The carriage ride from Salzburg to Vienna was the first time in her life she'd ever been truly alone.
She didn't mind too much at first. In fact, that first morning was exhilarating, accepting the driver's hand and stepping up into the carriage knowing that this could be the last time her feet were on Salzburg soil, that she was finally heading off into her future, into an adult life where only she had a voice in what decisions she made. All the servants she had known since she was a child were lined up in the drive to watch her leave, the old housekeeper even dashing tears away from her eyes. Nannerl only allowed herself to look back at them for a moment, for the time it took the driver to check that her trunk was secured and the horses were ready. She waved one last time, closed the door, and dropped into her seat, positively trembling with excitement.
But it had been so long since those days that she had traveled Europe with her family, with Wolfgang. She hadn't realized just how long the journey to Vienna would be, and how long it would feel when there was no one to talk to! For the first two days, she busied herself by answering the correspondence that had piled up in that murky week following the death of her father. Condolence after condolence, none of them from names she even recognized. That had been her father's realm, slipping easily through crowded concert halls, tipping his hat at just the right moment, unfamiliar names falling from his lips like the words to a foreign song. Just enough flattery, just enough vanity, just enough to open the right doors, to secure the right positions, to play for the right ears. If only he had had more time to teach this art to his daughter! But he was gone now, and Nannerl would have to find her own way forward. She answered each letter as personally as she could, tailoring the words of gratitude to the melody set down by the writer, and had a few dozen ready to be posted when the carriage stopped each night.
By the fourth day, all the correspondence had been answered and the velvet interior of the carriage was starting to feel like the inside of her father's coffin. That night, she told the driver as sweetly as she could that she would absolutely go mad if they didn't reach Vienna within a day. He had fortunately been amused: instead of stabling the horses for the night and checking into an inn, he had had them swapped for a fresh pair and opened the carriage door to her once more, bowing as Nannerl climbed back inside with a groan.
They reached the capital the next afternoon. Days of monotony vanished into memory as she pressed her face to the carriage window, tilting her head this way and that in an attempt to watch both the rambling old buildings and the crowds of pedestrians that were pressing around them, a symphony of conversation and fine frocks. The last time she had been here had been with her father, of course, the protective shadow that fell over all of her memories. It had been just after Wolfgang married Constance, a friendly visit that hadn't lasted nearly long enough. This time, she had come to Vienna for herself. Maybe even for her music.
The Webers' boarding house was in a quieter corner of town, where the people and the buildings stood less straight, where the cobbles and silks shone less brightly. An old church haunted the corner, its windows boarded over, tiles missing from its roof. Beyond that stood the house, its name painted on the sign that hung over the door: Zum Auge Gottes. God's Eye.
The driver reigned the horses at last; Nannerl quickly slipped her shoes back onto her feet and straightened her hair, pinning her hat back into place before she took her first steps into Vienna. Her first steps as a free woman, as an adult.
The door of the boarding house flew open and a voice shrieked, "She's here! Wolfi, she's here!" before Nannerl had even clambered out of the carriage. By the time she was on the ground, her sister-in-law had caught her in a tight hug, nearly lifting her right back into the air. "Oh, thank goodness!" she sighed, "Thank goodness you came! Maybe you can talk some sense into him."
"Good to see you too, Constance," she said, her voice a little raspy from disuse. She looked up expectantly at the open door, but only saw the backside of the driver as he lugged her trunk inside. "How is my brother?"
"How he always is," came the grumbled response.
On the highest floor of the boarding house, Nannerl saw one of the curtains twitch. She shielded her eyes against the orange light of the sunset and stared, hoping to catch Wolfgang's eye and beckon him downstairs. It had been years since last they had seen each other! But for the brief moment when the curtains were parted, the sliver of face they revealed was not that of her brother. Even from this distance, she could feel the weight of a fiery stare. The hairs on her arms prickled as she tried to see who was watching them, watching her. She saw a dark eye, a fine nose, a slender arm-and then the person turned away and the curtain fell closed again.
Without lowering her gaze, Nannerl asked, "Has your mother got any other boarders in?"
"Just us Webers," Constance sighed. "Every week Wolfgang declares that we'll be gone by the weekend, and every weekend he says he'll find us something in the coming week. I've long since put our trunks away."
"I've noticed his letters have taken a... turn," Nannerl said carefully. "What has he done since they canceled Figaro? Is he up there concocting something new?"
Constance rolled her eyes, threading her arm through Nannerl's and leading her into the boarding house. "Just a hangover, usually."
Frau Weber was in the parlor when the two of them stepped in, her fists on her hips while she watched Nannerl's driver tug her trunk up the staircase. She was just as Nannerl remembered her, frazzled blond curls and a round, pinched face. She threw out her arms to greet the guest, nearly knocking Constance over as she rushed to embrace her. "Fraulein Mozart!"
"Frau Weber," she replied, grinning as Constance righted herself and shot a sulky look at her mother.
"You've arrived just in time for dinner, you clever girl!" she gushed. "Come on, come to the table!"
"Oh, but I've been traveling all day, I should like to-"
"Eat first!" Frau Weber interrupted. "This evening we can draw you a bath!"
The offer was too good to resist. Constance took Nannerl's cloak and hat upstairs while Frau Weber led her into the dining room. The parlor was shadowy, with cracked porcelain tiles on the floor and sloping, dingy walls, but in the dining room there still lingered hints that the God's Eye had once been a fine old house. The ceiling was higher here, the floorboards were even, and three arched windows afforded a view of the darkening sky and the street below. The other Weber sisters were already at the table, though Sophie sprang to her feet when she saw Nannerl, nearly upsetting a candlestick in her excitement. Josepha was more contained, merely rising and nodding her head.
Frau Weber took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing for Nannerl to sit by her side. Across from her was an empty chair. Nannerl remembered Constance saying that there were no boarders and quickly counted the empty plates waiting at the table: once Constance and Wolfgang joined them, one empty seat would still remain.
With a guilty glance at her mother, Sophie slipped out of her chair and into the one at Nannerl's side, still beaming at her. "Fraulein Mozart," she said, "we know all about you! They say you were once a great musician too, even greater than Wolfgang!"
"They also say your father forced you to stop playing when you reached a marriageable age," added Josepha, rolling her eyes.
"And yet, you refused to marry!"
"Girls, let her breathe!" their mother scolded, leaning across the table to serve Nannerl a chunk of grayish meat.
Sophie fell back into her seat and dropped her gaze to her lap.
Constance joined them a moment later, bringing with her apologies on behalf of Wolfgang, who wasn't feeling well enough to come to the table. She accepted with a relieved sigh when Nannerl offered to visit him in his room later, though there was still something disconcerting about the shadow in his wife's eyes whenever she mentioned him. Nannerl picked at the dinner, trying to eat enough so as to not appear ungrateful despite the strange feeling in her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was spending the better part of a week cooped up in a carriage by herself that was getting to her, or if she was just worried about her brother.
None of her hosts made anything of her silence. In fact, Sophie's enthusiasm had been rekindled when Constance joined them, and the two of them were brightly going over a list of museums and parks that Nannerl would have to see now that she was to be a Viennese citizen. Then they began naming important people at court to whom she would have to be introduced. They seemed to have listed every duke, count, and lord in the empire before Frau Weber finally cut them off with, "Alright, that's enough of that!" and turned her beady stare on Nannerl. "Tell us, Fraulein Mozart," she said. "Ignoring my fanciful daughters, what is that you are hoping to find here in Vienna?"
Nannerl gestured to her mouth, pretending to chew much longer than necessary. What was she hoping to find in Vienna? What was she hoping to make of herself now that her father was gone, now that there was no one left to make her doubt herself, to remind her of her place? It was the same question that she had been pushing away since first she decided to leave Salzburg. If she hadn't been able to find an answer during those five monotonous days in the carriage, one was unlikely to spring to mind at this unfamiliar table, under the curious gazes of the entire Weber family.
But at that moment she was rescued when the dining room door slid open and, for the space between two heartbeats, the world seemed to stop. A woman stood in the doorway, candlelight dancing softly across her perfect features, her arms slightly raised, her shoulders back and her head held high. She lifted her chin, scanning the family with a naturally mournful gaze until her eye met Nannerl's. This was the person she had seen in the upstairs window, Nannerl realized. And when Frau Weber pushed back her chair and said, "Ah, Fraulein, you haven't met my Aloysia!" it all made sense.
Aloysia Weber, now Aloysia Lange, the famous soprano, the woman for whom Wolfgang had nearly thrown away his career when he was younger. Seeing her for the first time, Nannerl finally understood why. She seemed to glide into the room, still holding Nannerl's gaze as she spoke in a delicate voice, "Good evening, Fraulein."
"Fraulein," Nannerl answered, abruptly rising to her feet.
Aloysia slipped into the chair that faced hers, forgoing the dinner and simply pouring herself a glass of wine. A smirk was playing at the corners of her mouth.
Nannerl dropped back into her seat. Her appetite had been weak before; now it was completely gone. Aloysia seemed to shimmer before her, lifting her glass in one elegant hand and raising it to her well-shaped lips, every inch of her the perfect porcelain doll. She tore her gaze away long enough to prod at her food, but couldn't bear to take another bite. Maybe the voyage had driven her mad.
"You know, Fraulein Mozart," Aloysia said, glancing up at her from beneath her long lashes, "ever since your brother told me about you I've been dying to meet you."
Her melodic voice seemed to settle right in the pit of Nannerl's stomach. "Please, let's- you can call me Nannerl," she stammered. "Everyone does."
"Nannerl," Aloysia repeated, and suddenly the name was sharp enough to draw blood. Her lips curled into a smile. "And you will call me Aloysia."
Aloysia! If ever anyone deserved such an ornate name, it was her.
"Aloysia has been staying with us until those idiot managers at the Burgtheater come to their senses and renegotiate her salary," clucked Frau Weber, plopping a piece of the meat onto her daughter's plate and gesturing sternly at it. "As much as Herr Lange travels, she couldn't bear the thought of staying alone in that old house out in the country! Isn't that right, dear?"
Aloysia ran one of her long fingers across the rim of her wine glass, still holding Nannerl's gaze as she said, "I do hate to be alone."
One of the other sisters giggled and Nannerl flushed, nearly dropping her fork.
The conversation moved on after that, leaving both Aloysia and Nannerl where they were. Josepha began recounting a story of something Wolfgang's librettist had said the last time he stopped by the house which had been so charming she had almost swooned; Sophie volunteered some scandalous rumor about what that same librettist had gotten up to when he lived in Italy. At the far end of the table, Constance was eating quietly, her eyes on her plate.
The lighthearted chatter became a roar in Nannerl's ears. She took a tiny bite of her dinner, then glanced up to find that Aloysia was still watching her, sipping slowly at her wine and ignoring the meat her mother had put in front of her. She didn't turn away when Nannerl met her gaze.
Unsure what to think, she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat.
Unfortunately, doing so interrupted the conversation.
"Fraulein Mozart, you poor thing," Frau Weber cooed, "you must be exhausted! And here we sit, gossiping about the court and your brother's associates without even a thought for what you've been through these past weeks!"
"I- I hope you won't think me rude if I retire for the evening," Nannerl said quickly, seizing the opportunity to clear her head.
"And we promised you a bath, didn't we? Constance, show our guest to her room! Sophie, Josepha, if you would draw some water-"
"I'll show her," Aloysia volunteered, returning her glass to the table. "Let Constance finish her dinner."
"But Aloysia, you haven't even touched your sausage."
"I don't want it," she shrugged. She rose from her seat in a fluid motion that made her seem more like a fairy than a woman.
Nannerl did the same, drifting to the door after Aloysia Lange in a sort of daze. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Frau Weber," she said.
If Frau Weber answered, Nannerl didn't hear.
She followed Aloysia out of the dining room, across the parlor and up the well-worn staircase. Her host didn't say anything further, didn't bother with pleasantries, which was for the best as all Nannerl could hear at that particular moment was the drumbeat of her pulse and the crashing cymbals of her thoughts. Once they reached the third floor, Aloysia held open a door at the far side of the landing, her heavy gaze tracking Nannerl as she slipped past her. It was a modest room, hardly more than a cubby tucked beneath a sloping ceiling and a dormer window with one cracked pane. Her trunk was waiting on a narrow cot, her hat and cloak resting neatly atop it. For some reason, the familiar sight of her things made Nannerl let out a long sigh.
Aloysia leaned against the open door, her arms crossed. "My room is right next door," she said. Was there really a glint in her eye, or was Nannerl so exhausted she was imagining things? No wonder Wolfgang had almost ruined his career over this woman! And Nannerl was supposed to be the rational one.
"And- and Wolfgang?"
The coy smile slipped off of Aloysia's face for the first time since she had arrived in the dining room. "You'll find the maestro downstairs," she said, impatience coloring her voice. "Though he may not be up to a visitor quite yet."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Nannerl.
But Aloysia didn't seem to want to talk about Wolfgang. She took a step into the room and extended one arm to tuck an errant curl behind Nannerl's ear, smirking when Nannerl started at her touch.
"I should- I should call on my brother," Nannerl murmured; she didn't realize that she was leaning into Aloysia's touch until the hand moved away and she nearly lost her balance.
"As you wish," said Aloysia. Now she was definitely staring at Nannerl's mouth. Her gaze drifted down to her neckline, then to her hands, before she suddenly said, "If you can think of anything you want tonight, don't forget: I'm right next door." And then she withdrew, only a shaft of moonlight in the doorway where she had been.
Nannerl put a hand against the wall to steady herself.
Life without her father's guidance was already proving to be a lot more confusing than she had anticipated.