turned to receive her approval. She hoped he would not notice that she was avoiding his eye. ‘And our new home? I can wait until Friday to learn where we are going, if that is your wish. Though it would perhaps be profitable to allow me to mention our destination to some of my gentlemen admirers. They might wish to follow us, or even to provide a parting gift. Some of them, as you know—’ she lifted her left hand so that the diamonds at her wrist caught the light ‘—have been exceedingly generous.’
Verdicchio frowned up at her. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted at last. ‘The Baron especially. He seems to have more diamonds than an Indian nabob. It would do no harm at all, for our finances, if he strung a few more round your lovely neck.’
Sophie smiled to acknowledge his great wisdom, and waited.
‘Very well, my dear. You will not like it, I know, but the contract is signed. You are to sing before the crowned heads of Europe. At the Congress of Vienna.’
‘Vienna? No! Impossible! You know I cannot go there. Half the German aristocracy will be there. What if someone were to recognise me? I should be disgraced.’
‘You are a singer. So you are disgraced already. And no one will recognise you, in any case. As far as the world knows, you are Sophia Pietre, an Italian singer trained here in Venice, by a noted Venetian master.’ He smirked. ‘Why should anyone suspect otherwise? After all, you are a grown woman now.’
‘You learned it here in Venice, in order to be able to sing the German arias of Signor Mozart, among others. And to converse in their native tongue with the German gentlemen who visit the opera. After all, you speak English almost as well as you speak German, and there are no English operas to perform.’
For once, he was absolutely right. She spoke four languages fluently: Italian, German, English and French. Her ability to speak German like a native probably would not betray the secret of her past. Probably.
But the thought of going to Vienna and meeting Emperors, Kings, and Princes, one of them the ruler of her own country, was more terrifying than the prospect of a whole life ruled by Verdicchio. For, if any of her countrymen should divine who she really was, even the most glorious voice in the world would not save her from ruin.
Chapter Two
Leo rose in his saddle and looked around him, savouring the warm late October sunshine and the glorious countryside around Vienna. It was very satisfying to have some solitude at last. The city was full to overflowing with incomers, many of whom were spending fortunes to impress the local populace and the visiting monarchs. Leo and Jack did not. They could not afford to live in anything like the style appropriate to their rank, for paying off Jack’s gambling debt had made money very tight. They had been forced to take cramped rooms above an inn, the Gasthof Brunner, a long way from the centre of the city.
There were picnics and dinners and balls and all sorts of extravagant entertainments every day, even on Sundays. Leo and Jack had had to divide their forces in order to attend as many as they possibly could, in hopes of picking up useful intelligence. In fairness, they had had some minor successes, and their contacts in the British delegation were pleased with the results so far. But Vienna society was a sore trial. So many petty aristocrats, some of them with their pockets even more to let than Leo’s, yet very quick to sneer at any man without a title.
As it happened, he and Jack did have titles. But they were also spies. So they had to be extremely careful not to be caught and expelled from the city. It had happened already to others. A suspected spy was simply summoned to the office of Baron Hager, the chief of police, to be informed that his passport was not
Very neat indeed. The Austrians were doing their very best to ensure that the Congress proceeded without embarrassment. Not that the Austrian Emperor Francis, or the other monarchs, were taking any obvious part in it. While their chief ministers met and plotted in deepest secrecy, the monarchs and their courtiers danced. Alexander, Tsar of all the Russias, was the most prominent of them all. The man seemed to need no sleep and to be able to dance all night, provided only that there were enough beautiful ladies to partner him. The Tsar was never seen to dance with an ugly woman, no matter how elevated her station.
Leo shifted in his saddle and stroked his gloved hand down his mount’s glossy neck. At least Jack had managed to locate a livery stable with excellent horses for hire. Leo’s bay gelding, Hector, was a very fine animal indeed, and Leo had soon established a rapport with him, using his few words of basic German.