‘You there!’
He paused and touched the brim of his hat. ‘All right there, miss? Cold again, ain’t it?’
‘Can you read?’
‘My name and numbers.’
She put a folded note into his hand. ‘Now this is to go to Mr Wilhelm Grey, he’s a lawyer at the university. You’re to take it to him and wait for a reply. Bring it straight back and there’ll be a fair reward for it.’
Pegel considered telling her he’d do it for a kiss. But she’d start looking at him then whether she’d pay the price or no. Better to resist the temptation to make conversation for now. Wilhelm Grey, was it? He’d seen him around. A wizened-faced old bird who had a fondness for folding lavender into his worn cloak and a liking for his more fresh-faced young students. Pegel touched his hat and pocketed the note. It was time to summon his irregular little army of urchins. If this went the way he thought it might, he’d need extra feet and extra hands to track the little rabbits home. As soon as he turned the corner he pulled the note out of his pocket and looked at it more closely. Sealed. Well, Florian was not a complete fool.
III.2
Krall returned to the palace, cold from his early ride but content, and made his way at once to Chancellor Swann with Clode’s carnival mask wrapped in linen in his hands. He found the Chancellor with the Duke and a mass of papers. There was a harpsichord in the room, and as was his custom, the Duke was signing his papers to its accompaniment. In the other corner of the room the Countess Dieth sat at a small table, amusing herself, it seemed, playing games of Patience. Krall made his bow and readied himself to wait until business was concluded, but the Duke had seen the package in his hands and, it appeared, wanted distraction.
‘What do you have there, Krall?’ It was a point of pride among his people that their Duke spoke the local dialect as fluently as they. He used it now.
‘Mr Clode’s carnival mask, sire,’ he replied.
The Duke put down his pen and beckoned Krall over. Krall approached, and as he unwrapped the mask explained the theory that it had been used to drug Mr Clode in some way, as suggested in Mrs Westerman’s note.
The Duke smiled broadly. ‘Fascinating! How do you propose to test the theory?’
‘I thought to ask for a volunteer from among the servants, and observe the results, sire.’
The Duke sat back in his chair. ‘Oh, what an excellent idea! I should like to see that. May we try it at once?’
The music stopped and Krall glanced towards the musician. Turning from the keyboard was an extremely handsome man Krall did not recognise.
‘With your permission, sire,’ the man said in precise German.
‘What is it, Manzerotti?’
‘If the mask were drugged, its effects may have weakened over time. It might be better to experiment on a child. I think I know where one might be found at this time.’
The Duke crossed his legs. ‘Thank you, Manzerotti. Fetch it at once. Countess Dieth? Would you be so kind as to gather our English friends? It was Mrs Westerman’s suggestion, after all. She should see it tried.’
The lady stood up. ‘It is nonsense. You should have executed that monstrous Englishman a month ago.’
‘Now, now, my dear,’ the Duke said very softly. ‘Indulge me.’
From the moment they were introduced, Harriet realised Krall was cut of a very different cloth to the other people she had met at court so far. He looked, Harriet realised, a little like Michaels, though he was clean-shaven. His face was deeply lined, a granite escarpment weathered and harried by the elements, and his coat was far more workaday than any others worn at court. She could hardly imagine him moving among them. He was a charcoal sketch among the heavy oils around him. She found she was being studied in her turn, though with a friendly eye.
The Countess Dieth had hardly shared a word with them on their walk through the mirrored and shining corridors of the palace. She had simply told them to come with her. Rachel had shaken her head, saying she needed to rest, but Graves, Crowther and Harriet had followed in her silken wake, though Harriet saw signs of irritation on both their faces. Chancellor Swann was standing by the desk when they entered and bowed politely to them. Countess Dieth immediately retook her seat at the card-table and turned away from them all.
The Duke sat on a small daybed and indicated the area of carpet in front of the marble fireplace with a jewelled hand. He had his spaniel on his lap again. ‘If you would just stand there … excellent. Now we shall all have a perfect view. Continue, Krall.’
Krall bowed a little awkwardly, as if the movement did not come naturally to him. The Duke began to feed his dog sweetmeats from between his own lips. Harriet looked about her. After the Great Hall, this room seemed almost domestic. Classical drapery, but it had some lightness to it. If Harriet had chosen to fill the ceiling of the Long Salon in Caveley with putti and fill the walls with oil paintings, it might look something like this.
‘By your leave, sire.’ Krall pushed open a door just behind him, and from the antechamber beyond entered a young woman, fashionably if not richly dressed, who led by the hand a little girl of some seven or eight years of age.
‘Perfect,’ the Duke said. The Countess looked up briefly from her cards, shuddered and turned away. Krall led the little girl into the middle of the room then turned to a side-table and picked up a small bundle. He folded back the material and Harriet saw the fixed open grin of the carnival mask for the first time. She started forward, but felt Crowther’s hand on her arm.
‘But Crowther — a child!’ she whispered.
He shook his head.
Krall spoke; his French was not as fluent as his English — he sounded awkward, like a bad actor. ‘Sire, this young lady is Elizabeta, daughter to one of Monsieur Rapinat’s dancers in the corps de ballet.’
The Duke peered at the child for a moment. ‘Probably the fruit of Mr Rapinat’s loins. Continue.’
The Duke’s French was perfect, of course, and the mother flushed, and Krall frowned very briefly, but he addressed the child. ‘Elizabeta, we will play a game. You will put on this mask. It is magic and you will see … fairies and many, many wonderful things. You may feel a little unusual, but don’t worry. There’s a good girl.’
‘Sire …’ Harriet said. ‘Surely there is some other way-’
‘Shush, now, Mrs Westerman,’ the Duke said, raising a finger. ‘We have considered the matter and will not be questioned further.’ His voice was a deliberate singsong.
The mask was far too big for Elizabeta’s face. Krall helped her tie the ribbons behind her head, but she still had to hold it in place with one small hand on the chin. It was an unsettling sight, the little body of the child in her pretty, gauzy pink dress, her feet turned out neatly at right angles to each other as if she were a dancer herself, then that huge mask with its wide knowing grin. It seemed almost obscene.
‘It smells funny!’ Her voice was high and nervous, muffled behind the wide wooden grin.
Krall laid one hand on her shoulder, watching her very closely. ‘That is part of the magic.’
‘I cannot see very well.’
‘Be patient, my child.’
The Duke shrugged and began to play with his dog again. Then the little girl’s chest began to rise and fall more quickly. ‘Oh, my heart is thumping so!’
Krall swiftly undid the ribbons, and, touching only the edges of the mask, he laid it carefully to one side. Harriet heard Graves exclaim under his breath. The child’s eyes seemed to have swollen in her head and her face was flushed.
‘How are you now, Elizabeta?’ Krall asked.
She tilted her head on one side and blinked repeatedly. She seemed to be breathing through her mouth. Her lips were parted. Something in the air in the empty centre of the room seemed to fascinate her. Harriet was reminded of her housekeeper’s cat chasing shadows in the salon at Caveley. Elizabeta lifted her right hand and tried, apparently, to catch at whatever she saw. It seemed to evade her grasp and she laugh
ed. Whatever the girl was watching fell to the floor and she pounced on it, landing lightly on her knees. The rug was woven with tendrils and flowers. Elizabeta followed them with her fingers, then gasped and lifted her head.
‘What do you see?’ Krall asked.
‘The flowers are growing, of course!’ she said, without looking at him. ‘See, sir, they are climbing right up to the ceiling. Maman, Maman, do you see?’ Her mother covered her mouth. ‘I never saw flowers grow so fast before! How I wish they were always like this!’
Harriet noticed out of the corner of her eye that the Countess was watching now. The Duke looked greatly amused.
‘Do you see the fairies approach, Elizabeta?’ Krall said.
She turned her head this way and that, then a sudden understanding came over her features. ‘Why, they are everywhere!’
‘I think the Fairy King wishes to dance with you,’ Krall said.
Elizabeta suddenly blushed, then stood and took a number of light steps towards Graves and with a deep curtsey held out her hand.
Graves looked at his companions. Crowther gave a tiny nod of his head, and Graves took the little girl’s fingers between his own and bowed.
‘How does the Fairy King look, Elizabeta?’ Krall asked.
‘He is handsome and has a golden crown!’ Graves lifted the girl’s hand and she skipped forward, lifting and dropping her arms, then returning and taking his hand again, they moved forward together. She spun again and returned to him. Graves tried to mirror her steps, but having none of her natural grace, and not the advantage of hearing whatever orchestra was playing to the child he was stiff and unnatural.
‘I thought the King of the Fairies would dance beautifully!’ the child said and the Duke laughed. Graves frowned and the child saw it. ‘Oh, I have made him angry! His eyes are all red. Oh, they glow like the devil’s!’ Graves smiled and bowed. ‘He shall eat me!’
The Duke began to laugh, but the child looked terrified. Her mother made a whimpering noise and tried to move forward, but Krall put out his hand to stop her. Graves looked up at Harriet desperately. Harriet thought for a moment then undid the ribbon at her neck and handed it to him. From it hung a paste flower of brilliants. She had worn it at Rachel’s wedding. Graves took it and handed it at once to the little girl with a bow. She stopped crying at once and stared at it open-mouthed. ‘He has forgiven me.’ She dropped to her knees again and taking Graves’s hand, kissed his knuckles with absolute reverence.
The Duke was still shaking with amusement. The little girl dropped Graves’s hand and became quiet. Graves backed away a little.
‘Elizabeta?’
She was tracing the flowers in and above the carpet once more. The Fairy King seemed forgotten.
‘I’m dizzy,’ she said, her voice a little slurred. ‘I would like to go to sleep now.’
Krall dropped his hold on the mother’s wrist and the young woman swept forward, gathered the child up in her arms, and throwing a dark look at Krall, left the room. The Duke managed to control his laughter.
‘Well, whatever the effect of that mask, it did not mask her judgement of the dancing of milord Graves! Swanny, a purse for the mother and child, with our sincere thanks.’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’
‘I almost wish to see the fairies myself. Interesting. So Krall, is the mask a trap for Djinns? Is it engraved with the Seal of Solomon?’
‘It seems it is drugged, sire, as Mrs Westerman suggested.’
The Countess Dieth had got to her feet. ‘The child was coached! It is a lie to make you release Clode, sire!’
The Duke had hold of his spaniel’s forepaws and was making her dance back and forth on his lap. ‘Would you like to try the mask yourself, Countess? No?’ The Countess was silent. ‘I thought not. No, I do not think the child was coached. Poor Mr Clode.’ He set the dog onto the floor and its claws skittered on the parquet as it retreated beneath the day-bed. ‘Do you think someone might have wished to play a joke on Mr Clode? Then perhaps the drug sent him mad, he killed Lady Martesen and in horror at what he had done, tried to do away with himself. There. I have it.’
Krall stroked his chin. ‘It seemed to me, sire, that Clode was still in some sort of dream when I first talked to him.’
‘So? Krall, are you doing damage to my theory? I was so proud.’ He examined them all in turn. ‘We could then say the death was accidental and our English friends could go home.’
‘I mean, sire, that if he realised what he had done, then cut his wrists, that would suggest his brain had cleared. But it had not. This was a murder of Lady Martesen and an attempt to murder Mr Clode to conceal it.’
‘Oh dear, Krall. You doubt Clode’s guilt, I see.’ The Duke turned to Harriet and Crowther. ‘Hardly a day at the palace and already you have shaken Krall’s faith. What a breath of fresh air and new thinking you are!’
Countess Dieth’s voice shook slightly. ‘Ludwig, if Clode did not kill Agatha, then who did?’
The Duke did not reply, but merely looked up at Krall. The District Officer rocked on his heels. ‘I do not know who might have wanted Lady Martesen dead, sire.’
‘Krall, do you know you remind me of my uncle at times. Do you see how he did that, Countess? He asked his sovereign if he knows anything of the murder, but without actually asking!’
‘Very crafty, sire,’ the Countess replied. Her voice sounded hollow, defeated.
The Duke frowned. ‘I have no idea, Herr District Officer, of anyone who might have wished her harm. Lady Martesen was well liked at court.’
Krall bowed.
‘Had her position at court not altered recently, sire?’ Harriet said quietly.
The Duke’s smile became less friendly. ‘What a character you are, madam. It had. But Agatha was not a jealous woman. My betrothed had nothing to fear from her, nor had Agatha anything to fear by my marriage.’ Harriet looked at the floor.
The Duke laced his fingers together and examined his knuckles. ‘So someone has been fooling us. How embarrassing. And not very nice to welcome our bride with a murderer running about.’ The room was silent but for the panting of the little dog under the day-bed. Crowther stepped forward and bowed. ‘You may speak, Mr Crowther. Do so carefully.’
‘Perhaps, sire, it might be best to keep the effects of the mask confidential at the moment. If whoever drugged it is convinced his secret is safe, they may be careless, reveal some sign of their identity.’
‘It would be embarrassing for Maulberg too, Mr Crowther, as I am sure you realise, to release Clode the very second you arrive. Still. The little girl was very suggestible. Perhaps someone suggested the killing to Mr Clode.’ He licked his lips. ‘But even in that case the mystery remains.’ No one spoke. ‘No word of advice, Countess? Chancellor Swann? You are both normally so full of helpful suggestions.’ The Countess’s face reddened under her powder as if she had been struck, but she did not speak. ‘Very well. We have just welcomed Mrs Westerman and Mr Crowther to our court. We wish our new friends to investigate these matters. For the time being, until matters become more clear, Mr Clode will remain at Castle Grenzhow. Krall knows I think him very capable, but I am sure he would be glad of assistance in such a matter. Wouldn’t you, Krall?’
‘Very glad, sire.’
The Duke turned towards Harriet. ‘But perhaps my request alone might not be enough to hold you. I add to it that of your own King. Would you like to see the letter? The British Ambassador brought it along with him this morning. Dear Lord, that man wears ugly shoes.’
Harriet’s throat grew rather dry. ‘Sire, your request alone would be enough to hold us here.’
A corner of the Duke’s mouth lifted. ‘Clever girl. You shall have a copy of the letter in any case, to enjoy seeing your name bandied about in the correspondence of monarchs. See to it, Swanny.’ He looked carefully at his Chancellor. ‘Are you cross I hadn’t told you about my correspondence with Cousin George? Do not look so put out, my dear Swann. Am I not allowed a secr
et too from time to time?’
Swann bowed.
‘What next, Swann? I assume I have a mountain of papers to look through?’
‘There are a number of matters, sire.’
‘Very well. Krall, I assume from your horrible coat you do not intend to eat at our table this afternoon?’
‘I wish to continue my attempts to discover the history of this mask, sire.’
‘You do work hard! You have every assistance?’
He bowed.
The Duke looked about him. ‘Swanny, have some of the new musicians come in and play while we go through the papers, will you? Such excitement, I feel in need of a little calm.’
III.3
Harriet all but fled the room and not until they were a hundred feet of gallery away did she speak. ‘Will you come to the Castle, Crowther?’
‘If you will excuse me, I think I should serve Clode better by consulting about the provenance of the drug on the mask.’
‘In other words you do not think you can stand another tearful reunion so soon,’ Graves said under his breath. Harriet smiled then found herself looking around guiltily. Something in the atmosphere of the palace made her fear she was in danger of being constantly overheard.
‘What did you say to Krall as we left? He looked as if you had struck him,’ Graves asked Crowther. Harriet realised he was talking in low tones as well. Only a day and the palace had them fearing their own shadows.
‘After asking him to come to our private room at his first opportunity, I said, “I believe she drowned”, of course. What else would I say?’
‘Social pleasantries have never been your strong suit, have they, Crowther?’ Harriet said with a sigh. ‘Well, that explains the poor man’s expression.’
‘At least I have not interrogated any despots about their amours today, Mrs Westerman.’
She grimaced. Their footsteps echoed up the corridor which was lined with yet more classical statuary. Muses, heroes and a smattering of Dukes observed them as they passed. The Muses looked at them slyly over their shoulders. The heroes stared boldly and the Dukes looked down their noses. ‘A fair point. Why did you not tell the Duke about the manner of Lady Martesen’s death?’
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