Mortal Mischief (21 page)

'Well, you do now.'

As soon as the orchestra was assembled, the first violin made a brisk entry – accompanied by much appreciative clapping. He sat down, played an 'A' for his colleagues, and a chaos of different pitches gradually coalesced and unified around his lead. Lueger and his companions were still ambling up the aisle when Gustav Mahler appeared.

The audience unleashed a storm of applause.

Mahler leaped on to the podium and made a low bow. Liebermann thought that he saw the conductor's neutral expression shadow with irritation when he caught sight of Lueger's party – who had disturbed a row of settled patrons in order to get to their centrally placed seats.

The applause gradually subsided and the house lights dimmed. Mahler turned on his heels and faced the orchestra. He did not need to consult a score because he had memorised the entire programme. Raising his baton, he paused for a moment before lunging forward, liberating the majesty of Beethoven's genius.

Slender, nervous, and agile, the conductor clutched at the cellos and basses with his right hand. Drawing out a crescendo, his clenched fist rose up and shook at the sky – like a challenge to the gods. Here was the leaping, thrashing, strangling and jerking routinely vilified by critics who abhorred the director's flamboyant style. Here were all the 'ugly excesses' that had been ridiculed by cartoonists and commentators – 'St Vitus' Dance', 'delirium tremens', 'demonic possession'. All true. Yet the Philharmonic had never sounded more powerful, or a Beethoven overture more vital. The music burst out, virile with rage and passion.

Liebermann closed his eyes and plunged into a sound-world of turmoil, torment – and incommunicable bliss.

30

T
HE LIVER PÂTÉ WAS
studded with truffles and presented on a tray of ice crystals. Round loaves of brown bread were arranged in a rustic basket, and the pheasant – glazed with honey and fragrant with mixed herbs – sat in a large white dish, accompanied by green and yellow vegetables.

'You remember Cosima von Rath?'

Juno Hölderlin squinted at her husband.

How could I forget her,
he thought.

'Herr Bruckmüller's fiancée', Juno continued. 'She came to some of Fräulein Löwenstein's meetings.'

'Yes,' said Hölderlin. 'A very striking woman, as I recall.'

Hölderlin untied his serviette, flapped it in the air, and placed it carefully on his lap.

'She telephoned today.'

'Really? What did she want?'

'She's arranging a circle.'

'My dear, another one?' Hölderlin's expression indicated extreme discomfort. 'Hasn't your appetite for the supernatural been tempered by recent events?'

'She wasn't suggesting we form a new circle to replace Fräulein Löwenstein's. No, Heinrich. She was suggesting an investigative sitting . . . a seance, the purpose of which would be to find out what really happened
that
night.'

'She means to contact Fräulein Löwenstein?'

Juno Hölderlin sliced the pâté and scraped a moist wedge onto the side of her plate.

'I imagine so. She also wishes to discover the whereabouts of Herr Braun.'

Juno's rate of blinking accelerated, until finally she squeezed her eyelids together in an effort to rid herself of the tic.

'Who else has she invited?'

'Herr Uberhorst, Fräulein Heck – all of them.'

'And they've agreed to attend?'

'As far as I know. Although Fräulein von Rath had still not been able to contact Count Záborszky when we spoke.'

'Do you . . . do you want to go?'

Juno looked down at her plate and was momentarily distracted by the beauty of the blue and gold surround. The china had been a wedding gift from Sieglinde.

'If it will help – then of course.'

Hölderlin sipped his wine.

'Very well,' he said. 'We shall go.'

31

'I
T WASN'T A
particularly warm day – quite cold, in fact – but Herr Schelling insisted that we should go. I asked Frau Schelling if she wanted her coat; however, she said that wouldn't be necessary – she wouldn't be joining us.'

Miss Lydgate's eyes shifted rapidly beneath closed lids and her words slurred under the influence of hypnotic sleep.

'Something passed between them,' she continued. 'Herr Schelling and Frau Schelling: a look, an odd look. Then Frau Schelling said:
I must go now – enjoy the woods, Miss Lydgate. They are very beautiful at this time of year
. And then she left the room. Very quickly, as though . . . as though she was running away.'

'From what?' asked Liebermann.

'I don't know.' Miss Lydgate coughed. 'The carriage took us through the city and out past Unterdöbling and Oberdöbling. Herr Schelling told me that Beethoven had once lived there – it was where he had written his third symphony. Beethoven had originally dedicated the work to Napoleon, but on receiving news that the First Consul had crowned himself Emperor the great composer became enraged and tore up the dedication. I knew this story already as my father had told me something very similar, but I thought it rude to interrupt. Herr Schelling asked me if I enjoyed music. I said that I did, but confessed to not being very knowledgeable. Herr Schelling then said that I must permit him to take me to a concert. I thanked him, feeling that I did not deserve such kindness. He said that it was his pleasure, and placed a hand on my arm . . .' Miss Lydgate's head rocked from side to side in its nest of flaming hair.

In the distance a church bell started to toll, slow and funereal.

'Herr Schelling did not remove his hand and moved a little closer. I didn't know what to do. It seemed improper. Yet Herr Schelling was not a stranger. He was a relative – my mother's cousin. Perhaps it was permissible for him to rest his hand on my arm. So I did nothing . . . and I fear . . . I fear I was mistaken. I fear that I may have been responsible for a misunderstanding.'

Liebermann studied his supine patient. She looked relatively calm. After a long pause, she spontaneously resumed her narrative.

'Even though the day was somewhat overcast, the woods were no less beautiful. I was fascinated by the flora – but Herr Schelling urged me not to stray from the path.
There are still bears in this wood
, he said. But I did not believe him. He was smiling, and showing no concern for his own safety. We climbed up a narrow, steep incline until we reached a viewing point. There we paused to admire the vista. Herr Schelling pointed out some villages on the lower slopes, and a vineyard. He was standing directly behind me. He traced an arc in the air with his forefinger – up and over the mountains.
They're the Alps
, he said. I took a step forward – and he followed. I could feel his body pressing up against me – and then – and then . . .'

Miss Lydgate's chest heaved and her breathing accelerated. Yet she continued to tell her story calmly and slowly.

'I felt his lips. They touched the back of my neck. I shivered with disgust and turned around. He was looking at me with a strange, fiery look in his eyes. He grabbed my arms and pulled me towards him. I thought he had gone mad. He said my name – twice – and buried his face in my shoulder. Again I felt his lips – moistness on the side of my neck. I wrested myself free of his embrace and took a few steps backwards. I was close to the edge of a precipice. The drop was sudden and for one terrible moment I thought Herr Schelling meant to push me over. But the fire in his eyes suddenly went out. He straightened his necktie and combed his hair back with his hands. He assumed a solicitous expression,
Whatever is the matter?
he said. I was angry and confused.
Herr Schelling
,
you must not do that again
, I said.
Do what again?
he replied. Such was his apparent sincerity that I began to question the evidence of my own senses. Had I misinterpreted his behaviour? He extended his hand.
Come, Amelia,
he said,
let us walk back to the carriage
. I didn't take his hand. Herr Schelling raised his eyebrows, and said,
Very well, if you feel that you can manage the downward path without my assistance
. He let his hand fall and he turned, at once setting off down the path. I paused for a moment and was not sure what to do. In the absence of any alternative, I reluctantly followed. We completed most of the return journey in silence. Occasionally he would urge me to watch my step where he thought the path might be dangerous – it was uneven in places and pitted with potholes. On the way down we passed some walkers coming up in the opposite direction. They greeted us, and Herr Schelling bid them a hearty good afternoon. It was all so . . . ordinary. I whispered good day, and straggled along behind Herr Schelling. I felt . . . I felt like a child in disgrace. As we descended, it seemed to me less and less likely that Herr Schelling had actually behaved improperly, and more and more likely that I had – I don't know.'

'More and more likely that you had what?' asked Liebermann.

'Overreacted. Behaved . . .' She paused before adding, 'Hysterically.'

Amelia Lydgate's body remained completely still, although her breathing was still slightly agitated.

'We managed a stilted conversation in the carriage back to Rennweg. But it felt deeply uncomfortable. We were greeted by Frau Schelling, who claimed that the walk had brought colour to my cheeks. I mumbled a polite answer, but said that I was in fact feeling unwell.
The air
, replied Frau Schelling.
Perhaps it was too damp
.
You may have caught a chill.
I ran upstairs to my room and sat at my dressing table. I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed that I was trembling. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. It was Frau Schelling. She asked me if I wanted some tea. I said that I didn't want any. I said that I needed to rest for a while and that I was already feeling a little better.
Very well
, she said, and left me alone.

'Over the next few weeks, as I went about my daily business, I frequently discovered myself the object of Herr Schelling's unwelcome attention. I would catch him looking at me in
that
way. One evening, I was sitting with the Schellings in the sitting room, reading my book. Frau Schelling excused herself, and I became conscious of an oppressive atmosphere. It was as though the room had filled with a cloying, heavy scent – like that of some overripe fruit.' Miss Lydgate's shoulders shook as she coughed. 'I looked up to see Herr Schelling smiling at me. It was an extremely disagreeable smile. I felt like . . . I felt . . . it is difficult to express.' Suddenly, articulating her words with greater certainty, she said: 'I felt exposed.

'Herr Schelling made some trivial remarks, and then came and sat next to me on the settee. He sat very close. His leg was pressed against mine. I tried to move away, but I was trapped between Herr Schelling and the arm of the chair. He took my hand – I tried to pull it away but he squeezed it more tightly.
Amelia
, he said,
you know I am very fond of you
. Again, I didn't know what to do. I simply stared at him – aghast. His face came towards me and I got up. Twisting my hand from his grip, I rushed to the door.
Amelia?
he called
. Are you all right?
I opened the door and shut it firmly behind me. Looking up, I noticed that Frau Schelling was on the landing. I formed the impression that she had just been standing there since excusing herself. She looked down at me, saying nothing. I cannot describe the look in her eyes. But she seemed (is this possible?) triumphant. Eventually, she spoke:
I am retiring for the evening. Good night, my dear
. Then she turned and stepped into the shadows.

'I became very unhappy, even frightened. So much so that I contemplated returning to England – but then I baulked at the thought of what this would ultimately entail. What could I say to my parents? My mother had spoken so warmly of the Schellings. Indeed, she had corresponded with Herr Schelling since they were both children. He was a kind, generous man . . . I knew, I suppose, in my heart, that he had behaved improperly, but I still felt that I might be – in some way – mistaken. I still felt that if I accused him, or spoke to Frau Schelling, or to anyone, I would find myself looking foolish. It was unbelievable, that a man like Herr Schelling would find someone like me . . . would desire . . .' Her sentences fragmented and were finally smothered by a deep, melancholy sigh.

'Miss Lydgate,' said Liebermann, very softly. 'Can you remember the next time that Herr Schelling behaved improperly?'

The young woman's eyes trembled beneath their lids again and her head moved – ever so slightly – up and down: 'I had gone to bed quite early – where I read a little and completed some needlepoint. A design of my own, based on an illustration I had discovered in Rumphius's
Herbarium Amboinense
.' Liebermann assumed that the volume in question was some venerable work of botanical scholarship. 'I tried to get to sleep,' Miss Lydgate continued, 'but without success. A storm had started. The rain was incessant and the thunder very loud. So, I lay awake – thinking. It must have been in the early hours of the morning when I heard the sound of a cab stopping outside. It was Herr Schelling returning from a late sitting at the parliament building. Well, at least, that's where he'd said, during dinner, he was going.' As she said these words, Amelia Lydgate's brow tensed, as though merely questioning her employer's honesty was the cause of considerable discomfort.