Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘Mr Crowther, have you had leisure to examine His Highness’s Cabinet of Curiosities? Of course not. Let us have a look at them together.’

Crowther followed him without a word through a set of heavy double doors into a room, octagonal in shape and lit from above by a glass roof and a series of high windows. The air tasted unused. Against each wall was a display case, panelled over with glass at its top, and set with narrow drawers below. Crowther organised his anatomical samples in something similar in his house at Hartswood, but his cabinet was a far more utilitarian object. These seven cabinets were wonders in themselves. Each was inlayed with mother of pearl into a themed profusion of life. The example to Crowther’s right was smothered in inlays of flowers and vines that tumbled over each other, the stems seeming to thrust and grow under the eye. To his left, animals real and apocryphal clambered on each other’s backs to peer in through the glass at the bones and preserved fragments of their fellows.

In the centre of the room was a large table, octagonal also, and crowded with domed glass cases for larger curiosities. Crowther noticed the skeleton of a two-headed baby. It had been provided with an ivory violin and stood on top of a small mossy rise, one foot lifted as if dancing to its own tune.

‘It was the current Duke’s uncle who created this room,’ Manzerotti said.

‘Ludwig Christoph prefers living curiosities?’ Crowther replied, but Manzerotti only smiled.

‘He prefers the opera. Your rudeness is terribly clever, but not very useful, is it? Come now, Mr Crowther, do I have to put a loaded gun in your hand too before we can talk like civilised men?’

‘Would you?’

Manzerotti bent to examine the skeleton as he spoke, ‘I think not. You calculate more methodically than Mrs Westerman. That makes you more dangerous in some ways. In truth, the more I consider it, the more I think you an exemplary pairing. You complement each other to an unusual degree.’

‘You heard of the demonstration?’

‘Yes, I have already had a full report. You need not trouble yourself.’

‘Did you suggest using a child for the experiment?’

‘Yes.’ He continued to stare at the two-headed baby. ‘Do you know, Crowther, I think the vegetation around this little monster’s feet is actually injected lung tissue! Is that a kidney stone? My Lord, what imagination. Have you ever made anything like this?’

Crowther felt his mouth set in a thin line. ‘It is a work of Frederick Ruysch, I believe. And no, I do not build little tableaux.’ Manzerotti shrugged. ‘So the mask is drugged in some way,’ Crowther continued. ‘How did you know? Can you identify the substance?’

‘Here is an instance. I am sure when next I meet her, Mrs Westerman will want to ask me again of my general purpose here. If she can bring herself to do so, she will enquire as to the personalities and scandals of the court, then stare out of the window and wonder until her imagination proffers scenarios which her mind considers worthy of pursuit. You, meanwhile, latch onto facts. Hard, nuggety little facts. She is the artist, you are the craftsman. On balance, I doubt you’d have the imagination to create a horrid little tableau like this.’ Crowther did not reply. ‘The symptoms Mr Clode displayed, and the manner they came on suggested a certain substance to me. Something of which I have heard reports, but never encountered in the flesh, as it were. The fact that the rest of the party remained unaffected suggested the manner in which it was delivered. Do not blame yourself. I came to Maulberg from the south, reaching the border before you and travelling a little further before I reached court. I therefore had longer to study my supply of papers. I am sure you would have realised the mask was the source of Clode’s confusion before long.’

‘The substance, Manzerotti. How did you know it? What do you know of it?’

‘I have made the study of drugs and poisons a pastime in the last years.’ He paused and lifted one immaculate eyebrow. ‘I am surprised a man who spends his time dissecting the dead curls his lip at such an interest, but of course, how foolish of me. Poisons are evil, sneaking and covert, as I am evil. Is that how you figure it?’

‘I do not style myself a theologian, Manzerotti, to speak of good and evil.’

‘Yet you are, in a way. I have no doubt that in your time investigating violent death in the company of Mrs Westerman, you have delivered any number of stirring speeches on the greater good and the absolute value of truth.’ Crowther scowled. ‘I thought you had. You must realise that even a monster such as myself can contribute to that greater good when it suits me, such as giving Mrs Westerman a little hint about the mask. Did you know there is a devil hidden in the organ of the cathedral in Leuchtenstadt? When the player pulls a certain level, he pops out to play upon his own little set of pipes, forced to sing the Good Lord’s praises whether he wills it or no. Does the analogy please you?’

‘Who arranged for those papers to be sent to you, Manzerotti? Who pulls the levers that control you ? I suspect you function somewhat … independently.’

‘Perhaps. And like the little devil, sometimes I do not play exactly the tune my masters would wish.’ He seemed to brighten. ‘The composition of the poison on the mask I cannot swear to exactly, but I have thought it might owe its effects to the inclusion in the mix of a powder of one of the datura family.’

Crowther brought his cane down on the polished floor with a sharp rap. ‘Yet you encouraged the Duke to experiment on a child?’

‘Hardly encouraged! Suggested in passing, and do be careful of the parquet, Crowther, I understand it was imported at great expense. You do know something of the subject then? But not a great deal. I imagine your expertise stops at identifying arsenic poisoning, and the effects of strychnine. A plant of the datura family must be ingested to prove fatal. The child would only have been in danger if she had started licking the horrid thing. Besides, I do not think anyone was particularly fond of her …’

‘Manzerotti …’

The castrato’s eyes seemed to darken for a second. ‘I hope you are not going to deliver a lecture on the sanctity of human life, Crowther. Such hypocrisy would surely choke you.’

Crowther looked away.

When Manzerotti spoke his voice was light again. ‘Now, to cement this pleasant fellow-feeling between us, have you anything to tell me? Has your expertise anything to show for itself?’

Almost against his own will, Crowther found himself replying: ‘She was drowned.’

Manzerotti rapped his fingers lightly on the table-top. Crowther wondered if he were trying to make the skeleton dance.

‘Indeed? How fascinating! Are you certain? Of course you are, you would never speculate in front of me. No crime of passion this, then. Drowned on dry land … There’s something almost ritualistic about it. There, Gabriel, you see? We can rub along. Dressed as a Goddess of the Moon, and drowned. Interesting.’

‘Manzerotti, what are you doing here?’

‘Mrs Westerman’s spirit has entered the room at last!’ He opened his arms wide and lifted his chin. ‘Was it the use of your Christian name conjured her? No need to frown so. Why am I here? Do not trouble yourself. It is largely a question of politics, so too dull for Mrs Westerman and too abstract for you. As it happens, I believe Clode quite innocent, and am curious to know who is to blame for the death of Lady Martesen. I am happy to offer you my co-operation therefore, for the time being.’

Crowther looked into Manzerotti’s face and his mind filled with images of flowers that poisoned and rotted those unfortunate enough to consume them from within. ‘And if our interests diverge, Manzerotti?’