Mortal Mischief

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.

'I heard him stumble in the hallway. Then there was some cursing. Then he started to climb the stairs: slow, heavy footsteps. I was expecting him to stop on the landing below but he continued his ascent. I felt sick, and was overcome with a terrible sense of foreboding. I could hear him approaching my room. As he came nearer, I was aware that he was trying to tread with greater care, but the floorboards were old and they creaked. There was a knock on the door. I did not answer. Then I heard the sound of the handle turning. I had, of course, locked the door. I had deposited the key safely in the lower drawer of my bedside cabinet. Herr Schelling persisted, turning the handle and then shaking it quite loudly. He called out my name.

Amelia, Amelia.

My heart was thumping in my ears and chest – I gripped the bed sheets and hoped that Frau Schelling would wake.

Amelia, Amelia. Let me in. I need to tell you something.

I wanted to shout out, Go away, go away. Please leave me alone, but I couldn't. The words caught in my throat. Instead, I just lay there in the darkness, consumed with terror. After some time – possibly only minutes, but it seemed like an eternity – Herr Schelling abandoned his efforts to gain entry into my room, and I heard him walk away. However, he did not go downstairs as I had assumed he would. He went up to the third floor.

'There was no point in trying to sleep – I was too distressed. I sat up, and stared at the window. The curtains were not fully drawn, and I was able to calm my mind by counting the seconds between lightning flashes. Eventually my nervous agitation subsided, and I was able to consider my predicament with greater self-possession. After much deliberation, I concluded that my position in the Schelling household was untenable. I decided that I would leave Vienna at the earliest opportunity.'

The trance state had rendered Amelia Lydgate's expression largely impassive – yet occasionally the ghost of an emotion would surface before evaporating. Now her features became troubled by a more tenacious melancholy.

'This realisation – that I must leave Vienna – filled me with a terrible sadness that was more like despair. I