Circle of Shadows caw-4

by Imogen Robertson

  Colonel Padfield, who was seated on her right, was obviously one of those gentlemen who saw instrumental music as an invitation to general conversation. ‘Amazing thing, power of music, isn’t it, madam? And the fairer sex are particularly prone to it, I believe.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Harriet said, steadying her breathing and wishing him in Hades.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said comfortably. ‘There was a woman here at the court some six years ago, before my time, you know, who was so taken with some Italian violin player she made quite a fool of herself. Apparently the Duke was on the point of putting her under his protection, but she couldn’t resist her passion for the fiddler. Had to leave court under a cloud, of course, and her son was taken away from her. Then the sovereign’s eye landed on Countess Dieth. There was quite an amusing anecdote about it. When they told the Duke what the lady was up to, apparently he said, “But I have estates in Italy, and I play the flute very well!”’

  ‘They removed her child from her?’

  ‘Lord, they had to! She was the widow of one of the officers, and the son was a godson of the Duke. Couldn’t let him be raised by such a woman.’

  One of the dancers was lifted across the stage in a series of leaps that seemed designed to show off her form rather than advance the drama to any degree that Harriet could understand, but the general applause provoked drew Colonel Padfield’s attention back to the stage once more. Harriet closed her eyes briefly and thought of her son and daughter at Caveley. She knew what she was capable of if they were under threat. She wondered.

  Kupfel received the basket from Rachel with a suspicious eye. He rifled through it, then placing it on the floor by the fire, said only, ‘Good.’

  Clode took a seat next to his wife.

  ‘Rachel, how did you ever manage to gather all those things in an hour?’

  She yawned for she was tired now. ‘I made some friends among the servants, and learned something of their cures. The nobility thinking you a murderer gave me the opportunity for some study.’

  Clode removed his hand from her arm and Rachel bit her lip. She was becoming as outspoken as her sister. She glanced at Herr Kupfel. He was on his knees in front of the fire with the basket at his side. He was quite still and Rachel realised, with a slight shock, that he was praying. It had never occurred to her to pray before she started similar work. Kupfel brushed something from his eye, then picked up the saucepan and the crock of milk.

  Manzerotti began his second aria. Harriet let it carry her. She did not know the piece, only that the music seemed to rage as it rose, then in a moment became slow, thick and open, grieving alongside the hautbois before becoming a battle again. His audience applauded and the Duke rose and walked to meet him on the stage. Manzerotti went down on one knee to kiss his hand.

  ‘Revenge and love from Flavio! Most appropriate.’ The Duke looked pleased. ‘That is the opera you will be giving us tomorrow, I believe.’

  Manzerotti got to his feet and bowed. ‘It is, sire.’

  ‘An opera that touches on the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom.’ The Duke turned to the audience. ‘Even musicians have the opportunity at court to lecture their sovereigns and be paid for it.’ There was a ripple of sycophantic laughter.

  ‘I will do all in my power to give you pleasure, sire,’ Manzerotti said. Harriet heard a woman sigh lustily behind her.

  ‘Very good, songbird.’ The Duke removed a large diamond from his second finger and handed it to him. ‘See that you do.’

  Kupfel had left as soon as he had completed his work, his head lowered. The remnants of his cure lay scattered where they fell. Rachel had tidied them as best she could. Now she and her husband sat in silence watching Swann sleep.

  ‘He seems a great deal easier,’ Rachel said at last. ‘I wish I knew what Mr Kupfel was about.’ She crossed to the bed and checked the bandages wrapped around the Chancellor’s hands. They were greasy with the preparation Kupfel had made over the fireplace. She had watched him cover the skin with egg-whites, then his strange custard of herbs, milk and oil.

  ‘Rachel …’ She turned towards her husband. He looked very young. ‘Why did he choose me — whoever did all this? I don’t understand what I did.’

  She returned to him and sat at his feet. It was how she used to sit with Harriet when they talked late at night at Caveley. She realised even as she settled that she had never sat by his side in this way before.

  ‘I hope the answer lies somewhere in those notes we have made. Harriet will work it out. She has that fire in her eyes. I feel myself as if we are lost in some magical tale.’

  ‘What do you mean, my dear?’

  ‘Do you remember Jocasta Bligh’s cards, the ones she uses to tell fortunes?’

  ‘Of course. When last we met, she threatened you with five children.’

  Rachel laughed softly, and felt Daniel’s hand on her shoulder; his touch was tentative, unsure. She reached up and took it in her own, lifting the back of his hand to her mouth and kissing it before laying it back in its place.

  ‘I think this man is a poet, of sorts,’ she went on. ‘I mean, these deaths, these death scenes are like little horror plays. And everyone circling round this seems like characters from Mrs Bligh’s pack of cards. The Page who found Mrs Dieth; Kupfel is a Hermit if ever I saw one. Perhaps Harriet is Justice now! There is even an Emperor in the shape of the Duke. Is it not strange? When you begin to look for such things in the world, they appear everywhere.’

  ‘I think each one of us tries to make a story for ourselves. To understand the pattern of life.’

  ‘You are right. Daniel, I hope the story we make will be a happy one.’

  ‘From this time on, Rachel.’ He was silent for a moment, and she looked up at him, the line of his jaw beginning to shade with stubble, the shape of his throat. ‘And what of me? Where am I in this fairytale of yours?’

  ‘I thought of The Fool, the first card in the pack. The beginning of things.’

  ‘My costume? Of course. Do you think that might be why he chose me?’ Daniel said, breathing out. ‘That was all? Because I looked like the illustration on a pack of cards?’

  ‘Perhaps that was enough.’

  Daniel was quiet a long time. ‘Do you think me a fool, Rachel?’

  ‘No, but I think we have both been foolish, don’t you?’

  ‘I think I have married a clever woman.’

  ‘Of course you have, but perhaps not very wise. Daniel … that letter you wrote to me the morning after you had been arrested …’

  ‘I apologise for it, Rachel. It fell from me — no wonder you thought me deranged, that you were frightened of me.’

  ‘No, Daniel, that’s just it. It was a little wild, but my dear I should have said this the moment that I came to see you at Castle Grenzhow …’

  ‘But I behaved as if you were a stranger making a social call. I wanted to let you see I was no longer mad, or at least that I had some control.’

  ‘I know, darling, and I was a fool not to tell you to stop being an idiot then, but I was so afraid for you. But let me finish: when you spoke in that letter of me being disgusted with you, frightened of you, I swear to you, Daniel, it was never so. The drug made you think such things. I have always loved and trusted you.’ She twisted round so she could look up into his face, hopeful, unafraid. ‘Darling, whatever strangeness has marked the beginning of our marriage, I swear there has never been a single moment where I have been frightened of you, or disgusted by you. I swear it, Daniel, on those five children Jocasta has promised us.’

  He got down on his knees beside her and took her in his arms.

  V.12

  The audience began to make its way into the supper chamber. Harriet took Crowther’s arm and turned to the Colonel.

  ‘What happened to the lady?’ she asked. ‘The one whose son was taken away?’

  Colonel Padfield shook his head. ‘I haven’t a clue, madam. I am afraid I have told you all I know of the matter. One moment — Doc
tor von Reymen?’

  The Duke’s physician turned towards them and Padfield continued in French. His words were fluent enough, but spoken with an English accent so uncompromising, Harriet felt herself smile. ‘Do you remember the story of that young woman who wanted to run off with the violinist? Mrs Westerman has just asked me how the story ended. I have had to confess, I don’t know.’

  Von Reymen came closer to them and looked about him as he approached, as if delighted to be observed in conversation with them. Harriet was sure she and Crowther would do nothing to enhance Reymen’s reputation. The Colonel’s stock, however, was obviously on the rise.

  ‘Ah yes! I remember it well. You must always come to me for the tittle-tattle, mon Colonel, I have been at Ludwig’s side so long. Kastner was the lady’s name. The fiddler Bertolini. Well, I say Lady. Her French was not well, not well at all. She was sent away and her son, Carl, was enrolled at the Ludwigsschule, here in Ulrichsberg.’

  ‘Was she never allowed to visit him?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘She might have been in time. But after the first year, there was no one to visit! An outbreak of fever came to the town and the child was one of the eight who died. Very sad, of course, he was a brave little chap. But no doubt she was glad of his death — so much easier to find a new rich protector without a child.’

  Harriet clenched her jaw. It was probably a good thing that Crowther intervened to ask, ‘You attended the child? Did he tell you nothing of his mother?’

  ‘It was a terrible time, milord. I had no time to chat to him, there were so many taken ill. Now there was a man, the drawing master … Durnham — Dreher, that was it! He must have taken a liking to the boy, since one often found him at the bedside. None of the other masters seemed to think the child would amount to much.’

  Harriet closed her eyes, thinking of her son Stephen, the terrors she had felt whenever he was ill, and the death of her first child half a world away. The memory of it still lay vivid and black in the core of her.

  ‘Mrs Westerman?’

  She opened her eyes to look at Crowther and he nodded to the far corner of the room. Krall was standing by the double doors, waiting for them to notice him. His brows were drawn tightly together.

  Crowther bowed towards her. ‘I think you may have to change your dress again, Mrs Westerman.’

  Krall had told them only that Adolphus Glucke had been found dead; he then waited in their private parlour, staring ferociously at the fire as Harriet and Crowther dressed to leave the palace. Harriet did not speak to Dido as she changed her clothes. She tried to remember what had happened since she first dressed that day in the darkness: Countess Dieth found, her mouth full of earth and her ring with the owl symbol missing; Clode’s release and the discovery of Swann staggering and senseless in the garden. A fragment of the aria Manzerotti had sung had stuck, repeating itself in her brain, and again and again she saw the image of a young boy dying of fever and separated from his mother.

  Adolphus Glucke was not provided with an apartment in court, but in common with several other senior members of the Privy Council, his house was only a short stroll from the grounds. There he had lived with his books and scores, unmarried, a little aloof but devoted to the service of the Duke and Maulberg. His home was one of the first in Neue Strasse, a tall, narrow building that reminded Crowther of those built in Soho Square or Portland Place for families coming to spend the season in Town, and not concerned if they were a little cramped. The height of the frontage gave Crowther the impression he was being looked down upon. He turned; the view was much the same that he had first had of the palace, yet, set to the west of the marketplace as it was, Glucke’s house seemed to be looking at it slightly askance. The street was dark and quiet, and Krall hurried them up the steps and into the hallway, glancing about him as he did so. At the bottom of a steep internal staircase was a small group of people. Krall barked and glowered, and it was established with reasonable quickness that they were Glucke’s housekeeper, who had discovered him, and her daughter and son-in-law to whom she had run; also the member of the Watch, who had just begun his work of singing out the hours and Biblical quotes when she gave him the news. Mr Glucke’s footman was the last of the group.

  ‘Has the body been touched?’ Krall asked. Crowther began to translate the exchanges from German to English for Mrs Westerman.

  The son-in-law stepped forward. ‘We didn’t like to, sir. All looks so strange we weren’t sure what to do beyond call the Watch.’

  ‘You did well, son. Right, one step at a time. Mistress Schneider, tell me what happened. Start at the start and go slow.’

  Mistress Schneider smoothed her apron and wet her lips. For some reason Crowther liked her. She seemed young to have a daughter full-grown and married. He was reminded of his own housekeeper and wondered, briefly, how she did.

  ‘Shall I start in the morning, sir?’ she said.

  ‘Whenever you think best,’ Krall replied, lifting his eyebrows.

  ‘Mr Glucke was at court, as he always is in the mornings with the Privy Council, when there was a great banging at the door. I opened it to find old Mr Kupfel on the doorstep.’

  ‘The Alchemist?’ Harriet whispered to Crowther. He nodded but kept his eye on the housekeeper.

  ‘Did he visit here often, mistress?’ Krall asked.

  She hesitated. ‘He used to, sir, but these last years it’s been more his son that comes. Not in the morning, though.’

  ‘Mr Glucke buy a lot of face potions, did he?’

  She shook her head, unsmiling. ‘Young Mr Kupfel has done very well, sir. He is even spoken of as a future Mayor of Ulrichsberg. Mr Glucke was often visited by the better people in town, those who have not the rank to attend court.’

  Krall scratched the back of his head. ‘I understand you, mistress. But it was Adam Kupfel came this morning? Do you know what his business was?’

  ‘He wouldn’t share with me, now would he? No, all I know is he seemed to have worked himself into a rage. He said he’d wait for Mr Glucke in the study, and beyond getting me to give him a plate of something hot, that was all his talk with me, and even that cost him so much twitching and sneering you’d think I was a dog not to be trusted without a muzzle.’

  ‘How long did he wait?’

  ‘It was an hour till Mr Glucke came back — so early in the afternoon. Then there were voices raised.’

  ‘Raised loud enough for you to make any sense of what was said?’

  ‘Two words only from Kupfel. My master always spoke low. They were “thieves”, and “fools”. I thought maybe the children had been rifling through Kupfel’s junk again.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Kupfel stormed out in the same mood he arrived in. I gave my master his meal.’

  ‘He did not dine in court?’

  ‘He only sups there from time to time, sir. The food is too rich for him. The food was too rich for him,’ she corrected herself. ‘The master asked me to come in and clear away his plate, then he went down to the cats.’

  Crowther stopped translating and looked at Krall with his eyebrows raised. The District Officer sighed and turned to them. ‘Mr Glucke was a scholar, but he had his quirks. He had a fancy for cats — used to have them in the study while he worked. Unsanitary, I always thought it, though they are pretty enough. He’s always had a dozen or so of them at any one time.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Harriet said to herself. ‘The mechanical mice.’

  ‘Then what?’ Krall said to the housekeeper.

  ‘Then nothing, District Officer. I knew he was going back to court in the evening, but time was getting close for his usual hour of leaving, and there was no sign or sound of him. I knocked and got no answer, so I went into the garden round at the back and looked in through the window. I could see him sitting there, but he didn’t move when I knocked. The only things that were moving were the cats, and they seemed …’

  ‘Seemed what, mistress?’

  ‘Seemed strange, sir. They were
all gathered round him. I thought he was ill so I fetched my son-in-law here to help William knock down the door, and then we saw …’

  ‘So the door to the study was locked from within?’ Crowther asked.

  ‘With the key left in the lock. The garden door was locked too, though there was no key in that.’

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ Krall said slowly. ‘I think it best if we go to the study now.’

  Crowther did not move. ‘Madam, this may sound a little unusual, but did your master have anything with an owl on it?’

  The housekeeper frowned and was shaking her head, when the footman touched her shoulder and whispered to her.

  ‘Of course — on his watch, sir. On the case.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The cats?’ Krall said suspiciously.

  ‘Still there, sir. We left the door to the garden open, thinking they’d be off, but they don’t seem to want to leave him.’

  Adolphus Glucke was seated in the centre of the room; he had been a thin man in late middle age. With a slight shock Harriet realised he was the man she had seen during their first evening in Ulrichsberg, the one who had reminded her of Crowther. His body had slid forward slightly in the chair and his head was tilted back. He could have been sleeping off his beer on a tavern bench, except his left hand was covered in blood. On his lap was curled a large snow-white cat. Another wound its way in a regular figure of eight between his feet. The room seemed full of white fur and a low throb of purring. Krall entered first. Harriet and Crowther followed more slowly, looking about them at the unfamiliar chamber. It was smallish and square. The wooden floor was covered with red and black rugs, a little threadbare in places. Three walls were covered in books. The fourth was dominated by a French window; the night air blew softly in through it, carrying the scents of the garden. Tasteful, forgettable landscapes hung either side of it. The desk had its back to the light.

  Crowther crossed to the body and looked into Glucke’s upturned face. The cat on his lap turned its head towards him, put back its ears and hissed. Crowther ignored it. Glucke’s mouth was filled with earth. It was as if the head had been held back in its current position and the dry soil poured in until it overflowed round his cheeks, leaving a haze of particles over the skin. Around the eyes it was darker, as if it had turned to mud. Crowther felt a chill run through him; the man had been crying as he died. One of the cats was pushing against Glucke’s hanging hand as if wanting to be stroked. Crowther hoped they had been this close to him as he died, that somewhere under his suffering he had felt their comfort.