Papa shook the man’s hand. “Herr Leopold Mozart.” He bowed his head slightly. I caught a glimpse of my father’s eyes—and saw a hint of pleasure coiled within them. He was waiting for the tailor to recognize his name.
To Papa’s satisfaction, the man’s grin widened. “Ah, Herr Mozart of Salzburg!” he exclaimed, taking my father’s hand with both of his. “I’ve heard a great deal about your arrival to our city, friend. Your children are to perform at the palace soon, yes?”
When Papa nodded, the tailor’s eyes turned round. I watched him carefully. More and more, he reminded me of Hyacinth—a hint of blue in his skin whenever he turned; a slight slant of his eyes, a trick of the light; a flash of his bright teeth. I wondered if he had leapt into the body of a man in order to prepare us for our debut. His eyes darted between Woferl and me. “Rest assured, children, that you will leave here looking like royalty.” The man’s smile had grown so large by now that I thought it might fall from his face.
“Thank you, sir,” Papa replied. “Spare no expense. I want them at their best.”
I glanced quickly at our father. Mama would scold him for this later, if he ever revealed how much he was willing to spend on our clothes. Already, I could imagine her arms crossed and her lips tight.
The man bowed. “Let me fetch several others. We will beginstraightaway.” With that, he hurried off. Woferl made a move to dart after him, but I grabbed my brother’s arm and spoke sharply. I did not want Papa to think I could not mind him.
The man soon returned with his help. Two dressmakers, one clothier, and one assistant. They approached me with a new garment and I held my arms up so that they could pull the stay tightly around my waist, the inner boning pressing against my ribs. The gown itself was made from deep blue satin, smooth and soft and cold to the touch, open in front to reveal the creamy layers of petticoats buried underneath. The collar was high, concealing the skin of my clavicle and throat. One of my hands stayed pressed against my blue pendant, deep in my petticoat’s pocket.
I stared at my reflection as the dressmakers and clothier worked, my eyes locked on the mirror standing before us. My cheeks looked flushed from the cold streets.
Nearby, I could see my brother wriggling throughout his own fitting. At one point, he hopped down from his dais and ran to our father to hold up his shining cuff links, forcing his clothier to hurry after him. I looked on in silence, unable to mind him. The rigid structure of my dress dug into me, holding me back. Even if I wanted, I could not move my arms as freely as Woferl could.
Would this be how I performed before royalty? Barely able to move?
When they finished, Papa guided me to the nearby wig shop and parlor. There, the wigmakers pulled my hair back and away from my face, fitting me with a curled wig that piled high on my head and then tumbled down my shoulders in a cascade. They patted the hair with white powder until the fine dust floated in the air around us. I wrinkled my nose at its stale scent. The weight of it made me keep my head and neck at a strict, straight angle.I tried to puzzle out how to lean into my music as I played while wearing such a thing.
Noon approached, and finally we finished our fittings. As we thanked the clothier and made our way out, I cast one final glance over my shoulder. The tailor smiled back, his tall figure cutting a long shadow on the floor. His teeth were very white, his eyes so blue they seemed to glow.
“I’ll see you soon, Nannerl,” he said. I looked at my father for his reaction, but he did not seem to notice. Only Woferl tightened his hand in mine. I tried to remind myself that this must be part of Hyacinth’s plan. In order for me to perform, I must first look the part.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of practice, as did the next.
I could not sleep the night before our performance. Instead, I stared at the ceiling in silence, drowning in thoughts. My glass pendant lay tucked underneath my pillow, so that I could feel its slight bump against the back of my head. I let myself take comfort in its presence. A reminder of my wish.
“Nannerl?”
I turned to look at my brother. His eyes blinked back at me in the darkness. I propped myself up on one elbow and smiled at him. “You should rest,” I whispered.
“So should you,” he protested, “but you’re not.” He glanced over to where our father slept, afraid that he would stir.
It had not occurred to me that Woferl might be nervous too. I reached over and took his hand in mine. I was small for my age, but his fingers were tiny even in my palm. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” I said gently. “All of Austria is excited to hear you. The emperor requested you personally. You will not disappoint.”
Woferl closed his little fingers around one of mine. “I’m not afraid,” he said.
I smiled again. “Then why are you awake?”
Woferl scooted closer to me, buried his head in my pillow, and pointed toward the clavier. I followed his hand until my eyes rested on my notebook. It was closed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The notebook is singing,” he whispered. “I can’t sleep.”
I turned my head quickly back to the clavier. We fell silent. I heard the sound of a late-night coach from the streets below, the whisper of wind, Papa’s gentle snore, a trickle of water from some mysterious place. I did not hear the music.
“Are you sure?” I whispered to Woferl. “What do you mean?”
He wrinkled his nose at me. “Nannerl!” he exclaimed in a quiet hiss. “It is singing right now—you can’t hear it? It is very loud.”
It must be Hyacinth. He has done something to my notebook. He is here.
I waited for a minute, forcing my breathing to stay even, until Woferl began to squirm. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed, rested my feet on the floor, and slowly made my way to the clavier. Still I heard nothing. The floor numbed my feet. I took care not to tremble.
I should be in bed,I thought.Our performance.
