Mortal Mischief

Katherine tilted her head, clearly expecting an answer.

Liebermann swallowed before delivering his careful judgement: 'Yes.'

Satisfied but unsmiling, Katherine looked towards the door.

'Where is your friend?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Yellow hair, blue eyes – and . . .'

'I think you mean Doctor Kanner.'

Katherine did not respond. Instead, she walked towards the sink where – on catching sight of herself in the mirror – she paused to arrange her hair. Piling it up with both hands, she turned her head this way and that to study the effect from several different angles. Dissatisfied, she frowned and let it tumble down again, a cascade of burnished copper.

'I don't like him,' she said bluntly.

'Why not?'

'You are very inquisitive, Doctor Liebermann.'

Trailing her hand around the porcelain bowl, Katherine moved towards the table.

'What is this?'

'A battery.'

Katherine released the hasp and opened the box. After examining the contents, she closed the lid again.

'How is your arm?' Liebermann asked.

Katherine raised her right hand, causing the sleeve of her gown to fall and collect in folds around her shoulder. Then she examined her elbow and wrist.

'There is nothing wrong with my arm,' she replied. Then, turning, she walked back to the bed.

Pushing both palms on the mattress, Katherine lifted herself up. She manoeuvred herself into a sitting position and resumed swinging her legs. Suddenly her expression became quite vacant. It was as though, having performed a limited repertoire of actions, she was now in a state of suspension, waiting for the next cue or prompt.

Liebermann wondered whether Katherine would respond to a command. In all likelihood, 'Katherine' would not be a fully developed personality but merely a part of Miss Lydgate's mind that had become separated, achieving a degree of independence. Amelia Lydgate was still in a trance state. Therefore Liebermann deduced that Katherine might still be susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. Recovering some of his former authority, he said firmly: 'Lie down, Katherine.'

For a second or two, Katherine remained still. Then she swung her legs up and around before lying back. Liebermann sighed with relief.

'Amelia was telling me about what happened when Herr Schelling came into her room,' said Liebermann.

'Was she?'

'Yes. Were you there that night?'

'Of course I was.'

'Did you see Herr Schelling come into the room?'

'It was very dark.'

'What can you remember?'

Katherine's nose wrinkled and her mouth twisted.

'It was disgusting.'

'What was?'

'That horrible moustache – the scratching. His face was like a pumice stone. Amelia was terrified. She should have pushed him off, but she did nothing. Her heart was pounding so loud that I could hear it.' She tapped the bedstead, imitating the frantic, limping beat of a fearful heart. 'He was slavering like a dog – and grabbing, grabbing, grabbing . . .'

Katherine fell silent.

'What happened next?' asked Liebermann.

'There was a flash of lightning,' Katherine continued. 'I saw the embroidery basket and the scissors. He was so lost in his slavering and grabbing that it was easy to reach out.

Kill him, I said. Pick up the scissors and stab him in the back.

But Amelia did not move. I heard her say No – I can't.

I urged her: Come on, you must. She said again, I can't. Her arm wouldn't move. So I said, Very well, I'll do it if you won't. I picked up the scissors, but Herr Schelling moved. Lightning, another flash. He was kneeling, looking down at me. Then darkness – but the picture stayed in my mind. A silhouette-head, shoulders – the curled ends of his moustache. I sat up, and thrust out with the scissors . . . I heard him gasp. I could feel some resistance and I pushed harder. He cursed – the mattress bounced as he changed position – and then he fell off the bed. There was a tremendous crash and more cursing. The door opened and then slammed shut and . . . and he was gone. I put the scissors back in the basket and pulled the blanket up to my neck. Outside the rain was falling. I could hear it drumming on the roof and splashing on the pavement below. Suddenly I felt weak. Tired and exhausted.' Katherine yawned and covered her mouth.

'Are you tired now?'

'A little . . .'

'Then sleep,' said Liebermann. 'You are safe here, Katherine. Let your eyes close, and you will fall asleep very soon.'

Katherine's eyelids trembled, and within moments her breathing became stertorous. Liebermann sat perfectly still, watching his slumbering patient.

'Doctor Liebermann?'

His shoulders jerked back with surprise.

Amelia Lydgate's eyes had opened again.

'Doctor Liebermann,' she continued. 'Could I have a glass of water, please? I am very thirsty.'

She was speaking in German.

35

THE THIRD RECEPTION room of the von Rath residence was supposed to be more intimate than the first and second, but it was still immense by ordinary standards. The ceiling was decorated with an awesome painting in the classical style, which showed pipe-playing rustics cavorting with nymphs below a powder-blue sky. At both ends of the room were fireplaces of red marble supporting high, gilded French mirrors, and the walls were hung with old Gobelin tapestries. By a long row of shuttered windows busts of ancient philosophers and gods, mounted on malachite plinths, stared at the company with opaque and sightless eyes.

Bruckmuller lit a tree of candles and placed the stand behind his fiancee. He then signalled to Holderlin who extinguished the gaslights. The room instantly shrank, its centre becoming a sphere of hazy luminosity in a vast enveloping darkness.

When both men had returned to the table, Cosima von Rath examined her guests. It had been several months since she had last attended Fraulein Lowenstein's circle, but none of those present looked any different – except for the Count, perhaps, whose conspicuously swollen eye was studiously ignored by everyone.

To her immediate left sat Bruckmuller, then Uberhorst – nervously locking and unlocking his delicate little fingers – then the Count and, directly opposite, Natalie Heck – whose wide-open eyes had become as black as cinder pits. To Cosima's right sat the Holderlins: first Juno, blinking into the candlelight, and then Heinrich, his face set in an attitude of solemnity. Braun, the handsome young artist, was a notable absentee.

Cosima's ample figure cast a mountainous shadow across the polished surface of the round table. The letters of the alphabet and every number from zero to nine – all in Gothic script – were arranged in twin arcs on glazed tiles. Beneath these were four larger tiles on which could be read the words Yes, No, Possibly and Goodbye. In the centre of this arrangement was the planchette – a