Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

She decided to take a walk. She would put on her hat and spend a little part of the morning in the fresh air, and if the chance came to speak her mind, so be it.

The third person Mrs Gruber exchanged good-days with that morning was her niece, who worked as a maid in the palace: the young girl was delighted to interrupt her morning’s comings and goings to gossip with her aunt. They talked about the preparations for the wedding and after speculating about what share in the entertainments they might expect, the girl chatted about the English who had arrived, friends of Mr and Mrs Clode. Her aunt asked her if they seemed friendly or respectable people. Her niece confirmed it, and told her in great detail about the strange Mr Michaels who was now in residence in the fake village and who spoke the dialect of the region like one of them. Mrs Gruber nodded, made her decision and within half an hour of this conversation was knocking on Mr Michaels’s door. Half an hour later she found herself seated in a private drawing room of the palace with Mrs Westerman, Mr Crowther and Mr Michaels as support. She was given tea, treated with great civility and left glad she had come. When she sat down to her modest lunch some hours after that, back in the kitchen of her dead master’s house, she was not sure if she had done the right thing. Part of her thought His Honour would want to be left in peace. But she had learned how a question can lead one in strange directions. The image of Mrs Westerman’s open smile and schoolgirl German stayed with her the rest of the day. Mr Crowther’s eyes, she noticed, were ice blue like her master’s.

As soon as Frau Gruber had left them, Harriet and Crowther went in search of Krall. They found him surrounded by paper in a cloud of tobacco. He greeted them happily enough.

‘I have traced the mask! It seems it was not tainted before it arrived in Oberbach — Padfield’s housemaid tried it on to amuse the footman and suffered no ill-effects.’ He realised the English were not listening to him with the attention he had hoped for.

‘The Honourable Diether Fink,’ Crowther said at once.

Krall drew heavily on his pipe then wafted away the smoke as if it had come as a bit of a surprise to him. ‘A good man. Banker and adviser to the court. Died in his bed some two weeks ago. The Duke himself rode before the coffin. What of him?’

‘You did not feel that another suspicious death following on that of Lady Martesen was of significance?’

Krall rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips. ‘Suspicious? It wasn’t suspicious. He choked. His doctor hooked the nut that killed him out of his throat himself — he told me so. A tragic loss, of course. But people die and he had reached a fair age.’

‘His wrist had been cut,’ Harriet said. ‘Deeply. Then cleaned and bandaged.’

Krall dropped his hand to the table and stared at her. ‘His wrist? His wrist ?’ His eyes narrowed, making Harriet think of the rocks overhung with vines she had seen on the road to Castle Grenzhow. ‘How do you tell me of this?’

‘His housekeeper came to see us,’ she replied. ‘She saw the wound as she was laying him out. There was no other mark on his body.’

Krall hunched his shoulders. ‘His wrist? Yet cleaned and bandaged? You trusted the woman?’

Crowther nodded. ‘She seemed quite respectable, and kept apologising for troubling us with her fancies. Is the fact Lady Martesen’s wrist was injured widely known?’

‘No, no … I don’t know. It seemed an unimportant detail. The gossips had plenty to feed on. No, I don’t think it was widely known. Why did the woman wait to speak till now?’

It was Harriet who replied. ‘She had been uneasy about it since the morning of Fink’s death, but when she heard there was some doubt after all about Lady Martesen’s murderer …’

‘I see, I see. Well, my humiliation is complete. Damn that incompetent sawbones. How could he not notice?’ Krall sank his chin into his chest. His craggy face had grown red and his fists were clenched. He said in a lower voice, ‘What else?’

‘That there were no servants in the house that evening, but there were signs Fink had a guest.’

‘That I had heard. No one knows who …’

‘That did not strike you as suspicious?’ Crowther said.

‘Fink had plenty of guests!’ Krall exploded. ‘The man loved his whores — half the bastards in Ulrichsberg are his! There was no surprise he chose to entertain on the quiet while his wife was in Strasbourg. I heard because the other gentlemen liked to say that at least he died content. And why should we look? We had Lady Martesen’s murderer safely locked up. Were it not for Mr Clode’s connections and nationality, we would probably have condemned him already.’

Harriet moved to the window. As the day of the arrival of the new Duchess approached, activity in the palace seemed to continually increase. As she watched, a number of gentlemen, musicians by the shapes of the cases they were carrying, were crossing the yard in the direction of the Royal Opera House. A man in green and gold was directing an over-laden cart under one of the archways. ‘It must be related. From her description, the wound was not accidental. I believe whoever killed Lady Martesen killed this banker too.’ She felt the fabric of the curtain hangings with one hand. Thick material, heavy and the colour of blood. ‘Two killings of members of the court. Was Clode merely a convenient scapegoat then? The attack on him incidental?’

‘I think not,’ Krall replied, rubbing his temples. ‘Whoever killed Lady Martesen went to some trouble to drug that mask, then lead Mr Clode to the scene. It would have been simpler to drag in some fool from the streets. He would have had no rich friends to support him, no Ambassador to force us to keep him safe. Two … two targets. What is the phrase?’

Crowther twisted his cane. ‘Kill two birds with one stone, I think is what you have in mind, Herr Krall. Mrs Westerman, the answer must be locked in with Mr Clode. He must give us a list of those people he met at court since his arrival here, and his dealings with them.’

‘Graves and Rachel will return to the castle today to continue his interrogation. And you and Herr Krall are right: whoever has performed this killing is clever enough to know a peasant would make a better scapegoat than the agent of an Earl.’

‘We cannot be sure that Fink was murdered,’ Krall said, almost to himself. ‘Some coincidence, some accident.’

Crowther watched him steadily. ‘I do not think you believe that, Herr District Officer.’

‘No. I do not.’ Krall kept his chin low. ‘What am I to tell Swann? The cortege of the Princess arrives at the border tomorrow morning. She arrives here the day after. Well, it is too late for her to go home now. As long as news doesn’t reach them before they are past the borders of Maulberg.’ He brought a fist down on the table. ‘Damn this to hell.’

He looked up at Harriet, a slight air of challenge in his eye, but she made no sign of offence or distress.

‘What if Lady Martesen were not the first victim?’ she said instead.

‘What?’ Krall said, distracted. ‘What do you mean, madam?’

‘I mean, whoever has done this has managed to throw sand in our eyes most effectively. Perhaps they have tried and succeeded before. Have there been any other deaths in the last few months?’

‘People do die, Mrs Westerman.’

‘Yes, Herr Krall, but I am talking about members of the court and ignoring any case of long illness, or falls. Fire, for instance.’

Krall looked at her suspiciously, but said nothing.

‘Fire, Mrs Westerman?’ Crowther asked.

Rather than give him any answer, she turned to Krall, her head tilted to one side.