Imogen Robertson: Circle of Shadows

There was a rap at the door and a gentleman in a magnificent uniform of green and gold entered. He introduced himself as Major Auwerk of the Duke of Maulberg’s Turkish Hussars, and in fluent French welcomed them to Maulberg.

‘I have sent on my best rider to inform the court of your arrival,’ he said with a bow. ‘My company shall ride with you into Ulrichsberg. Apartments have been set aside for you at the palace.’

Harriet had often complained of the inadequacy of her education, but her father had taken advantage of the fact that one of his parishioners had been born in Paris to insist that both his daughters learn the language; now they spoke excellent French. Nevertheless her steady fear, then her sudden relief, silted up her tongue.

‘Our thanks, Major,’ she said. ‘My sister?’

The Major smiled. ‘Is also in residence and in good health to the best of my knowledge.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It seems the formalities are completed. Your man and maid have been watching our officials like hawks.’

He bowed again and offered Harriet his arm back to the waiting carriage.

The packets were found to contain copies of every document Krall’s investigations had produced in the previous weeks. Rachel’s note which accompanied them was short; warm words wishing for their speedy arrival. They were the first words of Rachel’s Harriet had seen since the messenger had delivered her wild and confused letter. Harriet read the note very carefully and a number of times before handing it to Crowther then attacking the seals on the official documents.

The District Officer, Herr von Krall, had signed and stamped each one. It seemed he had been very thorough, and as a further courtesy, the papers had been translated into English for the convenience of the accused and his friends. There were descriptions of Oberbach, a map of its principal buildings, detailed testimony from the friends and companions of Lady Martesen and from Rachel herself. There was an account of the examination of Lady Martesen’s body and a careful description of the room in which she was found. The language was legal, dry, the accumulating detail horrific to Harriet. After weeks of knowing nothing, she felt her mind constrict as if it now wished to avoid knowing too much.

They divided the papers between them and the beauties of Maulberg were ignored. The cultivation of the land went unnoticed, the ruins of ancient towers along the Neckar glowered in vain, the cheerful faces of the peasantry received no friendly glances from the finely dressed inhabitants of the coach. It rattled on. They read.

‘This is very strange.’

Harriet heard Crowther speak and looked up. Her head ached. She was trying to absorb the names on the papers in front of her. Each person mentioned seemed to have a string of titles that must have reduced the scribe to tears.

‘You are reading the account of the examination of the body, Crowther?’

‘I am. Have you the document that details the initial discovery of Lady Martesen?’

She looked through the papers on her lap. The air was still cold enough for her to need her gloves and they made her fingers awkward.

‘No, all I have here are accounts of her activities in the weeks preceding her murder. Card parties and salons. Her pleasure at being chosen as a lady-in-waiting to the new Duchess when she arrives. It seems she all but lived at court.’

‘I wonder if it made her rich,’ Graves said, and Harriet looked up at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Many of these small German courts are terribly corrupt, Mrs Westerman. Large sums of money are given in exchange for honours or lucrative positions, often via the women of the court.’

‘It says here her estate and jewels are left to her cousin, the Countess Judith Dieth, but does not say what the amount is. You are well informed, Graves,’ Harriet said.

Graves gave a rather lopsided grin. ‘I have had to become so. The financial interests of my ward extend into too many of these statelets. I have the document you want, Crowther,’ he added, juggling papers.

‘Would you tell me what it says?’ Crowther asked.

‘It is the District Officer, von Krall’s own account,’ Graves said, running his finger down the page while Crowther set aside his own papers. The spring sunlight gleamed hopefully on the silver head of his cane and was ignored. ‘He says the back parlour and bedroom of the haberdasher’s in Oberbach had been hired by Colonel Padfield to allow his party to change into their carnival costumes on their arrival in the town. Oberbach is some eight miles from the town of Ulrichsberg where all our principals reside in or near the court. Rachel and Daniel had been given the honour of rooms at the palace. I should think so too, the amount their Treasury owes to Thornleigh. Well, at some point after the main parade in Oberbach was done, the better people went to dance in the Town Hall’s Council Chambers. It seems Daniel appeared drunk.’ Harriet shook her head. In the four years she had known him, she had never seen Daniel the worse for drink. ‘I know, Mrs Westerman. I do not believe it either, but he seems to have been behaving oddly,’ Graves continued. ‘Now Colonel Padfield took him outside, and went to fetch water for him. When he returned, Daniel was gone. Padfield searched the immediate area and found no sign. Returned to Rachel and his wife to tell them what had passed, then went to look again with a couple of his friends.’ Graves glanced up at his two companions. Harriet turned away as if to admire the view, but saw nothing. ‘It is just as Padfield wrote in his letter to you. He thought to go back to the room where they had prepared for the party, and found the door locked — but he says he heard a noise within. There was no response to his calls, so he and another man broke down the door. Lady Martesen was lying dead in the centre of the room. There follow details of her costume … Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a deep wound to her left wrist.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Daniel was crouched in the corner of the room, bleeding heavily from wounds to his own wrists. He seemed to have no idea where he was or what he was about. Good God, to see it set down like this …’

Harriet had folded her arms tightly around herself. ‘Anything more?’

‘There was a cut-throat razor between his feet.’

‘Anything further about the body, Graves, other than the costume?’ Crowther asked from his corner.

‘No — wait. Krall reports very little blood around her body. He says other than the cut on her wrist and the bloodshot eyes, she appeared unharmed, her clothing not disarranged or torn. No bruises. God, they must think …’ He controlled himself. ‘There was some damp about her clothes. One moment — a carafe of water was broken on the floor. And there was a pinkish foam around her lips and mouth.’

Crowther sat forward. ‘A pinkish foam? Those are the words?’

‘Yes. Is that significant?’

Harriet thought of the girl laid out across the floor, hardly marked, her wounded hand trailing behind her, but her eyes open. Unmistakably dead.

‘The cut on her wrist,’ she said, before Crowther could reply to Graves’s question. ‘Crowther, does the account of the body say how deep it was?’

‘It severed the artery,’ he replied, without referring to the report.

‘Surely a wound like that would have bled profusely? And it would have taken some minutes before she even fainted away. If she had struggled or fought after it was sliced, there should have been blood spattered everywhere, and all around her.’ She noticed that Graves had put his head in his hands.

‘If it were administered while she was alive, then yes,’ Crowther said. ‘If she had been killed, and the wound made afterwards, it would only leak a little.’ He examined the papers in his hand once more. ‘That is the conclusion they seem to have reached. No bruises to show she was throttled. Hyoid bone intact. They suggest she was smothered.’