Death And The Maiden

39

Rheinhardt walked under an archway and found himself in a small empty courtyard. The building was old and crumbling — but not unclean: an able demonstration by the residents that squalor need not be an inevitable consequence of poverty. There was none of the usual rubbish which typically cluttered the entrance of such dwellings, no broken carts, rusting metal or fallen masonry. A broom, standing by a water pump, was clearly used to sweep mud from the cobbles with some regularity.

The first door Rheinhardt examined proved to be the address he was looking for. He noticed a mezuzah, a small receptacle containing holy words on parchment and attached to the painted frame. Its presence identified the household as Jewish. Glancing along the other doors, Rheinhardt saw that all but one of the occupants were similarly observant. A quivering curtain presaged the appearance of an inquisitive face behind the window and Rheinhardt indicated that he wished to enter. Seconds later the door opened, revealing a diminutive woman in a colourful embroidered dress and white blouse. She was middle-aged, with brown hair and a swarthy complexion. Her cheeks were wide and the flesh beneath her eyes had begun to mottle and sag.

‘Yes?’

‘Frau Gardosh?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Rheinhardt. I am a detective from the security office.’ Frau Gardosh pursed her lips and attempted — unsuccessfully — to conceal her trepidation. ‘May I come in?’

‘What’s it about?’

‘I need to ask you some questions.’

‘But it isn’t very convenient. I’m …’ She hesitated before going on, ‘I’m looking after a friend. She isn’t very well.’

‘I won’t keep you long.’

‘But she needs my constant attention.’

‘Frau Gardosh,’ said Rheinhardt impatiently. ‘If you are trying to keep me out of your home because you fear that I will discover the nature of your business, then I must ask you to desist. I have already been informed.’

‘Business … I don’t run a business.’

‘You are an angel maker,’ said Rheinhardt, with heavy emphasis. He saw that Frau Gardosh was about to deny the allegation and swiftly added, ‘Orsola Salak told me.’

At the mention of Salak’s name the woman’s expression changed. It was as though she had been slapped round the face.

‘Orsola Salak told you?’ Her voice was weak with disbelief.

‘I have not come here to arrest you. I only want to ask you some questions about one of your … clients.’Frau Gardosh remained silent. ‘Of course, should you refuse to cooperate …’ He allowed the implied threat to register before adding, ‘May I come in now?’ Frau Gardosh consented and ushered him into her parlour. ‘Would you like to check that your ailing friend is comfortable before we begin?’ asked Rheinhardt. Gardosh raised her hand and touched her lips. Her body swayed backwards and forwards, pulled this way and that by the conflicting currents of her own indecision.

‘Forgive me, Inspector … but-’

Disinclined to prolong her misery, Rheinhardt said, ‘I see. There is no friend. It doesn’t matter. Shall we sit? Good.’ His clipped delivery did not permit the woman to dwell on her shame. ‘If I might suggest you come a little closer. Thank you. Do you live here on your own, Frau Gardosh?’

‘Yes. My husband died many years ago, soon after we came to Vienna.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any children?’

‘Two sons.’

‘And where are they?’

‘One is apprenticed to a carpenter in Hernals. The other is in the army.’

Rheinhardt took out his notebook.

‘Tell me, how long have you been assisting young women in difficulty?’

‘It was hard, Inspector, without a husband and with two hungry boys to feed.’

‘Yes, I can imagine.’

‘And they’re not always so young, the ones who come here. Older women can make mistakes too.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Inspector …’

‘Yes?’

‘Why aren’t you going to arrest me?’

‘I promised Orsola Salak that I wouldn’t.’

‘And you intend to keep that promise?’

‘I do.’

Frau Gardosh was clearly suspicious of Rheinhardt’s casual dereliction of duty. Her wrinkled brow suggested that she wanted a more substantive reason to believe him. Rheinhardt was happy to oblige. ‘And there is the matter of your religion.’

‘What of it?’

‘I am not eager to further the cause of certain parties unsympathetic to your people. If I arrest you, elements of the press will make much of a Jewish angel maker.’

‘Why should you care about that?’

‘There is an election coming. Things are bad enough as it is. I don’t want to give the belligerents another excuse to march into Leopoldstadt.’ He ventured a self-congratulatory smile. ‘Good police work isn’t just about arresting people.’

Frau Gardosh considered the point. A subtle movement of her head suggested that she found it plausible enough, although a residue of scepticism continued to corrugate her brow.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘In the spring,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘Orsola Salak sent a woman to you. Her name was Ida Rosenkrantz. Do you remember her?’

‘Yes, of course I remember her. She was an opera singer, a famous one, too.’

‘Unfortunately, she died recently. Did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘It was in all the newspapers.’

‘I don’t read them. It’s been years since I last sat in a coffee house.’

‘Can you remember the date when she came to see you?’

‘No, not exactly.’

‘Then approximately?’

Frau Gardosh paused to think. ‘Late March, early April … perhaps. She was very young. How did she die?’

‘An accident. How many months pregnant was she?’

‘She came to see me as soon as she realised. It was very early.’

‘How did she present? Was she sad, relieved, tearful?’

‘They’re all sad, Inspector, the women who come to me for help.’

‘Then how did she compare?’

‘She was very distressed. She cried a great deal. I had to encourage her to be brave.’

‘She didn’t really want to go through with it?’

‘They all have second thoughts.’

‘And you encourage them to be … brave.’

Frau Gardosh sighed.

‘You think me a bad person, Inspector. But most of the women who come to me aren’t like Fraulein Rosenkrantz. They don’t have fine dresses and plenty of money. They are poor, with husbands who get drunk and can’t hold down a job. These women come to see me because they don’t want to bring another child into the world — a child that they can’t provide for — they don’t want to nurse another baby through coughs and fevers, only to see it die when the weather turns cold. I know what people say … that what I do is wrong, sinful. But is it so wicked? To spare a sweet little infant from suffering?’

‘I have not come here to judge you, Frau Gardosh.’

She looked down and studied her hands.

Rheinhardt waited until she looked up again before continuing. ‘When you were comforting Fraulein Rosenkrantz, did she say anything about her circumstances?’

‘It was a long time ago, inspector. Six months.’

‘Indeed, but I am interested in every detail. Did she, for example, give you any indication as to who the father might be?’

‘Yes.’

‘She did?’

‘Yes. A doctor.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘In fact, I seem to recall her saying that the father was her doctor.’

‘Engelberg? Saminsky?’

‘I don’t remember her mentioning those names.’

Rheinhardt leaned forward.

‘You’re quite sure of this, Frau Gardosh?’

‘Yes. A family man — naturally. I think he must have been quite rich. She said he’d given her the money to pay me with. It was a lot. More than I usually see in months.’

‘Why so much?’

‘Largesse, I imagine.’

Rheinhardt’s pencil hovered above his notebook, but he was too stunned to write anything down.