Mortal Mischief

'Herr Uberhorst,' said Cosima, 'if you want an answer to your question you must cooperate with the circle. We must assist the spirit Florestan with one will. This cannot be accomplished if you are guarding some secret.'

'Do you mean the police, Uberhorst?' said Holderlin. 'Is that who you mean by them?'

Uberhorst took his hand off the planchette and began biting his nails.

'Please, all I want is . . .' The words were indistinct. 'All I want is a simple answer.' His panic was barely controlled. 'A Yes – or a No.'

The planchette moved, spiralling outwards and moving faster until it stopped abruptly among the letters.

TELL WHO?

'See,' said Bruckmuller, 'the spirit needs clarification, Uberhorst.'

'It is a matter of honour' Herr Bruckmuller, I cannot say any more.'

WHO? the planchette demanded.

'Herr Uberhorst,' said Cosima, 'Please do not deny the spirit emissary.'

Uberhorst shook his head.

'Very well, Herr Uberhorst,' Cosima continued. 'I will try on your behalf, but I do not believe that we shall meet with much success. Florestan, spirit, possessor of the Treasure of the Light: should Herr Uberhorst tell—' she paused, and raised her eyebrows. '

Them?'

Uberhorst placed his finger back on the planchette.

The device remained perfectly still.

'There you are,' said Cosima. 'I thought as much.'

The company looked towards Uberhorst. He was staring at the planchette – his gaze transfixed on the wooden heart.

'This is not right,' he said softly.

'What do you mean?' asked Cosima. 'Not right?'

'I cannot believe . . .' Uberhorst's voice was torpid, as though he was talking through a dream. 'I cannot believe that Fraulein Lowenstein was taken – removed – by some demon. She was too good a person. Too kind.'

'To you, perhaps,' said Natalie under her breath. Uberhorst looked up. He could not see the seamstress's face very well, only the large glass earring dangling from her ear.

'Herr Uberhorst,' said Frau Holderlin, 'the spirit says that Fraulein Lowenstein was guilty of the sin of vanity. And much as I admired her, much as I was impressed by her gift—'

'She was a very vain woman,' said Natalie, helping Frau Holderlin's sentence to its inevitable conclusion.

'But undeniably very beautiful,' said Zaborszky.

'Indeed,' said Holderlin. 'However, we must remember that possession of physical beauty can easily weaken the moral faculty. Is it not generally the case that those whom we call beautiful are also peculiarly vulnerable to the sins of pride and vanity?'

'I'm surprised to hear you say that, Holderlin,' said Zaborszky.

'Why?' Holderlin snapped back at him.

'You seemed to appreciate her beauty as much as the next man.'

'What on Earth do you mean by tha—'

'Gentlemen!' Cosima von Rath's voice was shrill and angry.

'Here, here,' barked Bruckmuller.

'Gentlemen, please!' Cosima blew out her cheeks and her retrousse nose, squeezed between bulging flesh, looked alarmingly like a snout. 'We must proceed.'

Frau Holderlin squinted at her husband whose pate glittered with tiny beads of perspiration.

'Florestan,' Cosima cried. 'Florestan, is there anything we can do to help our departed sister Charlotte?'

The planchette rolled around the table top and stopped abruptly.

NO.

'Shall we pray for her salvation?'

The planchette traced another circle.

NO.

'Then what shall we do?'

Rolling from side to side, the planchette hovered in the noncommittal spaces of the table top before finally dropping and colliding with the largest of the tiles: GOODBYE.

'He has gone,' Cosima said, a note of melancholy lowering the volume of her voice.

Herr Uberhorst was the first to remove his finger from the planchette. His movement was swift and sudden, as though he had accidentally touched the hot plate of a stove. Frau Holderlin, blinking frantically, was still staring at her husband.

Part Three

The Beethoven Frieze

36

THE CAB RATTLED off and was quickly absorbed into the steady flow of traffic: omnibuses, trams, and a veritable fleet of horse-drawn carts. The stalls of the Naschmarkt had spilled right up to the Secession building and the air was filled with noise: fishmongers, butchers and bakers – costermongers, barrow boys, and pedlars – all of their voices combining to create a disharmonious commercial chorus. Down the Linke Wienzeile, the most conspicuous building was the Theatre an der Wien, the venue where Beethoven's Fidelio had first been performed a hundred years earlier. It seemed fitting to Liebermann that the Secessionists should celebrate the great composer's genius only yards away from a site of almost spiritual significance.

'Well, then,' said Liebermann, straightening his necktie and adjusting his collar. 'Here we are.'

Clara and Hannah looked up towards the House of the Secession. Their gaze was naturally attracted to its most significant feature – a golden dome constructed from a delicate patchwork of gilded bronze leaves.

'You can see why they call it the golden cabbage,' said Hannah.

'Really, my dear, how can you say that? It's exquisite,' Liebermann retorted.

He offered his arms to Clara and Hannah and they walked in a line towards the building.

'To the Age its Art, to Art its Freedom,' said Hannah, reading the legend set in raised lettering beneath the dome.

'A sentiment that I hope you share.'

'And Ver Sacrum. What does that mean?'

'Sacred Stream – it's the title of their magazine.'

'But why? Why Sacred Stream?'

'It was a Roman ritual of consecration that was carried out in times of danger. The young were pledged to save the capital. The Secession, you see, have pledged to save Vienna from the forces of conservatism.'

'Do we really need to be saved?' asked Clara pointedly.

'Saved is probably too strong a word – relieved, I feel, would be more appropriate.'

Hurrying to avoid a convoy of timber-laden carts, they marched briskly across the street and ascended the stairs, watched from above by a trio of gorgons – their fossilised faces framed by more gilded foliage.

Once inside, Liebermann paid the entrance fee – one krone each – and took a catalogue. The cover showed a stylised angel holding a disc of light.