by John Burke
I scanned the horizon. If Dominic chose to enter the castle now, I wondered if he would be allowed to reach me. The odds would not be in his favour.
Countess Lomnica said: ‘This is a trying time. It is most distressing for you. But you may rely on my nephew. He will do what he has set out to do.’ Her hands rustled in her lap again. ‘Would you care for an hour at cards?’
It struck me that she, like everyone else in this place, was under orders. Fretting to be on my way to Count Florian, I was in no mood to be trifled with further. Abruptly I said:
‘Was that your son at Fasanenburg?’
It hurt me to see how I had hurt her, how she shuddered beneath the blow.
‘No, that is not possible.’
‘Your son Michael,’ I persevered cruelly. ‘Taking exercise in the inner courtyard. You said we must meet, yet we were kept apart.’
‘Please, my dear, you do not understand.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Please, you will say nothing of this to Herr . . . to Jan. You promise me you will not say a word?’
I said: ‘Who is Jan?’
Regaining control of herself, she stiffened into that patrician pose I remembered as my first glimpse of her at Carlsbad. ‘He is a man who has done his country great service. A man of high principles.’
‘And yet –’
‘Leonora, you must be patient. I beg you to wait, and do not ask too much. I know he has declared his intentions to you. You should be proud. When you are his wife, he will tell you all you need to know.’
‘Including the reasons for keeping your son hidden away?’
She preserved her dignity, but I saw she was eager to escape from my company. That suited me very well. If they were all set on deceiving me, for whatever mysterious motives, I felt less compunction in manœuvring them into my own pattern. I asked again about Michael, expressed vexation at her lack of candour with me, and then turned away so that she was virtually dismissed from the room.
When I was sure that she was not merely retreating a few yards and still keeping an eye on me, I went to my own room. There was mercifully no sign of Betka. I dressed in my blue riding habit, set my beaver hat firmly on my head, and went down to the stables. Through the arch I could see the watchman pacing across the courtyard.
Very quietly I saddled the dapple, keeping a hand patting its flank and muzzle as steadily and reassuringly as possible. When it was ready I slipped back into the west wing by the side door and went warily to one of the windows above the moat, as close as I could get to the edge of the courtyard. I opened the window, wincing at the screech it made.
An iron lantern hung from a bracket to my left. I lifted it down and held it out over the deep moat. It was unlikely that such a thing would fall out of a window of its own accord, but I must be prepared to protest innocence when the time came – or to brazen it out. I leaned on the sill, swung the heavy lantern a couple of times, and aimed it at the steep, lumpy wall below.
It struck with an even more satisfying clangour than I had hoped for, bounced, and struck a projecting stone on its way down.
I hurried back to the stables. A burly man in shirt-sleeves stood in the archway, fortunately with his back to me. He was staring into the courtyard; and then broke into a lumbering trot. I lost sight of him, but it was fairly obvious that he would have followed the guard out of the gate and round the end of the wall to see what was going on in the moat.
Before they could turn back and block my way, I swung up on to the mare, and raced her across the yard and out down the hill.
I thought I heard a shout, but did not look back.
There would be some fine rages when I got back; little doubt of that. But I wanted it finished with – and in some mad way was exhilarated by the mere fact of having ridden through that gateway, of galloping downhill and being in charge of my own destiny for a few hours.
Flakes of crystalline snow brushed my cheek and melted into the horse’s mane.
I made a wide circuit of the rock eminence, so that anyone spying me from the windows would report that I had headed for Svetlik village. When I was well into the trees I struck off towards the road which had taken us to the monastery, praying that I would recognize it when I came to it.
In the forest shadows I began to fear I had taken a wrong turning, perhaps more than one; then we emerged on to a more substantial road, and almost of its own accord the mare turned right.
I felt proud of myself and my admirable sense of direction.
Out in the open, the snow was falling more thickly. I narrowed my eyes against the stinging gusts. At the same time I had to look up the neighbouring slopes, from side to side, in case Jan’s reconnaissance party should intercept me.
The fork in the road was obvious enough, and I took the left turn as instructed. This branch was narrower than the way to the monastery, and a high wooded cliff soon closed in from one side. To some extent it shielded me from the snow, bouncing the flakes off high above my head.
On the right the woodlands thinned, and there was a wide, exposed stretch of peat bog.
A horseman made his slow way along the rim of the bog. I tensed. If this were one of Jan’s men . . .
He raised his arm and shouted something.
I did not hear the words, but their inflection was familiar. In these surroundings, English was so out of place as to be instantly recognizable.
Dominic rose in his stirrups, waved again, and then thumped down into the saddle and spurred his horse forward.
It was easy enough, in the security of Kirchschlag, to have doubts of Dominic’s purpose in coming to Bohemia, to talk blandly of meeting him face to face and hearing what he had to say. But now, as that dark figure raced towards me through the swirling snow, I felt no desire for a discussion face to face, heart to heart – felt nothing, in fact, but blind panic. It numbed me. I wanted to flee, but sat there as he came on, his cloak flying, his head thrust forward in the urge to reach me, get to grips . . . hurl me down.
Then wet clods of earth flew from beneath his horse’s forelegs; it stumbled, plunged one hoof into a marshy patch; and went down.
My own mount jerked nervously. The signal released me from my trance. I slapped its flank, leaning forward to cry in its ear, and we sprang away.
The track began to climb. Through a cleft in the rock it swung dizzily to a level path, then descended and climbed again. I looked back. Through the snow it was impossible to see whether Dominic was following. And ahead, it was difficult to make out the features of the ridge.
Suddenly in a wide amphitheatre there was a cluster of buildings. I kept my distance, circling them. A tumbledown hut stood by a huddle of timbers which could well mark an old mineshaft. Somebody might be waiting in that hut for me.
I did not dare to ride down into that deep basin. If Dominic came up the path behind while I was down there, he would have me trapped.
Nobody came out of the hut. Dusty grey and white rock grew whiter as the snow fell steadily upon it.
I rode on, because there was nothing else to do.
Where was the man who would take me to Florian – or pass me on yet another stage, with further complexities in store?
Still the path grew steeper, and the woods closed in again. It suddenly occurred to me, now that it was too late to turn back, that the message I had been given might not come from Florian at all. Dominic could have bribed someone to bring it to me, to lure me out. But then, how could Dominic have known I was expecting a message, or the form of that message?
I reined in, trying to get my bearings. If I circled round that prominence over there, and cut back down the first downhill track I found, I must surely rejoin the monastery road. No, that was wrong: first the lower section of the road I had come along, and then the fork, and then . . .
The mare snorted and decided to go on.
We came to a mountain stream, its music so brittle that one could believe it was already forming slivers of ice. Snow built up a whit
e crust on boulders scattered across the channel.
The mare picked her way fastidiously along the bank. Another clump of trees, and then we came without warning on a narrow, black lake. Unlike the chattering stream it was utterly still. Fallen tree trunks dipped their drowned heads into its glacial mirror.
On the far bank I could just make out a square shape which must be another hut of some kind. I looked back. Such hoof-prints as the mare had left were already being smoothed over by the snow.
I wondered if Dominic had been injured as he fell.
The afternoon was darkening. Dusk must be hours away; but snow and the overhanging trees and the black tarn sucked all light from the heavens. I did not know how to go on – and could not turn back.
The mare plodded round the edge of the lake. It took longer than I would have guessed. Snow stung my eyes again, and I was riding with my head bent so that if an enemy had reared up in my path I would not have seen him until it was too late.
We reached the hut. I dismounted and stood staring at the door. It should by rights have opened to reveal Count Anton Florian standing there, beckoning me in and seating himself beside me while I told him the news he had been waiting for.
Nobody stirred. A pine branch a few yards away dipped gently beneath the accumulation of snow and tipped the white blossom with a plop to the ground.
I went to the cabin, obviously a woodman’s hut, and opened the door. Inside was a cold stove, with a pile of logs and kindling against one wall. There were two benches and a crude table. Some sacking and a grubby blanket had been heaped on one end of the table.
On the wall was a lump of wood hacked into the likeness of that ferocious head with an eye patch which I had seen on the old man’s stick in Svetlik.
I took the blanket and went out, draping it over the mare and leading her under the overhang of the hut. Against the back wall, under the nearest row of saplings, was a slatted trough stuffed with straw. I tethered the horse and went back inside. The snow was by now so relentless that I could not hope to choose any direction which would mean anything to me. All I could hope was that Dominic would have lost me and turned back in his tracks.
The sacks looked grimy, but I was tempted to draw them around my shoulders. It was unsafe to light a fire. Smoke would surely attract Dominic; or, if they were by now looking for me, Jan’s men.
Perhaps it would be better, now, if Jan’s men found me. That would put an arbitrary end to my hopeless search.
I was convulsed by a sudden attack of the shivers. The cold came in under the door, through every crack, filling the whole bleak little room.
Snow whispered very faintly on the roof and obscured the smoky window.
I had been made to set out on such an errand in an alien country, not knowing whom to trust, not knowing which way to turn.
A footstep crunched on the ground near the door.
I sat rigid, trying to control my shudders. The mare – it had been the mare, shifting in the snow, twitching shreds of straw from the manger. It must have been.
There was one more step, and then the door creaked open. Dominic stood there, implacable, with several days’ growth of stubble on his chin. I did not even get up from the bench. Even if I could have flung myself past him, I was too weary to make a dash into the unknown.
He said: ‘Will you be running away from me for the rest of our lives, Nora?’
Chapter Twelve
He was haggard with a tiredness as great as my own. Perhaps greater: a grim, bone-racking tiredness to which he would not yield until the fury which had driven him across Europe was sated.
‘Why have you come after me?’ All I wanted was to know the worst and have an end to it.
‘To tell you the truth.’
‘About Caroline?’
‘Yes, about Caroline.’
In this cold at what seemed the end of the world there were no polite formalities, no handshake or enquiries about friends and relations and other meaningless everyday things. The truth, he had promised.
I said: ‘It couldn’t have waited until I came home?’
‘We feared you might never come home.’
‘“We”?’
‘Your father and mother, my father, the police. And myself. Most of all myself.’
‘It’s been suggested that I stay,’ I admitted. I owed my pride that little boast.
‘Thank God I’ve got to you before . . .’
‘Before what?’
‘We don’t know. We couldn’t guess all his intentions. But one thing we do know: you’re in the hands of a murderer.’
For a blurred moment I thought he was speaking of himself, and there was nothing I could do about it. They say that those who are freezing to death lose all will to resist, and before the cold becomes too agonizing let themselves drowse off into eternity. I felt just like that.
‘Jan Sieghart,’ he said. ‘Or whatever his real name is.’
‘Jan?’
‘He killed Caroline.’
Dominic stepped into the hut and kicked the door shut behind him. I felt the bench biting into the backs of my knees, but there was no sensation in my hands or in my head.
He sank to his right knee and took my face between the icy dampness of his gloves.
‘Nora. My dearest, sweetest Nora.’
‘No. No, you can’t, I’ll not . . . not be tricked again, not by you. It’s too cruel.’
He took off his gloves, and now his fingers were warm on my cheeks. I was forced to stare into that familiar face, darkened and drawn and aged.
‘You’re frozen,’ he said.
I tried to say it was of no consequence, but he got up and turned towards the stove.
My tongue thawed. ‘No. If someone should see the smoke, they’ll know we’re here.’
It was nonsensical. At Dominic’s mercy, I ought to have wanted to be rescued by Jan and his retainers. Even better, Count Florian should have come silently in and turned the tables. Instead, I knew only that we must talk, and talk without interruption.
Dominic said: ‘Michael will give us warning if anyone draws too close.’
‘You mean you’ve met him – Countess Lomnica’s Michael?’
‘He guided me to Kirchschlag, and found us shelter; and now he is watching the approaches from the old mine workings.’
Wood hissed and spat in the stove. Acrid smoke billowed out. Then there came a comforting, gathering roar up the rusted pipe. Dominic stayed beside it until he was satisfied it was drawing properly. When he had added a few logs to the top, he drew one of the benches close to the warmth.
We sat a few inches apart, yet closer than we had been for a long, long time. And still there was so much to be explained.
I said: ‘It’s a funny place to be hearing the truth at last. If that is what you’ve come for.’
‘Before you left, there was a story that Burridge had been implicated in Caroline’s death.’
I remembered well enough. ‘But he claimed he was in King’s Lynn at the time.’
‘Which proved to be true.’
‘Then what about the witness who said he’d recognized him that evening, near Tempest Fen?’
‘When the police questioned him again in more detail, he said it was something in the way Burridge had walked. Or, rather, the man he’d thought was Burridge. “Not exactly a limp,” was the way he put it. “The way he held himself” – words to that effect.’
Not exactly a limp. The description fitted the poor fellow after his accident. It fitted someone else equally well: Jan Sieghart, with that slight twist as he walked, the way his weight fell slightly to one side.
Dominic said: ‘I see that it strikes you, too.’
‘But Jan was away. He had been away for some days by then, in London.’
Dominic held out his hands to the stove, creaking as it warmed up, and stared into the little slot of leaping redness at its base – or into the past and what he had learnt.
The police had extended their enquiries
. As rumours spread, the porter at Gullbank station on the line between March and Wisbech came forward with testimony about a passenger getting off a train in the late afternoon. The more he thought of it, the more certain he was of it being the day of the murder. He had no idea of the man’s destination, but had been mildly interested in such a well-dressed stranger descending at such an isolated spot. Digging into his memory, he thought the man had had a ticket from London via Peterborough. And yes, he had walked in an odd sort of way: not quite a limp, just an odd sort of lean to him.
Dominic remembered Jan Sieghart. He had good reason to. For he also remembered Caroline’s interest in Jan at their first meeting, and the fact that she had appeared so shaken by that meeting.
‘I thought’ – Dominic let his hands fall between his knees, and hunched his shoulders forward – ‘she was indulging in clandestine meetings with him. She had made a point of flirting with all my business acquaintances; preferably in front of me. I thought she must now be meeting your friend Sieghart to spite you, or me, or both of us.’
‘You could really believe her capable of such vindictiveness? You’d only been married a short time.’
‘Within a week of marrying her I could have believed it. And more besides.’
He was not asking for sympathy. His face was gaunt and unyielding in the sombre afternoon. I knew all at once, beyond doubt, that the anger driving him was anger against himself and what his marriage to Caroline had set in train. I was summoning up the courage to ask him at long last just why he had married her, when he went on:
‘That was how I came to be at Tempest Fen that evening. She had been wrought up all day. I knew something was in the wind, but couldn’t tell what. I was reduced to playing the furtive husband prying into his wife’s infidelities. The rest you know.’
‘Not all the rest of it.’
Interested now in the movements of the young Austrian stranger, the police turned their enquiries to London. They were not the only ones. My father, alarmed by the idea of my being in the clutches of someone who might for unknown reasons have been deceiving us all along, hurried to London to consult friends to whom he had given Jan letters of introduction. Jan had called on only one of them, and that very briefly: presumably to provide himself with at least one plausible acquaintanceship should it prove necessary. So how had he spent his time; hatching up what with his aunt, the Countess Lomnica? Father approached the Austrian Embassy and asked for any information they could give him on Herr Jan Sieghart and his aunt. The attaché who spoke to him was politely unhelpful. It was not the duty of the Embassy to seek or provide information on the social lives of private citizens. If Canon Talbot’s daughter had travelled with friends on to Austrian territory, she could be reached by letter or telegram: the Imperial postal services were as reliable as any in Europe. When approached direct by the police, the Embassy remained just as polite and just as unco-operative, pleading certain formalities and diplomatic channels to be gone through before questions relating to the Emperor’s subjects could be answered. My father was sure they were hiding something; but was baffled by what it could be.
