Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘They begin their education in such matters very early, Crowther.’

‘I have seen a woman of rank kiss the hands of her niece and call her Illustrious Highness, when the niece in question was a child of three years old. Yes, they begin such things early.’

There was a raised dais at the far end of the room where the Professors of the institution were gathering to dine under a flattering portrait of the Duke. He had been painted wearing a gaudy version of the blue and black coats of the pupils. Crowther bent towards their guide, then said to Harriet, ‘Ludwig Christoph founded this school ten years ago, and pays for about half the students to attend. Sons of his officers, by and large.’

The gentleman who sat directly below the portrait of the Duke had noticed them approaching, and as they were led towards him, left his seat to join them below the steps to the dais.

They made their introductions and Crowther repeated that they had come from the Duke himself. The Headmaster, a Mr von Bieber, frowned, but nodded.

‘I have been master here only five years, I am sorry to say. I know, of course, of the outbreak of fever at the time you mention. Eight children died, but I do not recall their names. Kastner, you say?’

There was a gentleman just taking his seat next to them. Overhearing them, he turned. A native German by his accent, he addressed them in French, however. ‘Headmaster, I knew that boy. Carl Kastner?’

The Headmaster looked deeply relieved. ‘Thank goodness — thank you, Herr Dreher. Perhaps you could take our guests into my study and answer any questions they may have. If we do not get food into the boys soon, I fear for our safety.’

Herr Dreher gave a curt nod and stood, then invited Harriet and Crowther back the way they had come. All at once, silence fell in the hall. Harriet turned to see that the places at the head table, apart from that of Herr Dreher, were now all taken and the Headmaster had got to his feet. The boys had their backs straight and each looked directly ahead.

‘Stand.’

The boys stood up in a single movement. The Headmaster gave a nod, and one of the boys at the head table began to recite. ‘ Benedic, Domine, nobis et donis tuis quae ex largitate tua sumus sumpturi …’

Harriet’s footsteps seemed horribly loud to her as they retreated to the back of the hall again. The Grace ended to a general ‘Amen,’ barked out with youthful vigour from the diaphragms of each boy.

‘Eat!’ the Headmaster said, and there was a great clatter of cutlery.

‘I cannot help thinking of the Al-Saids’ automata,’ Harriet whispered to Crowther.

‘I felt sorry for the boy from the moment he arrived. He was very unhappy here.’ Mr Dreher spoke French well enough, though his accent was strong.

‘You were one of his teachers,’ Harriet said.

‘Yes, and one of the few who didn’t beat him every other hour. Did you notice the little pieces of paper many of the students wear in their collars?’ Harriet nodded. ‘It is a list of the child’s misdeeds. The Duke on his visits, or anyone who wishes to, may stop a boy and read his tally at any time. Carl was reprimanded continually for malingering, or for womanish behaviour.’

‘Womanish behaviour?’ Crowther asked.

‘He missed his mother, and cried for her, then was beaten for it.’ His lip lifted slightly. ‘We are supposed to be making soldiers here.’

‘Do you know where his mother was?’

‘I didn’t at the time. Everyone knew who she was and the story of the scandal, and of course the boys beat him for that too. In his shoes I might have ended up hating my mother, but he talked of her whenever he had the chance. He was convinced she was coming for him.’

Harriet thought of her son and felt a mixture of such rage and fear, she did not know how to frame another question. Crowther asked, ‘And later?’

‘I went to see the child when I heard he was sick.’ The slightly casual air of the master had disappeared. He looked at the floor in front of him. ‘He was very ill, and he knew it. But he wanted to have his things sent to his mother, and asked me to take them.’

‘And where was she?’

‘Living at the house of one of the Imperial Knights between here and Oberbach. She sent a message to Carl that he had a new papa and they were coming to get him soon. The night he died he told me the name was Frenzel and asked me to take his Bible to her.’ As he paused, Harriet became aware of the sounds from the dining hall. Boys, voices chattering like starlings. She longed to see Stephen. It was an ache in her. Frenzel. Of course. Only a man who had bought automata in the past would commission something so complex from the Al-Saids, would think of that as a vehicle. She struggled to listen to Herr Dreher. ‘Poor woman. I had thought she was some courtesan and Frenzel was simply her new protector, but when I went there … She was a gentle lady, devastated by the loss, of course, but she was so desperate to talk about the boy. Kind. Noble in nature if not in name, I would say. And I don’t think she was just Frenzel’s mistress either. Even if no one knew it, I think they were married.’

‘And was Count Frenzel there when you spoke to her?’ Harriet said, still amazed.

‘Watched her like a hawk. She was kind to him, even in her grief, but he watched her so jealously. I was shocked when I saw him in court again. I thought there would never come a time when he allowed her to leave his sight, and he could not bring her here, of course.’

‘I suspect the lady died,’ Harriet said gently.

‘Ah, I am sorry to hear that. Sorry indeed. During her delivery, I suppose?’

‘It was two days after we arrived,’ Rachel said. ‘Do you remember, Daniel? You wanted to talk to Count Frenzel about investing in the business of one of his tenants.’

‘I remember,’ Clode said. ‘He was as unhelpful as possible.’ He searched among the papers on the table-top and handed one to Graves. ‘We went to his country estate. For a man with his position in court, he spends a lot of time there. It was a foggy day.’

Rachel nodded. ‘I walked in the gardens while you and Frenzel talked. He left his servant — Gunter his name was, I think — to guide me. A funny old man. He had a beard down to his knees and hardly a tooth in his head, but he was very wise about things that grow. It was a cold, damp sort of day, but the house was wonderful. Converted from a nunnery, I believe. We were talking of planting and medicinal herbs, as far as my German could manage. He wanted to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand it.’

She put her hand over her eyes. The memory had come back very vividly now. The grey stone of the house and the muted February colourings in the garden. Dark greens, soaked soil and fog in the air. ‘He was showing me one of the beds and trying to tell me what grew there, then went off to find a dried sample in the kitchen, so I was left on my own.’ It had been so quiet. She remembered the shape of her footprints in the dew on the lawn, the silence, the fog blurring the edges of everything, muffling any noise. ‘I walked round the wall into the next garden and there seemed to be a grave there.’

‘In the gardens of a house?’ Graves said, leaning forward.

‘I know. It made no sense. It was like one of the garden rooms here at the palace: a bench and a patch of lawn with a stone in the middle of it where the Duke would have placed a fountain. I went up to look, and there it was. A flagstone inscribed with the name Antonia , and dates. May God forgive me, I thought it was for a favourite horse.’

‘No second name?’ Crowther asked.

‘None.’

‘And the dates?’