She looked at him sideways, taking in the black clothes, the thin face and the still-brimming glass of sherry. Like hell you don’t, she thought.
‘I said good night to His Excellency as he went back to court, sir. And before you ask, there was no bandage on his wrist then. I’d have seen it as I helped him on with his overcoat. I go home at ten, and I always leave a little something out. Wine and nuts or the like.’ She felt her eyes fill with tears and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘Then I came in at six the next morning, as ever, to make sure the girl had the fires going. Poor child, she’d gone in and found him there on the bed, half-dressed and blue round the lips. I sent her for the doctor, but it was too late. He was cold. There were two glasses and the decanter by the bed — and the nuts, of course. Poor fellow.’
He waited and she found herself carrying on talking, just as if he was a priest and a friendly one. ‘Once the doctor had been I cleaned him up and took away the glasses. That’s when I noticed the bandage on his left wrist. He liked his under-shirts long in the arm. That’s why you couldn’t see it at first.’
‘Were there any other signs of … activity?’
She shook her head. ‘No, sir, and that was the other odd thing. He never usually … entertained in that room. That was the bed he shared with his wife, you see. He never … with other women there. Out of respect.’
She reached for the handkerchief again. By the time she had recovered herself it seemed Mr Crowther was ready to depart. She thought of the little owl fob and wondered if she should mention it. She also wondered if she had made too much of a fool of herself already with her talk and the sherry, but at that moment Mr Crowther happened to smile at her, and thank her for her hospitality.
‘There is just one other little thing, sir,’ she said.
‘Oh, that’s nice of you! To take trouble after a cousin you’ve never met.’ Mrs Valentin had no family of her own other than Gurt, so she saw a large one as a blessing. Michaels knew there was no point in pretending he hadn’t travelled here with Mrs Westerman, Graves and Crowther. It was only his reasons he twisted a little to help his current ends.
‘Your mother’s niece? You think she was here?’
‘Last word I had. And that I got by accident. My mother was no writer, nor her sister neither, but her girl Beatrice must have picked up some schooling. She sent a letter to my mother and that got held by the barmaid in the inn we used to live at. She’s a sweet old duck. Known me since I was all scabs and bones. I always go and visit when I’m in London, and when I was up selling horses there last year, she put it into my hands. Didn’t know what to do with it, truth to tell. Not much of an address on it, but when I heard of Mr Clode’s troubles and that Mrs Westerman and Mr Crowther were coming out, seemed like God giving me a push, you know.’
Mrs Valentin nodded sagely. ‘The ways of providence, Mr Michaels, the ways of providence …’
‘What’s she like, your Mrs Westerman?’ Gurt said, leaning forward. ‘I heard she shot a spy!’
‘Gurt …’ her mother said.
‘What, Mum? Peter said she had a look of a devil about her. He helped carry her luggage yesterday.’
Michaels looked at her. Her eyes were light blue, and some of her blonde hair had escaped from under her cap. She looked eager as a puppy. ‘Don’t think she shot a spy,’ he told her. ‘Helped catch some once, and shot another fellow up north. And if she did, I know she had good reason for it. She’s a good woman.’
‘And what of this Mr Crowther? He that cuts up dead bodies? Is he an alchemist too? I saw him going into Whistler’s place yesterday.’
‘Did you now?’ Michaels said, placing that snippet in his pocket like a windfall. ‘No, Mr Crowther don’t believe in magic. Whatever his business was there, wasn’t that.’
‘And this cousin of yours worked for old Whistler?’ Mrs Valentin asked politely.
‘Not sure as sure, ma’am. Just said she was working for a man used to be an apothecary. They told me at the palace about this place.’
‘There are two others, retired apothecaries still breathing in town. All made a fortune stirring up vats of powder and paint for the court. But I know them. Never had a girl in the house that could read. What age would she have, Mr Michaels?’
‘Born well after my mother left for England. No more than twenty-five now. I’d like to help her out if she can be found. I was still poor when my folks died. Be nice to do a bit of good if I can.’
‘And Mr Crowther? Does he cut up bodies with his sword-stick?’
‘No. Uses a special knife though. He brought it with him.’
Gurt shivered, delighted. ‘So I hear that maybe the lawyer didn’t do it. What do you say, Mr Michaels?’
‘I’d stake my life on it, Miss Valentin. That boy is innocent as you are.’
‘Lord, poor fella!’ Gurt said, her eyes wide.
‘Could it have been two years ago, Mr Michaels?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose that was when the letter must have been sent.’
‘There was a girl … Gurt, do you remember? Dark-haired little piece. Used to come and get a chop for Whistler every Saturday and charge it to his son. Had that dark blue dress I thought was just the colour for you. Wasn’t her name Beatrice?’
‘Oh, that it was!’ Gurt rolled her eyes. ‘What a little bitch she was!’
‘Gurt!’
‘I’m sorry, Mother, but she was so. And I’m sorry for you, Mr Michaels, if that’s your niece. You know, twice I saw her sweetheart a shilling out of one of the fellas to pay for her supper, then she’d charge it to Whistler’s account anyway and walk off with the coin in her pocket and her nose in the air. And the manners on her! She’d make the Empress herself, God rest her soul, look humble.’ Gurt widened her eyes and tilted her head a little to one side. ‘Honest, Mr Michaels, if that’s her, don’t pay her no mind. Sure we can find you another girl to spend your money on if you fancy it?’
Michaels suppressed a smile, though he noticed a definite cooling in the air, as if a draught had just come in from the angle where Mrs Valentin was sitting.
‘Sorry to hear that, miss. But I still have a duty to my poor mother. What became of her?’
Gurt crossed her arms and sat back in her chair looking sulky. ‘No notion, I’m sure. She was here through the spring and summer, then pouff! Gone away! I asked Whistler if he’d got sick of her and blown her up in one of his experiments. He looked at me as if I were stupid then ran away. But you might ask Simon. They seemed friendly. You’ll find him hammering for the blacksmith off Ludwig’s Platz. She took a coin or two off him, and he don’t part with them easy.’
‘Or there’s the son,’ Mrs Valentin continued. ‘Theo Kupfel. He sells ointments and perfumes on Karlstrasse, and pays them that wait on his father.’
Michaels got to his feet. ‘Thank you, ladies. You’ve been very kind to a stranger.’
IV.4
Michaels would probably have gone straight back to the palace to see Crowther and find out why their paths had crossed at Whistler’s door, except his way took him along Karlstrasse, so shrugging his shoulders he pushed open the door of the perfumers, and stood slightly stunned by the smell of rosewater, as it clanged to behind him.
It was a large shop, crammed with dainty-looking porcelain and glass jars in gleaming and glowing display cabinets. Three neat young women, gleaming and glowing too in their way, stood behind the counter, all engaged in what looked like intimate conversation with ladies whose elaborate hair and impractical costumes marked them out as nobility. There were a number of vitrined display cases on chests scattered about the room. He leaned over and examined the one nearest to him: silver-backed brushes and minuscule combs resting in velvet boxes, and to his left a display of snuffboxes, each one crowded with painted cherubs and chariots. His nose began to itch. There was a sign above the counter, the writing in gold leaf: Kupfel’s miracles for ladies and gentlemen. Elixirs of youth and vitality by appointment to the court.