The prettiest of the young women standing behind the counter gave him a long look, and rang a tiny little bell by her side. Michaels felt as if he were the bear from his own inn sign, ungainly and unsure on his two hind legs.
A door to the back of the shop opened and a man, probably some years younger than Michaels, appeared. He was very thin and pale. His hair was pulled up off his head at such an unnatural angle it must have been stiffened with sugar water, and he wore his breeches so tight, to take a seat must be impossible.
‘Can I help you?’
Michaels was briefly distracted by the thought of breaking off a portion of that reddish quiff and eating it like barley sugar.
‘I said, can I help you?’
Michaels dragged his eyes to the man’s face. ‘I want to ask you something concerning your father. If you are Theo Kupfel, that is.’
The man gave a dramatic sigh and exchanged sad and weary smiles with his shop girls. ‘What has he done now? More explosions?’
Michaels shrugged. ‘No, nothing that I know of. Thing is, there was a girl working for him a couple of years ago who I think might be a niece of mine. Dark hair. Pretty. Goes by the name of Beatrice.’
‘Apologies! No idea! I must have hired a hundred girls to try and look after my father, and most of them can’t take his manners for more than a fortnight. So sorry, bye bye, off you go!’ He made a little shooing gesture.
Michaels wandered over to the counter. ‘I’m in no hurry, son. She stayed a fair while longer than that. I’ll just have a look around until you’ve had a chance to think.’
He stuck his finger into one of the pots and lifted it to his nose. It made him sneeze. A bell jangled and a woman in red silk opened the door. Michaels smiled broadly at her. She retreated. The women already in the shop began to cast slightly nervous glances at him while their servers waved coloured powders at them like matadors trying to attract the attention of a bull.
‘Very well,’ Kupfel said sharply. ‘I shall tell you what I can remember. Out the back, if you please.’
Michaels followed him and noticed one of the shop girls shaking her head sympathetically as he went.
Michaels sat down on one of Kupfel Junior’s spindly little chairs rather more heavily than he needed to, and was glad to see its owner wince. He leaned up against his desk and folded his arms across his narrow chest.
‘Beatrice? It does ring a bell — she lasted a few months, now I think of it. Though I can’t tell you much about her. And we’re very, very busy with the wedding around the corner. Everyone wants to look their absolute best for the arrival of the new Duchess.’
Michaels shifted his weight from side to side on the chair and grinned as if childishly amused by the little squeaking noise it made. ‘Very well!’ the perfumer almost screeched. ‘If you can just stay still while I think.’
The squeaking stopped.
‘She was prettyish, I suppose, for a common girl. That black hair. I even offered her employment in the shop, as I was a little short-handed, but for some reason she preferred to go to my father.’
‘He had no one at that time?’
‘His last girl gave notice the day before Beatrice arrived at my shop. Said she had come into some money and meant to go and marry on it, but that she had a cousin willing to take the place. That was Beatrice.’
Any thoughts on the convenience of the arrangement, Michaels kept to himself.
‘And you had no complaints of her?’
He shrugged his shoulders and Michaels noticed they were padded. ‘None. Then she was gone and gave me no notice. First I knew of it was my father turning up at the shop demanding to know where his dinner was. I suppose I would have owed her wages for the last month, but she made no effort to collect them.’
‘That not strike you as unusual?’
‘Young girls can be flighty.’
‘See much of your father, do you?’ Michaels asked, looking about him.
‘Our relations are a little strained. Not surprising, given his eccentricities. I took what he taught me of his arts and have created the best cosmetics in Europe. Do you have a wife? I have a skin cream that will make her look as fresh as she did on the morning of your marriage! I can create scents to charm a hermit from his cave, rouge that looks as natural as the blush on a rose. I make the world a better place and he despises me for it. He thinks himself superior because all he has become is scarred and poor, while I am rich.’
He tossed his head and Michaels stood up. The man looked as if he were made of china, his pointed little chin aiming at the air, his ridiculous quiff. This is what has come of his father’s lifetime of work then, he thought. Money enough to stuff a man’s shoulders with horsehair.
‘He taught you then?’
‘Not as such. I never spent enough time curled up over his damned books to be thought worth teaching. But I watched in my youth and that’s how I learned. He talks to himself as he tends his furnace.’
‘Thank you. But I like the way my wife looks right now.’ Michaels turned towards the door. Kupfel stood holding out his hand.
‘Perhaps if you could leave by the back way? We wouldn’t want you to have another sneezing fit, now would we?’
IV.5
Crowther had not yet returned to the palace, and Rachel and Graves had once more headed up towards Castle Grenzhow. Harriet tried to read, briefly, and considered to whom she should write, and what she could or should say, then picked up her cloak once more and headed for the gardens. Her footsteps took her towards the automata-makers. Her theft of the file was not mentioned. News of the demonstration of the mask had drifted up the hill towards them too.
‘I had thought there was an agreement to not let that news out,’ she said, accepting a glass of tea from Sami.
‘Mr Manzerotti is a keen collector of works such as ours,’ Adnan said. ‘He knows we are friends of Mrs Clode’s and while examining our wares let a few details slip. We of course gave him a very reasonable price.’
‘What did he buy?’
‘The caged songbirds.’
‘Naturally.’ Harriet thought of Manzerotti and wondered whom he was working for now. The King of Prussia? Why not. He was a powerful man who would of course be interested in a state such as this, squeezed in between the kingdoms of Austria and France. She tried, as she watched Adnan work, to think like a King. To have Maulberg strong must be to his advantage. If Austria were to absorb it, Prussia must feel threatened, but if Prussia were to try and claim it overtly, then Austria would protest. Poor Maulberg, she thought, all these great powers grouped round it, watching each other, laying a claim for influence. Then these Masons with a revolutionary bent. Did they exist? And if they did and did manage to destabilise Maulberg, didn’t they realise they would be swept away in the flood as France, Austria and Prussia tried to rush into the gap. She sighed.
‘Mr Al-Said, explain this marriage to me.’
Adnan set his file to one side. ‘Mrs Westerman, I am a Turk and a commoner. Why do you believe I can tell you anything of the matter?’
Harriet picked up one of the brass keys in front of her and spun it between her fingertips. ‘For just that reason. You and Mr Sami have been here nearly two years, but you have observed, not been drawn into it all. How did you come here?’
‘We knew that the Duke liked to spend generously on items such as ours. We had hoped to tempt Count Frenzel too.’ Adnan blew the fine metal shavings away from the brass disc on which he worked. They glimmered. ‘He once had a reputation for buying works such as ours, but as far as we know, he has not bought anything from us yet.’
Harriet lifted up the key and smiled with artificial brightness. ‘What makes this place tick?’
‘Same as any court. Gossip. Intrigue. Alliance. Influence. Power,’ Adnan replied.