Mortal Mischief (20 page)

'Mistress . . . mistress.'

A tremulous voice was calling from the other side of the door.

Oh, that idiotic child.

'What is it, Friederike? I told you never to disturb me when I'm in here.'

The voice continued.

'Mistress. Herr Bruckmüller is here to see you.'

'Oh,' said Cosima, the tone of her voice changing from irritation to mild surprise.

'Shall I tell him to go away?'

'No,' Cosima shouted out. 'No, of course not, you foolish child. Bring him up at once.'

The maid scurried down the stairs and Cosima returned to her musings.

The police were ill-equipped to undertake such an investigation. They had equated Braun's absence with guilt. But what if he had been party to Fräulein Löwenstein's quest for power? The dark forces that had engineered the medium's extraordinary demise would be perfectly capable of spiriting away a young artist.

The rumble of Bruckmüller's basso profundo could be heard long before his heavy tread on the stairs. Why he bothered to make small talk with the servants was beyond Cosima's comprehension.

There was a soft knock on the door.

'Come in.'

The door opened and Friederike announced: 'Herr Bruckmüller.'

'Thank you, Friederike. That will be all.'

The big man smiled and advanced towards the wooden throne.

'My darling Cosima,' he bellowed. 'You look radiant.'

Cosima was at once delighted with – and embarrassed by – the compliment. She extended a chubby hand and allowed Bruckmüller to plant his lips on her dimpled knuckles. His bristly moustache was surprisingly sharp.

'Hans, my dear. Did you see the
Zeitung
?'

'I did. Extraordinary! Quite extraordinary!'

'She was visited by a higher power.'

'You think so?'

'Of course. The silly girl was playing with fire . . . dabbling in arts which she did not have the knowledge to practise safely.'

Bruckmüller sat on the divan and shook his head.

'It must have been terrible.'

'Indeed. It is difficult to imagine what perturbations of the soul she suffered that night. I shudder at the thought.'

Bruckmüller's expression suddenly changed: 'However . . .'

'What?' said Cosima.

'There is the matter of Braun. Where is he? Why has he absconded?'

'
Has
he absconded? That is what the police imply. But there could be another explanation. He might have been
removed
.'

'What? You mean by the same higher power?'

'I fear that the police will never have an opportunity to interview him.'

'But why?' asked Bruckmüller, his voice booming. 'Why Braun?'

'That is a question which I mean to answer,' Cosima replied, clutching her ankh and affecting an expression intended to be both alluring and mysterious. 'Very, very soon.'

28

L
IEBERMANN PLACED HIS
pen on the desk and applied a large square of blotting paper to his notebook. When he was satisfied that the ink was dry he reviewed his case summaries and placed the notebook back in the drawer. As he did so, there was a knock on the door. It was Kanner.

'Hello, Max. Can you spare a minute?'

'A minute – but not much longer. Mahler's conducting a Beethoven and Wagner programme at the Philharmonic. It starts at seven.'

'I won't keep you long,' said Kanner, taking a seat. 'Have you seen Miss Lydgate today?'

'No.'

'Max, she's had another one of those . . .' He paused for a moment before continuing: 'Fits.'

'Oh,' said Liebermann, his face creasing with concern.

'It was just like the previous fit,' continued Kanner. 'Apparently, Miss Lydgate had been well for much of the day – chatting to the nurses and reading. I was doing a round and went to say hello – and . . .' Kanner smiled apologetically and shrugged. 'I seemed to set her off again. As soon as I appeared she started to cough, and within seconds she was screaming at me . . . I just don't understand it.'

'Did her right hand—'

'Oh yes,' said Kanner, nodding vigorously. 'She threw a punch but, being better prepared this time, I managed to get out of the way. She was restrained by the porters until she calmed down.'

'Did she say anything else?'

'I don't know – I thought it best to leave. I didn't want to make the situation any worse. I understand that she fell asleep again and woke up two hours later with no recollection of what had transpired. I'm sorry, Max, I didn't mean to—'

'Please,' said Liebermann, raising a hand to silence his friend. 'It isn't your fault, Stefan.'

'Probably not, but I still feel responsible.'

Liebermann picked up his pen and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

'Oh, and there's another thing,' added Kanner. 'On Friday afternoon, Miss Lydgate was sitting with Katia Dill – you know, the young girl from Baden? Anyway, as they were talking, Katia showed Miss Lydgate her embroidery. A few seconds later Miss Lydgate became extremely agitated.'

'In what way?'

'Distracted – unable to concentrate. She might even have suffered an absence. Apparently she started mumbling something or other in English. I don't know what exactly, I wasn't there. I heard this from Sabina.'

Liebermann looked puzzled.

'Nurse Rupius,' continued Kanner. 'You know, the pretty one with the big brown eyes. Surely you must have—'

'Stefan!'

'Sorry, Max.' Kanner tried to recover some of his professional credibility before continuing. 'Perhaps you should have a word with Nurse Rupius – before you see Miss Lydgate next.'

'Yes, I'll do that.'

Liebermann looked at his wristwatch and stood up.

'I've really got to go, Stefan – and thank you.'

'Not at all.'

Liebermann opened the door to let Kanner out.

'Max?' Kanner looked uncomfortable.

'Yes.'

'Miss Lydgate is supposed to be receiving a course of electrotherapy.'

'Yes, I know.'

'What are you going to say to Professor Gruner when he demands an explanation?'

Liebermann sighed: 'I haven't really thought about it.'

'In which case,' said Kanner, resting a solicitous hand on Liebermann's shoulder, 'I think you'd better start.'

29

E
VERYTHING IN THE
concert hall seemed to have been cast from gold: the baroque ceiling, the carved friezes, and the elegant, gilded caryatids – the housing for the pipe organ – its tympanum and entablature. The effect was dazzling. A blaze of bullion.

Above the audience, massive crystal chandeliers sparkled with a restless light, and each starburst was answered by waves of coruscation below. Amid the sea of faces in the stalls an abundance of diamond brooches flashed and shimmered. The Grosser Saal was like an Aladdin's cave – scintillating with the tokens of bourgeois prosperity.

'Ah, there you are.'

Liebermann turned to see Rheinhardt negotiating – with some difficulty – the narrow aisle. 'What a rush,' he grumbled. 'I barely had time to change.' He slumped down in the seat beside Liebermann, caught his breath and, puffing a little, said, 'I've been completing my report on the second autopsy.'

Liebermann peered over the balcony.

'I was very lucky to get these seats, you know, particularly at such late notice. As far as I'm concerned, when Mahler's conducting it's not worth sitting anywhere else. You have to see his face – such humanity.'

Ignoring Liebermann's unconventional and somewhat inappropriate welcome, Rheinhardt lowered his voice and leaned closer to his friend: 'You know, I had to record that the second autopsy was initiated after seeking medical advice – that is,
your advice.
However, you still haven't told me how you did it. How did you work it out?'

A group of violinists and a few members of the woodwind section emerged from the wings and wandered onto the stage.

'Oh, it really wasn't that difficult, Oskar,' said Liebermann, seemingly more interested in the musicians. 'Rosa Sucher had described changes in Fräulein Löwenstein's eating habits. Fräulein Löwenstein was also drinking less coffee and had started taking peppermint tea. Now, surely, as a father of two, you must appreciate the significance of these facts.'

Rheinhardt scratched his head.

'Cravings? Yes. When Else was carrying Mitzi I had to get up at the crack of dawn to get strawberries from the Naschmarkt. She wouldn't eat anything else for weeks! But I'm afraid the significance of the coffee and peppermint tea escapes me entirely.'

Liebermann continued to monitor the arrival of the orchestra.

'Most women find coffee less palatable in the early stages of pregnancy.'

'Do they? I can't remember Else—'

'Would you have noticed?'

'Perhaps not.'

'And as for peppermint tea – it's an old cure for morning sickness. Quite effective, too.'

Rheinhardt grunted approvingly.

'Once this information was in my possession,' continued Liebermann, 'I wondered whether Natalie Heck, being a seamstress, and therefore perhaps more observant of Fräulein Löwenstein's wardrobe, might have noticed any changes in Charlotte Löwenstein's dress. Had she, for example, purchased any new and more generously proportioned garments? Clearly, Fräulein Heck exceeded all expectations when she confessed to having altered Fräulein Löwenstein's blue silk dress herself. Subsequently, I was minded to review my earlier interpretation of that tantalising error in Fräulein Löwenstein's death-note. The meaning of
He will take us to Hell
became wholly transparent.'

'This also explains something else,' said Rheinhardt. 'Something I thought inconsequential at the first autopsy. Fräulein Löwenstein was not wearing a corset.'

'Indeed, to do so would have involved considerable discomfort.'

Representatives from each section of the orchestra had now made their way onto the stage, and the horn players had begun to warm their instruments with a few muted scales.

'Well,' said Rheinhardt, 'once again, I am indebted to you, Herr Doctor.'

'That remains to be seen,' said Liebermann. 'Fräulein Löwenstein's pregnancy certainly introduces a new element into our mystery. But as to its significance, who can say?'

'True. But we've made some progress. And I have a hunch that Fräulein Löwenstein's pregnancy will play some part in the unravelling of a motive for her murder.'

'Possibly,' said Liebermann. But before he could elaborate, he was distracted by a group of finely dressed men who were processing in a halting fashion up the furthest aisle of the stalls. Several were dressed in a kind of uniform – green tailcoat, black velvet cuffs, and yellow buttons. Their slow advance created a swell of agitation in the audience: the familiar impassive drone became an excited susurration. Heads turned, and some people even pointed. Every few rows, a distinguished Viennese burgher or lady would rise to greet the company.

'Oskar?' Liebermann nodded towards the back of the Grosser Saal. 'What's going on down there? Do you recognise any of those men?'

Rheinhardt rested his hands on the balcony and shifted forward.

At the centre of the group a well-groomed gentleman wearing a dark grey suit was kissing the hand of an aristocratic-looking dowager.

'Good heavens – it's the Mayor.'

'What's he doing here?' exclaimed Liebermann. 'Damned hypocrite.'

A few years earlier the Mayor had affronted Mahler by inviting a different conductor to perform at a special Philharmonic charity concert. Knowing the Mayor's politics, Liebermann realised that his motive had been quite clear. The Mayor's supporters in the anti-Semitic Reform Union would have been delighted. The orchestra's members, however, had been furious and had complained bitterly.

'Not so loud, Max.'

Liebermann snorted and folded his arms.

'And . . .' Rheinhardt's eyes narrowed. 'I don't believe it – there's Bruckmüller.'

'Who?'

'Hans Bruckmüller – remember? He attended Fräulein Löwenstein's meetings. You see that man there?' Rheinhardt pointed discreetly. 'The big chap – with the red carnation in his buttonhole.'

'Ah yes.'

'I didn't know he was one of Lueger's cronies . . .'