He unwound the soft leather roll that held his knives to check all was in place, then opened the walnut case that held his bone saw, forceps, tweezers and hammers. The instruments were German-made, commissioned and bought while he was a student in Wittenberg some thirty years before. It had been the first place he had fled to after the execution of his elder brother. He had abandoned his title, sold his estate, and under the name of Gabriel Crowther had turned his interest in anatomy into his occupation; his knowledge into expertise. He fitted the magnifying glass into its velvet bed. It was ridiculous to carry them. The body of this Lady Martesen was buried already, and by the time he and his companions could reach Maulberg the flesh would have putrefied, but he intended to take them with him anyway. They were, like his cane, his signifiers. His markers and talismans. In all likelihood he was leaving his home for no good reason at all, but it never occurred to him not to go. If Mrs Westerman was riding off into any sort of danger he would always follow while he had the strength.
It dawned on him, slowly, that while he had been packing away his effects the street door had opened and closed a number of times. Indeed, it sounded as if the door had just closed again now. He looked into the hall.
‘Hannah?’
His housekeeper turned towards him. She had a large wicker basket over her arm.
‘The news has spread, sir. Just about every soul in the village has come to the door with something to ease the journey. Wool blankets from the drapers … enough dried meats to feed you all half a year.’ Crowther frowned and Hannah smiled at him. ‘Mr and Mrs Clode are well liked, sir, and it is more convenient to leave things in this house rather than take them to Caveley or Thornleigh Hall.’
‘They do have food on the continent.’
‘Not any that our butcher thinks healthy for an Englishman.’
‘Of course.’ He was about to turn back into his study when he hesitated. ‘I do not know how long I shall be gone, Hannah.’
She nodded. ‘Of course, sir. But do not concern yourself. We shall manage quite well.’
‘If you find yourself in any need, you may apply to Thornleigh Hall.’
‘I know, Mr Crowther. Your friends there will take good care of us for your sake.’
He said no more, but withdrew to his study and his papers.
I.3
16 March 1784, Caveley
Crowther’s luggage and the offerings of the village were carried to Caveley just after dawn. He followed them some hours later. The front of Mrs Westerman’s house was all activity. The party were to travel in two coaches. One for Graves, Crowther and Mrs Westerman, the other for their luggage and Mrs Westerman’s maid, Dido. It seemed to Crowther that as they were travelling without the usual large entourage of servants, they could have managed with only one coach. He said as much to Graves, who was observing the activity with an expression of wonder.
‘Michaels insists, Mr Crowther,’ Graves said. Crowther only now noticed the landlord of the Bear and Crown, who was directing the placing of the baggage and checking that the leather straps around the band-boxes were properly tightened. ‘He says it’s better to travel with two lightly packed, otherwise we shall spend a month up to our axles in mud, this time of year.’
Harriet had emerged from the house, and having cast her eye over the arrangements and decided not to intervene, joined the gentlemen. ‘Michaels has volunteered to be our guide, Crowther, and will not be persuaded to remain at home,’ she said. ‘He has the same distrust of the postillions and innkeepers of Germany as the butcher seems to have of the meat.’
‘He is fond of your sister,’ Graves said.
‘Yes, everyone is. Our bulging supplies are testament to that. Graves, my children will be with Verity at Thornleigh Hall before nightfall, all packed up and Anne’s nurse and Mr Quince with them.’
‘They are very welcome.’
Harriet’s voice became low. ‘Stephen is very angry with me. He feels he should be allowed to accompany us.’
‘I have spent half the night denying the appeals of Susan and Jonathan,’ Graves replied wearily. ‘They claim that as Clode once saved them, it is their right to come with us to save him. Little Eustache wishes to go because he fears being left behind. They are with Stephen in your old nursery now, talking bitterly of us and plotting to pursue us.’
‘If you will allow me, I shall have a word with the young people,’ Crowther said.
Graves and Harriet looked at him with a mixture of surprise and faint hope.
At the point the cavalcade was ready to make for the coast, the children presented themselves for their farewells. They were affectionate, and though distressed at the separation, they no longer seemed angry. Stephen only whispered to his mother that she must be very careful. He did so with the seriousness only a ten year old with large blue eyes can manage. She promised him she would, rather wonderingly. She watched from the carriage window until the house was out of sight, before wiping her eyes and asking, bewildered, ‘Crowther, what on earth did you say to them?’
He leaned back into his corner of the carriage. ‘I explained that before they could hope to be of any practical help to us on occasions such as these, they must learn to shoot a pistol accurately, improve their riding, their French and their geography. I also suggested wrestling. They aim to spend the time we are absent in continual practice.’
Graves made a slight choking sound, and Harriet shook her head. Crowther folded his long fingers over the top of his cane, and closed his eyes.
From The Gazetteer of Europe for the Informed Traveller, 1782
The Duchy of Maulberg
Situation: lying in the south west between Bavaria, Wirtemburg and Saxe
Ettlingham.
Extent: some 1,500 square miles, supporting some 100,000 souls.
Mostly forest and agricultural land.
Raised to Duchy 1495.
Ruler: Ludwig Christoph II born 1745, succeeded to title 1756.
Exports: wine, linen, paper.
Principal rivers: Neckar, Enz.
Principal cities: Ulrichsberg (capital) founded 1713 on building of Ducal
Palace; Leuchtenstadt, seat of University of Maulberg founded 1512.
Some remarks:
Some commentators have said that if every county in England, and some of the larger parishes, had their own King, then we might learn to understand the situation that pertains in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. Maulberg is a fine example of this sort of government. The Duke is, to all intents and purposes, an absolute ruler in his territory, but his lands are punctured by other tiny sovereign states and he owes a polite allegiance to the Emperor. He has, however, his own troops, his own government and to an extent his own laws, and should always be treated with the deference due to a monarch.
Maulberg and its people suffered greatly during the Seven Years’ War as the armies of their great neighbours Austria and Prussia marched over their lands. However, we are glad to report that the situation seems to have improved of late. Much of the Duchy appears to be productively farmed once more and its population grows.
The Palace of Ulrichsberg deserves qualified admiration. It is modelled on Versailles, and certainly gives an impression of great splendour. The palace is also famous due to the quality of musicians and artists of all sorts the current ruler continually attracts to him. The other buildings in the city are also most elegant. An Englishman passing through this city must, however, ask himself how a state only a little larger than Wiltshire can afford a court so splendid.
As with all parts of Germany and Austria, we advise travellers to be very careful in matters of rank and recommend they seek guidance from their hosts in all questions of forms of address at all levels in society. French is generally used amongst people of quality, and almost exclusively in court except when dealing with servants. The peasants speak only their local version of the German tongue. Unsurprising then, that even these little states seem divided into classes of people staring at each
other with a profound degree of mutual incomprehension.
PART II
II.1
2 May 1784, outskirts of Ulrichsberg, capital of Maulberg
Harriet felt the jolt of the carriage and the papers she was reading slid from her hand. She bit her lip to silence a curse and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again Crowther was holding the fallen sheets towards her. She took them with a nod, and both returned to their reading. She could hear Michaels on the roof of the carriage haranguing the driver. Graves was sitting opposite her, occasionally lifting his neck and making the vertebrae crack. She fought to focus her attention once more on the documents in her hand.
The journey had been a foul one. The sulphurous and heavy summer of 1783 had given way to a winter more severe than anyone living in England could remember. Now the ice cracked, and across Europe the rivers swelled and beat at their banks. The crossing of the Channel had left Crowther grey with fatigue and even Mrs Westerman took no pleasure in being at sea again. Then the roads that led them from the coast of Denmark, through Prussia, down towards the forests and hills of the south, were treaclish with mud and full of these sudden dips and lurches. Still, such was the determination with which they pressed forward, it had become clear the party would reach the Palace of Ulrichsberg only a little after Easter.
With the ringing of the bells for that festival, the weather began to improve. The rivers calmed themselves, retreated to their usual boundaries and looked innocent once more. The roads started to dry and the sun to show itself, and in showing itself revealed to the occupants of the carriage a world gradually greening with a late spring. The fresh leaves of the beech and ash fluttered open, the oak shook up its greenery and the verges were cheerful with wild flowers. Even the air smelled more hopeful. But the travelling chaise still carried winter in it. The faces of its occupants were drawn and weary, as if the sunlight could not reach them. There was some advantage in the rigours they faced, however, since these had left them too tired to be afraid of what awaited them in Maulberg.
They had crossed the border early in the morning of 2 May. Great packets of letters and documents, bundled and sealed, were handed to them and they were asked to retire to the parlour of the Customs House as their luggage was politely searched. Harriet tore at the strings while the gentlemen watched.
‘Clode is alive,’ she said at once. ‘The investigation into the death of Lady Martesen continues.’ She heard Graves exhale. The fear that Clode might have been condemned and executed before they had even crossed into Europe had been with her every hour since they left England, but she had never given it voice. Only on hearing the air escape from Graves’s lungs now did she realise that he had feared the same thing — that they had ridden so hard to collect a body and a widow. ‘He is being held at Castle Grenzhow.’
There was a rap at the door and a gentleman in a magnificent uniform of green and gold entered. He introduced himself as Major Auwerk of the Duke of Maulberg’s Turkish Hussars, and in fluent French welcomed them to Maulberg.
‘I have sent on my best rider to inform the court of your arrival,’ he said with a bow. ‘My company shall ride with you into Ulrichsberg. Apartments have been set aside for you at the palace.’
Harriet had often complained of the inadequacy of her education, but her father had taken advantage of the fact that one of his parishioners had been born in Paris to insist that both his daughters learn the language; now they spoke excellent French. Nevertheless her steady fear, then her sudden relief, silted up her tongue.
‘Our thanks, Major,’ she said. ‘My sister?’
The Major smiled. ‘Is also in residence and in good health to the best of my knowledge.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It seems the formalities are completed. Your man and maid have been watching our officials like hawks.’
He bowed again and offered Harriet his arm back to the waiting carriage.
The packets were found to contain copies of every document Krall’s investigations had produced in the previous weeks. Rachel’s note which accompanied them was short; warm words wishing for their speedy arrival. They were the first words of Rachel’s Harriet had seen since the messenger had delivered her wild and confused letter. Harriet read the note very carefully and a number of times before handing it to Crowther then attacking the seals on the official documents.
The District Officer, Herr von Krall, had signed and stamped each one. It seemed he had been very thorough, and as a further courtesy, the papers had been translated into English for the convenience of the accused and his friends. There were descriptions of Oberbach, a map of its principal buildings, detailed testimony from the friends and companions of Lady Martesen and from Rachel herself. There was an account of the examination of Lady Martesen’s body and a careful description of the room in which she was found. The language was legal, dry, the accumulating detail horrific to Harriet. After weeks of knowing nothing, she felt her mind constrict as if it now wished to avoid knowing too much.
They divided the papers between them and the beauties of Maulberg were ignored. The cultivation of the land went unnoticed, the ruins of ancient towers along the Neckar glowered in vain, the cheerful faces of the peasantry received no friendly glances from the finely dressed inhabitants of the coach. It rattled on. They read.
‘This is very strange.’
Harriet heard Crowther speak and looked up. Her head ached. She was trying to absorb the names on the papers in front of her. Each person mentioned seemed to have a string of titles that must have reduced the scribe to tears.
‘You are reading the account of the examination of the body, Crowther?’
‘I am. Have you the document that details the initial discovery of Lady Martesen?’
She looked through the papers on her lap. The air was still cold enough for her to need her gloves and they made her fingers awkward.
‘No, all I have here are accounts of her activities in the weeks preceding her murder. Card parties and salons. Her pleasure at being chosen as a lady-in-waiting to the new Duchess when she arrives. It seems she all but lived at court.’
‘I wonder if it made her rich,’ Graves said, and Harriet looked up at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Many of these small German courts are terribly corrupt, Mrs Westerman. Large sums of money are given in exchange for honours or lucrative positions, often via the women of the court.’
‘It says here her estate and jewels are left to her cousin, the Countess Judith Dieth, but does not say what the amount is. You are well informed, Graves,’ Harriet said.
Graves gave a rather lopsided grin. ‘I have had to become so. The financial interests of my ward extend into too many of these statelets. I have the document you want, Crowther,’ he added, juggling papers.
‘Would you tell me what it says?’ Crowther asked.
‘It is the District Officer, von Krall’s own account,’ Graves said, running his finger down the page while Crowther set aside his own papers. The spring sunlight gleamed hopefully on the silver head of his cane and was ignored. ‘He says the back parlour and bedroom of the haberdasher’s in Oberbach had been hired by Colonel Padfield to allow his party to change into their carnival costumes on their arrival in the town. Oberbach is some eight miles from the town of Ulrichsberg where all our principals reside in or near the court. Rachel and Daniel had been given the honour of rooms at the palace. I should think so too, the amount their Treasury owes to Thornleigh. Well, at some point after the main parade in Oberbach was done, the better people went to dance in the Town Hall’s Council Chambers. It seems Daniel appeared drunk.’ Harriet shook her head. In the four years she had known him, she had never seen Daniel the worse for drink. ‘I know, Mrs Westerman. I do not believe it either, but he seems to have been behaving oddly,’ Graves continued. ‘Now Colonel Padfield took him outside, and went to fetch water for him. When he returned, Daniel was gone. Padfield searched the immediate area and found no sign. Returned to Rachel and his wife to tell them what had passed, then went to
look again with a couple of his friends.’ Graves glanced up at his two companions. Harriet turned away as if to admire the view, but saw nothing. ‘It is just as Padfield wrote in his letter to you. He thought to go back to the room where they had prepared for the party, and found the door locked — but he says he heard a noise within. There was no response to his calls, so he and another man broke down the door. Lady Martesen was lying dead in the centre of the room. There follow details of her costume … Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a deep wound to her left wrist.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Daniel was crouched in the corner of the room, bleeding heavily from wounds to his own wrists. He seemed to have no idea where he was or what he was about. Good God, to see it set down like this …’
Harriet had folded her arms tightly around herself. ‘Anything more?’
‘There was a cut-throat razor between his feet.’
‘Anything further about the body, Graves, other than the costume?’ Crowther asked from his corner.
‘No — wait. Krall reports very little blood around her body. He says other than the cut on her wrist and the bloodshot eyes, she appeared unharmed, her clothing not disarranged or torn. No bruises. God, they must think …’ He controlled himself. ‘There was some damp about her clothes. One moment — a carafe of water was broken on the floor. And there was a pinkish foam around her lips and mouth.’
Crowther sat forward. ‘A pinkish foam? Those are the words?’
‘Yes. Is that significant?’
Harriet thought of the girl laid out across the floor, hardly marked, her wounded hand trailing behind her, but her eyes open. Unmistakably dead.
‘The cut on her wrist,’ she said, before Crowther could reply to Graves’s question. ‘Crowther, does the account of the body say how deep it was?’
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