“What of the evidence itself? Dr. Frankopan took it from me. If only we can find him.” But even as I said the words, I realised the futility of it all. Dr. Frankopan would die sooner than see his only child swing from a hangman’s noose. Doubtless the evidence against Cosmina had been destroyed, dropped into the river perhaps, to be swept away to the sea.
“He is missing and no one knows where he is bound,” the count told me. “Without evidence, we cannot go to the authorities. It is for me to mete justice to Cosmina, regardless of what my mother believes.”
We both fell silent again, and the strong sturdy rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek comforted me.
“How did you know to send them for me?” I asked. “How did you know what Dr. Frankopan meant to do?”
He gave me a rueful smile. “I knew nothing. At first, we only knew you had disappeared from your room, that the door was locked and still you had escaped. To me, this meant either you feared someone in the castle or you were fleeing to escape your own misdeeds. Dr. Frankopan was the only person you knew outside the castle and he too had been missed. And then I remembered that before the accident, I had sent word to Dr. Frankopan that I believed I knew who was behind the villainy in the castle. I wanted to consult him about whether Cosmina could have struck the precise blow that killed Aurelia. I knew they often discussed medical matters, and she often helped to nurse the folk in the village under his direction. He would have known if she were knowledgeable enough to effect such a murder.”
He touched the row of stitches in his face absently, and I wondered if they pained him. “But he never came. He sent word he was at a confinement, and that was the night I fell from the observatory.”
“Fell or were pushed?” I asked gently.
“I do not know. I saw no one and I remember nothing, only the sensation of falling and the desperate lunge to catch myself. But as I lay in bed, thinking about you and the possibility that you had done this to me, I thought of my doubts about Cosmina, and I realised Dr. Frankopan was far likelier to play the comrade to her than to you. He has always shown partiality to her, and it did not escape me that my accident happened just a few hours after I gave him reason to fear for Cosmina. And I began to think if I had been deliberately pushed, then perhaps you were in danger as well. I sent out Florian and Charles and told them to take a piece of your clothing and Tycho. He found you, thank God,” the count added fervently. “They carried you first to Frankopan’s cottage, where they discovered the empty bottle of sedative with the tea things and guessed at what he had done. From there they brought you to the castle, hoping that with time the sedative would run its course and you would waken. You must rest now,” he told me. “You have been through a terrible ordeal, and we will speak again later. There is much to discuss.”
I obeyed, but when he left me and I settled into bed, I found I could not sleep. I thought of Dr. Frankopan, so casually capable of leaving me to die, torn apart by wolves. And I thought of Cosmina, savaged by the rage she carried. And the countess, who even now believed that some monstrous revenant stalked her castle. I hated and pitied them all, and I do not know which emotion surprised me the more.
The next day a flurry of letters came and went, and I saw little of Charles or the count, for without the use of his writing arm, the count depended upon Charles as his amanuensis, and Charles spent long hours at the count’s side, penning the letters that would settle Cosmina’s fate. Messengers came and went, village lads who brought letters and gossip, and by the second day, everything had been settled. I had been given strict instructions to rest and saw no one, although my thoughts turned often to Cosmina, biding her time in the garderobe below me.
Early on the second morning, she was summoned to the great hall where the count stood, Tycho at his side, looking for all the world like a feudal prince. The rest of the household had gathered as well, and a quiet and tractable Cosmina was brought to the hall. The countess was pale, but resplendently dressed in a gown stiff with jet embroidery, her chin held very high as she stared directly ahead. A strange gentleman stood at the count’s side, and when Cosmina entered, he regarded her with a cool and professional curiosity. Her gown was creased where she had slept in it, and her hair was untidy, but she did not seem to notice, and her eyes darted strangely, as if the time she had spent in the garderobe had turned her wits entirely, as if the thin thread that had bound her to sanity had snapped once and for all.
“Cosmina, this is Herr Engel. He keeps a private rest home in Hermannstadt. He would like to take you there for a rest,” the count said gently, but I was not deceived. He watched Cosmina as a dog will watch a viper, and she returned the look, cold and calculating.
“I am to be sent away?”
“For a little while,” Herr Engel soothed. “Just until you have recovered your nerves, my dear.”
It was a lie of course, and Cosmina smelled the untruth of it upon him. She laughed, a sharp and bitter sound that shattered the quiet of the great, vaulted room. “I am going away.” She turned to collect us with her look. “I am going away and you all will stay. You will write to me, won’t you?” And then she laughed again until she fell silent, and somehow her silence was worse than anything she could say. No matter how kindly Herr Engel put a question to her, she refused to reply, perhaps as a means to holding the reins of the situation.
At last he shrugged his shoulders and nodded towards the count. The count gestured towards Florian, who opened the doors to the courtyard where a group of village men had gathered. For an instant, it seemed as if a mob had come, and Cosmina’s courage failed her. She staggered a little, but Herr Engel offered his arm in a very gentlemanly fashion, and she took it, raising her chin in a gesture of noble dignity very reminiscent of the countess.
At the doors they paused and Cosmina looked at him. “What about my things? Shall they be sent on? I should like my things.” Her tone was anxious, and Herr Engel was quick to reassure her.
“We have all that you could require. And if there is something of importance, we will send for it,” he soothed.
Mollified, Cosmina walked out with him, never turning back, never saying goodbye. I heard later that the party of villagers divided and seven strong men walked in front of her and seven behind, guarding lest she attempt to flee. The villagers noted the strangeness of the doctor’s carriage, for it was a curious thing, with barred windows and heavy leather shades. And when Cosmina and her escort reached the carriage, he instructed his driver to lock them in together until they reached Hermannstadt.
The villagers had other things to spice the meat of their gossip, for Dr. Frankopan had not been found, but Teodor Popa had returned home, wearing a bright red coat that looked familiar to many. It had been badly slashed, and there were stains upon it that were dark and rusty, but Madame Popa was an excellent housekeeper, and it was not long before the fabric was clean and the rents mended and the brass buttons polished, and when Teodor Popa wore his coat in the village, no one dared to ask him where he had found it. The cottage in the woods remained shuttered and dark, and Madame Popa found employment with the innkeeper, whose wife was carrying again and could no longer manage her duties.
I saw little of the countess, for she did not seem willing to relent in her opinion of me, and every glance she threw my way carried condemnation for Cosmina’s departure. She bore no such ill will towards her son, but I was not surprised. A mother’s indulgence is a powerful thing, and she would not blame the count for his resolution to the situation, but rather I must bear the burden of guilt for bringing Cosmina’s crimes to light.
For his part, Florian’s sadness seemed permanently etched upon his face, and when he sought me out the afternoon before Charles and I planned to leave, I did not know what I should say to him.
We walked to the piggery together, for I craved fresh air and in spite of the cold of the drawing in of autumn, it was bracing and exhilarating. We did not speak until we reached the piggery, and even then Florian seemed to struggle for his words.
“I must ask forgiveness, for this is the Christian thing to do, and I have seen too much of the Devil in this place,” he said suddenly, his face flushing painfully.
“Yes, there is too much of the Devil here,” I agreed. “But what have I to forgive you for?”
He hesitated a long moment, watching a fat porker root in the ground for something tasty. When he spoke, he did not look at me. “I liked you, very much, when first you came here. But then Miss Cosmina says things, terrible things, and I began to hate you. She says them to my mother as well, and my mother, she tells me I must not speak with you. I told her I would speak with you, for you were a kindly person. My mother was angry with you because of this, and soon I believe the things that Miss Cosmina said of you.”
It was a long speech for Florian, and I had no doubt, a painful one. I wanted to put a hand to his arm to console him, but it seemed an intrusion. “I understand, Florian. Either Cosmina or I must have been living a lie,
