‘You there!’
He paused and touched the brim of his hat. ‘All right there, miss? Cold again, ain’t it?’
‘Can you read?’
‘My name and numbers.’
She put a folded note into his hand. ‘Now this is to go to Mr Wilhelm Grey, he’s a lawyer at the university. You’re to take it to him and wait for a reply. Bring it straight back and there’ll be a fair reward for it.’
Pegel considered telling her he’d do it for a kiss. But she’d start looking at him then whether she’d pay the price or no. Better to resist the temptation to make conversation for now. Wilhelm Grey, was it? He’d seen him around. A wizened-faced old bird who had a fondness for folding lavender into his worn cloak and a liking for his more fresh-faced young students. Pegel touched his hat and pocketed the note. It was time to summon his irregular little army of urchins. If this went the way he thought it might, he’d need extra feet and extra hands to track the little rabbits home. As soon as he turned the corner he pulled the note out of his pocket and looked at it more closely. Sealed. Well, Florian was not a complete fool.
III.2
Krall returned to the palace, cold from his early ride but content, and made his way at once to Chancellor Swann with Clode’s carnival mask wrapped in linen in his hands. He found the Chancellor with the Duke and a mass of papers. There was a harpsichord in the room, and as was his custom, the Duke was signing his papers to its accompaniment. In the other corner of the room the Countess Dieth sat at a small table, amusing herself, it seemed, playing games of Patience. Krall made his bow and readied himself to wait until business was concluded, but the Duke had seen the package in his hands and, it appeared, wanted distraction.
‘What do you have there, Krall?’ It was a point of pride among his people that their Duke spoke the local dialect as fluently as they. He used it now.
‘Mr Clode’s carnival mask, sire,’ he replied.
The Duke put down his pen and beckoned Krall over. Krall approached, and as he unwrapped the mask explained the theory that it had been used to drug Mr Clode in some way, as suggested in Mrs Westerman’s note.
The Duke smiled broadly. ‘Fascinating! How do you propose to test the theory?’
‘I thought to ask for a volunteer from among the servants, and observe the results, sire.’
The Duke sat back in his chair. ‘Oh, what an excellent idea! I should like to see that. May we try it at once?’
The music stopped and Krall glanced towards the musician. Turning from the keyboard was an extremely handsome man Krall did not recognise.
‘With your permission, sire,’ the man said in precise German.
‘What is it, Manzerotti?’
‘If the mask were drugged, its effects may have weakened over time. It might be better to experiment on a child. I think I know where one might be found at this time.’
The Duke crossed his legs. ‘Thank you, Manzerotti. Fetch it at once. Countess Dieth? Would you be so kind as to gather our English friends? It was Mrs Westerman’s suggestion, after all. She should see it tried.’
The lady stood up. ‘It is nonsense. You should have executed that monstrous Englishman a month ago.’
‘Now, now, my dear,’ the Duke said very softly. ‘Indulge me.’
From the moment they were introduced, Harriet realised Krall was cut of a very different cloth to the other people she had met at court so far. He looked, Harriet realised, a little like Michaels, though he was clean-shaven. His face was deeply lined, a granite escarpment weathered and harried by the elements, and his coat was far more workaday than any others worn at court. She could hardly imagine him moving among them. He was a charcoal sketch among the heavy oils around him. She found she was being studied in her turn, though with a friendly eye.
The Countess Dieth had hardly shared a word with them on their walk through the mirrored and shining corridors of the palace. She had simply told them to come with her. Rachel had shaken her head, saying she needed to rest, but Graves, Crowther and Harriet had followed in her silken wake, though Harriet saw signs of irritation on both their faces. Chancellor Swann was standing by the desk when they entered and bowed politely to them. Countess Dieth immediately retook her seat at the card-table and turned away from them all.
The Duke sat on a small daybed and indicated the area of carpet in front of the marble fireplace with a jewelled hand. He had his spaniel on his lap again. ‘If you would just stand there … excellent. Now we shall all have a perfect view. Continue, Krall.’
Krall bowed a little awkwardly, as if the movement did not come naturally to him. The Duke began to feed his dog sweetmeats from between his own lips. Harriet looked about her. After the Great Hall, this room seemed almost domestic. Classical drapery, but it had some lightness to it. If Harriet had chosen to fill the ceiling of the Long Salon in Caveley with putti and fill the walls with oil paintings, it might look something like this.
‘By your leave, sire.’ Krall pushed open a door just behind him, and from the antechamber beyond entered a young woman, fashionably if not richly dressed, who led by the hand a little girl of some seven or eight years of age.
‘Perfect,’ the Duke said. The Countess looked up briefly from her cards, shuddered and turned away. Krall led the little girl into the middle of the room then turned to a side-table and picked up a small bundle. He folded back the material and Harriet saw the fixed open grin of the carnival mask for the first time. She started forward, but felt Crowther’s hand on her arm.
‘But Crowther — a child!’ she whispered.
He shook his head.
Krall spoke; his French was not as fluent as his English — he sounded awkward, like a bad actor. ‘Sire, this young lady is Elizabeta, daughter to one of Monsieur Rapinat’s dancers in the corps de ballet.’
The Duke peered at the child for a moment. ‘Probably the fruit of Mr Rapinat’s loins. Continue.’
The Duke’s French was perfect, of course, and the mother flushed, and Krall frowned very briefly, but he addressed the child. ‘Elizabeta, we will play a game. You will put on this mask. It is magic and you will see … fairies and many, many wonderful things. You may feel a little unusual, but don’t worry. There’s a good girl.’
‘Sire …’ Harriet said. ‘Surely there is some other way-’
‘Shush, now, Mrs Westerman,’ the Duke said, raising a finger. ‘We have considered the matter and will not be questioned further.’ His voice was a deliberate singsong.
The mask was far too big for Elizabeta’s face. Krall helped her tie the ribbons behind her head, but she still had to hold it in place with one small hand on the chin. It was an unsettling sight, the little body of the child in her pretty, gauzy pink dress, her feet turned out neatly at right angles to each other as if she were a dancer herself, then that huge mask with its wide knowing grin. It seemed almost obscene.
‘It smells funny!’ Her voice was high and nervous, muffled behind the wide wooden grin.
Krall laid one hand on her shoulder, watching her very closely. ‘That is part of the magic.’