Pegel almost choked on his wine. ‘Give it to me then! You have a try at being poor. There have been times I haven’t had the blunt to feed myself. Nothing makes a man dishonest quicker than that.’
‘I did not mean to offend.’
‘You can either hand over your wealth, or promise not to say such stupid things. Choice is yours.’
Florian smiled a little reluctantly. ‘I shan’t hand it over just yet, Jacob. I mean to make use of it.’
‘I’d make use of it,’ Pegel said, drawing up his knees. ‘Steak every day and my own horse. No more hired nags. He can have steak every day too.’ He pressed his cheek onto his knees, feeling the rough texture of the material. ‘That might not be good for him. He can have his hay on a silver platter instead. He shall be very beautiful and I shall call him Philippe.’
‘No, I shall use it for the greater good. There are ways, Jacob. Things can change.’
‘No, they can’t.’
‘But listen—’
Pegel suddenly jumped to his feet. ‘I cannot listen any more without some food and more wine.’ He put his hand out. ‘Give me a Thaler and watch the fire.’
Frenzel rolled his eyes, but handed over the coin quickly enough. Pegel swung on his coat on his way to the door.
‘Jacob?’
‘What is it? A minute more and I die of thirst. Or starve.’
He turned back. Florian seemed very slight curled up on the settee. He glanced at Pegel then back at his glass. ‘Do you think those men might have followed us here?’
‘No.’ Pegel paused. ‘Tell you what. Key’s on the table beside you. Lock yourself in while I’m gone. When I come back I’ll knock three then two then one – all right, Florian?’
Frenzel swallowed and nodded and Pegel slammed the door to behind him and headed down his rickety staircase whistling.
The two gentlemen were waiting opposite the bottom of the stairs. He walked west twenty yards and turned down a side-street then waited for them to catch him up.
‘Ooh, sir!’ the giant said. ‘Your poor jaw. I’m ever so sorry – I didn’t want to hit you so hard.’
‘Not at all, Titus,’ Pegel said, pulling out a purse. ‘Absolutely splendid job. Nothing that needs a surgeon and yet looks as dramatic as you please. Could
not
be happier!’ He counted out five thick and heavy-looking coins, then paused and added a sixth and handed them to the giant.
‘Ooh, now there’s handsome,’ he said with glee as he closed his great paw round them. Pegel turned to the man in the wig and coat.
‘Now you! You! What a triumph! Come here at once.’ Pegel clasped the man by the shoulders and kissed him firmly on each cheek. The man blushed.
‘Really, merest trifle. You think I convinced the lad? Truly?’
‘Convinced him? You scared the hell out of him. Brilliant performance! You must,
must
use this money to get to Berlin.’ He counted out the five coins, again apparently had a slight struggle with himself and added a sixth. ‘You are wasted, absolutely wasted in country fairs. No, not Berlin. They don’t deserve you. There’s a fellow called Schiller doing lovely work in Mannheim. Excellent chap. Tell him you are sent with a recommendation from Jacob Pegel and you’ll get the audience you deserve.’
‘Herr Friedrich Schiller?
The
Schiller? You mean it, Mr Pegel?’
‘But of course! Leave tonight, gentlemen – destiny calls!’ The men grinned at each other. ‘Now would you be so kind as to do me one small favour before you go?’
When Pegel gave the coded knock at the door to his room he found Frenzel so pale that the growing bruises round his eye stood out like a sunset.
‘Florian, you’re white as a ghost. What is it?’
‘I saw them,’ he said, dragging Pegel in and slamming the door behind him.
‘Who, those men?’
‘Yes, of course – from your window. You were gone so long, I looked out to see if I could catch sight of you.’
Pegel held out the steaming plates he carried in front of him by way of explanation. ‘Mother Brown makes a splendid cutlet. You have to wait a bit this time of day.’
‘Never mind that. They were there in the square looking about them as if they knew we had come this far, then did not know where to find us exactly. Then you came out from the shop.’
‘Did they spot me?’ Pegel said quickly, glancing towards the door.
‘No! It was the luckiest thing, they were looking at the other side of the square as you came past. You went within an inch of them!’
‘Are they still there?’ Pegel said, putting down his tray and making for the window. Frenzel grabbed hold of his coat.
‘Don’t look! Jacob, I hate to have you think me a coward, but might I stay here tonight, just while I think what to do? There are people who should be warned.’
Pegel put his hand on the young Count’s shoulder. ‘Naturally, my friend. You are welcome here. But don’t you think you might see your way clear to giving a fellow a bit of a hint as to what is going on? You say you will, then it’s all philosophy till my head is aching.’
Frenzel turned away from him slightly. ‘Yes, of course. I must. I have … I have exposed you to some danger; it is your right to know something of this.’
Pegel settled himself on the floor again. ‘Can we eat first?’
For the first time since the messenger had arrived at Caveley, Harriet could think of nothing but what was in front of her eyes. The tiger turned its head warily towards her, blinked, then continued to pad across the work-top until Adnan picked it up, pressed a brass pin on its side and it became still. Harriet sat with her elbows on the work bench and her chin in her hand. Entranced.
‘I’d swear it was alive! It looked into my eyes. Mr Al-Said, you are a miracle worker.’
Adnan laughed and reached upwards to unhook a cage from the ceiling which held two brilliantly-coloured, frozen birds each about the size of Harriet’s thumb. ‘No, Mrs Westerman, a craftsman. I learned how to make watches in Constantinople, but when the first automaton was given to the Sultan by the French Ambassador, I fell in love. Why have something simply tell you the hour when you can make it do all this.’ Harriet put out a hand and touched the sleeping tiger. Al-Said watched her. ‘The paws are weighted, madam. A simple trick when you know it, which gives the illusion of natural movement.’
He touched something on the base of the cage and the birds began to pipe to each other, their beaks opening in time with their song and their wings flapping. Suddenly one sprang from one side of the cage to the other and Harriet laughed.
‘Oh I must have one like that for my children! They would adore it.’
‘They are not toys, Mrs Westerman,’ he said, somewhat serious.
‘Of course not, Mr Al-Said. I have no doubt that they will treat it with the proper respect.’ Adnan gave a slight nod. ‘Were you acquainted with Lady Martesen, sir?’
He touched the base of the cage and the birds were still again. ‘I am not certain how to answer you, madam. The courtiers are not sure how to treat my brother and I. They like to have us here – we, as well as what we create, are ornaments to be boasted of – yet we work, and with our hands. So they flatter us and pay us well, but you will not see us at the supper-table in the palace. And even if I were a Prince, how many men have you met of my complexion in the palaces of Europe?’
‘I have not visited many of them, Mr Al-Said. Yet Rachel tells me you have been of great assistance to her.’
‘It is interesting what one hears by pretending not to listen. Lady Martesen was a clever woman, and one of several at court who thought of more than their own amusement. The Duke asked us to make one of these cages of singing birds for her, and she visited us on several occasions while it was being made to discuss the design, and decide on the plumage of the birds. She came often with Countess Dieth, once with Glucke, I think, and another time with Swann.’
‘Who is Glucke?’ Harriet asked. ‘I have not heard his name before.’
Adnan’s face darkened and he bent over the cage, leaving Sami to answer in a stage whisper. He was far younger than his brother, not more than twenty-five, and so quick and light in his movements it would be as easy to think him ten years younger.
‘Herr von Glucke is a scholar and member of the Duke’s Privy Council, but he made the mistake of asking Adnan to create a few mechanical mice …’
Harriet was confused.
‘For his cats!’ Adnan said, with bitter emphasis. ‘Some respectable children
might
be allowed to handle our creations, but playthings for animals! They say he is a wise man, and a good one, but I cannot see it.’
‘So did Chancellor Swann come to discuss the plumage of the singing birds?’ Rachel asked.
Adnan smiled briefly, as if amused by his own anger. ‘He did not contribute to the conversation. But I believe he was a friend of Lady Martesen; one saw them together from time to time.’
‘Did they have … some understanding?’ Harriet thought she saw Adnan’s cheeks blush dark pink.
‘I do not think so.’ He placed the cage on the work-top once more, and glanced at Rachel. ‘You have not told your sister then, the little details that could not be written down?’
She shook her head. ‘She has only just arrived, and all I know, I know only from you, Mr Al-Said.’
‘I dislike gossip, Mrs Westerman,’ he said, ‘but none of us can work blindly. Lady Martesen had an understanding with the Duke. Or rather she did, until such time as his betrothal was announced.’
‘Oh Lord,’ Harriet said softly. ‘That rather complicates matters, does it not?’
Rachel said quickly, ‘She was rather poor, Harriet. And the Duke was generous to his … friends. Some years ago he was the protector of Lady Martesen’s cousin, Countess Dieth. He bought her an estate when their liaison came to an end.’
‘Then, as I understand it, Countess Dieth thrust her cousin into the sovereign’s bed,’ Sami said cheerfully. His elder brother looked at him severely and he dropped his gaze. Harriet held up her hand.
‘Please, gentlemen, I would be most grateful if you speak openly.’
Adnan cleared his throat. ‘So you see, it is unlikely that Chancellor Swann would ever begin an … understanding with Lady Martesen during the time they were visiting me here. There was no betrothal then. Lady Martesen was still the acknowledged favourite. It would be a dangerous alliance, would it not? The Duke has a fearsome temper when roused, and his good opinion once lost is difficult to regain. One hears stories of those who have suffered greatly on having disappointed him. I imagine Swann and Lady Martesen were discussing politics.’
‘The competing marriages perhaps,’ Sami said with a shrug. Harriet looked towards the younger brother as he perched on the bench swinging his legs. ‘Some in the court – Swann included, I think – did not regard the Duke’s choice as the best.’
Rachel was examining some of the half-painted faces that lined the walls. ‘You see, Harry? Mr Al-Said knows everything. When I wanted to be sure that Daniel would be allowed books and writing materials, Mr Al-Said told me to talk to Count Frenzel or Herr Zeller. Frenzel because he is never seen with Countess Dieth or Swann, Zeller because as a librarian of the court he understands the comfort of reading.’
‘I see,’ Harriet said. ‘So Mr Al-Said, who do
you
think murdered Lady Martesen, and why?’
He shrugged. ‘The other reason I love my automata, Mrs Westerman, is they do exactly what they were designed and made to do, and nothing more. People I find interesting to watch because they are the opposite. But I can only tell you what I see. I offer no conclusions.’
‘You sound like Crowther,’ Harriet said dryly.
‘In such a place as this there are many alliances made and broken from day to day. Passions run high and whoever has the ear of the Duke has great power. Secrets and signs are passed back and forth.’
He did not look at her as he spoke, and Harriet realised that perhaps he too thought Clode a murderer, and herself and her sister deluded. She began to understand how lonely the past weeks must have been. Harriet thought of the papers from Krall. The people who knew Lady Martesen best: had they been asked the right questions? She put her chin in her hand, and looked about her.
The ground floor of the fake cottage was taken up with a light and airy workshop. At its centre were two workbenches set into an L-shape. On one, small metal instruments and knives predominated; on the other, paints and brushes. The walls were stacked with papier-mâché faces, curled lengths of metal, brass cones, strange limbs, sharp crops of pointed files, and pinned to the wall from time to time, pencil drawings and water colours, designs of cogs and levers. To Harriet’s right stood a deep stack of leather notebooks, and to her left where Rachel sat with a glass of tea in her hand and a cautious smile on her lips, a tiny lathe drawn by a bow. From the ceiling hung bunches of keys and garlands of clean brass discs. The place smelled of paint and metal.
The younger Mr Al-Said slipped down from his perch.
‘Our little friend is ready, if Mrs Westerman would like to see him.’
Crowther had almost finished his pile of papers when there was the sound of a knock on the door. Again he half-expected to see Krall, and again he was disappointed. It was Graves, his cheeks flushed.
‘Crowther! Where is Mrs Westerman?’
‘Still visiting these acquaintances of Mrs Clode and touring the gardens. I understand that they are quite extensive.’
‘We must find her at once.’
‘Do you require her assistance to negotiate with Chancellor Swann?’
Graves looked angry and Crowther put down his pen. ‘I am sorry, Graves. What has happened?’
‘Manzerotti.’
‘What of him?’
‘He is here.’
‘Damn. How long has he been here?’ Crowther said, reaching for his coat. ‘How could Rachel not tell us?’
‘She cannot have known,’ Graves said, almost dancing with impatience. ‘He arrived only this morning, with a troupe of French dancers to swell the crowd of performers here for the wedding celebrations. It is a great coup for the Duke to have such a star perform at his court. Swann mentioned it in passing at the end of our discussion. Said he understood we were acquainted with Manzerotti and that the monster sent his regards. Well, he did not phrase it quite like that …’