She despised him for his womanising, but he was her employer, and a very generous one at that. At her age it wouldn’t be easy to find another position, let alone one with such excellent pay. There was no other option but to do what he asked of her.
* * *
Jasper hummed along with the piano piece Beate Herziger was playing on the most beautiful instrument he had seen in a while. He had offered to turn the pages of the music for her, and standing beside her, he could fully appreciate how agilely her fingers moved across the keys and how well attuned her ear was to every note. She played with energy but also had the patience to give the slower bits a melancholic, timeless touch. All in all he couldn’t have heard better playing had he gone to a performance tonight.
The doorbell rang, and she missed a note, a grating dissonance in her wonderful playing. Colour rose in her cheeks and she missed again, fumbled through the next few bars and then quit altogether. Jasper applauded her with genuine enthusiasm. ‘I’ve rarely heard anyone play so well.’
‘Thank you.’ She half rose, then dropped herself back on the seat, her eyes on the door. She seemed eager to see who would step through it.
Her father had gone out an hour ago, so perhaps it was just someone calling for him on a business matter and hearing from the butler that he wasn’t available just now.
But no, the door opened and the butler announced, ‘Miss Violet Treemore…’
Beate Herziger rose with a quick intake of breath.
‘And companion.’ The butler bowed and retreated, letting the new arrivals enter the room.
Beate’s enthusiasm died and she looked cross for a moment, ready to pick up her sheet music and toss it to the floor. Then she forced a smile and went to the girl who lingered at the door, discomfort in her entire posture. ‘Violet! How nice of you to stop by. Do come in. Miss Phelps.’
Jasper recognised the woman in brown who had been with Violet at the museum. He nodded at her and she responded to his acknowledgement with a quick smile. She reminded him of his friend, Mrs Valentine, a capable nurse who knew how to blend into the background while she still had enough stamina to stand her ground if need be.
‘Violet, this is—’ Beate said, but Violet rushed forward and came for Jasper with an outstretched hand.
‘Inspector. I’m so glad to see you again. How are you?’
Confused by her sudden eagerness while she had run off that afternoon, he took her hand in his and squeezed gently. Her fingers were ice cold. ‘Miss Treemore, how do you do?’
Violet smiled at him and then turned her head to her companion as if to signal something to her. Miss Phelps said, ‘Miss Herziger, I have a pressing problem with one of the orchids under my care. I understand you have a conservatory here and cultivate the best flowers in the entire city. I would be obliged if I could see your conservatory and look at your plants to point out to you what the problem is so you may advise me how to best address it.’
Beate seemed torn between appreciation of the compliment to her orchids and puzzlement by this rather sudden and impolite request. Guests didn’t invite themselves into rooms other than the one in which they were received.
Especially not if they were servants.
A companion admittedly had a somewhat different position as she stood between the family and the domestic staff and was often invited to the dinner table or to parties along with the woman she worked for. Still, Miss Phelps’ behaviour right now was not entirely correct, something Jasper found at odds with her neat, inobtrusive appearance.
Beate led Miss Phelps out of the room and Violet grabbed Jasper’s hand anew. ‘You must hear me out. Please don’t tell me I’m talking nonsense. Perhaps I am. But you must hear the full story. It’s important.’
Jasper stared into her lively expression. ‘Your companion diverted Miss Herziger on purpose?’
‘Dear Iris. She would do anything for me really.’ Violet pursed her lips. ‘But she doesn’t see the danger. She is far too practical to believe in curses. And I don’t either, not really. But I do believe in murder.’
Jasper froze. He studied the girl before him. Earlier it had seemed to be a quiet uneventful evening but now the atmosphere in the room was alive with tension; it trembled in her passionate face, her narrow shoulders, her stance.
‘Murder?’ he repeated, not sure he was following along.
‘Yes. I think someone wants to murder my father.’
Jasper sucked in air. ‘Why do you think so?’
‘It might seem silly. Iris would say it is.’
‘Still, she took you here and agreed to divert Miss Herziger. She does believe in your… premonition?’
Violet laughed softly. ‘Not at all. She merely indulges me because she’s used to my whims as she calls them. She’s been with us ever since my mother died. That is seventeen years ago now.’ Her eyes took on a vacant look for a moment.
Jasper studied her through narrowed eyes. ‘Miss Phelps agreed to help you with this, but she doesn’t share your worries about your father?’
‘She thinks I’m exaggerating. That is…’ She nibbled her lip. ‘I haven’t told her everything I know.’
‘So she can’t really judge what the situation is?’ Jasper looked about him. The door was closed and there was no one around. He made an inviting gesture to the sofa. ‘Shall we sit down and talk about it?’
‘Yes. I’m so glad you do not dismiss it offhand.’
‘Why would I? You haven’t told me any facts yet.’
‘People think I’m overemotional. Always have done. As a child I was sensitive and easily frightened. There’s a half-collapsed chapel on our estate and I never wanted to go there. If someone took me, I started to scream and kick at them.’ She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I have no idea why I was so afraid of it. But I… I still dream about it.’
‘The chapel?’
‘Yes. Sometimes it collapses in front of my eyes and sometimes it burns. I don’t know why.’
Dreams. Hadn’t Herziger mentioned Freud and his book on the importance of those nightly imaginings for the understanding of the human mind?
Jasper sat down and watched her as she seated herself beside him, fidgeting with her dress. ‘But you are not here to speak to me about your dreams.’
‘No. Not solely.’
He blinked. ‘So dreams do play a part in it?’ First a curse, now dreams. His rational mind bucked at the idea of even listening to such nonsense. But she had come out here especially to see him and he had to be polite.
‘I’ve always had vivid dreams. I guess it’s because I’m so sensitive. I like to read books about faraway places, adventures, discovery of ancient temples and the like, and those affect me too. Iris, Miss Phelps, says I shouldn’t read them anymore. But I love reading. And my father brings me those books because he wants me to know about the world. He also takes me on his travels.’ She sounded proud, and indeed, if her father’s reputation was anything to go by, at her age she must have been to places of which Jasper only had a vague idea.
‘Did something you read make you afraid for your father?’ he probed. ‘Did you read about this curse allegedly attached to the golden death mask?’
‘Yes, of course I read the newspaper reports that the expedition was cursed. But my father said it was nonsense and indeed, nothing happened, apart from the accident which killed Mr Müller.’
She spoke of the accident freely, where Herziger had warned him not to refer to it, or even mention Müller’s name. He frowned. ‘Then why are you worried?’
She licked her lips. ‘I don’t know quite how to tell you.’
‘Come, Miss Treemore. You came here especially to see me. You conspired with your companion to lead our hostess away and have these private moments. You know exactly what you want to tell me. Now out with it.’
‘I think someone wants to murder my father… because that someone believes my father is himself a murderer.’
Jasper blinked. When he had prompted her to speak
, he hadn’t expected her to be so direct and put it so bluntly. He had expected a long and muddled tale he could do nothing with. Now this. Almost an outright accusation.
‘Do you know who that someone is?’
‘Yes.’ She looked down. ‘But I can’t do anything with that knowledge. My father wouldn’t believe it. I mean, he must have decided not to believe it or he wouldn’t ignore the threats.’
‘What threats?’ Jasper sat on the edge of the sofa. Where only moments earlier he had felt this was a rather pointless exercise, trying to speak with an overexcitable young lady, he was now in full sleuthing mood.
‘The letter my father got. He opened the mail at the breakfast table so I was able to see his response. He normally reads in silence, only humming when something isn’t to his liking. But he read this particular letter and crumpled it in a flash and shouted “what nonsense”, hitting the table with his fist so hard as to make the china rattle. He also cursed but I won’t repeat that. You can imagine what he said. I was quite overtaken as he’s normally never disturbed by anything. Even if people are unfair to him, he sooner laughs than gets angry. I asked what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me. He didn’t finish his breakfast but left the table with his mail and paced his study upstairs. I could hear him walking up and down, up and down, for an hour at least. Later, when he had gone out, I went into his study and looked in the wastepaper basket for the crumpled letter. I was worried he might have torn or burned it, but he hadn’t. I smoothed the paper so I could read what it said.’
‘And what did it say?’
She took a deep breath as if she had to steel herself. ‘“Karl Müller was murdered. The murderer will pay.”’
Jasper blinked to let the words sink in. ‘Karl Müller is the man who died when the burial chamber collapsed?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And someone believes it was no accident but murder, and threatens with revenge… But why would you believe your father is now in danger?’ He waited a moment. ‘The anonymous writer threatens Karl Müller’s killer. Do you think your father has—’
‘Of course not.’ Her cheeks turned red. ‘He didn’t do anything. But that is what that someone believes. Mistakenly. That’s why it is so sad. My father will die for something he didn’t do and that someone will go to prison for it. Oh, you must prevent it.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘I couldn’t believe my good fortune when I heard who you were. You must have been sent this way to save my father.’
Jasper wasn’t too sure. It didn’t feel like good fortune at all to get involved in yet another murder case. For Sir Peter might still be alive and well, but his former partner Karl Müller was very dead and the story that it had been an accident was something he couldn’t verify. After his experience in Venice this made him very uneasy.
Violet said, ‘All you have to do is keep an eye on my father during the opening. There will be so many people there and in a crowd it is easy to attack someone.’
‘I doubt that a killer wants to attack his victim in a crowd. The chances of being seen are substantial.’
‘I would feel better if you kept an eye on him.’
‘And this someone who sent the letter, do you have any idea who it is?’
‘Why would I?’ She sounded a bit startled.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Was there a name underneath? Initials? Any kind of clue as to who we are dealing with here?’
‘No. There was no name underneath or any identifying mark on the letter or the envelope. It was a plain crème coloured envelope. I looked at it from all sides but could detect nothing.’
‘Did you mention it to your father?’
‘Oh no. He would be so angry if he knew I had been inside his workroom and gone through his things. I’m not supposed to know anything.’
It sounded frustrating.
‘Your father obviously didn’t take it seriously.’
‘Because he is innocent and he thinks his innocence will protect him. But once people have something they strongly believe in, it starts to consume their every waking moment. The person who wrote the letter believes my father to be guilty and will act on this belief.’
Jasper couldn’t deny there was a chance of that. ‘I’m coming to the opening anyway,’ he found himself saying. ‘I can keep an eye out. But I am not here in any official capacity and I can’t guarantee—’
‘Thank you!’ She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck like a little girl. Then she straightened up and rose. ‘I must go now. Thank you so much.’
‘Wait. I never said that…’
But she was already at the door. She disappeared through it, apparently to look for her companion and take her home.
Jasper shook his head. What an odd girl. On the one hand sensible and mature enough to come here under a pretence and engage his help; on the other hand so carried away by her relief over his agreement that she had embraced him as if he were a dear family friend instead of a perfect stranger.
And what a fool he was for letting himself be talked into this. It could lead to nothing but trouble. He wanted to enjoy the opening, not walk about looking at everybody present wondering whether they carried a knife or pistol or other weapon to avenge themselves on Sir Peter for a death he had allegedly caused.
Still, his mind worked full force and he was already wondering how he could get more information on how Karl Müller had died. Had there been witnesses to the actual collapse of the burial chamber, or otherwise people who had arrived on the scene right after it had happened?
Where had Sir Peter been at that time?
Who else had been present at the site?
Yes, he wanted to know a lot more. Still, he realised how incredibly painful it would be to his host, Werner Herziger, if he involved himself in this matter. Herziger had offered Sir Peter the chance to exhibit his discoveries at Herziger’s museum. Their names were irrevocably linked. If any hint of a scandal got attached to Sir Peter, it would touch Herziger as well. His old friend didn’t deserve to become the object of malicious gossip or, even worse, of sensationalist newspaper reports, all because an old bloodhound couldn’t resist the urge to sniff out something dark.
Jasper shook his head with determination. He’d do what he had promised: keep an eye on Sir Peter during the opening. After that, he would leave the matter as it was. There was no need to look into Karl Müller’s death.
Unless, of course, someone did attack Sir Peter at the opening. Then there would be a case and…
No. He wasn’t allowing himself to even consider the possibility. He had to hope for Sir Peter, and especially for the worried Violet, that the opening would be peaceful and pleasant.
Chapter Five
Erneste Demain hurried into the room where the death mask was on display, and found his partner Sir Peter Treemore standing in front of the cabinet staring right into the mask’s face. For a moment Demain had the unsettling sensation that Sir Peter was looking at his mirror image, that he wanted to see himself in that face that had once belonged to a king, a master of lands and people. He was vain enough for it.
Demain cleared his throat and Sir Peter swung around. ‘Oh, I hadn’t expected you here.’
‘It’s my exhibition as well,’ Demain said with more venom than he had intended.
A smile pulled at Sir Peter’s lips. ‘Of course. You were there as well. Present when it all happened.’
The latter words seemed to carry an ominous meaning. Demain hesitated but now that they were touching the forbidden topic he might as well say it out loud. ‘Have you received a letter?’
‘A what?’
‘A letter. About Karl.’ He decided to keep it vague for the moment to gauge the other’s response.
Sir Peter turned red. ‘Karl? Why would anyone write to me about Karl?’
‘That his death was no accident.’
‘Those journalists really stop at nothing to get a story.’ Sir Peter’s cheeks got even darker. ‘To think we
have to entertain them here, let them drink champagne at our expense…’ He gestured wildly. ‘You talk to them. I have nothing to say.’
That was odd. Normally, Sir Peter craved attention. ‘Come, come. You are our hero. You cannot hide yourself away.’
Sir Peter’s eyes flashed as if he didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t bark back at him. Demain said, ‘So you got a letter as well?’ He needed to know, for sure, that someone else was also getting accused of the murder. That would muddy the waters.
Sir Peter said, ‘As a matter of fact, I did. And I even know who sent it.’
This revelation took Demain off guard. His jaw dropped, and he stammered, ‘You… you do?’
‘Yes. I’ve seen him lurking about.’
Demain wet his lips. ‘Someone is after us. We must protect ourselves.’
‘I don’t think he will do much harm. Anyone can understand that under the circumstances he wants to believe the worst. In fact, I even think he’s after money. Perhaps you can give him some?’
‘Money?’
‘Yes. To stop spreading such ridiculous accusations.’ Sir Peter’s eyes were cold. ‘They are ridiculous, aren’t they?’
Demain swallowed hard. ‘Of course. Not founded on any facts.’
‘As long as we agree on that…’ Sir Peter looked at the death mask again, a slow smile forming around his lips. ‘You can spare some money to avoid this risk.’
‘I have no idea who sent this letter so I cannot contact him. If you do know, you must take care of it.’ He wasn’t so stupid as to pay someone money which in hindsight might look like a bribe to get that someone to be silent about an incriminating truth.
Sir Peter said, ‘You should recognise him easily enough when he shows up here.’
‘Here? He’s coming? Did you invite him?’ Anger coursed through him that Sir Peter was taking a risk like that, inviting an enemy to their opening. ‘For the payoff?’
An Exhibition of Murder Page 4