Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

It seemed there was a conscious effort among the thirty or forty ladies and gentlemen present to ignore them, though Harriet felt any number of eyes drift over them and away. They were prepared for this reception; until they were presented to the Duke himself they did not quite exist in the room, so it was only right their presence should be unacknowledged. In some ways it was preferable to the occasions when Harriet had entered some gathering and found the conversation come to a halt. The air was heavy with florid scents. A way seemed to clear in front of them. The gentlemen and ladies drifted aside, a lazy embroidered and powdered parting of the waves, or like fantastically patterned theatre drapes opening to reveal the stage at the far end of the room.

It was an impressive setting. A pair of pink marble columns reached from a raised dais to a small pallisaded balcony. Under it, a plumed canopy, with red and gold drapery, flowed down to frame a slight, elegant gentleman in his late thirties sitting cross-legged in a gilt armchair. There was a woman seated on a stool beside him. Her hair was dressed very high and crowned with ostrich feathers, and her sleeves so flounced they almost obscured the diamonds at her wrist. She was a handsome woman, her slender figure much like Harriet’s own, and though she was certainly not in the first flush of youth, her features were so finely sculpted one could still call her beautiful. Harriet felt the woman’s assessing gaze on her, and lowered her eyes.

The Duke continued to pet his dog as they walked towards him. The Officer of Introduction indicated they should wait some paces from him and himself scuttled up on his sticks like a spider to the Duke’s side and whispered in his ear. The Duke glanced up and smiled. Harriet at once swept as deep a curtsey as she could manage and held the pose. Crowther and Graves slid into similarly respectful bows. Eventually she heard the command to rise.

The Duke stood and approached, swaying a little from side to side as if hearing some invisible music and with the spaniel in his arms. His heels clicked on the floor. ‘Mrs Westerman, a delight to meet you.’

Harriet kept her eyes lowered. The Duke’s shoes were patterned with seed pearls on scarlet velvet. ‘An honour, Your Highness.’

He laughed. The sound was musical but not entirely pleasant. ‘I see dear Carlton has been instructing you well. You may look at me now, dear, and talk to me just like a real person, as the formalities are dealt with.’

She did. His Serene Highness Ludwig Christoph, Duke of Maulberg, was a rather mild-looking man with large hazel eyes and thin lips. His skin was very white with powder. Harriet had expected him to resemble an English squire for some reason, but Ludwig Christoph would have looked like a delicate bloom next to a hunting, drinking and dining Englishman, yet there was great confidence in his bearing. His fingers, clasped round the panting flanks of his spaniel, working into its soft fur, were long and thin. She could imagine them exerting great pressure when they wished.

‘So you wish to release my prisoner, you and your Mr Crowther?’ He turned to Crowther. ‘Is it true what they tell me, that you are in fact a Baron, yet refuse to make use of the title and go about with a common name?’

‘It is, sire.’

‘Well, we can see straight away that you are no German!’ The ladies and gentlemen around the room laughed.

‘We are convinced of Mr Clode’s innocence, sire,’ Harriet said softly, ‘and hope to convince you too.’

The Duke put his head on one side. ‘Do you now, Mrs Westerman? I suppose you would not have come so far or so fast with any other intention. Some opinions, such as those of my friend Countess Dieth, are against you.’ He nodded slightly in the direction of the woman on the dais, then continued, ‘Mr Clode’s loss of memory seems a little convenient, does it not?’

‘Convenient to the true murderer also,’ Harriet replied.

The Duke looked amused. ‘Your reputation as an interesting sort of person is justified, I see. You are welcome to Maulberg, madam.’ The eyes hardened. ‘But remember, Lady Martesen was our friend. Whoever killed her will suffer for it, whosoever that might be.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘We wish it to be known that Mrs Westerman and her party are to be given every assistance. Their requests are our requests. Their questions, our questions.’

There was a whispering shush as the company bowed or curtseyed and their silks slid over the tessellated hardwood floors. The Duke leaned towards Harriet. ‘There, I think that went rather well.’

Another meal cleared away, another pair of wine bottles empty on the floor. Pegel was silent and stared into the fire for a long while before he spoke.

‘Secret societies, Florian? The Freemasons are one thing — good works and fellowship — but you seem to be talking about something else.’

Florian was bent over his glass. ‘Suppose, Jacob, just suppose there was a group of men and women — enlightened, ready to lead the rest, with faithful followers across Europe. Things could change. We could build a new world. A fairer world.’

Pegel shook his head slowly. ‘Such things cannot be. A rational society, built on learning not mysticism such as you describe …’

‘They can! Ready to free the people! Ready in time to sweep away privileges of birth, the tyranny of property, the black night of religious superstition …’

Pegel lifted his hands. ‘Florian! Enough! It cannot exist. It would be a handful of powerless dreamers. No one in any position of power would join such an organisation.’

‘There are intelligent men in positions of power. Idealists! The correctness of these arguments cannot be disputed. They can see the truth.’ The twisting light from the fire fell on the injured side of his face. He still looked perfect in the imperfect light, warmed by his own enthusiasms. ‘The leaders will guide, lead, educate. They will create a better world for us all. What better cause can a man serve?’

Jacob was almost shouting. ‘I know there could be no better cause! No greater glory in devoting oneself to such ends. But no such society could ever exist. Never. It is impossible.’

Florian leaned towards him, his face glowing like a mystic’s. ‘Oh Jacob. It already does.’

Pegel gasped and opened his eyes wide. Internally he sighed, thinking, Of course it does, you little fool. You are the Minervals, and I am come here to blow you all to kingdom come.

Manzerotti made his appearance as they went in to supper, and was immediately surrounded by a number of admirers. As Harriet was guided to her place she heard his laugh and felt a lurch of anger. For a moment she wished she had shot him; she glanced in his direction and found he was looking straight at her. She felt her cheeks redden as if she had spoken her wish out loud. Harriet found herself seated a good distance from Manzerotti, between Colonel Padfield and a gentleman of the court named Frenzel. Krall was nowhere to be seen. Frenzel greeted her in an affable manner and easy French, but saying he was certain she would enjoy conversing in her own tongue, left her to Colonel Padfield. Having thanked the latter for his kindness to her sister, Harriet would have been content to talk about the floods that were at last retreating across the Holy Roman Empire, rather than continue to think on recent horrors, but Colonel Padfield seemed distracted. He was constantly glancing towards a handsome young woman on the opposite side of the table who seemed to be chatting happily to a young man in uniform at her side.

‘Who is that lady, Colonel?’ Harriet said at last.

He started and blushed a little. ‘My wife, Mrs Westerman.’

‘I should be glad to know her. Rachel tells me she has been very kind to her.’