The Figaro Murders by Laura Lebow Page B

in the city.”
    My heart swelled with pride at her words.
    â€œThey were able to finalize the agreement just last night, I believe.”
    I turned toward Marianne. “Yes, I signed the contract while I was at the theater last night,” I lied.
    Her intelligent eyes gazed at me coolly. “Well, I hope this appointment will not interfere with any of your other projects, signore,” she said.
    â€œI do not expect that it will, Miss Haiml,” I said.
    The baroness approached the middle window and ran her fingers over the wide sill. “I cannot believe he is dead,” she murmured. “He was so young—” Her voice caught. Marianne hurried to her and took her hand. I longed to do the same.
    â€œI have heard the news,” I said gently. “I am sorry to have come at such an unfortunate time.” She gave me a sad smile and nodded.
    â€œCome, madame, let me take you back to your chamber,” Marianne said. “I’ll make you a dish of chocolate. That will help you feel better.”
    The baroness gave one last sad look at the window. “Yes, I am coming,” she said. She offered her hand to me again. My right arm tingled at her touch.
    â€œI would like my first lesson tomorrow morning, Signor Abbé,” she said. “Marianne will come for you.”
    I let go of her hand and bowed again. When I looked up, she was gone.
    *   *   *
    I stood looking after her, my mind newly invigorated despite my lack of sleep. I knew exactly which poems I would use in the lesson tomorrow. Perhaps two or three of those to start, and then—
    Heavy footsteps came from the hallway. They sounded like the ones I had heard from this same room yesterday. Footsteps that belonged to the person who had lied to Troger, who had told him I had threatened Florian Auerstein, who had claimed to have seen me running from the house. Footsteps that belonged to the person who had landed me in this mess.
    I strode to the door, ready to confront my enemy. I grabbed the knob and pulled open the door.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” A short, broad-chested man in his fifties stood before me. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.
    I looked down at him and offered my hand. “I am Lorenzo Da Ponte,” I said. “I have been hired by the baron to teach poetry to his wife.”
    â€œPoetry!” He snorted, ignoring my outstretched hand as he pushed by me. My eyes watered from the strong smell of French cologne. “What does she need with that nonsense? Her head is already full of fanciful sentiments.”
    â€œThe baron believes his wife might enjoy the lessons,” I said.
    He glared at me. “I wasn’t told anything about this! Caroline said nothing to me!”
    â€œI believe the decision was made just yesterday.”
    He looked me up and down. “Yes, I see. Well, as a stranger to this house, you may not be aware that this is a difficult time for the baroness. There has been a murder. Someone broke into the house yesterday and killed the baron’s page.”
    â€œI was saddened to hear about it,” I said. “But I have just met the baroness, and she is eager to begin our lessons tomorrow.”
    He looked at me for a moment, speculatively. He turned on his heel, went over to one of the bookcases, and studied the titles.
    â€œI beg your pardon, but you haven’t told me your name,” I said.
    â€œI am Dr. Urban Rausch,” he said without turning.
    Ah, the baroness’s guardian.
    He pulled a book from the shelf and turned to me. “I live here as a special guest of the baroness,” he said. “What did you say your name was? De Monte?”
    â€œDa Ponte. Lorenzo Da Ponte.”
    â€œWhat are you, some sort of teacher at the university?” he asked.
    â€œNo, sir, I am not. I am honored to hold the position of poet to His Majesty the Emperor’s Court Theater.”
    He waved his hand