The Star of Kazan

The west side of the square was taken up by a church named after St Florian, who was the patron saint of fire engines. It was a pretty church with a grassy graveyard where wild flowers had seeded themselves, and on the opposite side to the church was a row of chestnut trees in iron corsets, which sheltered the square from the bustle of the street that led into the centre of the town. There was also a small bookshop on one corner, and a cafe with a striped awning on the other, so really the square had everything a person could need.

The house the professors lived in was in the middle of the row. It was the largest and the nicest and had a wrought-iron balcony on the first floor and window boxes and a door knocker shaped like the head of an owl.

Professor Julius was the oldest. He had a pointed grey beard and was tall and serious. Once many years ago he had very nearly got married, but the bride he had chosen had died a week before her wedding day, and since then Professor Julius had become solemn and stern. He was a scientist – a geologist – and lectured in the university, where he told the students about fluorspar and granite and how to hit rocks with a hammer so that they did not get splinters in their eyes.

His brother, Professor Emil, was quite different. He was small and round and had almost no hair, and when he went upstairs he wheezed a little, but he was a cheerful man. His subject was art history and he could tell just by looking at the toes of a painted angel whether the picture was by Tintoretto or by Titian.

The third professor was a woman, their sister and the youngest of the three. Her name was Gertrude and what she knew about was music. She gave lectures on harmony and counterpoint and she played the harp in the City Orchestra. Having a harp is rather like having a large and wayward child who has to be carried about and kept from draughts and helped into carriages, and Professor Gertrude – like many harpists – often looked worried and dismayed.

Needless to say, none of the three had ever in their lives boiled an egg or washed a pair of socks or made their beds, and when Ellie and Sigrid had their day off they always left a cold lunch laid out. But by evening, the professors needed help again. Professor Julius had a whisky and soda brought to his room to help him sleep; Professor Emil, who had a delicate stomach, needed a glass of warm milk and honey; and Professor Gertrude suffered from cold feet and always had a hot-water bottle brought to her before she got between the sheets. So now they waited for their servants to return. Sigrid and Ellie were always back by nine o’clock – but not today.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Professor Julius, putting his head round the door of his room.

‘I suppose we had better go down and investigate,’ said his brother.

So they made their way downstairs, past the drawing room and the library, to the thick green-baize-covered door that separated the house from the kitchen.

Carefully they opened it. The wooden table was scrubbed white, the fender was polished, the stove had stayed alight.

But where were Ellie and Sigrid?

And where were the whisky and the warm milk and the hot-water bottle?

Just at this moment the back door was opened and the two women came in. Sigrid’s hat was crooked, Ellie’s hair was coming down – and she carried something in her arms.

Silence fell.

‘What . . . is . . . that?’ enquired Professor Julius, pointing his long finger at the bundle.

‘It’s a baby, sir. We found her in a church; she’d been left,’ said Sigrid.

‘We tried to take her to the nuns,’ said Ellie, ‘but they were in quarantine for typhus.’

The baby turned its head and snuffled. Professor Emil looked at it in amazement. He was used to pictures of the baby Jesus lying stiff and silent in his mother’s arms, but this was different.

‘It’s absolutely out of the question that we should allow a baby to stay in this house,’ said Professor Julius. ‘Even for a day.’

Professor Emil nodded. ‘The noise . . .’

‘The disturbance,’ said Professor Gertrude. ‘Not to mention what happens to them . . . at the far end.’

‘It would only be till the quarantine is over,’ said Ellie. ‘A few weeks . . .’

Professor Julius shook his head. ‘Certainly not. I forbid it.’

‘Very well, sir,’ said Ellie listlessly. ‘We’ll take her to the police station in the morning. They’ll have somewhere to put unwanted babies.’

‘The police station?’ said Professor Emil.

The child stirred and opened her eyes. Then she did that thing that even tiny babies do. She looked.

‘Good heavens!’ said Professor Julius.

It was not the look of somebody who belonged in a police station along with criminals and drunks.

Professor Julius cleared his throat.

‘She must be kept out of our sight. Absolutely,’ he said.

‘She must make no sound,’ said Emil.

‘Our work must not be disturbed even for a minute,’ said Gertrude.

‘And the day the quarantine is over she goes to the convent. Now where is my whisky?’

‘And my warm milk?’

‘And my hot-water bottle?’