Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘I cannot remember exactly. I think there were twenty-seven, twenty-eight years between them. That is why I thought a horse, rather than a dog … The later date on the stone was seventy-eight, I think.’

She could see it again now. The simple square stone in the centre of the lawn. There was a piece of turf cut away in front of it and she had bent down to inspect it: it had been freshly dug. Sandy soil. She thought of the soil in the mouths of Countess Dieth and Herr Glucke.

‘Then the servant found me. He seemed rather upset to have discovered me there.’

‘Angry?’

‘No, not angry.’ She thought of him stooped, and his insistence on leading her away at once. His nervous, flickering gaze. ‘He kept glancing up at the windows of the house.’

Clode put his hand to his forehead. ‘Count Frenzel spent half our interview looking out of the window. And he was certainly in a foul mood by the time it ended. My dear, why didn’t you tell me?’

Rachel remembered her husband getting back into the carriage, his handsome face flushed and slamming the door to behind him. ‘Frenzel was not the only one to leave that interview in a foul mood, Daniel. You lectured me about the uselessness of such people and the general inequality in Germany until we arrived back in Ulrichsberg, and then we had to go to supper in the court.’

Daniel looked rather guilty.

Graves looked between them. ‘Do we know where Frenzel is now?’

‘He must be about somewhere. Shall we go and find him?’ Daniel said, looking happier than he had in days. ‘I think I have strength enough to knock him down. Then Krall can arrest him.’ He spoke very evenly then stood up to ring the bell. Before the ring had quite died, there was a scrape at the door, and a footman was bowing to them. Rachel smiled at him.

‘Hans, good afternoon. I know he is terribly busy, but could you ask Herr Kinkel to step round and see us for a moment?’

The footman retreated and Clode felt a flowering of pride that his wife knew the names of the people who served them. It was typical of her. Then he frowned.

‘Graves, a moment. I cannot keep pace — who guards Swann now? We are here, Harriet and Mr Crowther are still in town.’

Graves sat back on his chair. ‘Be at peace, Clode. We need not be distracted from hunting down Frenzel. A letter arrived for Swann. He threw me out saying Duke Ernest of Gotha had offered him refuge.’ Graves glanced at his watch. ‘He rattled out of here some hours ago.’

Swann could not stop himself weeping. Each time he managed to control himself, some new memory would appear and the rage and grief would break over him again. He only hoped that by the time they stopped for the night he would have clawed back some of his dignity. It was a moment before he realised that the carriage had come to a halt. Some delay on the road. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of brandy that Wimpf had handed him as he closed the doors, traced the engraving of the owl with his thumb, then drank deeply. Still the carriage did not move. He hit the roof with the head of his cane. His arms felt strangely weak, his cane made nothing more than a dull tap. His vision began to swim. He heard a voice outside — Wimpf’s — what was he doing here? ‘Seems the Chancellor has been taken ill again, coachman. Will you give me a hand getting him into the house?’ What house? Where was he? He began to hear a whispering, a chattering in his ears. Voices, many voices. Fingers were beginning to pluck at his clothes, fingers he couldn’t see. He tried to brush them away, but his hands would not move.

The gentleman in the green coat enjoyed the gala extremely. Herr Dunktal had worked very hard, and despite the accidental losses suffered among the court at Ulrichsberg, he was confident that with Swann as Chancellor, they would replenish their higher ranks from the adepts. He even had hopes of making some converts to the Minervals amongst the new retinue brought in by the Duchess. A different marriage might have been preferable, but if he could recruit in Saxe Ettlingham, his tendrils of influence would begin to curl out of Germany and into France. The attack on one of his promising younger followers by an agent of the Rosicrucians and the subsequent ransacking of his home had been discomforting, but great men such as himself faced these obstacles from time to time and overcame them. He stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat. It was an opportunity to remind them all of the need for secrecy, for security. The papers were all safe, and if they were discreet, the Rosicrucians would bother him no more.

It was delightful to watch this spectacle anonymously knowing that he, he alone, an apparently modest man of middling rank in the University, held such influence, such power. He began to walk through the crowd, searching about for any sign of his Minervals. Amusing, that they would never think to even speak to a man as unimportant as himself. Yet they would obey the commands of Spartacus without question. For the most part. He had heard that Countess Dieth had removed herself to the country, which had not been his advice. He began to search the crowd more methodically. It dawned on him that he had not seen Swann either during the celebrations, nor Adolphus Glucke. He started to experience an unusual and unpleasant sensation — the feeling that he was not entirely aware of everything that was going on. His collar began to feel a little tight. A large, square-ish gentleman in military uniform appeared at his side and asked his name. His English accent was very strong. Dunktal gave his name somewhat hesitantly. The military man introduced himself as Colonel Padfield and Dunktal realised that this was one of the men who had managed to arrange the current wedding behind the back of the Minervals. Colonel Padfield suggested he might like to accompany him away from the crush. Herr Dunktal understood that it was not a suggestion that he could refuse.

Pegel had swept down upon Florian in a frenzy, and all but dragged him from his house. Florian had been confused at the idea that he must, at once, accompany Pegel to the home of his father near Mittelbach. Pegel’s explanation — that the Rosicrucians were after them and they needed to lie low for a few days — was dramatic, but also baffling, given how phlegmatic Jacob had been till now. It was only when Pegel appealed to him as a friend, his eyes open and apparently wet with tears that Florian had started to be convinced. He had tried to explain that he hardly knew his father, but Pegel was adamant. Astonished, Florian agreed.

The ride had shaken Pegel’s ankle till he thought the pain would drop him from his horse. He could see the anxious glances Florian was casting in his direction as they rode. At least the injury gave him an excuse not to speak. Pegel pulled out his watch and glanced at it. The Masonic symbols of order and brotherhood had begun to irritate him. He threw it into the hedgerow.

‘Jacob?’

‘Not now, Florian.’

The Duke’s men would be raiding the addresses provided by this time, discreetly walking professors, tradesmen and gentlemen out of their offices and homes, a polite but firm hand on the elbow. Pegel recalled the Duke’s pale face as he gave the orders, the various advisers bowing to him, gathering lists of names. With that thought in his mind Pegel sighed and looked up, and found they had arrived.

Florian’s home was splendid. A sprawling mansion had been created on the remains of the nunnery. It was a fairytale sort of place of towers and spires, red-tiled roofs and what looked like an extensive series of walled gardens. They rode in through the gates into the first courtyard and dismounted. Before Jacob had managed to clamber down from his horse, a servant in the livery of the Ulrichsberg Palace appeared from the stables.