Frank Tallis: Death And The Maiden

‘Herr Doctor?’ said Rheinhardt. ‘Did you move Fraulein Rosenkrantz when you examined her?’

‘No. She remains exactly as found.’

‘What about Frau Marcus? Did she move Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s body?’

‘I don’t think so. As far as I know she made no attempt to revive or resuscitate her.’

Rheinhardt stepped closer.

‘How did Fraulein Rosenkrantz die?’

‘It would appear that she imbibed an excessive quantity of laudanum.’

‘Intentionally?’

‘That is certainly a possibility …’

‘However?’

‘I can think of no reason why she should have chosen to end her life. I take it you are aware of Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s reputation? She was at the height of her powers. There are few who can claim to have conquered the hearts of the music-loving public so decisively. We have been robbed of a singular talent, make no mistake.’

‘When was the last time Fraulein Rosenkrantz had cause to request a consultation?’

‘Only two weeks ago.’

‘With respect to …?’

‘A touch of neuralgia but otherwise she was in excellent spirits. I can remember her talking excitedly about roles she expected to take next season.’

‘So what are we to conclude, Herr Doctor? That her death was accidental?’

‘That would be my opinion …’ Engelberg’s sentence trailed off into silence. He sighed and began again: ‘That would be my opinion were it not for the fact that Fraulein Rosenkrantz once needed the services of a psychiatrist. In the spring I arranged for her to see Professor Daniel Saminsky.’ Engelberg paused before adding: ‘A colleague of some distinction. He once had the honour of attending the late empress, and has since been awarded the Order of Elizabeth.’

Rheinhardt twisted the horns of his moustache.

‘What was the reason for the referral?’

‘Globus hystericus,’ Engelberg replied.

‘Would you care to explain?’

‘A hysterical phenomenon: typically, the patient reports the presence of a lump in the throat which produces difficulty when swallowing. Physical investigations reveal no obvious obstruction and the lump, or rather the perceived lump, is subsequently ascribed to psychological causes. Globus hystericus is not a diagnosis that we doctors commonly associate with suicide. And to the best of my knowledge Professor Saminsky’s treatment was effective.’

Rheinhardt walked over to the bedside table, picked up one of the bottles and sniffed the pungent residue.

‘Did you prescribe these tinctures?’

‘No.’

‘Then who did?’

‘Professor Saminsky, I believe.’

‘Didn’t you say that Saminsky’s treatment was successful?’

‘That is correct. Nevertheless, he continued to see Fraulein Rosenkrantz for monthly appointments.’ Engelberg raked his hand through his hair. ‘No doctor can be absolutely certain of a patient’s state of mind. If Fraulein Rosenkrantz was suffering from suicidal melancholia it not only escaped my notice, it also escaped Professor Saminsky’s.’

Rheinhardt replaced the bottle.

‘Herr Doctor, you say that Fraulein Rosenkrantz was fully recovered. Why, then, was she taking laudanum?’

‘To hasten the onset of sleep. Difficulty sleeping was another of her problems. She has taken paraldehyde, sulphonal, potassium bromide and a host of herbal remedies. The laudanum has nothing to do with her globus hystericus.’ Engelberg patted his pocket and removed a cigar. ‘May I smoke, inspector?’

‘Of course,’ said Rheinhardt, taking a box of matches from his pocket and courteously providing a light. ‘Herr Doctor, looking at Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s body, does anything strike you as odd?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, inspector.’

‘Her position,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘In the centre of the rug.’

Engelberg shrugged and surrounded himself with a yellow nimbus of smoke. ‘Inspector, imagine, if you will, the following: Fraulein Rosenkrantz retires to her bedroom. She cannot sleep. She takes some laudanum but it has little effect. Those of a nervous character, as she undoubtedly was, are often less susceptible to soporifics.’ He sucked at his cigar and flicked some ash into an onyx dish. ‘She waits, but remains incorrigibly awake. Becoming impatient, she drinks another phial. Although she feels the laudanum isn’t working, it most certainly is. She is no longer fully compos mentis . She cannot remember how much she has taken and she is confused. In this disoriented state she takes yet more laudanum, and the dose is now fatal. She sits on the side of the bed and removes her shoes and stockings. As she bends down she becomes dizzy. She slides off the bed and onto the floor. She rolls over, onto the rug, and closes her eyes.’ Engelberg shrugged again. ‘It might well have happened like that, inspector: an accident, a cruel tragedy of mischance.’

Rheinhardt lifted the counterpane and looked under the bed, where he saw a pair of brown leather ladies’ shoes. He then examined the coverlet more closely, searching for small indications consistent with Engelberg’s scenario. It was all very plausible, but when Rheinhardt looked again at Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s body, positioned so neatly within the rectangular limits of the Persian rug, he could not quash a nagging doubt.

‘Thank you, Herr Doctor,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘You have been most helpful.’

‘May I leave now?’

‘I must ask you to give Haussmann your details first.’ The inspector glanced at his assistant. ‘Then you are free to go. Once again, please accept my apologies.’

Rheinhardt bowed and left the room. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Constable Drasche sitting next to a middle-aged woman whose eyelids were raw and swollen. Rheinhardt pulled a chair from under the large wooden table and noted with some satisfaction the presence of an empty teacup.

‘My name is Rheinhardt,’ he said softly. ‘I am the detective inspector.’ He sat down. ‘It must have been a great shock.’

A prolonged silence followed, during which the housekeeper twisted a damp handkerchief.

‘Terrible.’

‘Frau Marcus,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘when did you discover Fraulein Rosenkrantz?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

‘I know that this is difficult but I must ask you to tell me what happened, precisely.’

Frau Marcus nodded and took a deep breath.

‘I arrived here at seven o’clock and set about preparing mistress’s breakfast: a boiled egg and some pumpernickel. When the egg was ready I took it upstairs on a tray, along with some butter. I knocked on the door — but there was no reply. Fraulein Rosenkrantz had told me yesterday that she wanted to rise early because she had a new role to learn, so I went in. I thought she’d fainted … and I knelt down on the floor beside her.’

‘Did you touch her?’ Rheinhardt interjected.

‘Yes,’ said Frau Marcus. ‘I touched her face. It was cold. Horribly cold.’

The housekeeper shivered.

‘Did you attempt to move her?’

‘No. I was scared and thought it best to call Doctor Engelberg.’

‘And you were right to do so. But are you quite certain that you did not move Fraulein Rosenkrantz? Please think carefully, Frau Marcus — it may be important.’

‘I touched her face with this hand.’ She raised her arm as if swearing an oath. ‘Then I ran downstairs to telephone Doctor Engelberg.’

‘What did you do while you were waiting for him to arrive?’

‘I telephoned the police station.’

‘And did you go back upstairs again?’

‘No. By the time I had finished talking to the police, Doctor Engelberg was knocking at the front door.’ Frau Marcus gave the handkerchief another twist. ‘I took him up to the mistress’s bedroom. He held a mirror under the mistress’s nose — and then he said, “She’s dead.” I already knew … no one is ever that cold. But it was still terrible to hear those words. He touched the back of her neck and told me that he thought she’d been dead for hours.’