J. Jones - The Third Place

‘I could do both,’ she said.

‘It’s settled then,’ Gross said. ‘We each have our tasks. But may I recommend, Frau Meisner, that you begin with the princess. Time is of the essence.’

Gross said her name with a slight lilt of sarcasm as he always did. The criminologist did not approve of modern women who kept their maiden names when marrying.

Werthen was not sure, but he thought he also caught a hint of insincerity in Gross’s tone about time being of the essence.

Franzl thought it was a treat to be decked out in knee pants and apron. He was assigned the potatoes his first morning. He had to scrub them clean. Beautiful little round golden things, first of the season. It seemed Frau Schratt fancied her potatoes with the skins on, so it was Franzl’s first task in the household to see to it there was not a speck of earth left on them.

He worked away in a corner of the large and gloomy kitchen downstairs from the main rooms. It had been a busy day so far, he thought as he scrubbed away at the potatoes with the wooden-handled brush. They’d been delivered at six a.m. promptly by a fiaker. Frau Schratt had introduced him to the cook, who’d seemed unimpressed, and to Fraulein Anna, the other kitchen helper, who’d given him a sweet smile. It was she that Advokat Werthen explained they especially wanted him to watch. But now that he’d met her, Franzl could not understand why. Anna seemed like someone who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. She kindly showed him the proper way to clean the potatoes: not so hard as to disturb the skin, just the right pressure.

‘Frau Schratt’s very particular about her potatoes,’ she told him.

‘I’m sure you’ve got other things to do, Anna,’ the cook said then. ‘The boy’s come to make our lives easier, not more difficult.’

Anna winked at him as she scurried off to feed the boiler more coal. He was amazed; the house had what they called central heating. This was the life.

Berthe met Rosa Mayreder at the Cafe Eiles just down the street from her apartment later that morning. They had tea and Berthe explained as much as she could to her friend about her reasons for wanting to get to know the princess better.

‘This mysterious investigation of yours had better be important,’ Rosa said. ‘The princess is not someone you want as an enemy.’

‘I can see that,’ Berthe said. ‘If you could just introduce us formally … I had no chance to meet her last Saturday.’

‘She likes it better that way. Fans not friends.’

It had been several years since Werthen last spoke with Alexander Girardi, famed actor, comedian and tenor. Werthen and Gross’s first case, investigating the murder of Gustav Klimt’s model, had taken them to the dressing room of the actor, for he, like Klimt, had been carrying on an affair with the unfortunate young woman. Girardi had not been implicated in the murder, nor had he been able to supply any valuable information. Werthen was hoping that this time things would be different.

Frau Schratt and Girardi were old friends; some said one-time lovers. What Werthen knew for sure was that Girardi was in Frau Schratt’s debt, for it was she who interceded with the emperor in 1896 when Girardi’s estranged wife attempted to have him committed to an asylum. Now, happily divorced from said wife, Girardi was once again the uncrowned king of Vienna, copied in dress and manner by the stage-happy populace, and Werthen was hoping the man could tell him who Frau Schratt’s professional enemies might be.

Girardi’s home in the cottage district north of Vienna in Dobling belied his humble roots, the son of a locksmith in Graz. The villa looked large enough for several families; a bachelor like Girardi could get lost in its many rooms.

Frau Schratt had arranged the interview for Werthen; a servant let him in at the appointed hour and took him to a small music room where Girardi was busy working on the role of Kalman Zsupan, the wealthy pig farmer from Strauss’s operetta, The Gypsy Baron. It was one of the few operettas Werthen – no fan of light opera – had ever seen. Werthen was astounded to find Girardi in full costume with a ridiculous fake beard, moustaches spit-turned at the ends and a comical hat perched atop his head, its brim turned upward like a breakfast roll.

He stood in the doorway without interrupting as Girardi finished the scene, a recording of the orchestral version playing on an Edison phonograph. Werthen was struck by the consummate professionalism of the man. Girardi had premiered the role of Kalman Zsupan and had perfected it: he was Kalman Zsupan. Yet here he stood in full costume working on it as if he were fresh to the stage.

Girardi, aware of Werthen’s attention, ended the rendition with a flourish, bowing deeply to his audience of one.

Werthen could not stop himself from clapping; the actor’s impish enthusiasm was infectious.

‘Yes, I do recall you now,’ Girardi said as they sat opposite each other at a small, delicately inlaid table freshly laid with a silver pot of hot coffee. Girardi laid his comical hat on the table and poured himself a cup. Werthen declined.

‘That sorry business with Liesel,’ Girardi said.

Fraulein Elisabeth Landtauer was the model whose death had spurred Werthen’s first investigative efforts. He was happy to note that Girardi had not forgotten the young woman; it made him seem more human. More human also was his reversal to the twang of Viennese dialect, which the actor had perfected so well.

‘Yes, quite sad,’ Werthen said, not wanting to go too deeply into that affair, as it had ultimately led to the very gates of the Hofburg. ‘About Frau Schratt …’

‘Is she in danger? Just what is this about?’

‘I am not at liberty to discuss the details of the investigation, Herr Girardi. I do not believe she is in any physical danger, but it would seem she has an enemy or enemies that wish her ill. Let us leave it at that.’

‘How can I help? Kathi is the dearest friend. She has been there for me when I’ve needed her. I’ll gladly return the favor.’

For once the actor sounded as if he were not on stage.

‘Who might wish to see her harmed, discredited? We are not talking about petty jealousies here but real animosity.’

‘Does this have to do with the emperor?’

Werthen ignored the question. ‘Can you think of anyone that might fit that description?’

Girardi shrugged. ‘In the theater? There are several. In real life,’ he swept his hand dramatically as if implying that his Dobling villa represented reality and not the stage, ‘very doubtful. Kathi is the kindest woman I know. She is the sort to take in strays, to help out complete strangers.’

‘In the theater, then.’

‘One makes enemies in such a hothouse environment,’ Girardi said. ‘There are only so many roles, so many good parts.’

‘But she’s virtually retired.’

Girardi smiled at this. ‘Actresses never retire, Advokat. They may perform less, but they never take a final curtain willingly. Also, Kathi has Protektion - connections.’

‘The emperor?’

The actor nodded. ‘She is loath to use this influence, but those who are against her do not believe that. They see her standing in the way of progress at the Burg – keeping the young actresses back, interfering with the management of the house.’

‘Names?’

‘Surmise, Advokat. Merely that.’

‘Understood. I am not assuming guilt, merely looking for a direction in which to move forward.’

‘Two people come immediately to mind. Fraulein Maria Theresa Greilin and Herr Director Schlenther. The one is a budding star at the Burg and the other-’

‘The director of the Burgtheater.’

‘He and Kathi have been at each other’s throats since he arrived in Vienna in 1898. Up to then, Kathi had been the queen of the Burg, the people’s favorite and the emperor’s special friend. She had her pick of roles, some of which might have been more appropriate, truth be told, for younger actresses. She advocates for her friends and, when under contract, had leave time that left most wishing they knew an emperor. That changed with Schlenther’s arrival. He’s a stolid Prussian and could not tolerate interference in the affairs of the Burg. Subsequently, Kathi’s contracts were brought more in line with others at the Burg. But it bred animosity and led to Kathi attempting in every way possible to dislodge the director. She is a very powerful woman, our Kathi, and she has very powerful friends. The one thing saving Schlenther is Prince Montenuovo’s dislike for Kathi.’