Eva Ibbotson - The Star of Kazan

Zed mostly exercised Rocco at night, trotting down the long Prater Strasse to get to the park where the emperors of Austria had ridden for centuries, and he could let the horse go in a gallop.

But he did not always go so far as the Prater. Sometimes he rode quietly through the streets and squares of the Inner City and learned the history of Vienna from its buildings.

Here was the house where Mozart wrote The Magic Flute and there the lodging where the deaf Beethoven had thumped his landlady’s piano to death. Outside the university were monuments to great philosophers and famous scientists and explorers… and everywhere there were men on horseback carved in stone.

There was the famous statue of Prince Eugene in the Heldenplatz, the weight of his horse resting on a single hoof. The Archduke Charles, on a great charger, rode nearby, and Field Marshal Radetzky guarded the streets behind the town hall.

And often now Zed saw the real horses descended from the fabulous steeds these warriors rode. In the open-air compound beside the Hofburg Palace he saw the Lipizzaners being exercised — not dancing now, walking quietly with a groom leading one horse and riding another. Once at sunset, he met a procession of white stallions, blanketed in red and gold, returning to the Stallburg after a rehearsal in the riding school.

Rocco, when he saw them, always whinnied a greeting, but Zed would take him to task.

‘Don’t get ideas above your station, Rocco,’ he told his horse. ‘We’re bound for a very different life.’

He was growing anxious. Each day he stayed in Vienna would make it harder to leave. Then, just a week after Zed came, the professors received a telegram from Emil.

The only Herr Grotius in Zurich is a shoemaker living on the north shore of the lake, who has definitely not died. No other Grotius, dead or alive, exists in the city.

‘Well, that’s half the evidence,’ said Professor Julius. ‘It seems that Frau Edeltraut was definitely lying.’

And then two days later, he walked into yet another jeweller’s shop and was shown into the owner’s office, where Herr Brett told him that he had indeed been to the conference in Bad Haxenfeld, and was happy to confirm that the story that the Baron had overheard was true.

None of the children could understand why the professors did not go straight to the police.

‘If she invented her dead godfather and the jewels are real, she’s obviously guilty,’ said Pauline, who thought that Frau Edeltraut should be thrown into a dungeon straight away.

But Professor Julius said that the evidence so far was only circumstantial and Annika’s mother had to be given a chance to explain, before she — and therefore Annika — was dragged through the courts.

‘After all, inventing a godfather is not a crime, and though it certainly seems that the jeweller’s story is true, we don’t yet have absolute proof.’

So he and his brother Emil made a brave decision. They decided that they would travel to Spittal and talk to Frau Edeltraut themselves, and it was clear that they hoped she would somehow be able to clear her name. They would go at once because the university term began the following week and they would leave Professor Gertrude behind in case there was any unpleasantness.

So Sigrid packed two overnight bags for the professors in case they missed the night train back from Spittal and Ellie prepared ham rolls and bottles of lemonade because the food in the dining car disagreed with Emil.

And nearly two hours before it was necessary, because they liked to be early, the professors got into a hansom cab and were driven to the station.

They had only been gone a few minutes when Zed, who had been cleaning Rocco’s tack in the scullery, went upstairs to find Sigrid.

‘Ellie’s upset. She’s crying into her pancake batter.’

Sigrid hurried downstairs. Ellie was not crying into her batter — she wouldn’t have done a thing like that — but she was certainly crying.

‘What is it, Ellie? What’s the matter?’

Ellie lifted her head. ‘I don’t know… it’s Annika. I don’t feel right about her. If I could just see her for a few minutes to know that she’s all right. I wouldn’t even have to speak to her, just to see her — then I’d know.’

Sigrid looked at the clock. ‘Well, why don’t you go along too? The professors wouldn’t mind.’

Ellie stared at her. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Yes, you could. Of course, you’d have to use some of your savings for the fare.’

‘Oh, that’s nothing. I’d use my savings a hundred times over if—’

‘Well, that’s all right then. Come on, I’ll help you.’

Ellie’s savings were not in the bank. Ellie did not trust banks. They were in a jam jar, which lived inside a tin with a picture of the emperor on it. The tin lived inside a hat-box and the hatbox lived on top of the wardrobe in her bedroom.

Because Ellie was not herself a natural climber, it was generally Sigrid who got the money down.

‘There’s plenty here,’ Sigrid said.

‘Are you sure you can manage on your own?’ said Ellie in a worried voice.

‘Of course I can manage. Zed’ll help me, won’t you?’

Zed nodded. ‘Annika will be so pleased to see you, Ellie.’

And while Ellie was bundled into her coat, he ran into the Keller Strasse to fetch a cab.

The professors were travelling second class. First-class train compartments with their pink-shaded lights and starched seat covers were for special occasions — weddings and funerals.

Ellie on the other hand, like all the working people in the empire, travelled third class, which meant sitting on wooden seats and often sharing the journey with crates of chickens or baskets of rabbits on their way to market.

The third-class carriages were at the back of the train, and it was not till they reached Bad Haxenfeld that the professors caught sight of Ellie climbing down on to the platform — and then they were angry.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming — travelling all by yourself like that? It was quite unnecessary!’

Outside the station they found a cab willing to take them to Spittal.

Professor Julius found the countryside interesting: the drainage ditches, the use of hedges as windbreaks, the rows of sugar beet — but Ellie looked round her with dismay. She had never seen such a bleak landscape.

But when they were put down by the courtyard gate, the size and grandeur of the house made them fall silent. Annika had not told them of the fortified windows, the battlements on the roof, the great iron gates, which they had to push open before they could walk across the cobbles to the front door.

Beside the door was a massive bellrope. Professor Julius pulled it and they heard the sound of the bell echo in the corridors of stone.

No one came.

The professor pulled the rope again. Still no answer. Then at an upstairs window they saw the face of a girl looking down at them before it vanished.

‘There she is,’ said Professor Julius.

‘No,’ said Ellie quietly. ‘That wasn’t Annika.’

They waited. Then, after the third tug at the rope, they heard footsteps and a woman in a grey linen cap and apron slowly opened the door.

‘We have come to see Frau von Tannenberg,’ said Professor Julius. ‘She should be expecting us; we sent a telegram.’

He extracted a card from his waistcoat pocket, but the maid made no attempt to take it.

‘She isn’t here,’ she said. ‘She’s gone away.’

‘Well, perhaps we could wait till she comes back?’

The woman shook her head.

‘She’s gone on a visit; she won’t be back for a week or more. She’s away on business.’

‘Do you know where she’s gone?’