Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘Perfect,’ the Duke said. The Countess looked up briefly from her cards, shuddered and turned away. Krall led the little girl into the middle of the room then turned to a side-table and picked up a small bundle. He folded back the material and Harriet saw the fixed open grin of the carnival mask for the first time. She started forward, but felt Crowther’s hand on her arm.

‘But Crowther — a child!’ she whispered.

He shook his head.

Krall spoke; his French was not as fluent as his English — he sounded awkward, like a bad actor. ‘Sire, this young lady is Elizabeta, daughter to one of Monsieur Rapinat’s dancers in the corps de ballet.’

The Duke peered at the child for a moment. ‘Probably the fruit of Mr Rapinat’s loins. Continue.’

The Duke’s French was perfect, of course, and the mother flushed, and Krall frowned very briefly, but he addressed the child. ‘Elizabeta, we will play a game. You will put on this mask. It is magic and you will see … fairies and many, many wonderful things. You may feel a little unusual, but don’t worry. There’s a good girl.’

‘Sire …’ Harriet said. ‘Surely there is some other way-’

‘Shush, now, Mrs Westerman,’ the Duke said, raising a finger. ‘We have considered the matter and will not be questioned further.’ His voice was a deliberate singsong.

The mask was far too big for Elizabeta’s face. Krall helped her tie the ribbons behind her head, but she still had to hold it in place with one small hand on the chin. It was an unsettling sight, the little body of the child in her pretty, gauzy pink dress, her feet turned out neatly at right angles to each other as if she were a dancer herself, then that huge mask with its wide knowing grin. It seemed almost obscene.

‘It smells funny!’ Her voice was high and nervous, muffled behind the wide wooden grin.

Krall laid one hand on her shoulder, watching her very closely. ‘That is part of the magic.’

‘I cannot see very well.’

‘Be patient, my child.’

The Duke shrugged and began to play with his dog again. Then the little girl’s chest began to rise and fall more quickly. ‘Oh, my heart is thumping so!’

Krall swiftly undid the ribbons, and, touching only the edges of the mask, he laid it carefully to one side. Harriet heard Graves exclaim under his breath. The child’s eyes seemed to have swollen in her head and her face was flushed.

‘How are you now, Elizabeta?’ Krall asked.

She tilted her head on one side and blinked repeatedly. She seemed to be breathing through her mouth. Her lips were parted. Something in the air in the empty centre of the room seemed to fascinate her. Harriet was reminded of her housekeeper’s cat chasing shadows in the salon at Caveley. Elizabeta lifted her right hand and tried, apparently, to catch at whatever she saw. It seemed to evade her grasp and she laughed. Whatever the girl was watching fell to the floor and she pounced on it, landing lightly on her knees. The rug was woven with tendrils and flowers. Elizabeta followed them with her fingers, then gasped and lifted her head.

‘What do you see?’ Krall asked.

‘The flowers are growing, of course!’ she said, without looking at him. ‘See, sir, they are climbing right up to the ceiling. Maman, Maman, do you see?’ Her mother covered her mouth. ‘I never saw flowers grow so fast before! How I wish they were always like this!’

Harriet noticed out of the corner of her eye that the Countess was watching now. The Duke looked greatly amused.

‘Do you see the fairies approach, Elizabeta?’ Krall said.

She turned her head this way and that, then a sudden understanding came over her features. ‘Why, they are everywhere!’

‘I think the Fairy King wishes to dance with you,’ Krall said.

Elizabeta suddenly blushed, then stood and took a number of light steps towards Graves and with a deep curtsey held out her hand.

Graves looked at his companions. Crowther gave a tiny nod of his head, and Graves took the little girl’s fingers between his own and bowed.

‘How does the Fairy King look, Elizabeta?’ Krall asked.

‘He is handsome and has a golden crown!’ Graves lifted the girl’s hand and she skipped forward, lifting and dropping her arms, then returning and taking his hand again, they moved forward together. She spun again and returned to him. Graves tried to mirror her steps, but having none of her natural grace, and not the advantage of hearing whatever orchestra was playing to the child he was stiff and unnatural.

‘I thought the King of the Fairies would dance beautifully!’ the child said and the Duke laughed. Graves frowned and the child saw it. ‘Oh, I have made him angry! His eyes are all red. Oh, they glow like the devil’s!’ Graves smiled and bowed. ‘He shall eat me!’

The Duke began to laugh, but the child looked terrified. Her mother made a whimpering noise and tried to move forward, but Krall put out his hand to stop her. Graves looked up at Harriet desperately. Harriet thought for a moment then undid the ribbon at her neck and handed it to him. From it hung a paste flower of brilliants. She had worn it at Rachel’s wedding. Graves took it and handed it at once to the little girl with a bow. She stopped crying at once and stared at it open-mouthed. ‘He has forgiven me.’ She dropped to her knees again and taking Graves’s hand, kissed his knuckles with absolute reverence.

The Duke was still shaking with amusement. The little girl dropped Graves’s hand and became quiet. Graves backed away a little.

‘Elizabeta?’

She was tracing the flowers in and above the carpet once more. The Fairy King seemed forgotten.

‘I’m dizzy,’ she said, her voice a little slurred. ‘I would like to go to sleep now.’

Krall dropped his hold on the mother’s wrist and the young woman swept forward, gathered the child up in her arms, and throwing a dark look at Krall, left the room. The Duke managed to control his laughter.

‘Well, whatever the effect of that mask, it did not mask her judgement of the dancing of milord Graves! Swanny, a purse for the mother and child, with our sincere thanks.’

‘Of course, Your Highness.’

‘I almost wish to see the fairies myself. Interesting. So Krall, is the mask a trap for Djinns? Is it engraved with the Seal of Solomon?’

‘It seems it is drugged, sire, as Mrs Westerman suggested.’

The Countess Dieth had got to her feet. ‘The child was coached! It is a lie to make you release Clode, sire!’

The Duke had hold of his spaniel’s forepaws and was making her dance back and forth on his lap. ‘Would you like to try the mask yourself, Countess? No?’ The Countess was silent. ‘I thought not. No, I do not think the child was coached. Poor Mr Clode.’ He set the dog onto the floor and its claws skittered on the parquet as it retreated beneath the day-bed. ‘Do you think someone might have wished to play a joke on Mr Clode? Then perhaps the drug sent him mad, he killed Lady Martesen and in horror at what he had done, tried to do away with himself. There. I have it.’

Krall stroked his chin. ‘It seemed to me, sire, that Clode was still in some sort of dream when I first talked to him.’

‘So? Krall, are you doing damage to my theory? I was so proud.’ He examined them all in turn. ‘We could then say the death was accidental and our English friends could go home.’

‘I mean, sire, that if he realised what he had done, then cut his wrists, that would suggest his brain had cleared. But it had not. This was a murder of Lady Martesen and an attempt to murder Mr Clode to conceal it.’

‘Oh dear, Krall. You doubt Clode’s guilt, I see.’ The Duke turned to Harriet and Crowther. ‘Hardly a day at the palace and already you have shaken Krall’s faith. What a breath of fresh air and new thinking you are!’