‘Elfrida, I believe this young man is a sensitive. Perhaps we should make use of him tonight.’
Tony, who didn’t know what the woman meant, and who thought the worst, looked horrified. The Gräfin smiled.
‘Miss Burton is a student of the occult,’ she explained.
‘Oh. Oh, God,’ said Tony, looking, if possible, even more aghast. ‘Look here – I mean, I’m no sensitive, if that’s what you call it. In fact – in fact – ’
He looked hopefully at me.
I contemplated the ceiling. I knew his views on spiritualism and the occult; they are profane. He has a morbid passion for ghost stories of all kinds, but only because he can suspend his disbelief for the purpose of entertainment. Torn between the requirements of courtesy and a thorough distaste, Tony looked in vain for rescue. He wasn’t going to get any help from me. It was high time he learned to stand up for himself.
‘In fact,’ Tony mumbled servilely, ‘I’m pretty ignorant about the whole subject.’
‘Ignorance is not uncommon,’ said Miss Burton, with a sigh. ‘Dreadful, when one considers the urgency . . . But I feel sure, Professor, that you are mediumistic. Look, Elfrida, at his hands . . . his eyes . . . There is a certain delicacy . . .’
Tony was beet-red.
‘But,’ he croaked.
‘Many mediums are unaware of their gift until they try,’ said Miss Burton, giving him a severe look.
There was a hideous pause. George, shaking with suppressed laughter, gave me a look that invited me to share his amusement. Schmidt was sitting bolt upright, his teacup in one hand, a half-eaten cookie in the other. He caught my eye; and to my surprise, he said seriously, ‘The Schloss is an admirable place for such research, Fräulein Doktor. There is a strong residue of psychic matter in a spot where so many have lived and died, loved and hated.’
‘You are a psychic researcher?’ I asked.
‘Only as an amateur.’
Miss Burton broke in.
‘If we can obtain only a moderate degree of cooperation from Professor Lawrence, the least one might expect from a gentleman and a – ’
I knew she was going to say it, and I knew I would laugh out loud if she did. It was time for me to be ingratiating; all this was leading up to something, and Schmidt’s attitude made me very curious indeed.
‘I’m sure Tony will be glad to help,’ I said, before Miss Burton could say ‘scholar.’ ‘We all will. Don’t you need a certain number of people to make up a circle?’
The countess turned to look at me.
‘How kind,’ she murmured.
‘Not at all,’ I murmured back. ‘I’ve always been fascinated by the occult.’
Tony made an uncouth noise which I ignored. I swept on, ‘One seldom finds an opportunity to hold a séance in such ideal surroundings. An old castle . . . a very old family . . .’
‘The Drachensteins trace their lineage unbroken to the ninth century,’ said the countess. ‘In 1525 the original line died out, but the title was assumed by a cousin.’
‘Died out? What happened to Count Burckhardt’s daughter?’
Tony’s question was followed by a silence which gave me time to think of all the things I was going to do to him for letting his big mouth loose again. In my opinion it was too early in the game to let the Gräfin know the full extent of our knowledge of, and interest in, the family of Graf Burckhardt. But since the damage was done, I decided to make the most of it.
‘As a prominent American historian of the Reformation,’ I said pompously, ‘Professor Lawrence is particularly interested in the sixteenth century.’
‘Ah, of course.’ You couldn’t call the gleam in the Gräfin’s eye a twinkle, but she was definitely amused. I found that expression even less attractive than her normal look. ‘No doubt you, too, are a prominent historian of the Reformation, Miss Bliss? It is a pleasure to find foreign scholars so well informed about our local history.
‘As for Graf Burckhardt, he did indeed leave an infant daughter. She was taken into the family of her second cousin, who became Graf Georg. She later married his eldest son.’
So that, I thought, was the physical link between Konstanze and Irma, who was the direct descendant of Graf George and his wife. Funny thing, genetics . . .
‘You said fifteen twenty-five?’ Tony tried to look casual. ‘That was the time of the Peasants’ Revolt. Was Graf Burckhardt killed in the fighting?’
‘How strange that you should not know that, with your interest in the family,’ the Gräfin said. ‘No, he was not, although he fought valiantly in Würzburg for his liege, the bishop. He died of a virulent fever, it is said, soon after his return home.’
George leaned forward in his chair.
‘What happened to Burckhardt’s wife?’
The Gräfin grinned at him. It was a full-fledged grin, not a smile, and it was a singularly ugly expression.
‘Of course you would be interested in her – after last night.’
Miss Burton gasped.
‘Elfrida! Why didn’t you tell me? Has the countess returned again?’
Chapter Five
I HAD FORGOTTEN about Irma. She attracted my attention by dropping the tray she was holding. It made a splendid crash. We swung around, as one man – to use a male chauvinlst formula – and when I saw the girl’s face, I leaped out of my chair. I thought she was going to faint. All my half-formed suspicions about the relationship between aunt and niece came into focus, and without stopping to think I said rudely, ‘If you’re talking about Konstanze, she hasn’t returned, and she isn’t about to. The dead don’t come back. Anyone who believes that rot is weak in the head.’
Miss Burton’s nostrils flared. ‘You said you believed!’
‘I said I was interested. I am willing to admit the possibility of contacting those who have passed beyond . . .’ That was an exaggeration, but I didn’t want to be excluded from the séance ‘. . . but ghosts, clanking chains in the halls? Ha, ha, ha.’
My laugh was a bit artificial, but it affected Irma as I hoped it would. A faint touch of colour came back to her cheeks, and for the first time since I’d met her she looked at me with something less than active dislike. I didn’t blame the girl for resenting me; to her, I represented the freedom and independence she conspicuously lacked. I didn’t resent her, even if she did have all the physical qualities I lacked. I felt sorry for her, and whether she cared for me or not, I wasn’t going to stand around and let the two witches bully her. Not with that kind of half-baked stupidity, anyhow.
Tony had also been studying Irma with concern. He chimed in. ‘I agree. I’m willing to go along with your theories up to a point, ladies, but let’s not get distracted by fairy tales.’
‘Do you call Konstanze’s portrait a fairy tale?’ The Gräfin had stopped grinning. She wasn’t used to back talk from inferiors, and it angered her.
‘These chance resemblances are fascinating, genetically,’ Tony said smoothly. ‘I remember once seeing a row of portraits in a French château. Two of the faces might have belonged to identical twins. But one man wore medieval armour, and the other the uniform of Napoleon’s Guards.’