Villa von Düchtel
1906
Colin and I continued our discussion—our sadly fruitless discussion—while we dressed for dinner. By the time the gong sounded, I was attired in a slim, high-waisted gown of the finest ice blue silk decorated with silver lace around the cuffs and the plunging neckline. The color brought out my eyes. Diamonds and Kashmir sapphires mounted in platinum settings so delicate they looked more like lace than metal dangled from my ears. I handed my husband the box containing the matching necklace and bracelet so that he might assist me with the clasps.
“You’re glittering, my dear,” he said. “I hadn’t expected that at a mountain retreat.”
“I always like to have something violently fashionable on hand, just in case one finds oneself in company that requires it.”
“The baroness certainly doesn’t require any such thing. You’re still smarting from Birgit’s ill-mannered comment about your Greek key gown, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I despise myself for it. I ought not let her get to me.”
“She’s young and beautiful and frightfully insecure, which makes her vicious. And unbearable.”
“Beautiful? You think she’s beautiful?”
“It’s nothing more than a dispassionate observation,” he said, coming around to my front after securing the necklace. “Hold up your wrist. She dislikes you because you make her feel even more insignificant than she already does.”
“I’ve been nothing but kind to her.”
He fastened the bracelet. “You’ve been tolerant.”
“I’ve been—”
“Tolerant, and she deserves no more. You, my darling love, walk in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies, and when you speak, your intelligence shines brighter than all the diamonds mined since the beginning of time. She can never compete with that and she’s all too aware of it. She’s not entirely stupid. Vapid, yes, but smart enough to know she’ll never have your brilliance.” He placed one finger on my lips and fixed his dark eyes on mine. “She’ll never know love like that we share, because such a thing requires a partnership of equals.”
My breath stilled. I could hardly see. Hardly breathe. I knew if I did not extricate myself from his gaze, we’d never make it to dinner. With considerable effort, I stepped back and we headed downstairs.
Liesel, much improved after sleeping for several hours, joined us all at the table, but it was evident she was still not feeling well. The conversation was strangely inconsequential. No one addressed the gunshot at Neuschwanstein. Instead, there was discussion of the weather, an earthquake in Ecuador, and a figure skating competition in Switzerland. It was as if we’d never visited Ludwig’s castle. I was astonished. Dumbstruck. Unable to comprehend how such a monumental event could be willfully ignored. After a dessert of Bratäpfel—baked apples drenched in rum, butter, and a divine blend of spices—served with smooth vanilla custard and a sublime Eiswein, we retired to the music room for coffee. Birgit, dressed in a rose-colored gown so pale it was nearly white, sat at the piano and poked at the keys in what, so far as I could tell, was an entirely random manner, the sound incongruent with her perfect appearance. Her light hair, expertly styled, shone like a crown over her glowing, heart-shaped face, with its rosy cheeks and pouty lips.
“I’m bored beyond belief,” she said. “Max, come up here and play something so we can dance.”
“Dance?” Cécile nearly dropped the glass of champagne in her hand. “This is no time for dancing. Is no one going to address the extraordinary events of the day? It is, to me, incroyable that you all can act as if nothing happened.”
“What would you have us do?” Birgit asked. “Your detective friends have already interrogated us all and for what? So far as I can tell, they accomplished nothing except to make us feel like common criminals.”
“That was not our intent,” I said.
“No one’s interested in your intent, Lady Emily.” She spat the words.
Max replaced Birgit at the piano and started to play a Chopin étude softly, so that the notes sounded as if they were coming from somewhere far away. No one spoke, but the tension in the room pulsed so strongly it had a physical presence.
“Tomorrow might be a good day for ice skating,” Birgit said.
Sigrid narrowed her eyes. “I’d agree if there’s some way to ensure no one will attack my husband while he’s doing it.”
“No one wants to see him attacked.” Birgit’s voice went up an octave.
“Yet no one is discussing how to keep him safe,” Sigrid said.
Birgit huffed. “I don’t see you offering any suggestions.”
“How many times do I have to point out that no harm’s been done?” Kaspar said, his voice sluggish as he rose to his feet. “I—”
Before he could finish the sentence, there was a loud crash as he toppled over and fell onto the floor, his coffee cup shattering when it hit the edge of the mosaic table in front of where he’d been standing.
Birgit shrieked and collapsed in a faint. Assuming this was staged for effect, I ignored her and rushed to Kaspar. Sigrid was already kneeling next to him. He blinked his eyes and his head lolled. Then he turned onto his side and went limp.
“He’s dead.” The color drained from Sigrid’s face and she gulped back a sob.
I felt for a pulse in his neck. “He’s not dead. His heart’s still beating.” I shook him, but he was nonresponsive. “I think he’s asleep.”
“Asleep? Don’t be absurd,” Sigrid said. “No one falls asleep mid-sentence. We need a doctor.”
I walked over to Birgit and, as expected, found her spare container of smelling salts next to her. She didn’t stir. I picked them up, returned to Kaspar, and waved them under his nose. He startled, his eyes blinked rapidly, and he raised himself up on his elbows.
“What happened?” he asked, the words slurred.
“You’ve been the victim of a third attack,” Colin said. “This one more innocuous than the last but worrisome all the same.” He reached down for a piece of the broken porcelain. “My guess is that someone put laudanum in your cup. It’s long enough since you started to drink your coffee for it to have taken effect.”
“Someone send for a doctor,” Sigrid said.
Kaspar scowled. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m all right. Fatigued, but all right.” He tried to sit up, but struggled. “I’m getting tired of these pranks.”
“It’s time we face the possibility that they’re something more nefarious,” Colin said.
“There’s no need to get carried away,” Kaspar said. “Felix, mein Freund, are you behind all this? I’ve never meant you any ill will, but I’ve tormented you often enough in the past that I deserve whatever you decide to give me.”
“Me?” Felix grunted. “You’re frequently infuriating, but none of your pranks would induce me to shoot at you. Besides, I was standing right next to you when it happened. You might not be the sharpest of my acquaintances, but even you would notice if I were holding a gun.”
“You’re right on that count.” Kaspar’s head bobbed.
“Let’s get him up to bed so he can sleep,” Colin said. “He’ll be fine in the morning.”
“I’d prefer that he saw a doctor,” Sigrid said.
“Enough!” Kaspar raised his hand. It looked as if he was about to strike his wife, but instead, he brought it down hard upon his own leg. “I’m exhausted from the drug, but nothing more.”
“Perhaps we should all go to bed,” Ursula said. “Behind locked doors. I don’t like any of this.”
“You’re not suggesting we’re in danger, are you?” Birgit asked, miraculously sitting up without the aid of smelling salts.
“I’ve no idea what to think,” Ursula said, “but I don’t want any more accidents or pranks or badly executed attacks. Or public arguments.” She glared at her son-in-law.
Birgit’s eyes widened. “The next one might not be badly executed. I can only speak for myself, but I can’t get out of this house soon enough. The whole situation is unsettling. This is not the sort of house party I enjoy.”
“There are no trains at this time of night. We can discuss it further in the morning, when we’re all less on edge,” Ursula said. “Now, though, Kaspar needs his rest and the rest of us could stand some as well.” She rang for a footman and ordered him to clean up the mess, then held open the door and shooed us all out.
Felix helped his friend up the stairs. The rest of us followed, lagging behind, calling good night as we reached our rooms. No sooner had Colin closed our door, than a knock sounded. It was Felix.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, but I’m concerned about my friend. I believe the safest course of action is for me to sleep in the corridor outside his and Sigrid’s room.”
“That’s a reasonable enough precaution in the circumstances,” Colin said, ushering him in.
Felix shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was a large man, but not an oaf; the movement might not have been graceful, but it was forceful and strong. He laid a hand on Colin’s arm. “Does that mean you think someone is trying to kill him? I confess I’d come here hoping you’d tell me I’m overreacting.”
“The actions taken against Allerspach have caused no significant harm,” Colin said. “That may indicate that the perpetrator has no intention of escalating things, but we have no way of knowing for sure. I never object to measured caution.”
“I hardly know what to think.” Felix crossed his legs and pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Anyone half capable could’ve killed him today with that shot.”
“Or put poison instead of laudanum in his coffee,” I said. “You told me this afternoon you couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to harm him. Do you still feel that way now?”
He shook his head and sat down. “I’ve been mulling it over, and there’s only one possibility that merits any credence, but it’s too outrageous.”
“It’s better to say it than not.” Colin was leaning against the wall between two windows.
Felix tipped his head back until it hit the top of the chair. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. He sighed. He returned his hands to his pockets. “The baroness. She’s never liked him and thinks her daughter could do better elsewhere. Always did. She’s a bit of a snob, you know, with her art collection and her new villa, designed by a lauded architect in the latest style. The ordinary has never been good enough for her, and ordinary is exactly what Kaspar is. He may be a superior athlete, but that’s not something she values.”
“Does Sigrid agree that she could do better?” I asked.
“If she did, I don’t believe she would’ve married him,” Felix said. “They adored each other in the beginning. The attraction was instantaneous. But…” He sighed again.
“Violent fires soon burn out themselves,” I said.
“Precisely. You’ve a way with words, Lady Emily.”
“All credit goes to Shakespeare.”
“The baroness not only views Kaspar as inferior to her daughter, she also can’t bear the thought of him having access to Sigrid’s money,” he said. “It’s no fortune, mind you. The girl has hardly any capital; they rely on an allowance from her mother. But when the baroness dies, the inheritance will be significant. I’ve no doubt she would be delighted if he could be removed from her daughter’s life before it’s too late.”
“It takes no leap of imagination to accept the logic of your conclusions, but how do they tie into what’s happened?” Colin asked, crossing his arms. “Do you suggest she’s tormenting Kaspar in the hope that it will inspire him to leave his marriage of his own accord? I don’t find that credible.”
“Nor would I, if that’s all it was,” Felix said. “But what if this is only the beginning of her scheme? What if she continues her campaign of harassment until he’s half-mad with anxiety? No one can go on unaffected endlessly when there are constant attempts on his life.”
“What would her goal be?” I asked.
“To drive him to suicide.”
“It doesn’t seem a reliable method of getting what she wants, assuming that is what she wants,” Colin said.
“Kaspar has struggled with melancholy in the past,” Felix said. “It’s been years since he had an episode, but it could always happen again. That makes him more vulnerable.”
“The baroness is aware of this?” Colin asked.
“She is. She paid for his treatment last time. I’m not claiming it’s the most sound of theories, just that it’s something you should consider. Attempting to exploit his weakness may not be an efficient way of eliminating him, but would keep her from having to get her hands dirty.”
“I still think it’s unlikely, but we shall keep it in mind,” Colin said.
“That’s all I can ask. If you need me, I’ll be sitting against Kaspar’s door. No one can get past me. That will keep him safe overnight.”
I’d listened to everything he said about Ursula, but something wouldn’t stop nagging at me. Kaspar might be safe for the night, so long as his attacker was coming from the outside. The same would not be true if the person wanting rid of him wasn’t his mother-in-law but his wife. It’s often those closest to us who prove the most dangerous.