The Star of Kazan

But even the girls who did not escape had suddenly gone mad. The sight of the headmistress enmeshed in the strings and splintered woodwork of the harp seemed to undo years of fear. Some of the girls, herded into the chapel to pray for the principal’s recovery, stood up and burst into a hymn of praise to God for smiting her. Olga slid down the banisters, whooping with joy, followed by her friends, and none of the teachers stopped them. In fact the day after the accident two of the teachers left suddenly, and the day after that, three more.

Perhaps it was the servants who did most to end the tyranny of Grossenfluss. They came out of the kitchens and gave out food to the girls who had been hungry for so long: loaves of bread were tossed into dormitories; bags of dried fruit were emptied into outstretched hands.

Then the police were called in, but for those wishing to restore the old order this was a mistake. The police had notes on the case of pupil 126. They had not been allowed to investigate the girl’s death properly; they had been told it was an accident and sent away, but they had not believed it. Now, with Fräulein von Donner out of the way, they took statements from the maids and from the pupils who were left. The old princess received a visit from a government minister. By the end of the week no one doubted that the school would have to close.

And all the time, Fräulein von Donner lay helplessly in her bed and raged. The pork chops poor Mademoiselle Vincent brought became smaller and more burnt; the corridors became increasingly empty. Only the sound of the carriages on the gravel as the parents came for their daughters broke the silence.

‘I can’t see anyone,’ Fräulein von Donner said as the days passed and the storm clouds gathered. ‘Don’t let anyone in. I’m too ill . . . I’m in pain.’

But there was one parent who took no notice of the principal’s bleats or the shooing-away movements of Mademoiselle Vincent. Frau Edeltraut von Tannenberg’s knock on the door was brief, she entered the room like a battleship with all flags flying – and behind her, his duelling scar throbbing with unease, came Oswald.

The news that Annika was missing from Grossenfluss was waiting for Edeltraut when she and Oswald returned from Switzerland. It caused them great distress.

‘We must get her back at once, Oswald. This could be very serious. If the Vienna people get hold of her we could be in trouble. I don’t think Annika went on believing that Zed took the trunk – if she should start asking questions again, or those wretched professors. The place is full of lawyers . . . and those ghastly Eggharts.’

‘I wonder how she did it,’ mused Oswald. ‘Got out, I mean. Grossenfluss is supposed to be like a fortress.’

‘It doesn’t matter how she did it,’ snapped Edeltraut. ‘She must be brought back and we must keep her close all the time. Remember how that jeweller looked at us in Switzerland? Not Zwingli, the other one. The one who said it was unusual for a child to sign away her rights like that.’

So now, storming into the principal’s room, she went on the attack at once.

‘Do I understand that my daughter – my daughter – whom I entrusted to your care, has run away?’

‘We don’t know if she has run away,’ said the headmistress. ‘She seemed very happy here and she was settling in well.’

‘Well, what do you suggest happened?’ demanded Frau von Tannenberg.

The principal lifted herself higher on her pillow. ‘We think she may have been kidnapped,’ she said. ‘Perhaps by someone who knew of the good fortune that has come to your family of late.’

‘What good fortune?’ said Edeltraut angrily. ‘I hope nobody has been gossiping about the affairs of Spittal. And in any case we would have received a ransom note and we have heard nothing. Nothing at all. We returned from Switzerland to get your letter and that was the first we heard that Annika was not safe and sound.’

She took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

‘What exactly happened?’ asked Oswald.

‘We would like to know precisely when she disappeared, and how,’ said Edeltraut. ‘Every detail of that tragic day.’

‘Well, it was the day of my accident. I was seriously injured, and needless to say the staff and the girls were very concerned. For a few hours they were running about, fetching doctors, carrying me to my room . . . nobody had time to think of anything else. I was very nearly killed.’

She waited for sympathy, but what came from Edeltraut was more in the nature of a snort.

‘How were you injured?’

‘A harp fell on me from the top of the stairs. A very large harp, a most dangerous instrument.’

‘A harp! How on earth—’

‘A woman came with a harp and said she was sent by the Duchess of Cerise to give a concert to the girls. But I became suspicious – I am always concerned with the safety of the girls – and sure enough she was an impostor. So I ran out to stop her . . .’