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“I’ll ask William to go to Vienna,” she said again.
He was about to speak when they both heard the constable’s footsteps loud and sharp along the corridor. There was no time for anything except the briefest of good-byes before she was escorted out and back up the steps to the entrance, gulping in the tainted air of the street, the sunlight and the everyday noises of horses and wheels and people shouting and jostling, exactly as if life were as always.
She found her carriage and gave orders to go straight to Monk’s house in Grafton Street.
She found him in, as she had expected. It was still only early afternoon, and they had no plan to follow yet, no ideas to pursue.
Again she did not pretend to the usual courtesies. As soon as the door was closed she began. “I can think of nothing we can do except pursue Max Niemann,” she told Monk and Hester. “Kristian says he is certain Niemann could not be guilty, but I think that is loyalty speaking rather than realism.” She ignored the sudden widening of Monk’s eyes. “It seems from the evidence that Mrs. Beck was bored and hungering for excitement such as she had known in the past,” she continued relentlessly. “Perhaps she was remembering her days in Vienna with regret compared with the present. Niemann turns up in London, still in love with her, remembering her as she was.” She took a deep breath, avoiding Monk’s eyes, and Hester’s also. “She may have led him to suppose she returned his feelings, and then realized what she was doing and changed her mind. We will probably never know what was said, or quite what emotions drew him. People in love can do things they would be incapable of in other circumstances.”
What an idiotically facile understatement. She dared not even guess what lunacy she herself could commit. Friends of a lifetime would think she had lost her wits, and probably they would be right.
“He will have gone back to Vienna now,” Monk was saying reasonably. Was that pity in his voice?
It stung her. She felt peculiarly naked in his gaze, which saw so much. His own vulnerability had made him attuned to the weaknesses of others, even those he cared for, and on whose grief or foolishness he would rather not have trespassed.
“I assumed he had,” she said crisply. “If not, then I have very little idea where to look for him. Also I know of no one in London, except for Kristian, who will hear no ill of him, who can tell us anything of what manner of man he is.”
“Vienna?” Hester said in surprise, looking from Callandra to Monk.
“Can you think of anything better?” Callandra asked. She sounded more defiant than she had intended, but she did not apologize.
“I don’t know Vienna,” Monk said hesitantly. “And I have no German at all.” He gave a slight, embarrassed shrug. “I should be no use. Perhaps I could find someone who would?”
“I need a detective, not an errand boy!” Callandra said, fear eating away at her self-control. “If we don’t succeed, Kristian could hang.” She had put it into words at last. Only anger gave her any semblance of dignity.
“I’ll find someone to translate for me,” he said with sudden gentleness. “And to guide me around the city. Perhaps the British Embassy can help. I’m perfectly happy to lie to them. Kristian is not British, but Elissa was, and Pendreigh’s name might help. From what you say, he has friends in powerful places.”
The relief in Callandra was visible, like color returning. “Yes. . I’ll write letters. There’s bound to be someone who can spare the time to go with you. You’ll have to be discreet about considering an Austrian subject possibly responsible for murder.” Her face darkened again. “I don’t know how you will be able to bring him back to London. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, if you could show that he is guilty-or even that it is extremely likely. .” She stopped. They all knew that an acquittal for lack of proof would ruin Kristian. He would be free, but only physically. Emotionally, he would be imprisoned in suspicion for the rest of his life. It was a mark of how desperate they were that they even considered it.
Hester glanced at Callandra and then away again. Monk saw her do it, and knew how intrusive and helpless she felt. And yet he had racked his mind over what they might do, even the most ridiculous things, and nothing was better than this.
“I’ll go as soon as I’ve spoken to Kristian and you’ve written some letters of introduction for me,” he promised. “And if Pendreigh knows anyone, you are right, it might help.”
“You’ll ask about Niemann, his character, his reputation, especially with women, won’t you?” Callandra urged. “Someone is bound to know if he had a temper, if he was obsessive about Elissa. There may be stories about the past that someone will know.” Her voice was gathering speed, a semblance of conviction in her face. “If he really loved her all that time, as Kristian says, then his closest friends will be aware of it. You’ll have to be careful, of course. They won’t want to believe ill of him, and certainly not to-”
“Callandra!” he interrupted her. “I know what is necessary. I’ll do all that. I’ll even bring people back to testify, if I find anything worth telling the
court. I promise.”
She colored very faintly, but she was not ashamed. The slight treading on someone else’s feelings was not even noticeable, far less did it matter. She could think of only one thing-proving that Kristian could be innocent. “I’m sorry,” she said briefly. “I wish I were coming with you, but someone must be here, apart from Pendreigh, to see to all that must be done.” She did not add “and to pay,” but they all knew it was so.
“It is very well you are not,” Monk said crisply. “I don’t need my elbow jogged every time I open my mouth.”
She gave him a sharp look, but there was a vestige of the old humor in it, which was what he had intended to draw from her, even though he meant every word of the remark.
They parted, Hester to make enquiries as to the best way to travel to Vienna and, with money from Callandra, to make the necessary bookings. Monk himself went to see Kristian and ask for as much guidance as he could obtain, and Callandra left to see Pendreigh and secure all the assistance he could offer.
It was now late afternoon and the fog was returning, but she was perfectly prepared to wait for him as long as necessary.
She was received by the footman with civility and told with exaggerated patience that Mr. Pendreigh was unable to receive her without an appointment. He was engaged on a case of great importance and could not be interrupted.
Callandra forced herself to be courteous, putting a smile on her face which felt like something painted on a mask. “Naturally. However, if you give him a note, which I will write, if you are good enough to lend me a pen and paper, I believe that he will wish to make time for me.”
“Madam. .”
“Are you empowered to make family decisions for Mr. Pendreigh?” she asked, her politeness suddenly icy.
“Well. .”
