Villa von Düchtel
1906
Our chat with Felix was pleasanter than I’d expected. I was beginning to understand Cécile’s insistence that he was more interesting than we’d originally suspected. I told her as much—in hushed tones—after she’d finished her game of bridge.
“Très, très intéressant,” she said. “Given that he’s not involved with Birgit, I shall give serious consideration to applying myself to providing for him the education I fear he is so sorely lacking.”
“What sort of education is that?” Colin asked, coming up behind me.
“The kind I shall never discuss with you, Monsieur Hargreaves, because I am confident you are in no need of such a thing.”
His eyebrows shot higher than the tumbled curls on his forehead. “I believe I understand your meaning.”
I believed I didn’t, but neither of them was paying me the slightest attention.
“Is that so?” Cécile asked. “I imagine your own tutelage was expert.”
“I shouldn’t have tolerated anything less.”
She tilted her head. “At Cambridge?”
“Where else?” He grinned. “Emily, darling, shall I fetch you more kirsch?”
“No, no, I’m, actually, er, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
When he was gone, I took Cécile by the arm. “What are the two of you talking about?”
“When you are older—decades older, when you achieve the status of at last being a woman of a certain age, I shall tell you, Kallista. Until then, it’s best that you remain ignorant.”
“It appears I’m not as ignorant as either of us would like.”
“Try not to think about it.” She paused and pursed her lips. “Or perhaps do think about it. You might find it unexpectedly titillating.”
“Now I’m well and truly at sea,” I said.
“What’s that?” Colin asked, returning with my kirsch.
“I’m teasing your wife,” Cécile said.
“So long as you’re not tormenting her.” His appearance was so charming, his features so perfect, that for a moment I was almost—almost—distracted.
“I’ve several questions for you,” I said.
“Ask him later, chérie. I want to hear more about your conversation with Monsieur Brinkmann.”
“Right.” Colin ran his hand through his thick hair. “We queried him as to why Sigrid was so intent on taking a sleigh ride with her husband. It seemed innocuous enough, but he would have no part of it. Told us if we wanted to know more, we should talk to the baroness.”
“I believe I know what you’re after,” she said. “I spoke with her just before dinner and she mentioned it. She’s not hidden the fact that Sigrid had very little capital, and that she and Herr Aller- spach relied on an allowance that she provided. Evidently, Sigrid had decided that they needed more, and had asked her to consider an increase. They discussed it before the party and Ursula decided to give the girl what she wanted.”
“And she decided she wouldn’t tell her husband until they were sequestered in a private sleigh?” Colin asked. My mind was too full of questions about tutelage to give the discussion my full attention.
“It seems Sigrid was not so sanguine about her husband’s affair as he would have us believe,” Cécile said. “She was not about to demand fidelity, but she planned to insist on more discretion.”
“Arranging to have Birgit here was beyond the pale,” Colin said.
“Indeed,” Cécile said. “Sigrid told Kaspar she had news about a change to their financial situation that she would share with him only if he took her out on the sleigh.”
Colin nodded. “To see the waterfall.”
“Precisely. It was a matter of control, you see. Sigrid was tired of feeling like she had none. Her husband avoided the conversation as long as he could, most likely because he thought their situation, or rather, his situation, was about to take a turn for the worse. Instead, he learned their allowance would be doubled so long as he started exercising more discretion.”
I heard the words, all of them, but hardly computed them. I couldn’t stop thinking about Cambridge.
“This makes it difficult to suspect Allerspach killed his wife,” Colin said. “If anything, he would’ve done all he could to keep her safe and improve his lifestyle.”
“Bien sûr,” Cécile said. “I asked Ursula why she didn’t tell me this sooner. She confessed it was because she felt it would prove his innocence. She’s never liked the man and now that her daughter has been violently murdered, she decided she wasn’t going to do anything to wholly exonerate him. She knew it would be wrong to stand by and see him hanged for a crime he hadn’t committed, but, on balance, thought it wouldn’t be too great a sin to make him squirm, at least until the police can get to the house.”
“She told us she didn’t believe he was guilty,” Colin said.
“Oui, mais that was only to ensure she did not take her scheme too far.”
“I can’t say it’s much of a shock to find evidence supporting his innocence, but I am surprised by the details.” Colin paused to stop a passing footman so he could refill Cécile’s champagne glass. “I wouldn’t have thought the baroness would be so generous with a man who clearly does not—did not—love her daughter.”
“Ah, Monsieur Hargreaves, in these matters she is almost française. Her expectations when it comes to marriage are realistic, not romantic. She knew her daughter was very nearly happy enough. By increasing her allowance, she would give her the control necessary to ensure her a life far more pleasant than Ursula ever had with her own husband.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Was there no love between them?”
Cécile shrugged. “It was an arrangement. That sort of thing rarely leads to anything but disappointment.”
“Emily, are you quite all right?” Colin asked. “You look rather discombobulated.”
“No, no,” I said, pulling myself back to the present. “It’s just that I find myself suddenly full of questions about your time at Cambridge.”
Before he could respond, Birgit clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. She announced we must persuade Max to play for us so that we might dance. We all objected. Such a jovial activity this soon after Sigrid’s death was inappropriate. There was no dancing, but, eventually, the relief of being freed from the suspicion of guilt flooded Ursula’s guests, and the evening proved the most relaxed we’d had since the murder.
“Cambridge?” I asked, when at last Colin and I returned to our room. “What exactly did you do there?”
“You know perfectly well I read Classics.”
“And you’ve nothing further to say on the matter?”
“If the Gods speak, they will surely use the language of the Greeks.”
“Isn’t that attributed to Cicero? You know I can’t abide the man,” I said.
“Catullus, then? Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti / in vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua. What a woman says to her ardent lover should be written in wind and running water.”
He gave me a kiss, fell into bed, and was asleep in practically no time. I did not rest so easily, unable to stop contemplating the full breadth of a Cambridge education.
The next morning, Colin and I, as planned, persuaded the others—Cécile, Kaspar, and Ursula excepted—that we ought to go skiing again. Max protested the most, insisting he was hopeless, that he hated sport, despised being cold, and could hardly stay upright in boots, let alone skis, but I refused to capitulate to him.
“You can’t possibly be worse than I am,” I said. “We’ll keep each other company while the others charge ahead. The views are magnificent and we ought to take advantage of them while we’re here.”
“I never thought I’d be jealous of Kaspar’s injury, but I am.” He oozed unhappiness, but eventually, in the face of my relentless insistence, agreed to come. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have pressured him—or anyone—to do something they objected to so strongly, but today, we needed to evaluate who were the best skiers among us.
We set off on the path behind the house, the one Colin had taken the day of the murder. The storm was starting to abate; there were moments I caught a glimpse of blue sky through the thick clouds. Much to my relief, the route was primarily flat. Even so, we hadn’t covered much ground before I found myself face down in the snow.
“You’ll get it,” Colin said, offering his hand to help me up.
“I’m utterly useless.”
“You’re not.” He brushed the snow off me. “Don’t try to be fast, focus on letting your muscles get used to the motion. Kick back with one foot and then let yourself glide. Repeat, over and over, until you’re either exhausted or you’ve reached the Austrian border.”
“The Austrian border?” I met his eyes. They were twinkling with pleasure and it infuriated me. “That’s not remotely amusing.”
He grinned. “That’s what you say today. If we’re trapped here long enough, you’ll have practiced so much that you’ll be as good as anyone in the world.” He swooshed off, but stopped when he reached Birgit. I could see he was giving her the same instructions.
I followed his direction and paid attention to how I moved. Eventually, I was able to gain a certain amount of confidence, at least on flat ground. Hills were another matter altogether.
“Are we permitted to take off our skis and walk?” Liesel asked, calling from the top of a relatively steep incline. In truth, it wasn’t steep in the least; but to me, it might as well have been Mount Everest. I lost my balance twice on the way down and sprawled at the bottom.
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” Birgit said, shooting me a look of disdain. She’d gone before me and had stayed on her feet the whole time. “If you can manage not to think about what you’re doing and let your legs feel the snow, it’s much easier.”
“I can’t even begin to understand what you mean,” Liesel said. “How will my legs feel the snow unless I fall in it?” She unstrapped her bindings, picked up her skis, hoisted them onto her shoulder, took her poles in the other hand, and gingerly inched her way down the slope.
Max came next. While I’d done my best to go as slowly as possible, he took the opposite strategy: barreling forward at breakneck speed. He remained upright almost to the end, but then fell not far from me. He pulled a flask from his coat pocket.
“I didn’t have faith that one of those rescue dogs would come in a timely fashion if we needed him, so I brought my own brandy. Would you care for some?”
I took a little swig, located my poles, and put my skis back on. My legs were aching.
“Perhaps now you see the wisdom of my trying to refuse the pleasure of this outing?” The words did not match his countenance. He was smiling, his hazel eyes dancing. He had a tendency to fade into the background, but he was better looking than I’d noticed before, and his temperament was kind and steady. I could understand why Sigrid loved him. However, I had also observed that he was a better skier than he’d let on. He hadn’t fallen until the bottom of the hill, and I wondered if that had been deliberate.
Colin, who’d gone ahead with Felix, doubled back to check on us.
“I do hope we’re not boring you to death,” Max said.
“We’re painfully slow,” Liesel said.
“You are.” Birgit crinkled her nose. “It’s not all that hard, especially not after getting your expert instruction, Herr Hargreaves. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Very little, Fräulein, very little.”
I knew he was being facetious; but Birgit, having no concept of sarcasm, took his words at face value.
“Capable and confident.” She bit her lip and looked up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “A most attractive combination.”
“That’s what my wife always says.” He turned back around, so far as I could tell, by using some sort of magic that enabled him to flip one ski in the opposite direction, placing it perfectly parallel to the other and then bringing that one around. It was an elegant maneuver when executed properly as he naturally had done. If I tried to implement it, I’d wind up more tangled than a Bavarian pretzel.
As we continued on, Birgit managed to keep up with my husband. He was moderating his speed so as not to leave her behind, but their pace was far quicker than that of Liesel, Max, and me. A snail would’ve found our progress distressingly lethargic. When we eventually caught up to them, it was only because they’d stopped and waited for us.
“Enough, I beg you, enough,” Max said as we approached. “Tell me we can turn around! I want glühwein and a roaring fire.”
“Yes,” Liesel agreed, “after a long bath.”
“I’ve no objection,” Colin said.
“Nor do I, so long as we race,” Felix said. “Just us gentlemen, of course. I’ll wager neither of you can best me.”
“What do we get if we do?” Max asked.
“If Hargreaves wins, I’ll force Kaspar to give him a dozen cigars. If you, by some miracle, snatch victory from me, I’ll arrange an introduction to the director of the Bayreuth Festival so that you might persuade him to allow you to audition for a seat in the orchestra.”
“You know the director at Bayreuth?” If Max’s eyes had gone any wider, they would’ve popped out of his head.
“He and my father were at school together.”
Max, a dedicated Wagnerian, couldn’t resist. He skied fluidly and fast. Not so fast as he would’ve liked—Colin ended the day with a box of cigars—but fast enough to cast doubt on Max’s claim of being a hopeless skier. He was more than capable of having reached the sleigh in plenty of time to fire the shot that killed Sigrid.