CHAPTER 9

I spent the rest of the day listening to my mother talk incessantly about Frau Zimmer, the matchmaker, who had left before I returned. I kept trying to find an excuse to run an errand, but she continued to create little tasks that would keep me busy until the curfew bells rang and it would be foolish to go out by myself.

Toby and I had our dinner at the table in the dining parlor, and Mama took hers on a tray. She was under strictest orders from the apothecary not to rise from her bed, which obliged either me or Greta to empty her chamber pot into the water closet. Although ours was not as advanced an apartment as some, it was equipped with a pan that would send the waste down to the sewers beneath the city—built only in the last ten years—and refill it again from a cistern placed on the roof. It was a luxury not to have to go outside to visit the privy, which we had to do when we resided in the country at Esterhaza.

“Here is a list of your chores for tomorrow. There will be no time for you to wander off. I wish I could rise myself and help with some of the work. Activity can be so soothing.”

I looked at the long list Mama handed me. It included washing her linens, mending all the stockings, counting the silver and other valuables to inventory for the matchmaker so that she would know exactly the state of our wealth, and writing a begging letter to Uncle Theobald, requesting a meeting with him at his home with our lawyer. “Do we have a lawyer?” I asked.

“We’ll get someone to pretend to be one. He won’t know. The point is, it probably will not come to that, because he will immediately recall his obligation and make over the funds for your dowry.” Mama’s mind was back to its old self with these plottings and plannings of hers. I also noted that she had regained her appetite and had a bloom in her cheeks. Perhaps she had suffered such a severe shock upon seeing my father dead that all her mourning had been concentrated in a few days of inertia and madness. I did not know. Or perhaps the need to provide for the infant she carried made her postpone her sorrow, as I had mine. What ever it was, I was not a little apprehensive about how matters would develop, and what changes I might see from one day’s end to the next. I was rather glad she’d been insensible when I showed her the medallion, or it might well have gone the way of the viola and been converted to cash. I did not want to relinquish it until I found out exactly what it meant. I must continue with my own plans, no matter what.

“Toby will need new clothes to start his apprenticeship next week,” I reminded Mama, suddenly struck with an inspiration. “I shall take him to the tailor tomorrow. I think that’s much more urgent than anything else at the moment.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” She could not argue. Only a few days before Christmas she herself had commented that Toby’s breeches barely covered his knees anymore. And now I had engineered a way to leave the apartment for an indefinite period of time. Which was essential. In addition to meeting with Haydn (Toby would just have to wait patiently for me), I had awakened that morning with the conviction that I must find my own way back to the Gypsy camp and look for the violin. Where else could it be? Even if they had not killed him, the Gypsies would be more likely to understand the value of a fine instrument than some desperate robber, who was probably looking for coins. It gave me some satisfaction to think that Papa had not yet received his bonus, and would have had little beyond the few Kreutzer he carried for daily expenses. I could leave Toby with the tailor for the price of enough sweets and promise of more, find the same driver at the stand, and use some of the precious money my godfather had given me as bribes if necessary.

The next day started out exactly as I had planned. Toby was happy enough to get away from Mama’s constant prodding and quizzing him about his letters and sums, and I was so determined to follow the course I had laid out for myself that I didn’t even mind his skipping forward and running back, stopping at vegetable stands and peering into shop windows. Despite growing all in a rush recently, Toby was still small. I couldn’t imagine him working twelve hours a day learning a trade. His delicate hands that did such fine work on the miniature wooden toys he carved would soon be rough and calloused. I had seen the boys in Herr Goldschmidt’s workshop. They all had pale, dirty faces and wheezed a little when they spoke. I expected the wood dust settled in their lungs. If they could make it through, though, they would have a craft that would assure them a decent living. The apprenticeship lasted nine long years. Toby would be a man by the time he was finished. No harm in letting him remain a child for a while longer.

By the time we had walked out Marienhilferstrasse to Haydn’s apartment, thinking about what lay ahead for Toby had thoroughly chastened me. How could I be so unhappy at the prospect of marrying and keeping a house when my young brother would soon be little better than a slave to the exacting Herr Goldschmidt and suffer beatings if he made mistakes?

These worries were soon overtaken by others. I walked into the parlor of Haydn’s apartment with a great deal of trepidation. Had my notation the day before been correct? I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“My dear, my dear, my dear!” Godfather Haydn said. “You are quite as talented as your father. I thought as much. There wasn’t a wrong note to be found anywhere.”

I was relieved. But now I would have to work even harder to make sure my accuracy wasn’t just the luck of inexperience. We got right to it, and in an hour I had put down the next two movements of the quartet. The maestro thanked me again, gathered up his cloak, and left just as quickly as he had the day before. I collected Toby from the kitchen. We raced back into town, both breathless by the time we stopped at the tailor’s. I gave Herr Machen the instructions for the clothing that Toby would need, mostly practical coats and shirts and breeches with reinforced knees. I used one of the silver Thaler Haydn had given me to pay for the clothes, and asked if he could get the cobbler to stop in. When the tailor left us alone in his stuffy workshop for a moment while he went to get Herr Schober, the cobbler, I took Toby by the shoulders and made him attend to me.

“There is something I must do, and no one—least of all Mama—must know about it. I have to leave you here. Do you know the way home?”

“Yes. It’s not far from here, and I’m not a baby, you know.”

“Tell me.”

He sighed impatiently. “I head toward the Hofburg.”

“That’s right. And mind you don’t take shortcuts down any deserted alleys. When the cobbler finishes measuring your feet, you’re to go straight back. I don’t want you being kidnapped and sold to the Gypsies!” I said. “Here is a Kreutzer in case you need it. Tell Mama that I had to run an errand for Kapellmeister Haydn.”

“She won’t like it,” he said, crossing his arms and frowning.

“She won’t, but I have to do this. You can either make trouble for me, or you can help me. It’s important.” I stared him down. He was stubborn, but I was more so.

“All right.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise.”

I knew I was taking a risk by leaving him to find his own way home, but he was a smart lad, it was not even midday yet, and the weather was fine. He wore his warmest cloak and new stockings that I had knitted for him just before Christmas.

I had taken care to dress as drably and modestly as I could, but I still felt as if I drew stares from everyone I passed. Some men who were laying bricks for a wall called out rude things to me, like “There’s a ripe one!” and “Come on over and give us a kiss!” I knew they were just doing it for a laugh, but I wanted to spit at them. I wasn’t trying to attract their attention. Why couldn’t they just ignore me? I checked several times to be sure the medallion and its gold chain were well hidden, and I pulled my cloak around me to hide myself as much as possible. Groups of men had frightened me ever since Marie whispered to me that one of the servants’ daughters had been brutally raped when she took a shortcut down a deserted alley on her way home from the market. Her parents were so ashamed they sent her off to be a menial in a convent. I never understood why they blamed her, and no one made much of an effort to find the men who attacked her.

By the time I reached the carriage stand, I was beginning to have serious doubts that I could get back to the Gypsy camp without creating so much of a fuss that the entire world would know I had gone. But I’d come this far. Now I just had to find the driver who would take me. I didn’t recognize any of them from the day before. It was entirely possible that the one we’d had was out with another passenger.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the first fellow I came upon, leaning one elbow against the flank of one of his horses. He was older than the others, so I thought it would seem less odd for me to approach him. He stared at me as if to say, “Get out of my way, little girl, I’m waiting for business.” “Excuse me,” I repeated, not to be put off, “but I’m looking to engage a carriage.”

“Oh, you are? And where might you want this carriage to take you?”

“I—” I couldn’t continue. Where did I want him to go? I hadn’t been able to watch the direction. All I had was the vaguest description. “There’s a camp, of the Romany people, by the river,” I whispered.

The driver almost sent me tumbling back on the ground with the force of his laughter. “You want to go to the Gypsy camp, alone? Don’t you have a mother to tell you such things are dangerous, Fräulein?”

By now all the drivers were looking in our direction. Some had even drawn closer to hear the dispute. “I can pay good money,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Nein,” he said. “There’s no money good enough to make me take such a risk.” He turned to his mates. “Here, lads, she wants to go run off to the Gypsies! Maybe she thinks she can swallow fire, or tell fortunes.”

Right at that moment, I just wanted to run away, to find Zoltán and ask him to come with me. I looked down at the ground. The drivers all went back to their carriages, laughing and joking at my expense. I turned and started to walk away. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked around to see that one of the younger carriage drivers had followed me.

“I know where the camp is, Fräulein.”

“And will you take me there?”

“Cost ye,” he said quietly.

“How much?” I whispered.

“Five Gulden.”

I almost exclaimed aloud. That was half the money I had left. “That is too much! I shall give you one Thaler.”

“In advance.”

I paused for a moment, then remembered that Zoltán had paid the driver first yesterday, and so I fished out the coin from my reticule. He examined it carefully, tucked it in his pocket, then walked off in the direction of the carriage stand. I assumed I was to follow him.

His was the most dilapidated-looking vehicle of all. One of the wheels was missing a spoke, and as I climbed in, it creaked so that I feared a deep rut would shatter the entire thing to pieces. I crossed myself and said a quick prayer to St. Christopher. As we drew away from the main street and into the countryside, my heart began to pound. How did I know this fellow would take me where I wanted to go? He could simply drive me out to the deepest part of the woods, rob me, and leave me to starve or be eaten by wolves or wild boar. Why had I been so foolish! Why could I not have trusted Zoltán to help me? Because he did not believe, as I did, that the Gypsies had killed and robbed my father. If not for money, then for his violin. And how exactly would I find it? Would I walk up to that Danior fellow and demand to search his wagon?

By the time my driver reined in his horse, I had worked myself into quite a state, and was trying to figure out how to tell him just to turn around and take us back to Vienna.

“We’ve arrived, Fräulein,” he called down, making no move to get off the box. Clearly he was not going to hand me out of the carriage. I’m here, I thought. This was what I wanted, to look for answers. I couldn’t just back away at the first sign of difficulty. I opened the door and climbed down. There was the camp, a few hundred paces away. Although he’d stopped under cover of the woods, he had brought me where I’d asked him to. I started to walk toward the huts and wagons when I heard the driver say, “Get up now!” and turned around to see him starting up at a brisk trot, heading away from me.

“Where are you going?” I yelled. “How shall I get back?”

“Half the money, half the trip!” he called back. I swore he was laughing.

Now what was I to do? A look at the sky told me that I had only a couple of hours before the short winter day would end. I thought about abandoning my quest and simply walking eastward down the river until I reached Vienna. But I had taken such a risk already, and would not be likely to dare such a thing again. I didn’t have enough money to squander another Thaler, for one thing. And it would be a shame to leave without at least trying to find out something, see if any of the Romany had heard or seen anything that night. I smoothed my cloak and wrapped it around me tightly, then walked with determination toward the Gypsy camp.