Mortal Mischief

ancestor – God knows how many generations back – distinguished himself in a military campaign.'

'But is he a good policeman?'

'He's clever, certainly. Sharp. But rather too fond of protocol and procedure for my liking. Needless to say, he's a great favourite of the Commissioner.'

Else left the table and returned a few moments later with a glass of brandy.

Rheinhardt kissed her hand and held it against his cheek.

'Thank you.'

Again, she pulled away. Had he not been so preoccupied, her coolness would almost certainly have aroused his suspicion.

Rheinhardt sipped the lucent, warming liquid and his spirits rallied a little – partly because of the alcohol and partly because of the presence of his wife.

'Oskar?' Else's voice was quiet but determined.

'Yes, my darling?'

'It isn't work that's been on your mind, is it?'

Rheinhardt looked at his wife. Outwardly she seemed composed, but there was something about her manner that suggested tension. Her lips were pressed together, forming a severe line.

'Whatever do you mean?' Rheinhardt asked.

'You're unhappy – aren't you?'

'Else?'

'With our marriage.' The words were so unexpected that Rheinhardt coughed on his brandy.

'My darling – what . . . what in God's name are you talking about? Whatever has possessed you to suggest such a thing?'

Else straightened her back and said: 'I saw you on the Prater – dining with a woman.' The accusation tumbled out, brittle and pointed.

Rheinhardt's mouth fell open.

'She was being very . . . familiar,' Else added.

For a moment, Rheinhardt appeared to be completely dumbfounded. Then, slowly, a flame of recognition ignited behind his eyes. His large chest heaved and he released a storm of laughter.

'My darling, my darling . . . my dear wife, do come here.'

Else hesitated before going to her husband. When she was close enough, Rheinhardt pulled her down onto his lap. She looked into his eyes, still uncertain.

'Please,' said Else. 'Do not try to persuade me that you were engaged in police work.'

Rheinhardt kissed her fingers.

'Ahh . . . but it was police work, my dear! Her name is Isolde Sedlmair – and she's an actress!' Else's eyes narrowed. 'No,' added Rheinhardt. 'That didn't sound quite as I had intended.'

Rheinhardt pulled Else closer and pressed his face against her dress. He could feel the stiff struts of her corset underneath.

'I can explain everything,' he said. 'And after, when you are fully satisfied, I propose that we should retire early.'

Von Bulow was no longer on his mind.

62

LIEBERMANN WAS WAITING in the drawing room of Frau Rubenstein's house. He had decided that it would probably be best if the widow interviewed Miss Lydgate alone; however, he had excused himself over an hour before, and was becoming slightly concerned. He could not hear their voices.

She's not mad, is she?

Mendel had taken some persuading, and perhaps Liebermann had underplayed the severity of Miss Lydgate's symptoms. Now, left to reflect on the propriety of his behaviour, he began to experience a creeping sense of self- doubt.

No, of course she's not mad, father.

Had he been right to make such an assertion?

If he had told Mendel about 'Katherine', then the old man would never have agreed. A whole treatise on the subtleties of psychiatric diagnosis would have failed to persuade Mendel that a woman who had once exhibited two personalities could ever be considered sane. He had furnished his father with a thoroughly sanitised account of Miss Lydgate's hysteria and treatment. Moreover, he had been particularly manipulative by appealing to Mendel's charitable instincts, portraying the governess as a poor, vulnerable stranger. Liebermann knew that his father was generally sympathetic to the dispossessed – a class of individual likely to evoke memories of his own father.

Liebermann examined the face of his wristwatch.

One hour and twelve minutes.

He got up from his seat and walked to the door. Opening it a little, he tilted his head to one side and listened.

Nothing.

Stepping into the long, dimly lit hall, he resolved to find out what was going on. However, just as he had reached this decision, the door of the sitting room opened, and Miss Lydgate appeared. She was obviously surprised to see him there – but she did not flinch.

'Oh – Doctor Liebermann.'

'Miss Lydgate.' Now that he saw her again – looking sober-minded and composed – he felt rather foolish. His worries vanished. 'I was just coming to find out . . .' Liebermann was unable to finish his sentence. The redundancy of his anxiety was self-evident and he smiled with relief.

'Frau Rubenstein would like to see you.'

As Amelia Lydgate held the door open for him, he could not tell whether the interview had been successful – the young woman's features showed no emotion. Liebermann executed a modest bow before entering the large, musty sitting room.

Frau Rubenstein, dressed entirely in black, was seated in an armchair by the large bay window. She was a small woman, shrunk, perhaps, not only by age but by recent grief. Yet, when she looked up, her expression was bright, and her eyes sparkled. At her feet were several books that had not been there when Liebermann had left the room. Clearly, the two women had been discussing or reading them.

'Herr Doctor,' said the widow in a soft but clear voice, 'I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. I was showing Amelia these volumes from my collection – and I quite forgot you were there.'

Liebermann stood in the centre of the room, uncertain of how to respond. He glanced at Miss Lydgate who for the first time produced a fleeting smile.

'Amelia and I have come to an arrangement concerning her position,' continued Frau Rubenstein. 'Would you be so kind, Herr Doctor, as to show her the rooms situated on the top floor? It is a steep climb, and my legs are not as strong as they once were.'

'Of course,' said Liebermann.

Amelia Lydgate, usually reserved, rushed across the room and took Frau Rubenstein's hand.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

The old woman shook her head and said: 'I hope you will be happy here.'

Liebermann and Miss Lydgate left the room and began to ascend the first of several wide staircases.

'Frau Rubenstein is delightful,' said Miss Lydgate, lifting her dress a little and carefully stepping over a loose carpet rail. 'And she is so interested in matters of literature and science.'

'I knew that she was well read,' said Liebermann. 'But I had no idea that she was such an enthusiast.'

'She was even interested in my grandfather's journal.'

'Was she?'

'Yes – when Frau Rubenstein was a little girl she lived in the country, and her grandmother taught her much about the use of medicinal herbs. She is extremely knowledgeable.'

'Well, you will make an ideal companion.'

'I will do my best, Doctor Liebermann.'