The Figaro Murders (27 page)

I dug a coin out of my pocket. “Are you here all the time?” I asked.

He wheezed. “Yes, sir. The rich people, when they come out of the church, they take pity on me.” He pointed to the beerhouse behind him. “The ones here can be convinced to hand over a coin when they've had enough to drink.” He reached up for the coin. I pulled my hand back, and pointed at the building next door with my stick. “What is this building, do you know?”

He spat on the ground before my feet. “Northerners! Heretics!” he said. He grabbed for the coin again.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Protestants! The devil's servants! They worship in there!”

My mouth fell open. The beggar pulled the coin out of my hand and buried it in the pile of rags.

“That is a Protestant church?”

“Yes, they come there every day. Very proper, they are. They never give me any money.” He spat again and crossed himself.

I dug out another coin and handed it to him.

“Thank you, kind sir, thank you. God bless you, sir,” he crooned, as I turned and walked back to the Karntnerstrasse.

*   *   *

I hurried back the way I had come, my mind swirling with questions. Ecker was a Protestant? No wonder he had become so nervous when I had clumsily attempted to interview him at dinner that first day. If he were discovered, he would surely lose his position as secretary to Baron Gabler. Although the emperor tolerated Protestants, even going so far as permitting them to practice their religion in private, he did not admit them to his inner circle of advisors.

The morning sun shining on the light stone of the Hofburg momentarily blinded me as I entered the Michaelerplatz. The beat of rushing hooves sounded behind me. I scrambled to my right and pressed myself against the wall of the church. I stood for a moment, my pulse racing, then continued on, staying as close to the edge of the plaza as I could.

Perhaps Pergen was right after all—there was a spy at the palais. Protestants throughout the empire admired and supported the King of Prussia. I shook my head. Ecker seemed dedicated to the Gabler family. He had been with the baron for years, and had worked for the older baron before that. He would soon assume the prestigious position of secretary to the ambassador to the Court of St. Petersburg. Why would he give that up to spy for Frederick?

I had thought of no logical explanation by the time I reached the palais. I expected to see police carriages, but the courtyard was empty. Someone had scrubbed the stones clean. I let myself into the foyer. Everything was still. Melancholy returned as I climbed the stairs to my room. Would I ever return to my simple lodgings, to my normal life?

I entered my room and swore softly. The girl had not been in to make it up while I had been gone. Ashes sat in the cold fireplace, the bedclothes lay rumpled where I had left them, and dirty water sat in the basin. I wanted to wash some of the dust of the morning from my face. I took the empty pitcher. I could get some hot water down in the kitchen.

I had gone down one flight of stairs when I met Rosa Hahn at the landing. The housekeeper's thin face was pale and drawn. She looked at the pitcher in my hand.

“Do you need water, signore?” she asked.

“Yes, I was just going to the kitchen to fetch some. I'd like to wash, but Antonia hasn't been in to clean my room yet.”

She shook her head and frowned. “That silly girl, she is useless. She is probably in her room, moaning over the death of the baroness. She uses everything as an excuse to avoid work.” She took the pitcher. “I'll get you fresh water, signore. Do you need a clean towel?”

I nodded. She turned and headed down the hallway, toward Caroline's chamber. I followed reluctantly. I did not want to see that room, with its silky green walls, ever again. Rosa stopped halfway down the hall, however, before a small set of double doors. She pulled out a chain with several keys attached and searched through them. A low moan came from within the closet. Rosa's hands froze. “Did you hear that, signore?”

I nodded.

“Aahh!” The cry was louder, higher pitched.

“Open the door, quickly,” I said.

She fumbled through the set of keys, finally finding the right one. Her hands shook as she tried to put the key in the lock. “Someone is dying in there! The murderer! He has struck again!”

My heart thumping, I took the chain from her and placed the key into the lock.

“We shouldn't open the door, sir, we should call the police,” she whispered.

“Someone needs our help,” I said. I turned the key, but the door would not open.

“Are you sure this is the right key?” She nodded. I turned the key again. Still the knob would not turn.

No further sound came from the closet.

I shook the key. I twisted the knob. Nothing. I stepped back, and pushed myself against the door. Pain shot through my injured shoulder. The door popped open, revealing a large closet lined with shelves full of white linens.

I looked down at the floor. My stomach turned over. Rosa gasped. We were too late. Antonia lay on the floor, her skirts pulled up around her waist. Dark spots stained her undergarments, and blood ran down her leg. Her large blue eyes stared vacantly at me, reproaching me for my failure to save her.

 

Twenty-four

I dropped to my knees. Rosa crossed herself and began to mutter a prayer. I took Antonia in my arms. She felt as delicate as a tiny bird. My eyes began to water. Who was this monster, preying on the young and innocent?

The eyes blinked. A moan.

“She's alive!” Rosa crossed herself again.

“Hurry, bring Dr. Rausch here,” I said to her.

“I do not think—”

“Now! She could still die!”

Rosa stared at me, sighed, turned, and ran down the hall.

Antonia's eyes searched my face. “Antonia. What happened? Who did this to you?” I asked. She did not answer, just continued to stare at me, her breathing shallow and raspy. I leaned in close. “Tell me, who did this?”

“Christof.” Her voice was so quiet, I wasn't sure I had heard her.

“Christof? Who do you mean?”

Her head sagged to the side. “Florian,” she whispered. “Florian.”

Auerstein? Was she so close to death that she was imagining things? “No, Antonia, Florian is dead. He cannot have attacked you.”

“He knew.”

“What did he know? Antonia, please, dear God, you must tell me. He could kill again,” I pleaded.

She turned her face back toward mine. Her lips moved as she struggled to expel the words. “Christof. Florian knew,” she whispered again. She moaned. Her eyes closed again. I brushed my hand against her white cheek. Her skin was cool and clammy. I pulled her closer, trying to keep her warm.

*   *   *

The few minutes I sat there holding her seemed like hours. She did not speak again, and I did not press her, for it seemed that every breath was a struggle for her. My imagination ran wild as I tried to interpret what little she had told me. Had the baron tried to kill her? Why? What was it that Florian Auerstein knew? Something about the baron? Had Christof Gabler killed Florian?

“What is it, Da Ponte?” Urban Rausch entered the closet. Rosa remained in the hallway. “Put her down on the floor, please.” I gently laid Antonia on the floor, stood, and backed out of the small room. Rausch knelt and began to examine the girl, whose eyes remained closed. Rosa stood stiffly next to me, a look of distaste on her face as we watched Rausch work.

“You said she had been attacked,” the doctor said, looking up at Rosa. Her face flushed. She opened her mouth.

“I was the one who made the assumption, Doctor,” I said. “Are you saying that Antonia is merely ill? Surely the blood—”

“The girl has lost a baby, that is all.”

Rosa gasped.

“She obviously started to bleed and crawled into the closet to hide,” he said. “Take her to her room. I'll find Bohm and tell him to come up.” He headed across the landing, toward the baron's chamber.

I pulled Antonia's skirts down around her legs and lifted her, then followed Rosa up the stairs. Antonia had been pregnant? Who was the father? I struggled to remember what she had told me. Florian had promised to take care of her, that was it. Had he really promised to marry her after all? We reached Antonia's room. Rosa opened the door. I carried the girl inside and placed her on the small bed. Her breathing was still shallow, her skin still pale. A thin blanket lay rumpled at the end of the bed. As I pulled it up to cover her, something fell from its folds and clanged to the floor. Rosa picked it up.

“Where could she have gotten this?” she asked, showing it to me.

My eyes widened. “It belongs to a friend of mine,” I said, taking Vogel's medallion from her. I slipped it into my pocket. “It disappeared from my room a few days ago.”

“Antonia is the thief!” Rosa rushed to the cupboard and threw it open. “The baron's little gold clock. That pink cap the baroness was missing a few weeks ago. Oh! The wicked girl! Here is my mother's shawl! I thought I'd never see it again! I'll see her dismissed for this!”

“Dismissed for what?” Bohm stood at the doorway. Rosa crossed the room to confront him. Antonia stirred on the bed, moaning softly.

“Your daughter has been stealing things. I agreed to take her on when you arrived to serve the baron, but I will not tolerate this behavior in my household!”

I drew a sharp breath, waiting for the sullen valet to explode. Instead, he shoved Rosa to the side and knelt at the bed. He stared at his daughter's pale face, then reached under the thin blanket and took her hand. To my amazement, he began to weep. Rosa and I stood awkwardly as the big man's shoulders trembled with grief.

“Anna. My Anna. What have they done to you?” he cried.

*   *   *

I caught Rosa's eye and nodded toward the door. As we stepped into the hallway, Marianne ran toward us. “Signore, a message just came for you.” I unfolded the paper and read. Maulbertsch had located Katrin Spiegel. Marianne peered into Antonia's room. “What is going on? Is Antonia ill?”

The housekeeper sniffed. “She was pregnant. She lost the child.” She turned to me. “Excuse me, signore, there is work to do.” She hurried down the hall.

“It is true, Signor Abbé?” Marianne asked. I nodded. Her face crumpled. She began to cry.

I took her arm and steered her down the hall. I settled her on the bench in the alcove and sat beside her, taking her hand. After a few minutes, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Oh, signore, this is terrible news. My poor mistress, I have done her a great wrong.”

“You believed she killed Florian,” I said.

She nodded. “One day a few months ago, I caught the two of them in her chamber. Her dress was unbuttoned, her hair loose. They were embracing. Neither of them saw me.

“After that she became very secretive. She usually told me everything. She stopped buying new hats and dresses, and insisted I mend her old things, even those that were in tatters. I suspected he was blackmailing her, threatening to tell the baron that she had slept with him.”

“Would he have been so foolish, to taunt his patron with that information?” I asked.

She waved my objection away. “He was the heir of Prince Auerstein. He knew that even though he was twenty years younger and a mere page, he outranked the baron.”

I nodded for her to continue.

“After Florian died, my mistress seemed relieved, almost happy even. I believed his death was probably an accident. Then—”

“You saw her ribbon in my pocket.”

“Yes. She had been wearing that bonnet the morning of the day Florian died. She gave it to me the next morning, telling me she had lost one of the ribbons, and asking me to change them. Then I saw the missing ribbon in your pocket.”

“How did you know where I had found it?”

“I suspected you were here for another reason besides poetry lessons. The baroness had never mentioned any desire to learn poetry. Johann had said you knew a lot of important people through your job at the theater. I suspected you were here to investigate Florian's death.”

I shook my head. What a muddle I had made of everything! I could not even fool an innocent lady's maid.

“You imagined that she had lured Florian to the library, there was a struggle, the ribbon was torn off her cap, and she threw him out the window?”

She chewed on her lip. “Yes, something like that.”

Florian must have accosted Caroline in the library that morning, before I had arrived in the house, and torn the ribbon from her cap.

“Where was she going the night she was killed? Do you know?” I asked.

“She was very happy after Florian died. I guessed she had taken a lover.” She smiled forlornly. “For a time, I thought he might even be you, signore.”

I put my head in my hands.

“She asked to borrow my cloak. A lady cannot go out on the streets alone, but no one troubles a mere servant,” Marianne continued. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Please don't judge her harshly, signore. She was desperately lonely. And as you've seen today, her husband took pleasure in humiliating her.”

I lifted my head. “What do you mean?”

“Antonia. He slept with her. He must have fathered her child.”

I gaped at her. “How do you know this?”

“Antonia told me herself, signore. She bragged about it, about how often he made love to her.” She shook her head. “Foolish girl.”

“But—I understood she loved the Auerstein boy. I thought they might be lovers.”

“No, signore. She told me Florian tried with her once, but couldn't do it slowly. He ended up with his pants all wet.” Her cheeks reddened.

“But she was so insistent that he was going to marry her,” I protested.

“Just a dream of hers, signore, I imagine.”