The Huntress and the Nightingale

Author's Note: This is a follow up I decided to write after publishing, "After Curtain Call", featuring the same characters. You don't have to read that one to understand the plot of this one but feel free for a bit of background! I just ended up falling in love with Clara and Louis and decided to expand upon their world and their story.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the first chapter of this series. I'm aware it's not entirely historically accurate but I did the best I could with the research I was able to do. It is historical fiction after all!

Nice comments encourage me to keep writing!

Thank you!

*****

The opera season had come to an end in Vienna and young soprano, Clara Josepha Cavalier, was glad for the rest. She had planned to spend the winter in her lavish apartments in the heart of the city. There was reading to catch up on, more time to spend with her spaniel, voice lessons with her instructor, plus so much shopping to do and gossip to catch up on.

All of it, of course, would be paid for by patron Louis Héroux's seemingly endless fortune - even Clara's beloved tricolor king charles spaniel, Sebastien, was a gift from her. He was her constant companion in the off season, she enjoyed carrying him in her arms or a basket around the city.

But now, with her last show finished the night before, Clara could only smile as she sat in her parlor at a tall window and read her novel without a thought of opera in her mind. The room was painted a pale green with bare hardwood floors, held elegant furniture, and a ceiling embellished with baroque style flourishes. The walls were a sumptuous mural, a meadow at dawn with plenty of pheasants, songbirds, does, and stags decorating each corner with a mirthful scene.

Her lessons would resume next week but for now this time was hers and she cherished it. On her first day of freedom she opted for a modest powder blue dress that made her sandy complexion a more golden brown in contrast. She also took only a brush to her cloud of brown hair this morning then pinned it back, allowing it to breathe for once without the threat or weight of a stage wig. The rest at the nape of her neck was left to hang free down her back and over her shoulders.

As she turns a page, she feels a tugging at her ruffled skirts and looks down to see her spaniel attempting to get her attention. Smiling, she pets the little dog and coos at him adoringly, her affections interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Looking up, the brown woman answers brightly, "Enter!"

Head bowed, her maid, a dark haired girl in a plain gray dress, enters the room. She politely curtseys with her gaze to the floor then shuffles over to hand Clara a wrinkled envelope. She says nothing before briskly leaving, shutting the door sharply behind her. Clara frowns and bends to pick up her puppy and set him in her lap. The girl had come with excellent recommendations from a friend of Louis' for her discretion but she seemed loathe to serve a budding soprano.

It had been the case with many other maids that had come before her but outside of her stoney silence Clara couldn't complain. She took excellent care of her apartments, fed her very well, and looked after her spaniel during the whirlwind schedule of balls and performances in the opera season. There was also the assurance that she wouldn't go wagging her tongue about what she sees in every missive and hears behind closed doors when Louis came to visit.

Once her dog is settled in her lap, Clara breaks the black seal of the Héroux house, a leaping stag surrounded by three fleur-de-lis. Black wax meant that Louis had written it herself and all was well, any other color would mean it came from someone else in the family.

Hurriedly, she unfolds the letter and reads the contents, eyes darting over the sharply masculine French script that has become so familiar to her.

Nightingale,

Normally I would come to Vienna to visit with you but the royal hunt calls. My brothers and I are required to answer. The love of the hunt is in my blood but so is my desire for you.

I want you to come to my château in France and wait for me until his Majesty is sated. Paris is not too far and neither are the hunting grounds that my family has kept for generations. Bring Sebastien and leave the girl or bring her if you prefer. I have already sent a letter canceling your lessons and have hired a tutor at your normal schedule, he has sung for His Majesty and his brother, the Duc d'Orléans, at Versailles.

You could learn much more from him than music, little songbird.

Pack quickly, if this letter reaches you in time the coach will arrive for you before dawn on the 12th and bring you to my estate. The servants will be awaiting your arrival and rooms will be readied for you.

- L. Héroux

Flummoxed at the sudden change of events, Clara lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her heart pounds in her chest and her breasts heave against the stays of her dress. She looks around the room as if hoping for a witness but she is alone except for Sebastien. Resting the letter against her knee, she peers out the tall window at her perch down to the street below.

Louis always came to her.

Ever since she first heard her voice in Venice and then later funded her move to Vienna. She promised that she would bring Clara to Paris when she was ready but she never once mentioned a château. Her château!

She never once mentioned Versailles!

Swallowing, Clara turns her doe-eyed gaze down to Sebastien who immediately begins to wag his tail once he has the attention of his mistress. She pets the small dog behind his floppy ears and chuckles when he rolls over so that she may stroke his belly as well. The young singer is happy to oblige him then calls for her servant.

A trip to France could take up to two weeks at most and the 12th was in three days, she would need to make some very fast decisions. Once she was in France with Louis she would not be able to return to Vienna until the weather warmed in the late spring.

The thought of being alone in Louis' house was a different kind of kept she never conceived of since she sang her first aria in Venice. It sent her heart racing, she did not know how she would even survive the anticipation.

But in three days she paid off her silent servant, had her apartments affairs taken care of, and packed a third of her wardrobe in an arrangement of trunks. When the carriage finally arrived in the wee hours of the 12th, Clara tried to appear unphased but Louis had sent practically a retinue of bodyguards and footmen for her.

The coach itself was of a wide berth, more than enough room for one person and her small dog, made of dark wood with glass windows and drawn by four horses. It was followed by a nearly identical one with little comforts for a passenger, it was clearly for luggage. Both held the Héroux family seal, carved elegantly but left unpainted onto the doors.

They loaded her many trunks atop her carriage and within the other until it was filled almost to the brim. Clara was then escorted inside by a footman and off they went with their new charges, a soprano and her spaniel.

Two weeks passed slowly, Clara found that her new bodyguards and footmen spoke French and some German only when they had to. Her grasp of the language was mostly fluent when reading and singing but she lacked the confidence to speak it. If not German, she would have felt more comfortable with Italian. Save for helping her in and out of the coach when they stopped to rest, eat, or change horses they spoke very little to her but warned her not to leave their sights.

The young woman was happy to oblige them, she wanted to get to Louis in France just as quickly as they seemed to want to get her there.

As the trip came upon its last day, Clara peered through the curtains as they passed through a quaint little hamlet followed by a dense forest fringed with the golden colors of approaching autumn soon after. The trees over the road were so thick that they darkened the sky and the roads became much rougher before they got better. One particular bump made the small woman bounce so high in her seat she nearly dropped Sebastien.

But once the trees parted, she felt it was all worth it. The discomfort of travel, the long length of the trip, the lonely days and nights amongst silent guards with only her spaniel to comfort her. All of it was worth it to see what most nobles would likely count as a modest mansion but to the little soprano was a breathtakingly beautiful estate that she never thought she'd see.

The three storied stone building held tall windows on every floor and a sweeping staircase at its entrance. However, what Clara found most charming was the blanket of ivy it was covered in that threatened the views of several rooms.

The front yard was a modest affair, the trees had been cut back but wild grass was allowed to grow. Around the estate a stone fence marked the perimeter and at its opening sat a black iron gate. Twin stags reared up against an elegant "H" set into swirling ironwork, the symbol of Héroux. At the back of the house, the forest rose again to cradle it, adding to the rustic look of the property nestled amongst the trees.

As the carriage headed up the drive and stopped at the front doors, a procession of servants exited in an orderly fashion, three women on one side and three men on the other. The women were dressed in identical brown and blue dresses with white aprons and the men wore black waistcoats and breeches. Clara noted that the maids were pretty enough, each a little on the plump side, with pale, rosey, and freckled complexions but quite homely. The men were tall and appeared strong but were not overly impressive or handsome. The staff were likely locals from the nearby hamlet.

Lastly, a stern looking woman in a black dress and grey frock appeared, an iron ring of keys at her waist marking her as the Housekeeper of the estate. She had an olive complexion even deeper than that of Louis', sharp black eyes, and sable tresses parted down the middle while the rest was gathered fashionably to curl at her ears. Head held high and her back straightened, she descended the stairs and headed for the coach, purpose in her steps.

This woman was much different than the others, her clothes were like that of any other Housekeeper but she looked and carried herself as though she were an aristocrat. Clara sucked in a breath as she felt a bristle of jealousy shiver through her body and warm her cheeks. She was beautiful.

Louis never mentioned that she lived with such a woman.

A footmen opening the carriage door interrupts the singer's thoughts, he helps her down with one hand while she holds Sebastian in the crook of her arm with the other. Expecting Louis to meet her right away, she'd worn a deep blue dress trimmed with white lace and silvery floral embroidery. It had always been Louis' favorite partially because of the wide neckline that also exposed her shoulders.

But it would appear that she was not meant to see it that day, only the servants and the head Housekeeper greeted her and her retinue who were already busy unloading her trunks.

The Housekeeper is taller than Clara but not by much, the two women are able to meet eye to eye. There is a brief moment of tension between them at first, where one seemed to wait for the other to curtsy but the Housekeeper does as etiquette dictates of her and does so respectfully. The servants follow her lead and do so as well, each of them lowering their eyes.

"Welcome to our wooded retreat, Mademoiselle Cavalier," the Housekeeper's French was as calmly measured as her deep yet honeyed voice, "I serve as Master Louis' Housekeeper. You may call me, Constancia."

Clara found herself taken aback at Constancia's serene demeanor despite her somewhat severely sharp looks. Where there was jealousy in her before, it softened and then dissipated as the woman rose from her curtsy and continues, "Your journey from Vienna must be tiring, the cook has readied something for you to eat while your trunks are brought to your rooms."

"O-oh," Clara replies, doing her best not to stammer with her French, "yes, a bite to eat would be lovely."

Constancia smiles softly and holds her hand out for Sebastien to sniff, he does and even licks her fingers good naturedly, "And for this little one?"

"I would like for him to eat with me, yes?" Clara says, her voice somewhat timid as it wrestled with the language. She wanted to know more about Constancia, she seemed so well bred to be only a servant.

"Yes, that would be fine. Allow me to show you to the salon, mademoiselle." The olive woman slips her arm around Clara's free one and ushers her inside, the other servants following a few paces behind them obediently.

Once through the doors, the staff disperse and Clara finds the interior to be just as rustic as the outside. The rooms were painted deep, rich shades of carmine red, navy blue, and emerald green with dark wooden furniture. Everything was handsomely decorated and shined to a polish down to the varnished wooden floors. The walls were the very opposite of order, in some places paintings were hung crowded together. They were mostly of hunting scenes and sweeping landscape tapestries of the French countryside. She even recognized one large painting as that of the hamlet they passed through.

As Constancia approached the parlor with her new charge, she lead them down a hall holding many portraits of the Héroux family. They were all very similar with lightly tanned skin, hazel or brown eyes, and thick dark hair. Each of them was posed with a dog, the men with a musket, the women with a bow and arrow, and lastly a freshly made kill of a stag or doe. Louis mentioned that she came from a family of outdoorsman but never had she mentioned anything to this grandeur. At the very end of the hall, just outside of the salon doors were the newest portraits. Two men she did not recognize but a woman that she did.

Louis was painted dressed in splendid men's hunting garb colored a forest green but she held a bow and arrow just as her female ancestors did. Kneeling over the body of a slain stag, she and her prize were surrounded by a trio of white hounds. Set in a meadow at dusk, the heavens were painted a lavender tinged with pink while a sliver of a silver crescent moon hung in the sky.

The artist even rendered the dark curls of her hair perfectly as they fell over her shoulders and down her back in a thicky, glossy mane. Her body was just as she remembered it, lithe yet strongly built while her hands looked nimble yet powerful enough to actually use the ivory bow in them. The expression on her face was relaxed, her angular face softened and serene; yet still there was that hint of a familiar smirk on her lips.

Clara was educated enough to recognize the symbolism. This was her patron if she were to take the form of the Greek Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis or her Roman equivalent, Diana. She would have to look more closely at this painting another time, it both intrigued and stirred her.

"The Master," Constancia's honeyed voice cut through Clara's thoughts in the silent hall, "she is very beautiful, if not handsome. Wouldn't you agree?"

The olive woman had one hand on the parlor door to open it but her eyes were fixed on her brown-skinned guest. She'd caught her staring at the portrait and it makes Clara blush. The girl attempts to hide it, despite the natural mask of her color, by kissing the top of her pup's fluffy head. A corner of Constancia's lip curls upwards when her question is left to hang in the air and she pushes the salon door open, ushering the soprano inside.

It seemed that the salon was not only for entertaining guests but it also doubled as a trophy room. Half a dozen preserved stag heads were mounted above the mantle of an enormous hearth with a crackling fire. Along the rust red walls were more paintings of hunting scenes but they were also dotted with the antlers of fallen deer. It was very clear that the animal not only served as part of the Héroux's family crest but it had been their favorite prey for generations.

Constancia lead Clara to a pair of leather chairs by the fire and gestured for her to take one. An array of cheeses, fruit, chicken breast, and bread were already arranged on a silver platter for her along with a decanter of wine and a single glass. As the young woman took a seat, she set Sebastien on the floor and the little spaniel waited patiently at her feet for anything she might grant him. He didn't have to wait long to be tossed a slice of white meat from his mistress.

Clara remembered her manners and picked at her food demurely despite the rumbling in her belly. At her side, Constancia remained to fill her glass, making sure that it always remained full until she was finished eating.

Sighing, Clara falls against the high back of the leather chair and lets her eyes settle on Sebastien now napping soundly by the fire. The question of Louis' whereabouts repeats itself in her mind and the wine helps the young woman gather the courage to ask.

"Louis," the soprano near whispers, her voice low, "she won't be coming will she?"

"Not at this moment, mademoiselle, no," Constancia replies just as softly, leaning over to fill her glass once more, "the Master, her brothers, and his Majesty are still on the hunt. She will return when it is over."

Clara sips her wine and groans, what was she supposed to do until Louis returned? It had taken her two weeks to get here and now she would be alone in this house save for her dog and the estate's servants. At least in Vienna she had her friends, perhaps she would write them in the meantime.

"If mademoiselle would like, I can draw a bath before dinner," Constancia offers, "would that please you?"

Clara hardly needs to think on that one after so much travel, she sets her glass down on the table, "It would."

And so it went from one week to the next, the only break in Clara's leisurely exploration of the wooded estate were when her castrato music tutor arrived. He was a good natured, middle aged man who maintained somewhat boyish looks and a tall, willowy figure. Clara liked him very much. He not only challenged her but allowed her to play with the range of her voice as well and even encouraged her. It helped Clara's confidence immensely. Her Austrian tutor was a very serious and grave man who was passionate but she found intimidating.

When she wasn't practicing music she took Sebastien on walks around the small garden behind the house but they never strayed too far. It was mostly a cluster of rose bushes before the forest wall rose up ominously. The little dog seemed to love crawling through the brush and more than once Clara had to pull up her skirts to chase after him when he ventured too close to the forest's edge.

Other days, the young woman spent time reading in the chateau's private library and writing her friends in Vienna. She wandered the halls that seemed bereft of the servants she had seen when she arrived but the evidence of their work was always present. Everywhere that Clara went in the mansion appeared to be well polished and swept meticulously of dust. Save for Louis' locked private apartments, nothing was off limits to her.

Sometimes Constancia would join her walks or meet her in the library. She was always the one to help her dress every morning and undress every night before bed or a bath. The olive woman not only did her regular duties but acted as a sort of handmaiden for Clara. She was the only one of the servants who spoke to her without having to be spoken to first. Clara found her to be good company, especially once she found that she spoke German.

The olive woman revealed that Louis had instructed her to only speak French. She knew Clara would need the practice but Constancia figured that rule could be enforced when the Master returned. Clara was grateful and she felt more comfortable speaking with her only friend in the chateau.