heart-shaped piece of wood mounted on three small castor wheels.
'Are we ready?'
The company whispered their assent.
'Then let us begin.'
Cosima rested a fat finger on the planchette, an action that was repeated by each of the company in turn.
'We are gathered here this evening to discover the fate of our friends Charlotte Lowenstein and Otto Braun. If there is a kindly spirit present who can assist us in our quest, please make yourself known.'
The planchette did not move.
Cosima's ample bosom rose and fell as she sighed. A precious stone flashed on her ankh.
'In the name of Isis and Osiris, Adonay, Elohim, Ariel, and Jehovam we humbly beg you, great spirits, who are in possession of the most priceless Treasure of the Light. Please assist us.'
A suffocating silence followed.
'None of us have the power,' said Zaborszky, with characteristic bluntness.
'My dear Count,' said Cosima, turning her flat, round face towards the eccentric aristocrat, 'None of us have Fraulein Lowenstein's special gift. Yet—'
'We need a clairvoyant,' he cut in. 'A proper one.'
'If we are sincere in our wishes,' said Cosima, ignoring Zaborszky's interruption, 'then the spirits will help us.' Looking around at the assembly she added: 'Please, we must all concentrate. Think of Fraulein Lowenstein, and open your hearts to the influence of the higher powers. Come, blessed spirits, come . . .' The pitch of her voice climbed and wobbled with an emotional vibrato. 'Come spirits, come . . .'
The planchette flinched, darting an inch or so from its central position.
Natalie Heck gasped and threw a sidelong glance in the direction of Count Zaborszky.
'There, you see!' cried Cosima reproachfully. 'They are here . . . the spirits have arrived.'
The Count seemed indifferent.
'Who are you?' continued Cosima. 'Who are you, oh Spirit, who has answered our call?'
The planchette moved in small circles before flying towards the first arc of letters. The narrow end of the wooden heart, which served as a pointer, stopped abruptly below the letter F. After a brief pause, the planchette visited the letters L-O-R-E-S-T-A and finally N.
'Florestan,' said Cosima, beaming with satisfaction. 'Greetings, Florestan, you who are now in possession of the Treasure of the Light. What was your profession, Florestan, when you were incarnate?'
The planchette spelt out: KAPELLMEISTER.
'Where?'
SALZBURG.
'And when did you leave the realm of material things?'
1791.
'Will you help us, Florestan?'
YES.
'Blessed Spirit – it has been two weeks since our dear sister Charlotte Lowenstein left this world. Does she wish to communicate with us?'
The planchette did not move.
'Does she have a message for us?'
Nothing.
'Can we speak to her?'
Still there was no movement.
Zaborszky sniffed and said quietly: 'This Florestan is too feeble. We must summon a more potent spirit.'
'Dearest Count,' said Cosima, forcing a smile, 'we must show respect to all emissaries from the world of light.'
Frau Holderlin, who was sitting next to Cosima, turned and whispered sharply: 'Ask again.'
'Florestan,' Cosima called, her voice still quivering, 'does Charlotte Lowenstein wish to communicate with us?'
Silence.
'Ask him what happened,' hissed Frau Holderlin. 'Ask him what happened to her?'
'Was Charlotte Lowenstein taken by –' Cosima ventured tentatively '– a higher power?'
The planchette rolled around the table and halted close to where it had begun.
YES.
'Of the first altitude?'
NO.
'The second?'
NO.
'The third?' Incredulity had transformed Cosima von Rath's soprano into an unfeasibly high squeal.
The planchette rolled across the table to the adjacent tile.
YES.
The company began to whisper among themselves.
'But why?' Cosima wailed.
The whispering subsided and the planchette rolled towards the letters where it spelt out: SIN.
'Which sin?'
VANITY.
Cosima, her plump neck vibrating with excitement, asked: 'Did she attempt to make a higher power do her bidding?'
YES.
'For what purpose?'
The planchette failed to respond and a tidal silence washed back into the room.
'What was her purpose?' Cosima repeated.
The planchette remained resolutely still.
'Where is she?' Cosima continued. 'Where was she taken?'
Nothing.
'What about Otto?' said Natalie Heck. 'Ask what happened to Otto.'
Cosima acknowledged the request by inclining her head.
'Florestan – where is Herr Braun?'
Again, nothing.
'Was Herr Braun taken too?'
The planchette stirred and rolled gently towards an answer: NO.
'Is he still alive?'
The wooden heart rolled in several wide circles and ground to a halt on an empty patch of table, giving no discernible answer.
Uberhorst coughed to attract attention and said hesitantly: 'Please . . . I would like to ask a question.'
'Of course,' Cosima replied.
'I want to know if . . . if I should tell them?'
'Tell them? Tell who?'
'It is . . .' Uberhorst paused and then added: 'A private matter.'
'My dear fellow.' It was Bruckmuller, and his resonant voice seemed to shake the table. 'You are among friends!'
The little locksmith's pince-nez caught the light. His eyes were two ovals of flickering flame.
'It is a private matter, Herr Bruckmuller.'
The Count – who was seated next to Uberhorst – addressed him as though no one else was present. His tone was casual.
'She told you something? Fraulein Lowenstein?'
The locksmith searched the ring of faces for a sympathetic expression but was unable to find one.
