‘Do not give up hope! Some have taken a false path, a path of vanity and mysticism. But. There. Are. Others.’
Pegel began to worry that the boy was drunker than he had thought. The afternoon would not go as planned if he could not walk.
‘Air!’ He stood up and was dismayed to find the room swayed a little. ‘Come along, Your Graciness. I want you to show me this town. I have been here a day already and have hardly seen a thing.’
Florian looked up at him and gave a slightly fuddled nod, then lifted his hand to summon the girl.
After five minutes’ walk Florian and Pegel reached the embankment and rested against the stone wall, looking back the way they had come. The lapping tiles on the roofs on the half-timbered houses ran in wavelets up the hill towards the castle and cathedral, washing up the high, steeply pitched roofs. The slates were small and tightly packed enough to look like dragon scales. Neither spoke. Pegel glanced at his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He still seemed a little bleary, but he was awake.
‘Is that man staring at us, Mr Pegel?’
Jacob glanced in the direction Florian nodded. A tall man in a slightly old-fashioned brown frockcoat and dark breeches was standing at the east entrance to the little square. His wig was rather yellow. He seemed to notice that he was observed and crossed towards them before making a bow which both young men, a little unsteadily, returned.
‘May I enquire,’ he said in the voice of an educated man, ‘if I have the pleasure of addressing His Grace Lord Florian zu Frenzel?’
Florian nodded. ‘I am he. May I have the honour of learning who it is that enquires?’ he said, slurring only very slightly.
The man was perhaps in his late thirties or early forties and had a vigorous air to him. Solid. A gentleman with a modest estate, perhaps. ‘My name I cannot give you, Your Grace. I am come to Leuchtenstadt to give you a message. One which I hope you will carry to your friends. We do not want you here. Any of you. We do not like your ideas or your leaders. Disband and return to your proper studies.’ Florian seemed able to do nothing but look amazed. The man reached into his pocket and pulled from it a folded sheet of paper which he held out to Florian with another bow. Florian took it from him automatically. ‘This is a warning, Your Grace. Heed it or worse will follow.’ With that the man turned and walked away from them.
Pegel plucked the page from Florian’s hand and opened it out. It was a drawing of a cross with a rose at its centre.
‘What on earth was that about? Fellow must be a bit simple. Do you know him?’ He glanced up when Florian did not reply. He looked pale. Pegel looked down at the paper again and frowned. ‘Still, not that much of a warning, is it? A picture?’ A shadow fell across him and he looked up again to see a man twice the size of the last with the red face of a drinker and the blossomed nose of a fighter towering over him. The giant spoke. ‘That be more of the signature, gentlemen. This is the warning.’
He grabbed Florian by the collar with his right hand and slapped him across the face with his left. The boy’s head was twisted sharply sideways and the giant dropped him to the ground, drew back his boot and kicked Florian hard in the stomach. Florian groaned and curled into a ball and the man drew back his foot again. Pegel lowered his head and charged him, catching him while he still had one foot lifted and making him stagger away from his victim. Pegel lifted his fists and stared up into the man’s glowing face. Behind him he heard a retching noise as Florian tried to lift himself up. The giant let his arms hang at his side and lifted one eyebrow. Pegel clenched his fists more tightly and gave a tiny nod. The blow came from his left and he felt himself flying through the air. A star-burst of pain spread over his face and he found himself suddenly on his knees. The giant hesitated a moment. Someone emerged from a shopfront on the side of the square and yelled something Pegel could not quite hear through the thumping of blood in his head. The giant looked about him, then set off down the side-street at a lumbering run. Trying desperately not to faint, Pegel stumbled over to Florian. The shopkeeper who had shouted took a step or two towards them, looking a little uncertain. Jacob got his arm under Florian’s and hauled him to his feet. His right cheek was raw and red and it seemed he could not stand straight.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Pegel hissed, watching the shopkeeper, ‘before that man calls the bedales. My rooms are near here. We can recover there. Can you walk?’ Florian managed to nod. ‘Come on then.’
II.4
MONSIEUR CLEMME HAD THE sense to do no more than open the door and then depart murmuring something about seeing to the disposal of their belongings. Harriet stepped into the large parlour in time to see her sister stand, but before she could form any impression of Rachel’s looks, the latter had thrown herself into her sister’s arms and buried her face in her neck.
‘Oh Harry, you came! Thank God!’ She stepped back and offered her hands to Crowther and then Graves. ‘Crowther, Graves – how glad I am to have you here.’
Her composure deserted her entirely and she burst into tears. The gentlemen examined the furnishings of the room, a great deal of gilding, while Harriet put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave her a handkerchief. She leaned her cheek against her hair, which was silk smooth. Rachel had been only fourteen years old when their father had died. Harriet had walked into the salon of the parsonage, and after four years of sailing with her husband around the world it had seemed small, and her own clothes and demeanour too grand for the modest little room. Then Rachel had hesitated, only for a moment, before running to embrace her sister, and Harriet had thought, Lord, another person to look after. It was months before she discovered that her modest, quiet little sister had been her father’s housekeeper and nurse, that Rachel’s trials might not have been as dramatic, bloody or adventurous as Harriet’s but she had faced them alone and withstood them bravely.
The room in which she now held her sister could not have been a greater contrast to the modest parsonage. The walls were a frenzy of plaster figures picked out in gold against pale green panelling, and the furniture itself, all gilt flourishes and elaborate curves, seemed to disapprove of them. The parsonage had smelled of mown grass, of the Norfolk summer; this room tasted of hot-house lilies. It seemed to Harriet that even the carved marble Graces holding up the mantelpiece were staring at them.
After a few moments Rachel managed to say, damply, ‘My apologies, but I have so wished to have you here. However did you manage it? When Colonel Padfield told me you were arriving today, I did not think it possible.’
Harriet guided Rachel to a chair in a convenient grouping by the fireplace and the gentlemen took their seats opposite the sisters. ‘Michaels, Mrs Clode!’ Graves said, smiling. ‘We would have been another fortnight on the road at least, were it not for him. He knows the lingo and he knows when to press and when not. But that’s all that needs to be said of our journey.’
‘Michaels here too? Lord, what trouble we have given you all.’
Graves leaned forward and took Rachel’s hand with the easy intimacy of long friendship. ‘What of you, my dear? How are you and poor Daniel managing? Verity, Mrs Service and the children send all their love.’
‘Their letters outpaced you, just. I had my first words from home only two days ago. Verity said the kindest, wisest things and poor Susan sounded quite distraught.’ She smiled very slightly and freed her hand to wipe her eyes again. It was known that Lady Susan had fallen madly in love with Daniel Clode at the age of nine while he helped save the lives of herself and her younger brother the Earl, and was still, while also loving Rachel sincerely, not quite free of the attachment. ‘I am as well as you might expect. The District Officer, Krall, has been fair, and Colonel and Mrs Padfield have been quite kind. The Colonel is an Englishman employed by the Duke. His wife is a German lady he met here; she accompanies me whenever I am allowed to visit Daniel in Castle Grenzhow and waits in the carriage for me. But none of them know us! They all think Daniel did this terrible thing. They all but confe
ss they think it would have been better if he had died in that horrid little room! Lord, I am so glad you are come! You know he didn’t do it, don’t you?’
Harriet held her to her side. ‘Of course he didn’t, darling. We have been reading all the papers since this morning.’ She held her away from her for a second. Her sister’s green eyes seemed rather large in her face, and her skin had a grey tinge to it. ‘You have grown thin, my love.’
‘I am well, Harry. Only promise me you can make them set Daniel free again and I shall be better.’
‘We have enough to save him, even in those papers, I think, thanks to Crowther. But who would do this? Who would frame Daniel for the killing in such a way? And attempt to murder him?’
She saw a wild hope light in Rachel’s eyes. ‘There was a man! You think so? We have been trying to believe, I have been trying to think, some terrible accident. But who could we have offended so? We are strangers here …’
‘And how is Daniel?’ Graves frowned as he asked the question. The letters that had met them on their way had been from Rachel alone. They reported her husband’s health as good and his mind clear, only he seemed unable to remember any more than snatches of the night of the festival parade. No word written by his own hand, however, was found in the packets.
Rachel leaned into Harriet’s shoulder and Harriet bent to kiss the top of her head.
‘Oh Graves, I cannot say. Not well. He says he has bad dreams. The wounds on his wrists are healing cleanly, but he lost a lot of blood – it left him weak and confused for days. He spends hours staring out at the forest from that horrible place and trying to recall.’ She shook her head. ‘I have told him a thousand times I think him incapable of doing harm to that woman, but he tortures himself. He could never have harmed her, could he?’
‘Of course not. It is unthinkable,’ Harriet said firmly.
Rachel peered out from under her honeyish curls towards Crowther. ‘Mr Crowther?’
He gave a thin smile. ‘Mrs Clode, from all I know of your husband, and all I have read of the matter, I think it highly unlikely.’
Harriet felt her sister’s body soften slightly against her. ‘Thank you for coming here, Crowther,’ she said.
‘Daniel is as innocent as I am,’ Graves said in the same determined tone Harriet had used, ‘but I suppose we must find who the guilty party is indeed before we can convince him. The man has far too much imagination for a lawyer.’
Harriet almost laughed and tightened her grip around Rachel’s shoulder. ‘We shall certainly do our best. Rachel, has Herr von Krall no other suspects in the case? Has anyone discovered how poor Daniel came to be in such a confused state?’
Rachel straightened up. ‘No, it is all in the reports I sent along to you.’
‘Uncomfortable to have any scandal in court when all eyes are turned in this direction for the Duke’s wedding,’ Crowther said. ‘No wonder then they would like to believe it to be the work of a deranged foreigner.’
‘Crowther, for goodness sake!’ Harriet glared across at him, and he gave a slight shrug.
‘My apologies, Mrs Clode.’
‘I am not offended, Harry. Crowther must say what he likes, he always does after all and he is quite right. But Herr von Krall … he has doubts about Daniel’s guilt, I think. If it weren’t for him, the way he stops sometimes and frowns, I am afraid I could have almost started believing it myself.’
She was looking down as she finished, so did not see the look of shock that passed over Graves’s face. Harriet could not help noticing the corner of Crowther’s mouth twitch, however. He is proud of her, Harriet thought, for having the courage to doubt her husband.
‘Rachel?’ she said out loud. ‘My dear, I am sorry. We are interrogating you within moments of our arrival.’
Rachel managed to smile. ‘No, Harry. I am sorry to be so weak. I want – all I want is to tell you all I can, but my head is spinning.’
‘Darling, are you quite well?’ A suspicion began to form in Harriet’s mind.
Rachel held onto Harriet’s hand very tightly. ‘Oh Harry, hardly anyone will speak to me, and even those who do only pity me. I have eaten almost every meal alone.’
‘You have been in prison too, child,’ Crowther said, as she wiped her eyes.
‘Lord, I would do anything to stop crying! Do not indulge me, Crowther. It is a comfortable prison. And my sufferings are nothing to my husband’s.’ She said the word firmly, almost as a declaration. ‘And I have made some friends. There is a pair of brothers I wish you to meet. Mrs Padfield introduced me to them. They, like us, are not members of the nobility here and have helped me a great deal in learning how to behave, who to petition for Daniel. They have a workshop in the palace grounds.’
Harriet glanced at her sister, then her companions. ‘Perhaps you could take me to see them now, Rachel? I am sure Graves and Crowther will understand if we have a little time to ourselves, and the fresh air will do you good.’
Rachel nodded. ‘But you have only just arrived … I would not wish to seem ungrateful.’
Crowther half-closed his eyes. ‘I have spent the better part of the last month in a carriage with your sister and Mr Graves. The greatest kindness you could do me at this moment is to allow me an hour or two alone.’
Rachel grinned and Harriet caught Crowther’s gaze. She knew he would be pleased with himself when he could hide his thoughtfulness with rudeness. His blue eyes glimmered.
‘Of course, Mrs Clode,’ Graves said with his usual smile. ‘I shall find a slightly less travel-worn coat and then go and present our credentials to Chancellor Swann. Crowther, I shall not make you come with me.’
‘Thank you, Graves.’
Graves sighed. ‘Is Swann as dry as his correspondence? Lord, no doubt now they have one of my closest friends locked away they find the time has come to re-negotiate those bonds. Very well, let us wash the dirt from us and try to give the proper impression of importance.’ He leaned forward and patted Rachel’s hand again. ‘Do not fret, my dear. Mrs Westerman and Mr Crowther will return your husband to you.’
II.5
PEGEL’S ROOM WAS IN an attic in the oldest quarter of the medieval city. As the stairs were uneven and narrow, and he had to fetch his own water and fuel, the rates were low for the space he had. He could have used some of the gold in the lining of his coat and bought the whole building, but the money was not his and the man who had given it to him would expect him to account for his spending. In any case his new home suited him. The attic ran the whole length of the building and the south end gable was dominated by a large window which overlooked the small market square of the quarter. The few sticks of furniture provided seemed to make it look more cavernous, it was impossible to heat and if he wanted to avoid freezing as he sat at his desk in the window, he had to carry his fire with him in a brass coal-carrier such as maids cradled to church to keep their mistresses’ feet warm. But it was secure. No one could approach without the complaints of the stairs giving notice, and no one had any business to hover outside his door. Also, for all the chill, he liked the view. It made him feel like some wise bird watching the comings and goings below. A king, or a magician able to watch the people move about on their paths like little walking toys.
He dropped Florian onto the couch a little heavily – getting him up the stairs had been uncomfortable – rolled his shoulders and crouched down to get a fire going in the grate. When he was satisfied that the flames were alive, and felt a little heat crawling off the coals, he turned his back on them to study his guest. Florian had his chin tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped about him. ‘Your Grace? Does it pain you much? Perhaps we should get you to a sawbones.’
He looked up sharply at that. ‘No, no, it’s sore is all. I’d rather stay here. And you may call me Florian, if you wish.’ He tried to smile and winced a little.
Pegel remained seated on the floor by the fire, but extended his hand. ‘Jacob.’ He nodded to the decanter of wine and glasses by t
he couch. ‘Can you move enough to pour us a glass then, Florian?’
The young man blushed slightly as his Christian name was spoken as if he were not used to hearing it out loud, but reached over and filled the glasses. Pegel took the glass offered him with his right hand and with his left pushed his hair back, revealing the redness on his jaw. He heard Florian gasp, and was glad that the giant had not pulled his punches.
‘I am so sorry you got hurt, Jacob. And thank you for coming to my assistance.’
Pegel sniffed. ‘Can’t leave a fellow on the ground like that. Not sure what morals I have, but I know that isn’t right.’
‘I think you are a good man, Jacob.’
He yawned and studied the ancient bowing beams above them. ‘Don’t know. I just do as I do and leave good and evil to the priests. It’s why I like numbers. No good and evil there, but there’s still wonder. Here I am, mind of man, that’s all, and now I can explain how the planets move. That I like.’
Florian was frowning. It seemed a strange expression on that rather childlike face. ‘But you must seek something more than that, Pegel. You are a member of the Brotherhood, are you not? Your watch is marked with symbols. You mentioned a Lodge in Weimar. You are a Freemason, I know it.’
‘I … I try to be,’ Pegel said, turning away slightly so he could stare soulfully into the fire while still displaying the reddening on the side of his face. ‘My uncle introduced me to his Lodge and for a while I thought there was some … higher purpose worth serving. But, I don’t know, Florian, mostly I’ve just found it useful as a way to meet people as I travel about. That stuff in the lecture hall today – it’s the work of a man called Laplace I met in one of the Paris Lodges.’
It was a lie, of course. The work was Laplace’s but Pegel had no uncle and had never been introduced at any Lodge. He knew enough about Freemasonry to fake his way along with a green boy like Florian though, just as he knew the right air of wistful longing to assume when talking about the higher dreams of men.
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