Chapter One
Music filledthe redolent evening air.
Lena Arenheim stepped out of the shop and onto the busy street, clutching a violin case and several sheets of music to her chest. She paused, threw her head back and closed her eyes, immersing herself in the intoxicating cacophony of sounds around her.
Church bells. A tenor singing an aria. The enthusiastic plucking of a violin. Lena smiled at the scratchy, crooked melody of the waltz, which had a certain charm.
There were other sounds, too—the clatter of horse hooves, the squeaking of carriage wheels, the hurried slap of leather boots on cobblestones, and the melodic calls of street vendors hawking lavender, chestnuts, onions, and other wares.
“ServusSepp!” a man greeted his friend.
An anxious woman’s voice called out repeatedly, “Catherine!”
Jugglers and magicians, dancers, and travellingmusicians occupied every available space in the busy, narrow streets. All of Vienna had been transformed into a magnificent, glittering fairground, and the Congress had not even officially begun.
Humming to the crooked waltz tunes, Lena skipped over a puddle and stopped in front of an elegant hosiery shop.Oh my! What fine stockings they were.The latest fashion, silk, in all colours, ribbed, plain or embroidered with the loveliest floral patterns.
She wiggled her toes in her grubby boots and felt her toe peek through a hole. How lovely it would be to have a pair of those stockings, in pastel pink with matching garters. Her own woollen stockings had been darned countless times. They were scratchy and misshapen, a hopeless grey. No amount of scrubbing and bleaching could restore them to their original white state.
She looked longingly at the delicate stockings in the shop window. How much could they cost? Leaning forwards until her forehead almost touched the glass, she squinted to read the scrawl on the small piece of paper pinned to it.
“FiftyGulden?” She gasped. “Are they mad?” She could buy a dozen pairs of shoes with that. She could feed the whole family for a month, if not more. But that staggering amount for a single pair of stockings?
“Unbelievable.” She lifted her head to read the elegant golden script on the glass:Schönberger Strümpfe, and underneath, in finer letters,K u k Hoflieferant.
Well, that explained it. This shop was an Imperial and Royal Court Supplier, delivering directly to the court. The Empress herself wore stockings from here.
With a wry smile, she concluded that this was not the place to buy her stockings. She was, after all, on Kohlmarkt, a narrow, elegant street leading to the Imperial Palace. It was home to the most fashionable and expensive shops in the empire.
The glass door opened with a jingle and a man in a fine suit stepped out and held the door open for a haughty-looking lady in an elegant redingote trimmed with fur, followed by two liveried footmen carrying boxes.
“Küss die Hand, gnä’ Frau, please visit us again,” the man said as he bowed deeply. It was a typical Viennese greeting, meaning ‘Kiss your hand, gracious lady’.
The lady stepped out into the street, passing Lena as if she were air.
The man, no doubt the shopkeeper, saw Lena and wrinkled his nose. “No loitering here.” He made a shooing motion, as if she were a fly he was trying to swat away. “Move on now, move on.”
“I was merely looking,” Lena began, but the man raised his arm to hail a man in a grey uniform with a kepi on his head on the other side of the street.
“I’ll call the guard if you don’t move. There’s one right there.”
“Very well, I’ll go.” She moved away hastily. The last thing she wanted was trouble with the police. They were especially strict these days, patrolling the streets and arresting anyone who looked the least bit suspicious.
She hurried along the street towards the palace, lifting her mud-splattered skirt and jumping over a pile of horse dung to reach the other side. How dare thatshopkeeper treat her as if she were an inferior person just because she was not wearing an expensive ermine coat? What if she had actuallywantedto spend fiftyGuldenon a pair of stockings? What if?—
“Look out, woman!” a voice roared. Horses neighed, brakes squeaked. Jerking her head up in time, Lena realised she’d nearly collided with a carriage. She jumped back, stumbled, slipped, and fell into a pile of manure. Her heart thudded violently in her chest.Goodness, that had been dangerously close.
“Gather your wits, Lena,” she scolded herself. She pulled herself up, her fingers trembling as she wiped the manure from her skirts. Thank goodness she had clung tightly to Theo’s violin; the instrument was undamaged. It was priceless, nearly a century old, passed down through generations of the Arenheim family. The thought of anything happening to it was unthinkable. The notes were scattered all over the street. Her precious music, trampled in the manure by the horses.
The coachman had stopped the carriage and was shouting curses at her. Lena ignored him and picked up the muddy sheets.
“Catherine!”
The wind scattered the papers further, and Lena scrambled after a sheet before it flew under the carriage. She bent down to pick up another when suddenly someone grabbed her arm and pulled her around.
“Catherine!”
She found herself staring into the dark eyes of a young woman who'd climbed down from the carriage that had almost run her over.
