Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘Weak, sire,’ he said eventually.

‘Will he live?’ the Duke asked. The physician looked hopefully at Crowther and Manzerotti. Neither man moved.

‘I do not know, sire.’

The Duke studied Swann’s thin form on the bed for a long moment. ‘Time will tell, I suppose.’ Then he turned on his heel and left smartly. Half-crouching, the physician followed him and his advisers.

‘What are we to do?’ Harriet said, then caught her breath, realising she was now including Manzerotti in the we she spoke.

The singer stood and bent over the bed to examine the hands. They looked as if they had been burned. ‘I think it was the gloves.’ They still lay on the floor by the bed, looking both dead and malevolent. ‘We cannot leave him unguarded. Whoever poisoned them may try again as soon as we leave. Your sister is something of a healer, I think, Mrs Westerman?’ Harriet stiffened, and though Manzerotti did not turn round he must have felt it. ‘No, we have not been gossiping and swapping receipts, madam. Colonel Padfield mentioned it.’

‘She makes and sells some household remedies in our village,’ Harriet said at last.

‘That must be excuse enough. Let her come, her husband and Mr Graves. They will make less convincing nurses, but better guards. He must not be left alone.’

Harriet nodded.

‘We should also send for Herr Kupfel. Though I doubt he will come willingly,’ Crowther said. Manzerotti turned and raised one beautifully groomed eyebrow. ‘It is likely that the drugs that disorientated Clode and rendered the victims passive came from his collection of receipts. Where there are instructions for the creation of two dangerous drugs, there are probably instructions for the creation of several more.’

‘I agree. Where are these papers now?’

‘Stolen at some point. With some of the elements needed to create them, and a number of volumes on alchemy and magic ritual. Kupfel might know some manner to ease the workings of whatever did this to Swann.’

‘Fascinating,’ Manzerotti drawled, studying the frayed flesh on Swann’s hands. ‘That is a collection of papers I would give a great deal of gold to see.’

Harriet shuddered and she stood to hide it. ‘I will go to Swann’s offices. Perhaps he has left some sign of what he meant to tell us. I assume it will be given out that the Chancellor is merely indisposed.’

‘You should not curl your lip, Mrs Westerman. It does not suit you. Yes, I imagine so. Do you think they will let you rifle through his papers, dear lady?’ She could hear the smile in Manzerotti’s voice.

‘The Duke has asked us to look into these matters. I go with his authority.’

‘But you speak German so badly … Still, perhaps it is better that Mr Crowther and I keep vigil here and you give yourself some other occupation round the court.’ He looked at her, his head on one side. ‘We would not want to ruin our present good understanding by spending too long in each other’s company, now would we?’

She had no answer for him and turned to leave the room. As she went she heard his low laugh and felt her cheeks burn.

The pane rattled once, then again. Pegel shut his workings into his notebook and put the originals into his jacket before going to the window. He saw Florian below, looking up at him from under his thick blond hair, shielding his eyes, and smiled. He opened the window.

‘Come on up!’

Florian waved and trotted off to the rear of the building, and Pegel had plenty of time to place his notes and papers behind one of the loose tiles of the roof slant before unlocking the door and taking his seat again. The stairs creaked, and Frenzel was in the room, smiling a little shyly with a paper-wrapped parcel in his hands.

‘That for me?’ Florian nodded. ‘Do I get to keep it this time? Hand it over then.’

As Jacob ripped off the paper Frenzel said, ‘Where have you been? The Professor keeps asking for you.’

‘ The Wealth of Nations! Very nice. I didn’t know it had been translated.’

‘A friend of mine.’

Pegel hobbled across to his own bookshelf and pulled a number of papers from between the books.

‘Give the Professor this, with my compliments. It hasn’t been published yet, but Laplace is a friend of mine. He explains it all pretty clearly.’

Florian took it a little doubtfully. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just working on a little idea. As you know, you can’t ask a man to discuss it when he’s in the midst of a new idea. Might all just dissolve in front of me if I do.’

Florian shrugged in the direction of the door. ‘I suppose I should …’

Pegel looked at him, poor little rich boy in search of a friend. He suddenly knew what he would ask for if his idea for the codes worked.

‘Sorry, old boy! Don’t go.’ He stood up and put a hand on Florian’s shoulder. ‘Just a bit out of sorts today. Got a letter from my father. He says my mother is ill and wants me to come home and settle down. Take up the law and all that.’

‘I’m sorry about your mother, Jacob. Is there any danger?’

‘She’s always ill. The old man just wants me where he can disapprove of me eye to eye is the meat and measure of it. Come and sit for a bit. You never mention your family. You get along?’

They took their seats side by side on the worn settee. ‘I hardly know my father,’ Florian said at last. ‘I remember my mother a little. She died when I was five. My father never had anything to do with me when I was a child, then he sent me away to school. He married again, a kind woman but she died too, soon after giving birth to my little brother.’

‘You have a brother?’

He shook his head. ‘Born dead. Mostly I lived with my aunt and uncle after that.’

‘What sort of place is it, your father’s?’

‘Old. It used to be a nunnery. It has a cloister still and the dining room is where the church once was.’

‘So you were brought up in a nunnery!’

‘What?’

‘Sorry, nothing. Sounds very grand.’

‘Very cold. Courtyard after courtyard and not a room in the place of a convenient size. But fitting, I suppose, for an Imperial Knight.’

Frenzel talked for some time, and listening to his stories of the children he played with, the landscape, the gardens, Pegel let his mind rest. He was happy. Florian was the son of an Imperial Knight. Pegel’s work would lead to a number of arrests, but if Florian could be got out of the way … Off the lists. Off lands where the Duke’s word was law. Even if his friends gave his name, it would be easy to bluff his way out of it. Yes, Pegel could save Florian from himself — if his master would let him.

Crowther watched Manzerotti bending over Krall’s hands for several minutes. The fire had been banked up and the room was becoming oppressively hot. Crowther’s thoughts were growing foggy and thick, and a thin layer of sweat was beginning to burst out of his pores. He felt like an old creature, cornered. He stood and crossed to the window and found there, like a cold movement in the fug, a whisper of healthier air. He placed his hand into it, letting the draught slice over the pulse in his wrist.

Crowther felt that he was growing old. He had dedicated his youth, his maturity, to study and to the avoidance of other people, but he believed now that the only work of any real significance he had accomplished had been in the company of Mrs Westerman; had been done since she had dragged him out of his study and thrown him among other people. The ghosts of his own past had glowered over him for thirty years; in her company they were exorcised. He smiled, feeling the cold air over his wrist. He had tried this winter, perhaps fearing that Mrs Westerman wanted to return to her domestic concerns, to rediscover his zeal for his own private study. The readiness with which he abandoned it at her request was demonstration enough that he had not been particularly successful. He did not mind the years he had wasted; rather he was glad, even as he felt the pressure of his age, that he had not wasted them all.