Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘Daniel has not been forced to work,’ she said. ‘Here, as everywhere else, status is what counts. He has a room and his own clothes. These men …’ she nodded out of the window, ‘are from peasant stock.’

‘What are their crimes?’ Harriet said, trying to pick out individual faces. None of the men were young, and all had the weather-worn skin of those used to outdoor work. None were fat, but none showed sign of malnourishment.

‘I asked the same thing, Harry. Persistent drunkenness or theft. Some argued with their priests or the headmen in their village.’

The carriage came to a halt and the door was opened by one of the scarlet footmen the court had provided to travel about with their visitors. An oppressive courtesy. A gentleman emerged from the heavy interior of the castle to greet them with a broad smile. He was not the hunched and shuffling jailer of Harriet’s imaginings, but a figure wigged and frock-coated, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat. Rachel made the introductions and he smiled at them very pleasantly and asked after their journey.

‘I am sure that all of Ulrichsberg is in a froth!’ he said, gesturing with his hands so broadly Harriet was afraid he might topple over backwards. ‘A new Duchess! I have had her portrait hung up in my office already, next to that of Ludwig Christoph. She is a pretty girl, but regal, I am sure you understand what I mean — regal !’

‘How is my husband, Herr Hoffman?’ asked Rachel.

He shook his head. ‘Pleased to hear of the arrival of his friends, but I wish I could get him to eat a little more. I had my own cook send up some of my stew yesterday evening, so delicious it was. But he hardly touched it.’

He blinked at Harriet and Graves. ‘The wind tells me you are already sowing doubt about Mr Clode’s guilt at court.’

‘You are very well informed, sir,’ Harriet said, surprised.

‘Fresh supplies and fresh gossip arrived only an hour or two ago, milady. You have an early meeting with the Duke, and Mr Clode’s friends leave it looking hopeful. The Countess Dieth has a conversation with the Duke, and her reactions are observed. A scribe is asked to make a copy of a letter. The tone shifts and without quite knowing why, we start to think Mr Clode is innocent. And I wanted to say, I am absolutely delighted about that. Such a pleasant, well-educated young man, a little serious perhaps, but it has been a pleasure to guard him. If you whip him away I shall have to hope the Duke finds some scribbler of seditious pamphlets to lock up here for a few months, or I shall be deprived of civilised company. No doubt some young man will publish something insulting for the wedding. I trust in that.’

Graves opened and shut his mouth a few times before managing, ‘It is kind of you to say you wish him freed, sir, if you would feel his loss so.’

Herr Hoffman waved his handkerchief. ‘Not at all, milord Graves. I would lose him anyway to the axe-man, given the charge, and would much rather see him go free! Do not worry about me a jot.’

To that Graves had no reply at all, so merely bowed.

‘Kleinman!’ A rather stooped-looking creature appeared suddenly at his elbow in the doorway. ‘Kleinman will take you up. Such a delight to make your acquaintance. I hope I shall see you at one or other of the fetes and celebrations in town. Perhaps I shall be delivering dear Mr Clode back to you!’

‘You are able to leave your place here then, sir?’ Harriet asked.

‘Oh yes, from time to time. Some of these fellows have been here fifteen years. If I unlocked the doors and gave them the key, they’d probably lock themselves up again at once. Really, where could they go?’

In spite of what Rachel had told her, Harriet had not been prepared to see Daniel so drawn. There was a gauntness to his features, and though he met them warmly, Rachel was right, he was still distant, still to some degree lost in that night.

‘Harriet! Owen! How strange to see you here. What do you think of my first establishment as a married man?’

The room in which he was held was plain, but not uncomfortable. He had a little pile of books on his desk and a narrow view of the forest. The walls were the unplastered reddish stone of the castle, the only decoration a simple wooden cross above his narrow cot. Harriet preferred it to her own accommodation in court.

‘I rather like it,’ she said with a brisk smile and took a seat on one of the wooden stools provided. She removed her gloves and handed him a letter. ‘From your parents, Daniel.’ His expression as he saw the handwriting on the envelope was both tender and pained.

‘How are they?’ he asked. ‘I feared for my mother’s health — that the news might make her ill.’

His deep blue eyes looked too large for his face. Harriet felt an overwhelming urge to bundle the young couple into the carriage at once and not let them out of her sight till they were pink with health again. ‘She is frightened for you, Daniel, of course, but I suspect she is stronger than you think. Verity intended to call on them again with her parents when they arrived from London. She will give them every attention and I think they will like each other.’

‘Yes, I think they will. However gracious you are to them, Harriet, my father still feels like a footman in front of you.’ He ran his hand through his hair and Harriet noticed for the first time grey hairs among the black. ‘He and Mr Chase will understand each other. It is good of Verity to look to them. You have married well, Graves.’

Graves was looking uncertain, something shocked by his friend’s looks and tone. His voice was serious as he replied, ‘I know it, Daniel. And better than I deserve, much like yourself.’

Clode dropped his gaze. ‘Of course, I did not mean,’ he put his hand out to Rachel, ‘you know I did not mean to imply …’

Rachel smiled and shook her head. ‘Of course not, Daniel.’

An odd, clinging sort of silence fell over them. Harriet looked out at the forest through the open shutter. It filled the frame with spring green. So vast it seemed, waves hiding the landscape. It reminded her of the sea when they were out of sight of land, how it seemed to flow to the edges of vision.

‘You have come to tell me about your reception in court,’ Daniel said. His voice was slightly hoarse, as if he had become unpractised at speech. ‘Do you think they mean to execute me? Or lock me in a madhouse?’

‘They will do neither,’ Graves said. ‘You will be returning to England with us, your name cleared and their profound apologies ringing in your ears. What is the matter with you, man? We have travelled for weeks and you greet us as if we’d just arrived rather inconveniently while you were writing epic verse or somesuch.’

Clode almost smiled. Almost. ‘I thank you for coming, and I know you will do everything in your power to release me. But how can anyone, even Harriet and Mr Crowther, find out the truth of that night? It must haunt me always.’ He folded his arms across his body as if cold. ‘I thank you, for Rachel’s sake, but you can do nothing for me, I think.’

‘All that Crowther and Mrs Westerman have done, and you show such little faith? In two months you’ll be home and dancing with my wards till you are sick with laughing.’

Clode turned sharply on his friend. ‘Laugh?’ Harriet noticed that as he lifted his hand to his temple, the fingers were shaking a little. ‘You don’t understand, Owen. I was parted from my reason, the horrors of that night …’

‘No, I do not understand, and from what I saw of that little girl, I can only imagine. But it was a dream, Daniel. A nightmare, and you must learn to see it in that light, rather than brood.’

‘What little girl?’