Circle of Shadows

by Imogen Robertson

  ‘Ooh, sir!’ the giant said. ‘Your poor jaw. I’m ever so sorry – I didn’t want to hit you so hard.’

  ‘Not at all, Titus,’ Pegel said, pulling out a purse. ‘Absolutely splendid job. Nothing that needs a surgeon and yet looks as dramatic as you please. Could not be happier!’ He counted out five thick and heavy-looking coins, then paused and added a sixth and handed them to the giant.

  ‘Ooh, now there’s handsome,’ he said with glee as he closed his great paw round them. Pegel turned to the man in the wig and coat.

  ‘Now you! You! What a triumph! Come here at once.’ Pegel clasped the man by the shoulders and kissed him firmly on each cheek. The man blushed.

  ‘Really, merest trifle. You think I convinced the lad? Truly?’

  ‘Convinced him? You scared the hell out of him. Brilliant performance! You must, must use this money to get to Berlin.’ He counted out the five coins, again apparently had a slight struggle with himself and added a sixth. ‘You are wasted, absolutely wasted in country fairs. No, not Berlin. They don’t deserve you. There’s a fellow called Schiller doing lovely work in Mannheim. Excellent chap. Tell him you are sent with a recommendation from Jacob Pegel and you’ll get the audience you deserve.’

  ‘Herr Friedrich Schiller? The Schiller? You mean it, Mr Pegel?’

  ‘But of course! Leave tonight, gentlemen – destiny calls!’ The men grinned at each other. ‘Now would you be so kind as to do me one small favour before you go?’

  When Pegel gave the coded knock at the door to his room he found Frenzel so pale that the growing bruises round his eye stood out like a sunset.

  ‘Florian, you’re white as a ghost. What is it?’

  ‘I saw them,’ he said, dragging Pegel in and slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Who, those men?’

  ‘Yes, of course – from your window. You were gone so long, I looked out to see if I could catch sight of you.’

  Pegel held out the steaming plates he carried in front of him by way of explanation. ‘Mother Brown makes a splendid cutlet. You have to wait a bit this time of day.’

  ‘Never mind that. They were there in the square looking about them as if they knew we had come this far, then did not know where to find us exactly. Then you came out from the shop.’

  ‘Did they spot me?’ Pegel said quickly, glancing towards the door.

  ‘No! It was the luckiest thing, they were looking at the other side of the square as you came past. You went within an inch of them!’

  ‘Are they still there?’ Pegel said, putting down his tray and making for the window. Frenzel grabbed hold of his coat.

  ‘Don’t look! Jacob, I hate to have you think me a coward, but might I stay here tonight, just while I think what to do? There are people who should be warned.’

  Pegel put his hand on the young Count’s shoulder. ‘Naturally, my friend. You are welcome here. But don’t you think you might see your way clear to giving a fellow a bit of a hint as to what is going on? You say you will, then it’s all philosophy till my head is aching.’

  Frenzel turned away from him slightly. ‘Yes, of course. I must. I have … I have exposed you to some danger; it is your right to know something of this.’

  Pegel settled himself on the floor again. ‘Can we eat first?’

  For the first time since the messenger had arrived at Caveley, Harriet could think of nothing but what was in front of her eyes. The tiger turned its head warily towards her, blinked, then continued to pad across the work-top until Adnan picked it up, pressed a brass pin on its side and it became still. Harriet sat with her elbows on the work bench and her chin in her hand. Entranced.

  ‘I’d swear it was alive! It looked into my eyes. Mr Al-Said, you are a miracle worker.’

  Adnan laughed and reached upwards to unhook a cage from the ceiling which held two brilliantly-coloured, frozen birds each about the size of Harriet’s thumb. ‘No, Mrs Westerman, a craftsman. I learned how to make watches in Constantinople, but when the first automaton was given to the Sultan by the French Ambassador, I fell in love. Why have something simply tell you the hour when you can make it do all this.’ Harriet put out a hand and touched the sleeping tiger. Al-Said watched her. ‘The paws are weighted, madam. A simple trick when you know it, which gives the illusion of natural movement.’

  He touched something on the base of the cage and the birds began to pipe to each other, their beaks opening in time with their song and their wings flapping. Suddenly one sprang from one side of the cage to the other and Harriet laughed.

  ‘Oh I must have one like that for my children! They would adore it.’

  ‘They are not toys, Mrs Westerman,’ he said, somewhat serious.

  ‘Of course not, Mr Al-Said. I have no doubt that they will treat it with the proper respect.’ Adnan gave a slight nod. ‘Were you acquainted with Lady Martesen, sir?’

  He touched the base of the cage and the birds were still again. ‘I am not certain how to answer you, madam. The courtiers are not sure how to treat my brother and I. They like to have us here – we, as well as what we create, are ornaments to be boasted of – yet we work, and with our hands. So they flatter us and pay us well, but you will not see us at the supper-table in the palace. And even if I were a Prince, how many men have you met of my complexion in the palaces of Europe?’

  ‘I have not visited many of them, Mr Al-Said. Yet Rachel tells me you have been of great assistance to her.’

  ‘It is interesting what one hears by pretending not to listen. Lady Martesen was a clever woman, and one of several at court who thought of more than their own amusement. The Duke asked us to make one of these cages of singing birds for her, and she visited us on several occasions while it was being made to discuss the design, and decide on the plumage of the birds. She came often with Countess Dieth, once with Glucke, I think, and another time with Swann.’

  ‘Who is Glucke?’ Harriet asked. ‘I have not heard his name before.’

  Adnan’s face darkened and he bent over the cage, leaving Sami to answer in a stage whisper. He was far younger than his brother, not more than twenty-five, and so quick and light in his movements it would be as easy to think him ten years younger.

  ‘Herr von Glucke is a scholar and member of the Duke’s Privy Council, but he made the mistake of asking Adnan to create a few mechanical mice …’

  Harriet was confused.

  ‘For his cats!’ Adnan said, with bitter emphasis. ‘Some respectable children might be allowed to handle our creations, but playthings for animals! They say he is a wise man, and a good one, but I cannot see it.’

  ‘So did Chancellor Swann come to discuss the plumage of the singing birds?’ Rachel asked.

  Adnan smiled briefly, as if amused by his own anger. ‘He did not contribute to the conversation. But I believe he was a friend of Lady Martesen; one saw them together from time to time.’

  ‘Did they have … some understanding?’ Harriet thought she saw Adnan’s cheeks blush dark pink.

  ‘I do not think so.’ He placed the cage on the work-top once more, and glanced at Rachel. ‘You have not told your sister then, the little details that could not be written down?’

  She shook her head. ‘She has only just arrived, and all I know, I know only from you, Mr Al-Said.’

  ‘I dislike gossip, Mrs Westerman,’ he said, ‘but none of us can work blindly. Lady Martesen had an understanding with the Duke. Or rather she did, until such time as his betrothal was announced.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Harriet said softly. ‘That rather complicates matters, does it not?’

  Rachel said quickly, ‘She was rather poor, Harriet. And the Duke was generous to his … friends. Some years ago he was the protector of Lady Martesen’s cousin, Countess Dieth. He bought her an estate when their liaison came to an end.’

  ‘Then, as I understand it, Countess Dieth thrust her cousin into the sovereign’s bed,’ Sami said cheerfully. His elder brother looked at him severely and he dropped his gaze. Harriet
held up her hand.

  ‘Please, gentlemen, I would be most grateful if you speak openly.’

  Adnan cleared his throat. ‘So you see, it is unlikely that Chancellor Swann would ever begin an … understanding with Lady Martesen during the time they were visiting me here. There was no betrothal then. Lady Martesen was still the acknowledged favourite. It would be a dangerous alliance, would it not? The Duke has a fearsome temper when roused, and his good opinion once lost is difficult to regain. One hears stories of those who have suffered greatly on having disappointed him. I imagine Swann and Lady Martesen were discussing politics.’

  ‘The competing marriages perhaps,’ Sami said with a shrug. Harriet looked towards the younger brother as he perched on the bench swinging his legs. ‘Some in the court – Swann included, I think – did not regard the Duke’s choice as the best.’

  Rachel was examining some of the half-painted faces that lined the walls. ‘You see, Harry? Mr Al-Said knows everything. When I wanted to be sure that Daniel would be allowed books and writing materials, Mr Al-Said told me to talk to Count Frenzel or Herr Zeller. Frenzel because he is never seen with Countess Dieth or Swann, Zeller because as a librarian of the court he understands the comfort of reading.’

  ‘I see,’ Harriet said. ‘So Mr Al-Said, who do you think murdered Lady Martesen, and why?’

  He shrugged. ‘The other reason I love my automata, Mrs Westerman, is they do exactly what they were designed and made to do, and nothing more. People I find interesting to watch because they are the opposite. But I can only tell you what I see. I offer no conclusions.’

  ‘You sound like Crowther,’ Harriet said dryly.

  ‘In such a place as this there are many alliances made and broken from day to day. Passions run high and whoever has the ear of the Duke has great power. Secrets and signs are passed back and forth.’

  He did not look at her as he spoke, and Harriet realised that perhaps he too thought Clode a murderer, and herself and her sister deluded. She began to understand how lonely the past weeks must have been. Harriet thought of the papers from Krall. The people who knew Lady Martesen best: had they been asked the right questions? She put her chin in her hand, and looked about her.

  The ground floor of the fake cottage was taken up with a light and airy workshop. At its centre were two workbenches set into an L-shape. On one, small metal instruments and knives predominated; on the other, paints and brushes. The walls were stacked with papier-mâché faces, curled lengths of metal, brass cones, strange limbs, sharp crops of pointed files, and pinned to the wall from time to time, pencil drawings and water colours, designs of cogs and levers. To Harriet’s right stood a deep stack of leather notebooks, and to her left where Rachel sat with a glass of tea in her hand and a cautious smile on her lips, a tiny lathe drawn by a bow. From the ceiling hung bunches of keys and garlands of clean brass discs. The place smelled of paint and metal.

  The younger Mr Al-Said slipped down from his perch.

  ‘Our little friend is ready, if Mrs Westerman would like to see him.’

  Crowther had almost finished his pile of papers when there was the sound of a knock on the door. Again he half-expected to see Krall, and again he was disappointed. It was Graves, his cheeks flushed.

  ‘Crowther! Where is Mrs Westerman?’

  ‘Still visiting these acquaintances of Mrs Clode and touring the gardens. I understand that they are quite extensive.’

  ‘We must find her at once.’

  ‘Do you require her assistance to negotiate with Chancellor Swann?’

  Graves looked angry and Crowther put down his pen. ‘I am sorry, Graves. What has happened?’

  ‘Manzerotti.’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘He is here.’

  ‘Damn. How long has he been here?’ Crowther said, reaching for his coat. ‘How could Rachel not tell us?’

  ‘She cannot have known,’ Graves said, almost dancing with impatience. ‘He arrived only this morning, with a troupe of French dancers to swell the crowd of performers here for the wedding celebrations. It is a great coup for the Duke to have such a star perform at his court. Swann mentioned it in passing at the end of our discussion. Said he understood we were acquainted with Manzerotti and that the monster sent his regards. Well, he did not phrase it quite like that …’

  ‘Did he see your reaction?’

  ‘I think not – he was bent over his papers again. Crowther, what will she do if she meets him?’

  Crowther found himself transported back to the room in Highgate where James had died, saw Harriet’s face as she bent over her husband, his hand clasped between her own and his blood pooling round her dress. She had loved her husband very much. ‘I should imagine she’ll try very hard to kill him,’ he said, and took up his hat.

  Krall decided he had given the English travellers enough time to settle into their luxurious cages, and his pipe still clamped between his teeth, was making his way through the rear courtyard to pay his respects when he saw two gentlemen, strangers to him, walking swiftly out into the gardens.

  ‘Kinkel?’ The head footman turned from the underling he was berating and approached, his shiny black shoes tapping out a quick tripping rhythm over the flagstones under the colonnade.

  ‘Herr District Officer?’

  Krall pointed with his pipe at the disappearing strangers.

  ‘Milords Crowther and Graves, sir,’ Kinkel said. ‘Perhaps they go to meet Mrs Clode and her sister. The ladies left to tour the gardens some little time ago.’

  Krall decided it might be better to put off introducing himself for a while. To pursue the two men would necessitate walking so fast he might disturb his digestion. The two men, both tall, angular beings, disappeared from sight and Krall sniffed and looked about him, patting his belly. The courtyard was lively. Footmen went back and forth with large trunks held between them, and another carriage, emptied of its dignitaries, was being led back out under the arch towards the stables. Krall thought it spoke well of Kinkel’s organisational talents that he was able to watch this with apparent calm.

  ‘Any other notable arrivals today, Herr Kinkel?’

  The footman clasped his hands behind his back. ‘The Princess Theresa Anna, the Duke of Mecklenburg, a troupe of French dancers, and Manzerotti himself.’ Herr Kinkel allowed himself a small sigh. ‘Herr District Officer, I could almost wish myself a valet again if it meant the chance of dressing Manzerotti. The most beautiful clothes, such taste, and on such a handsome man. His looks are as remarkable as his talent.’

  Krall looked sideways at Kinkel from under his heavy brows, but it seemed the latter was too lost in admiration to note it. ‘We’re more likely to clap a fiddler who knows a good dance tune than these opera types in Oberbach,’ he grunted. ‘Anyway, this Manzerotti ain’t quite a man, is he?’

  Kinkel smiled. ‘The best castrato singer in Europe here among us. I understand the Duke is delighted.’

  Deep in Krall’s mind another bell rang, softly; another page of English newsprint swam before his inner eye.

  ‘Wasn’t he in London when those folk were murdered at the opera house? Weren’t our English guests caught up in that in some way?’

  Kinkel nodded. ‘Yes, indeed! I believe Mrs Westerman was at the theatre the night Mademoiselle Marin was murdered on stage. It was just before her husband was killed by some French spy. Manzerotti was the toast of the season there.’ He stared off into the air again. ‘They must be acquainted. How delightful it will be, for them to meet again.’

  Krall sucked on his pipe. ‘Delightful indeed.’

  ‘Remarkable!’ Harriet said softly as the cover was removed.

  Adnan nodded. ‘I have been fortunate in the sons of my mother, Mrs Westerman. Sami is an artist. The sculpting of the models and the painting of the features I leave all to him. I find my enthusiasm confined to giving these creatures of ours the power of movement and communication.’

  Harriet looked sceptical. ‘Did I hear you right, sir
? Communication? Have you trapped some spirit in the statue?’

  ‘No, madam, there is no – how can I put it? – ghost in this machine. But let me show you.’ Harriet was aware in the background of Sami almost dancing with delight and whispering to Rachel. She was profoundly glad these brothers had been here to offer her sister some refuge, some relief. Sami reminded her of her son when he had some powerful secret to share, and the thought of him both tugged on her sore heart and made her smile.

  They were grouped around the figure of a young boy seated at a wooden desk and dressed like the child of a prosperous family. He would have been perhaps four years old, if living. His head was a natural confusion of blond curls and his eyes were bright blue and glimmering glass. The colouring of his face was very beautiful. Harriet expected that if she touched his cheek it would be warm. In his right hand he held a quill pen. He looked with steady contemplation at the piece of parchment in front of him. Adnan pressed some switch on the underside of the mahogany table and then moved to one side where he could observe both the automaton and Harriet’s reaction.

  After a momentary pause, the boy’s head lifted and, blinking his eyes, he nodded at Harriet, then dipped his quill in the inkpot at his side and put his pen to the paper. His chest rose and fell and he tilted his head to one side as he began to write, then to the other. After a moment he seemed to shift the paper a little to his left and he continued, his chin now tucked into his lace cravat. There was the faintest sound of whirr and click in the air, but the illusion was remarkable. Half of Harriet’s mind told her she was seeing a clever copy of life, but watching it move, breathe and concentrate, half of her protested that this was a living being. The effect was distinctly unsettling.

  ‘This is a masterpiece,’ she whispered, almost expecting the child to complain of the interruption.

  ‘We have only excelled it once,’ Adnan said, watching his creation with affectionate pride, ‘with a walking automaton – and I think we were both a little in love with her before she left us.’ A minute or two passed, and the little boy looked up again and moved his arm away from the page with a nod. Harriet could hear the smile in Al-Said’s voice as he said, ‘Do examine the paper, madam.’