A Minor Deception by Nupur Tustin

Author:Nupur Tustin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Joseph Haydn Mystery - Book 1
Publisher: Foiled Plots Press
Published: 2016-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The carriage conveying the Kapellmeister and his brother to Mörbisch am See pulled up at last outside the Widow Heindl’s farmhouse. Haydn, leaning out of the window, saw a sandstone structure with a thick covering of snow on its roof shingles. The solid wooden door opened a crack just as the carriage rolled to a stop, and a pair of sharp, blue eyes peered out.

The door opened a little wider, revealing a plump, rosy-cheeked face in the doorway. The midwife, herself, no doubt, Haydn concluded, noticing the gray curls straggling loose from under her red scarf.

“You are musicians?” Frau Heindl’s gaze traveled curiously over the gold embroidery on Haydn’s court uniform. “From the castle”—her eyes came to rest on Haydn’s face—“Bartó—”

“Yes, where is Bartó?” Michael demanded, regarding the widow with an expression of extreme distrust on his face.

“He is not here. Why should he be?” A flicker of annoyance crossed Frau Heindl’s pleasant features as Michael stood on tiptoe, craning his neck to see over her shoulder into her courtyard.

Michael had opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when Haydn directed a quelling glance at him.

The widow turned toward Haydn with a frown. “It is true, then, Bartó has left his post?”

Haydn nodded. “It is true he has left, but—”

“Ach, poor child! I had hoped it was Gerhard’s envy speaking when he said Bartó was gone. Marlene, poor child, refuses to believe he has abandoned her. But, it has been three days since he has come by to see her…”

Michael had turned a deep shade of purple at the mention of Marlene. He would have spoken but for the urgent glare Haydn directed at him. His middle brother had all the tact of a bugle in the hunting field; his abrasive manner as offensive as the piercing call of that brass instrument sounding next to an unsuspecting eardrum.

“That is when Bartó left—about three days ago.” Haydn pronounced his words with care, still glaring at Michael, who was sputtering indignantly. He turned toward the widow “When was the last time you saw him?”

Frau Heindl squinted as she considered the question. “It must have been a day or two before the snowstorm,” she said finally. “We had not expected him on the day of the storm, of course. Still, when there was a knock on the door, poor Marlene could hardly contain herself.” The widow shook her head at the memory. “But it was only a stranger seeking shelter from the storm.

“Bartó left three days ago, you say?” If the widow was aware of Michael glowering at her, she gave no sign of it.

“He has deserted his position, but he appears to be in the vicinity, still.” Haydn allowed his eyes to drift toward a window to the left of the door. The bedchamber was usually in the front in farmhouses such as this one. “We were hoping Marlene might have some knowledge of his whereabouts.”

The widow had been listening closely to Haydn. “That she might,” she said, stepping aside from the door.

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