‘Krall, are you loyal to the state you serve?’
‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ Krall said, frowning and irritated by the pantomime.
‘And your sovereign?’
‘My sovereign is the state I serve.’
Swann seemed to consider this a moment before he continued. He handed the candle to the District Officer and, pushing open the door, gestured for him to enter.
It was one of the smaller guest chambers. Krall stepped forward. Countess Dieth was seated in the middle of the room on a straight-backed armchair in a full court gown of plum silk, her chin down like someone sleeping over their book. Her left hand hung loosely, pointing towards the floor. Her stillness. In his first confusion, it took Krall a moment to realise she was dead. ‘Huh …’ he said and crossed slowly towards her, his steps heavy and awkward. Her dress pooled out around her feet. Krall lowered his candle and with his right hand gently lifted her chin.
Her face was white with powder, her cheeks rouged, but around her mouth was a flurry of dark specks, coal dust on snow. He brought the light closer. Her lips were covered in what looked like soil, loose dry soil. Krall looked about him, but the room was clean. Her eyes were open, bloodshot, empty.
‘When was she found?’ he said, resting his palm on her cheek. Quite cold.
‘Half an hour past,’ Swann said, his voice rather thick. ‘A maid had cause to enter the room. I was summoned, and on seeing the body, ordered that you be awakened.’
‘What cause?’
‘District Officer?’
‘What cause did the maid have to enter this room in the thick of night? Countess Dieth has a house in town – why is she not there?’
‘I do not know.’
Krall tilted the Countess’s face back and carefully opened her mouth. It was full of dirt. He breathed in deeply and with great gentleness closed her jaw and let her head tip forward again. There was soil caught in the bodice of her gown and in the folds of her skirt. He struggled with the impulse to clean it away, to make her neat again. Then he held the candle to cast some light upon the lady’s wrists. The left had been slit and the hand was bloody. The candle moved back and forth. There might have been some blood on the dress, but he could not be sure, given the deep colour of the material. The polished floor was apparently quite clean, no signs of drop or spray. He frowned.
Krall lifted the candle above his head and walked slowly round the body. The room was very much like his own, one of the apartments provided for the favourites of the court when their sovereign wished them near at hand. Not large, but luxurious, the wood all polished or gilded. Thick hangings tied round the bedposts. The fire had not been lit. The basin and ewer on the wash-stand were empty. He thought of his own chamber in the palace. Every night he had spent there, when he entered the room, the coals had been burning in the fireplace, fresh water to wash in. Normally wine and a little something to dull the appetite under a cloth. There was a small table set up to the body’s right, with decanter and glass set upon it. Both empty.
‘Mr Crowther and Mrs Westerman?’
‘Retired early and have not left their rooms since. Neither has Mr Graves, nor Mrs Clode.’
‘Forgive me, I meant to suggest they should be summoned.’
‘I see. You think this is the work of the same person who killed Lady Martesen?’
‘And Herr Fink. And possibly Raben and Warburg as I mentioned to you this evening – no, yesterday, I suppose it was.’ It felt natural to speak low. ‘It seems likely, don’t you think, Your Excellency?’
Swann turned away slightly and put his hand to his forehead. He was trembling a little, Krall noticed. He had never seen Swann display any kind of emotion before. ‘But those crimes were concealed. The madman provided us with a suspect for Lady Martesen’s death, and made the others appear accidental.’
‘Perhaps he was not so mad then as he is now,’ Krall said. He caught sight of something and the candle moved quickly through the air, fluttering in the draught, then steadying again. On the back of the door to the west wing corridor was chalked a design in red. A circle with lines through it, drawn over a triangle.
‘Do you recognise that, Your Excellency?’
Swann did not look, but remained with his chin tucked low. ‘Death has come in at our window, into our palaces,’ he mumbled; ‘it strangles our children in the alley, our youth in the street.’
Jeremiah
, was it? Krall thought. So the Chancellor had developed a talent for quotation along with his stoop. ‘It is almost light, Chancellor. Will you wake the Duke and tell him?’
‘It is my duty. First I must dress.’
‘The Duchess arrives tomorrow. You will wish to keep this quiet a day or two.’
Swann looked up at him. ‘We might wish it, but I fear it will be impossible.’
‘There might be rumours, but it is not impossible surely – for you, Chancellor? Unless the Duke wants this known too.’
Swann straightened his back, something of his old manner managing to reassert itself. ‘He will not. The servants can be threatened into silence. Countess Dieth’s people in town will be told that she has retired to her country estate. People might assume, given the relations the Countess once had with the Duke …’
‘Mr Crowther will not be able to examine the body here.’
Swann’s mind, it seemed, had woken at last. ‘The Lady Chapel is being redecorated in honour of the new Duchess, but it is not yet finished. The works have been halted while the craftsmen complete her apartments and the preparations for the theatricals. It can be sealed and guarded.’
‘Good.’
‘I have two men awaiting orders.’
Krall stroked his chin. ‘Let her be carried there then while it is still dark, and have the men that carry her guard the chapel. Then send Wimpf to collect Mr Crowther and Mrs Westerman. If that seems fit to you, Your Excellency.’
‘A sensible idea.’
Krall returned to his study of the strange diagram on the door. ‘How many people sleep in the palace, do you think, Your Excellency?’
‘Perhaps a hundred or more. Certainly more if you include the quarters of the coachmen and stablehands, and the Ducal Guard.’
Krall set his candle down on the mantelpiece where its light sent the shadows of the room’s fine furnishings, its gilded mirrors and moulding, skipping and dancing. ‘The palace is not in my jurisdiction, Your Excellency.’
‘Nevertheless, given the similarities, I ask you to investigate.’ Krall did not answer at once. ‘We are united in our wish to know the truth, Krall.’
‘I am glad to know that.’ Krall had been feeling like an old man these last years, but staring at the design on the wall he realised he was enjoying a sensation he hadn’t felt in some time. He was curious. ‘You may call your men, sir,’ he said. ‘Then, with your leave, if you will send the maid to me who discovered the Countess, and ask Wimpf to wake Mrs Westerman and Mr Crowther. Perhaps he might take them their coffee and something to eat before telling them what is afoot. I will wait for them.’
‘Whatever your wish, District Officer.’ There was an edge in Swann’s voice again, but Krall made no move to show he felt it.
H
ARRIET WAS USED TO
waking early, usually before any of the servants came to her room, so when she woke to the sound of movement beyond the draperies around her bed, it was with some confusion. It was still dark. At first she thought she was in her bed in Caveley, but the nap of material on the sheets around her felt unfamiliar. Then it came back over her in a familiar flood, the despatch, the journey, the splendour of Maulberg, that she had had Manzerotti in front of her and a gun primed in her hand, and yet she had not shot. She groaned.
‘Madam?’
She struggled up onto one elbow and twitched open her bed-curtain. ‘Dido? This is early even for you.’
Her maid was lighting the fire. Harriet’s nightshift slipped from her shoulder and she pulled it round her again. The air was still chill.
‘Sorry, madam, but one of those footmen is outside wanting you. Said the name Krall?’
‘He is the law officer in charge of the case.’
The maid got to her feet. ‘That’ll be it then. He’s brought you coffee and rolls and gone to wake Mr Crowther, poor man.’ Harriet smiled. The longer Dido spent in her service, the more she sounded like Mrs Heathcote. ‘There’s something wrong, madam. He was white as a sheet.’
The white-faced footman, Wimpf, looked as if he intended to retreat when he had shown them to the room in which Krall was waiting, but the District Officer beckoned him inside before closing the door and speaking. The room was soft with early light; gradually the colours and shapes were revealing themselves.
‘I apologise for the hour, Mr Crowther, Mrs Westerman. Countess Dieth has been killed. Her body was discovered here by one of the maids early this morning. Her left wrist was cut and her mouth filled with earth.’
‘Where is the body?’ Crowther said at once, looking about him as if Krall might have concealed her behind the draperies.
Krall yawned, and covered his mouth. ‘Countess Dieth has been taken to the Lady’s Chapel. We could not wait to move her, Mr Crowther. This must be kept quiet for now and she needed to be taken somewhere appropriate in darkness. I will lead you there in a while, but I wished you to see this room as I found it. I hope you will indulge me.’
They looked a little suspicious. Well, good for them if they did. They inspected the small space in silence, a candle each to help guide them through the softening shadows, Mrs Westerman lifting the skirts of her dress as she moved. They were like ghosts. Some marking on the arm of the straight-backed chair in the centre of the space caused a few murmured comments to pass between them. Krall sat on the high bed as they made their investigations. His feet did not quite touch the floor. At one point he felt in his pockets for tobacco and tinder box, but reconsidered and with a sigh replaced them. Wimpf again made a movement as if to leave the room; Krall again motioned him to stay.
‘Do you mean to mock us, Mr Krall?’ Crowther said at last.
Krall blinked. ‘Mock you, sir? That was certainly not my intention. Why would you suspect such a thing?’
It was Mrs Westerman who answered. He decided he liked her dress. ‘The lady was not killed in this room,’ she said calmly. ‘It seems the body was moved here some time after her death.’
‘The killer placed the body of poor Dieth here
after
her murder?’ Krall asked, his head on one side.
‘No, I don’t think so, Mr Krall. I think she was found somewhere else, then placed here before you were summoned. That decanter was brought in from wherever she was found. It has its twin on the table. I suspect that design on the door has been copied for your benefit. See how hesitantly some of the lines are drawn? This is a bold killing, and that is not boldly drawn.’
‘But how can you say the Countess was not killed here?’ Krall asked.
Crowther answered him. ‘The blood. The chair comes from this room indeed, one can see in the rug the marks where it has been moved to this position, and there is blood on it – but not such a stain as would result from a wound fresh-flowing. Only flecks that must have been dislodged when the body was brought here some time after death, when the blood had fully dried. The floor is clean. No blood whatsoever there. Where could the body have been found, that it needed to be shifted in this way? What could have been more humiliating to the court than finding one of its own slaughtered inside the palace itself? Mr Krall, I cannot believe this fooled you for an instant. Nor could you have hoped to fool us.’
Krall considered the ceiling with the contented look of a man hearing exactly what he wanted to hear, then he turned to the footman and began to speak in German. As he did, he could hear Mr Crowther whispering a translation to his companion.
‘The gentleman and lady wish to know, Wimpf my boy, where the body was first discovered. Where was it? Who ordered you to carry it here?’ The footman opened his mouth, but Krall continued, ‘I know your family, boy! I thought a couple of thalers and a few friendly words might make you my eyes and ears in the palace, but you’ve been bought already. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you, you little devil? Was she still warm when you lifted her?’
‘How—?’
‘You had red chalk on your sleeve when you woke me. Stuck out rather, that, boy – you being so clean as a rule. That picture on the wall is your work, is it not? Sure you copied it right?’
‘I, I …’ Wimpf stuttered, but Krall held up his hand.
‘Remember before you speak, lad, that I answer only to the Duke. Now tell the truth. Your parents are good people. I cannot believe they brought you up to lie.’
‘I f-found her …’ he stuttered out at last, ‘in the temple … I went to Major Auwerk and he came back with me, then he told me … He carried her. I thought he meant me to, but when I went to pick her up, he told me not to touch her. He carried her here. I brought the table. Then he went to Chancellor Swann.’
He looked very afraid. Mrs Westerman stepped forward and put her hand on his sleeve, saying in halting German, ‘Yours is not the fault. The District Officer will see you get no hurt.’
Krall doubted if he could guarantee such a thing entirely, but Mrs Westerman’s words calmed the boy a little, and he smiled up at her timidly. He seemed to have shrunk in his livery.
‘What temple, Wimpf? The Temple to Apollo in the gardens? Is that where you found her?’
He shook his head violently, blinking his lashless eyes. ‘I cannot say – it is a great secret.’
Krall had never had much use for secrets, and now his patience left him. Grabbing the servant by his gold and scarlet coat, he flung him onto the floor by the bed, then stood over him with his fists balled. He heard the silks of Mrs Westerman’s gown shift, but neither of the English moved to stop him.
‘
Now!
If you want to leave this room as you entered it – tell me now!’
The boy scrambled backwards and found himself cornered between the end of the bed and the wall.
‘It’s hidden! It’s hidden! You can only get to it by the back corridor. It’s just a room with a few chairs in it, that’s all. Like a cupboard almost. I call it the temple. It was my joke.’ Krall took half a step forward. ‘I clean it. When I am told to. Maybe two dozen times over the last two years. Major Auwerk asked me to, he asked if I was to be trusted. If he puts the key in my hand, that means I am to clean it. I clean there when everyone else is asleep, and return the key.’