Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘No, Mrs Westerman, can’t say I did. There are plenty of healthy farms and a good number of men who’ve done well in Oberbach and have built a house — they might any of them been a temptation to young Beatrice. Mittelbach is part of the estate of Count Frenzel. You might ask him.’ The crowd was beginning to disperse. ‘I owe that woman news of her sister. I had better be waiting for her when she comes back to change her frock. Good luck to you both.’ He turned away from them and was swallowed into the crowd.

Harriet leaned on Crowther’s arm. ‘I wish Krall were here. He could frighten an answer out of Wimpf. Do you think we might manage to get a name from him?’

Crowther shook his head. ‘No doubt Krall is still busy protecting the Duke. We might get some intelligence from Wimpf, but Krall would do a better job of it, I agree. We have another line to follow though, Mrs Westerman, if you are not too exhausted.’

‘I am quite well. What do you mean?’

‘The school.’

Herr Kinkel was far, far too busy with the arrangements in the east wing to see the signing of the marriage contract. The back quarters of the palace were a frenzy of movement. The new Duchess’s retinue had to be accommodated, their baggage stowed correctly, their servants billeted and everyone required hot water. However, he did notice Wimpf, helping the stooping figure of Chancellor Swann into a waiting carriage. The blinds were drawn down. Strange. Strange too that rather than slamming the door and letting the carriage drive off, Wimpf got up behind as if to travel with the Chancellor. Where could they be going? Still such a frenzy, he had even seen old Kupfel wandering round court yesterday. If Theo had to press his father Adam into running errands, he was pushed indeed. Herr Kinkel wondered about this for almost five seconds, the complete time available to him, then the housekeeper almost knocked him from his feet, staggering along the passage with fresh linens in her arms, after which he returned to more pressing duties.

Rachel sighed sleepily and put out her hand. Her fingers brushed her husband’s chest and she felt her hand being taken and his kiss on her palm. As she opened her eyes, she found him watching her and smiled. She let her hand rest on his jaw for a moment.

‘Did you sleep?’ She moved closer to him.

‘I did — and better, I think, than I have for some time.’

She laughed and tucked her head under his chin. ‘As did I.’ Perhaps for the first time, lying there, she realised what her sister had lost when James Westerman was killed. She thought of Harriet, her restlessness. It had been in her long before James had died, those first years of marriage they shared, sailing over the oceans till she had been forced to remain in Caveley, for Stephen, for her. Then to lose James, that bond between them which kept part of her soul out in the winds and weather even while she remained in Sussex. She knew she was like Harriet in many ways, but she did not share that restless nature. It was what divided them. Her arm lay over Daniel’s side, she could feel it rise and fall with his breathing. To live with him, to bear his children, to face the coming winters together in their own home and among their friends was all the adventure she wished.

‘Daniel …’ She tilted her head back so she could watch his face as she told him. ‘I believe I am to have a baby. Are you pleased?’

Some time later they found Graves in the parlour and told him their news. He wrung their hands so hard Rachel had to protest.

‘Please, Daniel, defend me! Graves, you will tear my hand off!’

‘Lord, I’m so delighted!’ He almost danced away from her, then his smile faltered.

‘What is it, Graves?’ Daniel said, looking a little more serious, but keeping his hand on Rachel’s shoulder.

Their friend grimaced and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Only that I wanted to tell you what has happened with Swann. Great dramas. These Minervals have been exposed by Manzerotti and some child genius.’ Rachel smiled to herself. For all his responsibilities, Graves had something of the child in him still. ‘All the victims of these gruesome murders were on the list, some inner circle of seven treating the Duke as a puppet and trying to make Maulberg a breeding ground and haven for their philosophy. The Duke is trying to handle it quietly, but I had some words with Colonel Padfield. He expects to detain a number of people during the celebrations this evening.’

Rachel was amazed. ‘Manzerotti was working for the Duke?’

‘He was. All the time. Seems the Duke did not want a group of revolutionary poisoners running his state for him.’

Daniel frowned. ‘One moment, Clode. There have been six victims. Surely the attack on Swann was something different. Rachel, should you not sit down?’

‘Daniel, I have only this minute got up. So these Minervals were influencing Swann? Flattering him? Using his closeness to the Duke …?’

‘He was a fully paid up member,’ Graves said, opening his arms wide. ‘Crowther thinks I am naive not to have suspected it, but Padfield was shocked white too. Swann is banished!’

Daniel sat down rather quickly. ‘My God. I shall think every man I meet a revolutionary now. Where are Harriet and Mr Crowther? Are they guarding Swann?’

‘No, they’ve gone charging off to see if Julius can let them know who ordered those strange commissions. The automaton is certainly modelled on that poor lady, Antonia Kastner. My dear Mrs Clode, are you sure you should not sit down? You are rather pale.’

‘Did you say Antonia Kastner, Graves?’ she asked.

‘I did.’

Clode took her hand. ‘What is it, my dear?’

She looked at him, her eyes wide. ‘Oh Daniel! I do not think it was you that saw something you shouldn’t have done. I think it was me .’

The Ludwigsschule was formed around a wide courtyard on which the pupils could be taught the basics of military drill. It was deserted. At the entrance provided for pedestrians under the wrought-iron gates they were met by an elderly gentleman who lifted the latch for them and asked their business.

‘We wish to enquire about a child who died here some six years ago,’ Harriet stated. ‘I am afraid we have not an appointment.’

The gatekeeper scratched his neck and looked suspiciously at them. ‘Today?’ he said. ‘A child six years dead and you wish to enquire for him on the afternoon of the Duke’s wedding?’

‘We come directly from the Duke,’ Crowther said. The man opened the gate and shuffled aside to let them in before slamming and locking it again. ‘They are watching the opera now at court, aren’t they?’ he offered by way of conversation as they crossed the vast expanse of the drill yard at his comfortable pace.

‘So I understand,’ Harriet said.

He led them through the main entrance and a roar of noise fell over them in a torrent. It seemed to be coming from a grand hall to their right, and as if to confirm it, the gatekeeper was almost knocked off his feet by a dozen boys of about ten years of age, all dressed in blue coats with black trimmings and wigged, racing in that direction. The adults followed them through an arched entrance and round the edge of a high and spacious hall filled with the clamour of some five hundred boys aged between ten and fifteen.

Harriet could not at once understand how the seating was arranged. She assumed the boys would sit together according to their age, but some of the youngest sat with their elders. Some boys had epaulettes, others did not. She asked the question of Crowther who translated it, and the answer.

‘Rank, Mrs Westerman. The boys are seated according to their rank. The head table is reserved for the Princes who are schooled here. The seats lower down the room are for those not of noble stock.’