Memorist by M. J. Rose

Author:M. J. Rose [Rose, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mira
Published: 2008-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 46

Vienna, Austria

October 18th, 1814

Across the room the Tsar caught Margaux’s eye and smiled disarmingly. There were two men standing in front of him but the monarch towered over them, so while they believed they had his full attention, he was able to play his eye games with Margaux.

Even though the salon buzzed with conversation and the string quartet’s delightful music, nothing lessened the underlying note of sadness that played for Margaux no matter where she was, what she was doing or who was flirting with her.

The more lovely the moment, the more aware she was of Caspar’s plight and the more desperate her mission became. How much longer could she afford to wait? Day after day, she visited Herr Beethoven and witnessed his continual inability to decipher the memory song while Caspar languished in some unimaginable monastery on another continent. How ill was he? Would he survive until she raised the money? How long would it take to find him? She took a breath, deep and disconsolate, and let it out slowly, wishing she could give in and cry instead of standing so straight and making this effort at control. If she could stop loving her husband she would. Give it up for a day without worry, without the fear of what would happen to him if she failed. But she couldn’t stop. Neither loving him nor trying to save him.

The Tsar, one of the richest men in the world, was glancing her way again, his gray eyes intent and inviting. She returned his gaze.

If Major Archer Wells wasn’t authorized to purchase the flute for the Rothschilds without the score, perhaps the Tsar could be tempted by the idea of the object’s magic. Now. Before it was too late. She fought her rising panic. Double-dealing was dangerous but grief tempered her fear. Now was not the time for retreat; she’d spent too many days setting up this meeting.

Margaux’s lovely home was filled with clever and important people, fine food and charming music. It was all a patina. The threads that held the partygoers’ polite masks in place were fragile. Everyone in Vienna had an agenda and a plan for how the reapportionment of Europe would work best for them now that Napoleon was in exile. To the victor had gone the spoils, and now that the victor had been vanquished they were all arguing about how the spoils would be doled out. Despite the lofty talk about doing what was best for all nations, each country was ultimately concerned only with its own interests. So even here tonight, at what purported to be a totally social gathering, nothing was as it seemed.

Margaux looked at the Tsar again, responding not with the flirting she knew he expected but with a straightforward glance. She was betting the best way to play this game was not to play it at all. The power of the unexpected. One of the lessons Caspar had taught her along with a hundred others. So she held

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