Mortal Mischief (23 page)

Rheinhardt nodded sagely.

'She said that she didn't want my charity,' continued Roche. 'She was very insistent – said that she would rather leave Vienna than be a burden to me. So I gave her a few jobs – here and there – and it must have built up. She did more and more, and I suppose I got used to doing less and less. Then, one morning, she vanished. Just like that.' Roche clicked his fingers. 'All of her things were still in the apartment, but she was gone. When I got to my office, I discovered that the safe had been emptied. Worse still, it turned out that the accounts were completely inaccurate. The record of our box-office takings meant nothing. As you can imagine, the proprietor was not amused. I was blamed for everything.'

'Had you given her the combination of the safe?'

'No, but I'd opened it in her presence on many occasions. She was obviously far more observant than I'd thought.'

'Did you try to find her?'

'Yes, of course – but it was too late. She'd already left Vienna.'

'On her own?'

'No, I don't think so. Later I discovered that she'd been having an affair with a stage magician – right under my nose. Braun, I think his name was. He'd taken part in a few of The Danube's summer shows (never popular, everyone having gone off, of course). I imagine that they must have run away together.'

A few spots of rain speckled Roche's overalls and he looked up at the grim sky.

'You had no idea that Fräulein Löwenstein had returned to Vienna?' asked Rheinhardt.

Roche shook his head.

'No idea at all. Had I known, Inspector, you would undoubtedly have had the pleasure of charging me with her murder.'

34

L
IEBERMANN'S MIND RACED
as he tried to make sense of the curious transformation he had just observed. Miss Amelia Lydgate – in the person of Katherine – was still staring at him. She did not seem to present any immediate physical threat, but he knew well enough that the emergence of a secondary personality was a rare and unpredictable phenomenon: an occurrence that merited caution and a healthy respect for the complexities of human mental life.

Liebermann and 'Katherine' retained their respective positions for some time. The silence curdled, thickening slowly with disturbing possibilities. Still floundering a little, Liebermann began to rehearse some English in his head. The task steadied his nerves, providing him with a necessary focus.

'Where is Amelia?' he asked.

'She's asleep.' Even the timbre of Miss Lydgate's voice was strangely altered. She seemed to be speaking in a slightly higher register.

'Does she know that you are here?'

'No – she's asleep.'

It occurred to Liebermann that Amelia Lydgate's secondary personality might be that of a child.

'How old are you ?' he asked.

'Not as old as Amelia.'

'Yes – but how old are you?'

Katherine lifted her chin and said in a voice that was presumably supposed to create an impression of superiority: 'Doctor Liebermann, were you never told that it is impolite to ask a woman her age?' So saying, she pushed herself off the bed and landed squarely on the floor, her bare feet slapping against the tiles. Then she straightened her gown, pressing her palms against her waist and sliding them down over her hips. This stretched the cotton, emphasising the curves of her body. Though the movement might have been meant to be seductive, Liebermann recognised that there was still something very childish about the young woman's posturing. It reminded him of the half-innocent, half-knowing behaviour of girls on the cusp of pubescence: a natural, almost unconscious flirtation.

She took a step forward. Then, holding her gown at the hip, she raised it a little and stood on her toes. It was a curious, balletic movement – presumably meant to be some kind of parody of elegance.

'Do you think me pretty, Doctor Liebermann?'

Liebermann coughed uncomfortably, which reminded him that since Katherine's arrival, Miss Lydgate – or at least her dormant personality – had not coughed once.

Katherine tilted her head, clearly expecting an answer.

Liebermann swallowed before delivering his careful judgement: 'Yes.'

Satisfied but unsmiling, Katherine looked towards the door.

'Where is your friend?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Yellow hair, blue eyes – and . . .'

'I think you mean Doctor Kanner.'

Katherine did not respond. Instead, she walked towards the sink where – on catching sight of herself in the mirror – she paused to arrange her hair. Piling it up with both hands, she turned her head this way and that to study the effect from several different angles. Dissatisfied, she frowned and let it tumble down again, a cascade of burnished copper.

'I don't like him,' she said bluntly.

'Why not?'

'You are very inquisitive, Doctor Liebermann.'

Trailing her hand around the porcelain bowl, Katherine moved towards the table.

'What is this?'

'A battery.'

Katherine released the hasp and opened the box. After examining the contents, she closed the lid again.

'How is your arm?' Liebermann asked.

Katherine raised her right hand, causing the sleeve of her gown to fall and collect in folds around her shoulder. Then she examined her elbow and wrist.

'There is nothing wrong with my arm,' she replied. Then, turning, she walked back to the bed.

Pushing both palms on the mattress, Katherine lifted herself up. She manoeuvred herself into a sitting position and resumed swinging her legs. Suddenly her expression became quite vacant. It was as though, having performed a limited repertoire of actions, she was now in a state of suspension, waiting for the next cue or prompt.

Liebermann wondered whether Katherine would respond to a command. In all likelihood, 'Katherine' would not be a fully developed personality but merely a part of Miss Lydgate's mind that had become separated, achieving a degree of independence. Amelia Lydgate was still in a trance state. Therefore Liebermann deduced that Katherine might still be susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. Recovering some of his former authority, he said firmly: 'Lie down, Katherine.'

For a second or two, Katherine remained still. Then she swung her legs up and around before lying back. Liebermann sighed with relief.

'Amelia was telling me about what happened when Herr Schelling came into her room,' said Liebermann.

'Was she?'

'Yes. Were you there that night?'

'Of course I was.'

'Did you see Herr Schelling come into the room?'

'It was very dark.'

'What can you remember?'

Katherine's nose wrinkled and her mouth twisted.

'It was disgusting.'

'What was?'

'That horrible moustache – the scratching. His face was like a pumice stone. Amelia was terrified. She should have pushed him off, but she did nothing. Her heart was pounding so loud that I could hear it.' She tapped the bedstead, imitating the frantic, limping beat of a fearful heart. 'He was slavering like a dog – and grabbing, grabbing, grabbing . . .'

Katherine fell silent.

'What happened next?' asked Liebermann.

'There was a flash of lightning,' Katherine continued. 'I saw the embroidery basket and the scissors. He was so lost in his slavering and grabbing that it was easy to reach out.
Kill him,
I said
. Pick up the scissors and stab him in the back.
But Amelia did not move. I heard her say
No – I can't.
I urged her:
Come on
, y
ou must. S
he said again,
I can't
. Her arm wouldn't move. So I said,
Very well, I'll do it if you won't
. I picked up the scissors, but Herr Schelling moved. Lightning, another flash. He was kneeling, looking down at me. Then darkness – but the picture stayed in my mind. A silhouette-head, shoulders – the curled ends of his moustache. I sat up, and thrust out with the scissors . . . I heard him gasp. I could feel some resistance and I pushed harder. He cursed – the mattress bounced as he changed position – and then he fell off the bed. There was a tremendous crash and more cursing. The door opened and then slammed shut and . . . and he was gone. I put the scissors back in the basket and pulled the blanket up to my neck. Outside the rain was falling. I could hear it drumming on the roof and splashing on the pavement below. Suddenly I felt weak. Tired and exhausted.' Katherine yawned and covered her mouth.

'Are you tired now?'

'A little . . .'

'Then sleep,' said Liebermann. 'You are safe here, Katherine. Let your eyes close, and you will fall asleep very soon.'

Katherine's eyelids trembled, and within moments her breathing became stertorous. Liebermann sat perfectly still, watching his slumbering patient.

'Doctor Liebermann?'

His shoulders jerked back with surprise.

Amelia Lydgate's eyes had opened again.

'Doctor Liebermann,' she continued. 'Could I have a glass of water, please? I am very thirsty.'

She was speaking in German.

35

T
HE THIRD RECEPTION
room of the von Rath residence was supposed to be more intimate than the first and second, but it was still immense by ordinary standards. The ceiling was decorated with an awesome painting in the classical style, which showed pipe-playing rustics cavorting with nymphs below a powder-blue sky. At both ends of the room were fireplaces of red marble supporting high, gilded French mirrors, and the walls were hung with old Gobelin tapestries. By a long row of shuttered windows busts of ancient philosophers and gods, mounted on malachite plinths, stared at the company with opaque and sightless eyes.

Bruckmüller lit a tree of candles and placed the stand behind his fiancée. He then signalled to Hölderlin who extinguished the gaslights. The room instantly shrank, its centre becoming a sphere of hazy luminosity in a vast enveloping darkness.

When both men had returned to the table, Cosima von Rath examined her guests. It had been several months since she had last attended Fräulein Löwenstein's circle, but none of those present looked any different – except for the Count, perhaps, whose conspicuously swollen eye was studiously ignored by everyone.

To her immediate left sat Bruckmüller, then Uberhorst – nervously locking and unlocking his delicate little fingers – then the Count and, directly opposite, Natalie Heck – whose wide-open eyes had become as black as cinder pits. To Cosima's right sat the Hölderlins: first Juno, blinking into the candlelight, and then Heinrich, his face set in an attitude of solemnity. Braun, the handsome young artist, was a notable absentee.

Cosima's ample figure cast a mountainous shadow across the polished surface of the round table. The letters of the alphabet and every number from zero to nine – all in Gothic script – were arranged in twin arcs on glazed tiles. Beneath these were four larger tiles on which could be read the words
Yes, No, Possibly
and
Goodbye
. In the centre of this arrangement was the planchette – a heart-shaped piece of wood mounted on three small castor wheels.

'Are we ready?'

The company whispered their assent.

'Then let us begin.'

Cosima rested a fat finger on the planchette, an action that was repeated by each of the company in turn.

'We are gathered here this evening to discover the fate of our friends Charlotte Löwenstein and Otto Braun. If there is a kindly spirit present who can assist us in our quest, please make yourself known.'

The planchette did not move.

Cosima's ample bosom rose and fell as she sighed. A precious stone flashed on her ankh.

'In the name of Isis and Osiris, Adonay, Elohim, Ariel, and Jehovam we humbly beg you, great spirits, who are in possession of the most priceless Treasure of the Light. Please assist us.'

A suffocating silence followed.

'None of us have the power,' said Záborszky, with characteristic bluntness.

'My dear Count,' said Cosima, turning her flat, round face towards the eccentric aristocrat, 'None of us have Fräulein Löwenstein's special gift. Yet—'

'We need a clairvoyant,' he cut in. 'A proper one.'

'If we are sincere in our wishes,' said Cosima, ignoring Záborszky's interruption, 'then the spirits will help us.' Looking around at the assembly she added: 'Please, we must all concentrate. Think of Fräulein Löwenstein, and open your hearts to the influence of the higher powers. Come, blessed spirits, come . . .' The pitch of her voice climbed and wobbled with an emotional vibrato. 'Come spirits, come . . .'