Mortal Mischief (9 page)

'Thank you, Miss Lydgate, you can open your eyes now. When did you first notice the paralysis?'

'Last week.'

'Had you ever had problems of this kind before?'

'No.'

'Did the paralysis develop suddenly or gradually?'

'Suddenly. When I woke up, I could no longer move my arm.'

'Not even the fingers?'

'No.'

'Is the paralysis continuous, or do you get the feeling back sometimes?'

'It is continuous.'

Liebermann let Miss Lydgate's sleeve down and somewhat pedantically positioned the fringe of her cuff along the crease-lines of her wrist.

'Did the cough begin at the same time?'

'Yes.'

'Did anything significant happen – last week?'

'No. Not really.'

'Do you suffer from any other problems?'

She paused and took a deep breath.

'Amenorrhoea.'

'I see,' said Liebermann, attempting to gloss over her embarrassment with workaday efficiency. 'And when was the last time you menstruated?'

Miss Lydgate's cheeks coloured as though they'd been sprinkled with a pinch of ochre.

'Three months ago.'

'I imagine your appetite hasn't been very good lately.'

'No, that's right. It hasn't.'

Liebermann opened his notebook and began scribbling.

'Your German is remarkably good, Miss Lydgate.'

A smile began to flicker into existence, but failed to ignite: the half-frown quickly reasserted itself.

'Well, it isn't
so
remarkable. My grandfather was German – and my mother spoke to me in German when I was a child.'

Liebermann turned to a fresh page and proceeded to ask Miss Lydgate several questions about her circumstances. He discovered that she lived with distant relatives: Herr Schelling (a Christian-Social parliamentary minister), Frau Schelling, and their two children Edward and Adele. Herr Schelling had agreed to provide Miss Lydgate with a room and a monthly stipend, contingent upon her performing the duties of a governess; however, in reality her only significant task was to provide Edward and Adele with instruction in written and spoken English.

'How long do you intend to stay in Vienna?' asked Liebermann.

'For some time,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Years, perhaps.'

'The Schellings have agreed to this?'

'That isn't necessary,' she replied. 'I do not wish to retain my position as the Schellings' governess.'

'No?'

She shook her head, and continued: 'No. I want to study medicine.'

'Here?' asked Liebermann, raising his eyebrows. 'In Vienna?'

'Yes,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'The university department has recently started accepting female students.'

'Indeed,' said Liebermann. 'But why here? Surely, if you wish to study medicine it would be more convenient for you to study in London?'

'I came to Vienna because of Doctor Landsteiner. You see, I am interested . . .' She paused before beginning her sentence again: 'I am interested in blood.'

Her eyes were an unusual colour, neither blue nor grey but something in between: a blend that reminded Liebermann of pewter. They had an arresting depth, enhanced by a subtle darkening at the edges of each iris. She could see that Liebermann required further explanation.

'My grandfather was a physician, and wrote extensively on diseases of the blood. He was also greatly fascinated by the virtuosi of the British Enlightenment – particularly those who had experimented with transfusion. I became interested in the subject after reading my grandfather's journal, which contains a detailed record of his thoughts and observations. By mixing blood samples and examining them under the microscope, he established that blood is not a singular substance but one that can be classified according to type – and he subsequently proposed that incompatibility of bloods was the principal reason why early and subsequent attempts at transfusion have failed. Thus, my grandfather seems to have anticipated Landsteiner's recent discovery by over half a century. I corresponded with Doctor Landsteiner when I was still living in England, and when I arrived in Vienna he invited me to attend some meetings at the Pathological Institute.'

'To discuss your grandfather's work?'

'Yes, and . . .' She paused again before continuing: 'And to review some ideas of my own. Doctor Landsteiner has since promised that if I am accepted by the university I can also work in his laboratory.'

'He must have been very impressed.'

She looked down at her feet, discomfited by Liebermann's compliment.

Liebermann encouraged Miss Lydgate to talk in greater detail about her grandfather and his journal. Although his patient was a little reticent at first, she was soon speaking with considerable fluency and enthusiasm. Doctor Ludwig Buchbinder had moved to England at the request of none other than Prince Albert. He was appointed Physician-in-Ordinary by Queen Victoria, but his duties extended well beyond the practice of medicine. He was the Prince Consort's confidant and played a significant role in the planning and organisation of the Great Exhibition. He was also one of a relatively small group of doctors who championed the use of the stethoscope (an instrument viewed with considerable suspicion by most British physicians on account of its Continental provenance). Although there were considerable demands on his time, Buchbinder still managed to indulge his passion for medical history and in due course came across several accounts of transfusion experiments conducted in the seventeenth century under the aegis of the Royal Society. Buchbinder settled in London – marrying late. He and his wife produced two daughters, the youngest of whom was Greta (Miss Lydgate's mother). In later life Buchbinder continued to speculate on many practical issues, including the analgesic properties of plants. Among his list of candidates was
Salix Alba
– the white willow tree (a derivative of which had been introduced into medical practice as aspirin by Hoffmann only three years earlier).

'Fascinating,' said Liebermann. 'He sounds like a truly remarkable man.'

'Indeed,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Doctor Landsteiner believes that my grandfather's journal should be edited for publication.'

'Would you be willing to undertake such a task?'

'When I am better, yes.'

'And what of the rest of your family?'

Miss Lydgate progressed from the topic of her illustrious grandfather to her mother, whom she described with great affection. She then spoke of her father, Samuel Lydgate, a science master and a gentleman with distinctly progressive sympathies. He believed that modern women should have the same opportunities and rights as men, and had treated his daughter accordingly. Miss Lydgate was an only child, and Liebermann wondered whether her upbringing would have been different had Greta Lydgate provided her husband with more than one child on whom to practise his pedagogic theories. Liebermann could see that Miss Lydgate was the beneficiary – or victim – of a singularly taxing education.

The Lydgates lived a few miles north of the capital. Liebermann had visited London many times but had never heard of Highgate. Miss Lydgate's description called to mind a kind of English Grinzing: a village built on a natural eminence, from which at night an observer could enjoy the glittering spectacle of the city lights below.

After Liebermann had gained enough background information he drew a line under his notes and looked up. He was again surprised by the intensity of his patient's expression: the way her pewter eyes glowed beneath her troubled forehead, the tightness with which her hair had been pulled back. Liebermann smiled, inviting her to reciprocate – but Miss Lydgate simply tilted her head to one side (almost as though she was puzzled by his behaviour). Then, unexpectedly, she said: 'Is that a battery, Doctor Liebermann?'

Liebermann turned and looked across the room. In the corner a large wooden box sat on the top shelf of a hospital trolley.

'Yes, it is.'

'Will my course of electrotherapy begin today?'

She spoke these words evenly, without emotion.

'No,' replied Liebermann.

'Tomorrow, then?' She stifled a nervous cough.

'Perhaps.'

'I was told by Professor Gruner that—'

'Miss Lydgate,' Liebermann interrupted. 'For the moment, I think we should just talk.'

'What about?'

Liebermann formed a steeple with his fingers.

'About you. And your symptoms, of course.'

'But what good will that do?'

Before he could answer there was a knock on the door.

Stefan Kanner entered. He glanced briefly at Miss Lydgate and then spoke quietly to Liebermann.

'I'm sorry, Max, but I think you walked off with the keys to the storeroom.'

Liebermann stood up and pulled three bunches of keys from his pocket: his apartment keys, the hospital keys and, finally, the keys to the storeroom.

'Ah yes, how foolish of me.'

Before Kanner could take them, both men were distracted by Miss Lydgate. She had begun to cough with considerable violence – an ugly, rasping bark. Without warning she bent forward and started to retch. The vertebrae of her spine and the sharp edges of her shoulder blades showed clearly through the hospital gown. It looked as if some strange marine creature, with massive gills and a long segmented tail had attached itself to her body – and was in the process of shaking her to death.

Kanner was nearest to the sink, under which stood an old tin pail. He acted swiftly, picking it up and placing it on the floor in front of the woman's chair. As he did so, he laid a comforting hand on her back.

What happened next also happened very quickly but it left a lasting impression on Liebermann.

The young woman's body twisted – as though Kanner had pressed a white-hot branding iron between her shoulder blades. She squirmed at his touch, her spine warping sinuously to escape his fingers.

Miss Lydgate had undergone an extraordinary transformation. The softly spoken Englishwoman had been possessed by something demonic, and her expression had become hateful and venomous. Her bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets and a thick blue vein had risen on her forehead – a livid weal against the paleness of her skin. She was sneering, scowling, animated by an inhuman anger. Kanner could not move – he stood, watching, in a state of utter shock. But it was not Miss Lydgate's fiendish expression that had caught Liebermann's attention. Something far more significant was happening: her hitherto dead hand had come to life, and was twitching furiously.

10

A
BOVE THE HEAD
of Commissioner Manfred Brügel hung a huge picture of the Emperor, Franz Josef. It was a portrait that could be found in most homes and in virtually every public building. The imperial patriarch, seemingly eternal, was an inescapable and watchful presence. Like many senior officials, Brügel had chosen to affirm his support for the Habsburgs by growing an exact copy of the monarch's oversized mutton-chop whiskers.

Brügel examined the first of several photographs: Fräulein Löwenstein, reclining on the chaise longue, the bloodstain clearly visible over her heart.

'Pretty girl.'

'Yes, sir,' said Rheinhardt.

'Do you have any idea what happened to the bullet?'

'No, sir.'

'Well, do you have any theories?'

'None as yet, sir.'

'What about Mathias? What does he think?'

'Professor Mathias could not explain his findings.'

Brügel dropped the first photograph and picked up a second: a head-and-shoulders portrait of the victim. She looked like a sleeping Venus.

'Very pretty,' Brügel repeated. After further contemplation of Charlotte Löwenstein's image, the Commissioner raised his blockish head and fixed his subordinate with a sullen stare.

'Do you believe in the supernatural, Rheinhardt?'

The Inspector hesitated.

'Well?'

'I believe,' said Rheinhardt, selecting his words with utmost care, 'we should only consider a supernatural explanation when all other explanations have been eliminated.'

'Indeed . . . but I asked whether or not you believed in the supernatural?'

Rheinhardt changed his position to ease the discomfort of the Commissioner's scrutiny.

'It would be presumptuous to suppose that we have a complete understanding of the world in which we live. I dare say there are many phenomena that have not ceded their secrets to science. But with the greatest respect, sir . . . I'm a policeman, not a philosopher.'

Brügel smiled: an enigmatic half-smile – opaque and saline.