HS02 - Days of Atonement Read Online Free Page A

reason. He was interested in details.’
    I was speechless.
    If I had deceived myself into thinking that no correspondence between Kant and Lavedrine concerning the question of murder could possibly exist, I was now obliged to accept that it did. Lavedrine suggested that they had been in touch in 1793. That year I had made a pilgrimage to Königsberg. That year I had sought the philosopher out, confessing my tangled feelings as I watched my brother die, unwilling and unable to save him. Was Professor Kant thinking of me when he spoke of motives which might lead to the death of a loved one? Had he asked this ‘scientist of crime’ to explain
my
unnatural behaviour?
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the voice of Count Dittersdorf thundered, ‘the moment has arrived for us to sample the first pressing of this season’s cider!’
    All those who were ‘in the know’ expressed their enthusiasm. The newcomers, many of whom had never tasted Prussian cider, were curious, carefully watching every move that Count Dittersdorf made, as he stirred the contents of a huge silver salver, then served out a helping of this nectar, which gave off a smoky vapour as it settled heavily in the waiting cut-crystal goblets, and was handed out to the assembled guests. Everyone turned excitedly to his or her neighbour, commenting on the fine colour ofthe liquid, and the delicious aroma that began to settle like a perfumed cloud over the long table.
    When Dittersdorf held up his glass, inviting us all to drink to the Fruits of Autumn, a second cry went up, and I believe that it was first heard from the lips of my wife: ‘Long live dear Count Aldebrand!’
    As I drank to both these toasts, looking around the table, intent on sharing my appreciation of the cider with the other guests, my eye settled on Colonel Lavedrine. He was staring at me, oblivious to the feast.
    ‘I hope that we will have the opportunity to speak further,’ he murmured, taking a brimming jug of cider which the waiter brought to our end of the table. ‘More cider, Herr Stiffeniis? Hold up your glass, Henri! And for you,
madame?
’
    Helena thanked him graciously, but a vein was pulsing nervously in her temple.
    We rose from the table shortly afterwards, the faces of the men inflamed by the final glass of Bischoff’s cordial that our host had pressed upon us to ward off the cold. The Dittersdorfs took their customary places by the door to thank their guests, an air of satisfaction clearly stamped on Count Aldebrand’s large face. His habitual expression of stern severity had been replaced by a milder one. He appeared to consider the evening a sort of personal triumph, as if the ‘reconciliation’ of Lotingen were no longer just a hope, but a fact. I prayed to God that he was correct, only too well aware that the rebels of our own defeated forces had not been invited to the feast. They were still capable of causing untold damage.
    ‘Thank heavens no blood was spilled,’ I heard him whisper to Helena as he bowed to kiss her gloved hand.
    She turned to say goodbye to the Countess, who seemed more evidently relieved that the evening was over, and that nothing worse had come of it. ‘Sometimes the fact that we speak our different languages is a blessing in disguise,’ our hostess said with a nervous smile.
    ‘Your guests may have exchanged pleasantries in each other’s tongue this evening, ma’am,’ Helena replied, as she buckled her mantle, ‘but what they may have said between themselves, or thought in private, is anybody’s guess.’
    From the tone of her voice I realised that she was frightened by something.
    ‘Procurator Stiffeniis, may I wish you a good evening?’
    The voice was low, hardly audible above the general clamour, but I knew who it belonged to before I turned around.
    ‘Colonel Lavedrine, you may, indeed,’ I replied with a smile that was as cordial as I was able to manage.
    ‘Frau Stiffeniis, my most sincere compliments,’ he continued, placing