Her changed appearance was shocking. My sister had always been full-figured and plump, her cheeks cherubic, her arms full and healthy. Now she was thin, gaunt, and sickly. She wore a dressing gown over her chemise, but it hung off her shoulders, as though the body within it was nothing. Käthe was disappearing before my eyes.
“Come sit by the fire and take tea with me,” my sister urged. She seemed at home in the Underground, playing hostess in her suite of packed-dirt rooms.
“Käthe,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m fine.” A tea set had already been laid out on the table by the hearth, and she gestured to the chair and bade me sit. Then she poured me a cup of tea and offered me a slice of cake. “How are you, my dear?”
I accepted the slice of cake. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know at all.”
Käthe gave me an indulgent smile, and added another spoonful of sugar to her tea. “Eat,” she said, nodding at the untouched slice of cake on my plate.
I studied my sister. She seemed clear-eyed and conscious; present, in a way she hadn’t been at the Goblin Ball.
“Käthe,” I said carefully. “Do you know where we are?”
She laughed and sliced herself another piece of cake. “Of course I do, you ninny. We’re in my quarters, enjoying a spot of tea and some time together. Now tell me,” she said, gesturing to the bare, earthen walls, “what do you think of the wallpaper?”
“The wallpaper?”
“Watered silk imported from Italy, of course,” she said loftily. “Just like we always imagined, Liesl.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. The color was high in my sister’s cheeks, her movements heightened and exaggerated, as though she were playacting the role of a gracious lady. As though she were playing pretend. What if?
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Your quarters are beautiful.” I picked up my teacup and took a sip to hide my frown. “My compliments, my dear.”
Käthe’s eyes were alight. “Why, thank you, darling. My husband is a very generous man, as you know.”
My cup rattled in its saucer. “Your husband?”
She pouted. “Don’t you remember? We had the most beautiful wedding in the Munich Frauenkirche, with the archbishop presiding. Josef played your wedding mass to thunderous applause.”
I set down my tea. “My … wedding mass?”
Käthe gave me a pitying look. “Oh, Liesl, you must have had a rough night if you can’t remember. The wedding mass you wrote for us. Mother sang the Benedictus so beautifully it moved everyone to tears.”
“My … music.”
She nodded. “You’re a success all over the Holy Roman Empire now, thanks to my husband’s connections. He had the good sense to hire Josef at court too, and even funds our brother’s tours across Europe. He even has Papa on retainer as a Konzertmeister, although it’s more a courtesy than an active position.”
“At … his court?” My voice was strangled, thin.
“Of course his court,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He couldn’t very well hire for someone else’s, could he?”
“Käthe,” I said. “Just who is your husband?”
She blew out a huff and rolled her eyes. “Manók Hercege. The Hungarian count? Honestly, Liesl, perhaps you ought to let yourself have a bit of fun more often if a little indulgence will set you back like this.” Käthe traced her fingers absentmindedly along her collarbone, and I found myself mirroring the gesture, half-remembering the revels of the Goblin Ball.
A count. A rich, Hungarian count. Käthe’s fantasy husband was a wealthy, foreign nobleman. This was not the sort of man I thought my sister would imagine herself in love with.
“Is Man—Manók Hercege good to you?” I asked.
“Of course,” Käthe beamed.
“What is he like?”
“Kind. Gentle.” Her voice was misty, distant. “Generous. Not just to me, but to all of us. Eat up,” she said again, pushing the cake at me. “Chocolate torte. It’s your favorite.”
Then it became clear just what Käthe’s greatest dream had been: to marry rich. Not for fancy gowns or expensive jewels, but to provide for her family. My throat tightened and I gathered my sister in my arms, holding her close.
“Liesl,” Käthe said with surprise. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” I choked. “Everything is not all right. It’s not right at all.”
She swatted me away. “Have some cake,” she insisted again. “After all the trouble I went through to get it for you, you should at least have a bite.”
I nodded and picked up the plate and a fork. I recoiled. What had seemed, at first glance, like a moist chocolate torte was layer upon layer of crumbling dirt, with stripes of slime for buttercream. I pretended to tuck in for Käthe’s sake, but the moment my sister looked away, I cast the cake into the fire. The impossible scent of summer peaches rose with the smoke.
“Did you like it?” she asked, eagerly searching my face for an answer. Her blue eyes were steady, but seemed overlarge in her pale face. Despite the high color in her cheeks, she looked sicker than ever. “My husband went all the way to Bohemia for the recipe.”
“Delicious.” I managed to swallow my bile. “My compliments to your husband.”