Mortal Mischief

palm and fingers curled upwards on her lap like the petals of a dying flower.

The screaming stopped.

'If I may,' said Liebermann, 'I would like to examine your arm, Miss Lydgate.'

'Of course.' Her voice was soft, but serrated with a certain huskiness: a consequence, no doubt, of her incessant coughing.

Liebermann rolled up the right sleeve of her gown. Her arm was slender, almost emaciated, and beneath the crepe-paper transparency of her skin a network of branching veins was clearly visible.

'Could you close your eyes, please? Now, tell me if you feel anything.'

Liebermann tapped the woman's palm, wrist and forearm with his pencil, to none of which was there any response. When he reached a point close to her shoulder, she suddenly flinched, saying: 'Yes, I feel something there.' By continuous tapping in this region, Liebermann was able to establish that the woman's paralysis had begun quite suddenly. It was as though an amulet encircled her upper arm, below which the sensory apparatus was no longer functioning. Such a decisive boundary did not correspond with the underlying continuities of the nervous system. The phenomenon was a physical impossibility and a cardinal symptom of hysteria.

'Thank you, Miss Lydgate, you can open your eyes now. When did you first notice the paralysis?'

'Last week.'

'Had you ever had problems of this kind before?'

'No.'

'Did the paralysis develop suddenly or gradually?'

'Suddenly. When I woke up, I could no longer move my arm.'

'Not even the fingers?'

'No.'

'Is the paralysis continuous, or do you get the feeling back sometimes?'

'It is continuous.'

Liebermann let Miss Lydgate's sleeve down and somewhat pedantically positioned the fringe of her cuff along the crease-lines of her wrist.

'Did the cough begin at the same time?'

'Yes.'

'Did anything significant happen – last week?'

'No. Not really.'

'Do you suffer from any other problems?'

She paused and took a deep breath.

'Amenorrhoea.'

'I see,' said Liebermann, attempting to gloss over her embarrassment with workaday efficiency. 'And when was the last time you menstruated?'

Miss Lydgate's cheeks coloured as though they'd been sprinkled with a pinch of ochre.

'Three months ago.'

'I imagine your appetite hasn't been very good lately.'

'No, that's right. It hasn't.'

Liebermann opened his notebook and began scribbling.

'Your German is remarkably good, Miss Lydgate.'

A smile began to flicker into existence, but failed to ignite: the half-frown quickly reasserted itself.

'Well, it isn't so remarkable. My grandfather was German – and my mother spoke to me in German when I was a child.'

Liebermann turned to a fresh page and proceeded to ask Miss Lydgate several questions about her circumstances. He discovered that she lived with distant relatives: Herr Schelling (a Christian-Social parliamentary minister), Frau Schelling, and their two children Edward and Adele. Herr Schelling had agreed to provide Miss Lydgate with a room and a monthly stipend, contingent upon her performing the duties of a governess; however, in reality her only significant task was to provide Edward and Adele with instruction in written and spoken English.

'How long do you intend to stay in Vienna?' asked Liebermann.

'For some time,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Years, perhaps.'

'The Schellings have agreed to this?'

'That isn't necessary,' she replied. 'I do not wish to retain my position as the Schellings' governess.'

'No?'

She shook her head, and continued: 'No. I want to study medicine.'

'Here?' asked Liebermann, raising his eyebrows. 'In Vienna?'

'Yes,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'The university department has recently started accepting female students.'

'Indeed,' said Liebermann. 'But why here? Surely, if you wish to study medicine it would be more convenient for you to study in London?'

'I came to Vienna because of Doctor Landsteiner. You see, I am interested . . .' She paused before beginning her sentence again: 'I am interested in blood.'

Her eyes were an unusual colour, neither blue nor grey but something in between: a blend that reminded Liebermann of pewter. They had an arresting depth, enhanced by a subtle darkening at the edges of each iris. She could see that Liebermann required further explanation.

'My grandfather was a physician, and wrote extensively on diseases of the blood. He was also greatly fascinated by the virtuosi of the British Enlightenment – particularly those who had experimented with transfusion. I became interested in the subject after reading my grandfather's journal, which contains a detailed record of his thoughts and observations. By mixing blood samples and examining them under the microscope, he established that blood is not a singular substance but one that can be classified according to type – and he subsequently proposed that incompatibility of bloods was the principal reason why early and subsequent attempts at transfusion have failed. Thus, my grandfather seems to have anticipated Landsteiner's recent discovery by over half a century. I corresponded with Doctor Landsteiner when I was still living in England, and when I arrived in Vienna he invited me to attend some meetings at the Pathological Institute.'

'To discuss your grandfather's work?'

'Yes, and . . .' She paused again before continuing: 'And to review some ideas of my own. Doctor Landsteiner has since promised that if I am accepted by the university I can also work in his laboratory.'

'He must have been very impressed.'

She looked down at her feet, discomfited by Liebermann's compliment.

Liebermann encouraged Miss Lydgate to talk in greater detail about her grandfather and his journal. Although his patient was a little reticent at first, she was soon speaking with considerable fluency and enthusiasm. Doctor Ludwig Buchbinder had moved to England at the request of none other than Prince Albert. He was appointed Physician-in-Ordinary by Queen Victoria, but his duties extended well beyond the practice of medicine. He was the Prince Consort's confidant and played a significant role in the planning and organisation of the Great Exhibition. He was also one of a relatively small group of doctors who championed the use of the stethoscope (an instrument viewed with considerable suspicion by most British physicians on account of its Continental provenance). Although there were considerable demands on his time, Buchbinder still managed to indulge his passion for medical history and in due course came across several accounts of transfusion experiments conducted in the seventeenth century under the aegis of the Royal Society. Buchbinder settled in London – marrying late. He and his wife produced two daughters, the youngest of whom was Greta (Miss Lydgate's mother). In later life Buchbinder continued to speculate on many practical issues, including the analgesic properties of plants. Among his list of candidates was Salix Alba – the white willow tree (a derivative of which had been introduced into medical practice as aspirin by Hoffmann only three years earlier).

'Fascinating,' said Liebermann. 'He sounds like a truly remarkable man.'

'Indeed,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Doctor Landsteiner believes that my grandfather's journal should be edited for publication.'

'Would you be willing to undertake such a task?'

'When I am better, yes.'

'And what of the rest of your family?'