The Devil's Harmony, page 28
‘What?’
Anatol produced something small in a screw of newspaper. ‘This is a black memory of a black-hearted man,’ he said. ‘But he was your father, Tanwen, and perhaps there were good times you can one day remember.’
‘The Death’s Head ring,’ said Tanwen, staring down at the silver object inside the paper. ‘He was wearing it when we— when he died.’
‘It was lying in the rubble,’ said Anatol. ‘No one saw me pick it up. But there were people around, so I didn’t dare look for anything else.’
‘I will keep it,’ said Tanwen, with decision. ‘As a reminder – although I don’t know what it’s a reminder of. But there might be a day—’
‘Papers are being created for you,’ said Anatol. ‘Yurik is working on them now.’ Yurik was the former printer, part of the group, and a person who could be trusted. ‘He thinks you should try to get to England – the English are our good friends.’
Tanwen did not care where she went. She did not care when Bruno and Anatol said they were going to Yan’s rooms to clear away his things.
‘Come with us,’ said Anatol. ‘There could be something you would like to have, as a memory of him. I have a key – we’ll go together.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ said Tanwen, but in the end she agreed. She managed to get up and wash her face and brush her hair. She looked perfectly dreadful. Like Bruno, she looked as if she had aged twenty years. It did not matter. It would never matter again how she looked.
The sight – the atmosphere – of Yan’s rooms came at her like a blow.
‘But you never came here, did you?’ said Bruno.
‘No. But seeing all his things …’ The music, the books, the sight of a jacket carelessly lying across a chair … The bed with a patchwork cover where he had slept … Tanwen sat down on the bed, and held the pillow against her and did not know how she would bear the weary years ahead. If they had not both died in such a way – if it had not been her fault …
Anatol was looking at a box of what looked like children’s books, pushed half under a bureau. ‘Yan brought these to the restaurant sometimes, to read to the children,’ he said.
Children … A small dark-eyed girl who had loved to curl up at Yan’s feet, and listen to him reading … The grief welled up all over again, then Anatol said, ‘These should not be destroyed. I’m going to my cousins in the Kampinos Forest soon, but Yurik is staying here. We can leave the books with him.’
‘And if there’s ever news of Helena,’ said Tanwen, eagerly, ‘if it turns out that she did get out – wandered off somewhere—’
‘For instance, if there’s ever a report in a newspaper,’ put in Bruno, ‘anything about a girl whose name and age might fit—’
‘You would like it investigated, and if it should be Helena, you would like her to have the books,’ said Anatol, speaking very kindly. ‘Yurik would find a way of doing that.’
Tanwen saw he was just saying this to comfort her – that he did not think Helena ever would be found, but she said, ‘It would tell her that once she had a family who cared about her.’
‘Of course. And the truth need not come out. Yurik could simply say he thinks the books belonged to people who might have known her family. That would be acceptable?’
‘Yes,’ said Tanwen, gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
‘Yurik is making your papers in the name of Wyngham,’ said Anatol. ‘From our own word, wygnanie. Exiles. But making it more English, you see. Can you think yet where in England you will go?’
Tanwen said, ‘My mother’s family was from a part of England – oh, generations ago – where it borders onto Wales. A small place called Causwain.’ She pronounced it carefully. ‘She talked about it sometimes. The name Tanwen is from Wales.’
Bruno was looking through the stacked music. ‘I’d like to take some of these with us,’ he said. ‘They won’t take up much room, and it would be a memory.’
Tanwen did not bother to ask how there was suddenly an ‘us’, but whatever was ahead would probably be a bit easier to cope with if Bruno was there. The knowledge of what they had done might even bring them closer together.
‘There’s a good deal of Mozart,’ he was saying, as he looked along the shelf. ‘And Debussy and Chopin, and … What on earth is this?’
‘What?’
‘It’s handwritten,’ said Bruno, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, and showing her the single sheet of music. ‘I think it’s in Yan’s hand – I mean the heading is in his hand. It’s the aria from Rubinstein’s Demon.’
Tanwen stared at the music, and her mind went back to the night in the Library when Yan had played this, and she had started to sing it, walking down that marvellous stairway. It had reached him in some curious way she had never understood and there had been that explosive passion … Suddenly this music was part of him – something to be treasured, valued …
‘Let me play it,’ she said, grasping Bruno’s hand. ‘Please. There’s one of his violins here – in that corner.’
‘All right. Can you manage if I hold the score up for you?’
‘Yes.’ If I play this, it’ll be as if I’m touching that night when Helena was conceived, thought Tanwen. It’ll be a final hand-clasp with Yan.
But as the first notes drifted into the room, she knew at once there was something wrong. This was not the ‘Demon’s aria’ – the achingly sad farewell of the ill-starred demon to his lost bride. She faltered, then went on, but she had barely reached the final bars when Anatol said, ‘Dear God – do you know what you’re playing, Tanwen?’
‘I know it isn’t the ‘Demon’s aria’,’ said Tanwen, lowering the violin, puzzlement briefly taking over from her other emotions.
‘It is not,’ said Anatol, his face the colour of raw dough. ‘It’s music known as the “Dark Cadence”. It’s regarded as music only ever played at the execution of a traitor.’
‘I’ve never heard that story,’ said Bruno, turning to stare at him.
‘Not very many people have. But the story exists. And so does the music. And,’ said Anatol, slowly, ‘on the night the Chopin Library burned I heard someone playing it.’
‘You recognized it?’
‘Oh, yes. I had heard it before,’ said Anatol, his voice suddenly filled with sadness.
‘Was it someone in the square who was playing it while the Library burned?’ said Bruno.
‘I don’t know. People ran out there, you remember. But there was so much confusion.’
‘But does it mean that someone knew what happened?’ said Bruno. ‘Or saw something?’
‘It might. I think,’ said Anatol, looking at them, ‘that it’s now even more vital for you to leave Warsaw, and as soon as possible. If you want the music, you must take it,’ he said. ‘But really, you should destroy it.’
Bruno nodded, and then looked at Tanwen. ‘You understand that none of this must ever be talked of,’ he said. ‘For the rest of our lives – and perhaps our lives will be lived out together – we can never dare let anyone know that we killed a traitor – a German spy.’
‘And that he was my father. And,’ said Tanwen, not looking away from him, ‘that in trying to destroy the evidence of it, we burned two people alive.’
* * *
Phin thought that of all the strange things that had come to light during the search for the ‘Dark Cadence’, the assembly in the White Hart’s coffee room after dinner was the strangest.
Nina had driven out to collect Thaisa, who came hesitantly into the dining room, and sat quietly at the table, not saying very much, but rather earnestly following the conversation. At Phin’s side, Arabella said softly, ‘To us, a meal in a pub is ordinary, but Thaisa’s never known such things, poor soul. But she’s dressed very carefully for it, I think. A very nice jacket and a silk scarf. Good for her.’
The White Hart had expressed itself delighted to place the coffee room at their disposal again. No, it was no trouble at all; this was a quiet season for them anyway. Please to let them know if any drinks were needed. In the meantime, they would bring coffee.
Thaisa and Helena sat together. Phin said quietly to the professor, ‘You can see the likeness between them, can’t you? It’s in the eyes and the cheekbones.’
‘They must both have been very striking when they were younger,’ said the professor, thoughtfully. ‘What a damned waste of a life it’s been for Thaisa. Or has it? She’s not all that old yet. There might be all kinds of things she could still do.’
Phin glanced at him, and he made a dismissive gesture. ‘When the moment’s right I’m going to ask Thaisa what her parents’ names were,’ said Phin. ‘But I think we already know who her mother was.’ He reached for the book about Vanished Temples of Music, which he had brought down with him, and turned to the chapter on lost music accolades. Tanwen Malek’s winsome smile looked out.
The professor stared at it, then said, ‘It might be the same girl as that photograph in the music room.’
‘Yes. Their mother was undoubtedly Tanwen,’ said Phin.
‘Did they have the same father, d’you think? The man who played the “Cadence” on his piano as he was dying? Or someone entirely different?’
‘I don’t know.’
Nina and Lucek had placed the scrapbook on the table in front of them. Nina said, ‘If it’s all right with everyone, I’m going to try translating an unexpected final section. It’s on the very last page and it was stuck to the previous page – almost as if they’d been glued together. Arabella helped me to lever them apart.’
‘Nail file,’ said Arabella. ‘We had to be very cautious – we were terrified we were going to tear the pages and lose anything that might be in-between them. But we managed it in the end.’
‘I don’t think either of us thought there would be anything to find,’ said Nina. ‘But we were determined not to miss anything. And there was something, and it’s here. I saved it to read until we were all together.’
‘Handwriting,’ said Phin, leaning forward to see.
‘It’s very faded,’ said Arabella, ‘and the page itself is torn quite badly at the edges, but Nina thinks she can decipher it.’
‘I’ll translate aloud as I go,’ said Nina. ‘And Helena’s going to be reading it with me, so we’ll all hear what it is at the same time.’
There was a moment before Nina began to read when Phin felt the ghosts creep closer, and he glanced at Thaisa and saw fear in her eyes. As if sensing his regard, she looked up and Phin gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Then Nina began to read.
I think I have only moments left, but before death overtakes me I must set down what happened in the Chopin Library tonight.
The Library was burned deliberately, by two people who wanted to conceal that they had executed a traitor. The building is burning all around me, as I write this.
I am putting in documents, in case it’s thought these are the ravings of a man awaiting a terrible death of his own – that my mind has been turned. Perhaps it has.
Mostly, though, I write this for my daughter. Helena – I believe your mother, Tanwen Malek, helped to execute Georg Malek, who was her father. He was Polish, but a traitor to Poland – to his own people. Almost certainly a Nazi spy. In any country and in any culture that would be regarded as a justifiable act of execution. No blame should ever be attached either to Tanwen or to Bruno Sicora who I think was part of that execution. Bruno has been a good friend and a loyal fighter against the oppressors. He is also a gifted musician. I believe that when all this is over, he will look after Tanwen.
Malek’s body is in the old ice pit of this Library. He wears the infamous Nazi Death’s Head ring – a badge of his evil against his own people. Proof of what he is and was. In executing him, Tanwen – Bruno also – performed a brave act.
Helena – if you ever read this, believe that even in those few weeks when I knew you – when you sat with me while I played the firebird piano for you and read to you the Russian fairy tales from my own childhood in the Romanov household – you became immensely dear to me. I am grateful that I knew you, even for that short time. Tonight I have tried to save you. I pray that you escaped the fire, and that one day, somehow, somewhere, you might read this.
Your father, Yan Orzek.
Tears were pouring down Arabella’s face, and Nina’s voice had faltered towards the end of the narrative.
Thaisa was staring at the scrawled writing as if she was afraid that if she looked away it might vanish. Helena was white and stunned. But she’s all right, thought Phin. Dear God, what a legacy he left her. If only she had found it years ago – no, I won’t think that, I’ll just be glad she has it now. She’ll be glad. And so will Thaisa. It’s broken open the secrets – the secrets her parents must have lived with all their lives, and tried to protect her from. He hoped the two of them would be able to talk about everything in more detail later.
He said, very gently, ‘Helena saw something – either the execution itself, or the murdered man afterwards. That was the start of the nightmare. And then being trapped – the fire—’
‘No wonder she pushed it away for most of her life,’ said Arabella, softly. ‘Nina, Lucek – say all that to her, will you? Say we understand.’
As Nina spoke to Helena, Thaisa put out her hand, and Helena grasped it gratefully. It was a shared nightmare, thought Phin. It reached out to Thaisa, as well.
Nina said, carefully, ‘Helena is saying she did see it – she’s remembering it. A man’s head thrusting up out of a stone cellar – as if trapped.’
Helena said, ‘Nie żyje. Zimno.’
She shivered, and Lucek said, ‘She’s saying – Dead. And cold.’
‘Because they’d put him in the old ice pit below the Library,’ said Phin. ‘Yan says that’s where his body was. And Helena saw it.’
‘Remember that he was a spy and that he was killed – no, executed – by two brave people,’ said the professor. ‘Tanwen and Bruno. Thaisa, that man – Bruno – he was your father?’
‘Yes. Bruno.’
‘“A gifted musician – a loyal fighter against the oppressors”,’ said the professor, very gently.
‘Yes. I’m glad Yan said that about him. I’m glad I’ll have that memory – of both of them.’ Thaisa’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.
‘And someone took that ring from Malek at the last,’ said Dr Purslove. ‘Before or after his execution, I wonder? Or even after the fire – yes, I can see that being done – not as a keepsake, exactly. Perhaps to remove any evidence.’
‘And my mother kept it,’ said Thaisa. ‘Or it was given to her.’
Lucek said, ‘What about the Russian books? How would they have got to Helena?’
‘I don’t think we’ll ever know that. Maybe someone found them, and when it was realized Helena was still alive, sent them to her.’
‘Thinking she’d remember them?’ said Lucek. ‘The sad thing is that she didn’t.’
It was Arabella who said, ‘And Yan Orzek?’
They looked at one another. ‘He died in the fire,’ said Professor Liripine, at last. ‘That must be the “bad death” Thaisa’s mother talked about.’
Phin said, ‘A bad death. But a remarkable legacy.’
EPILOGUE
‘We’re going to Warsaw at the start of the month,’ said Phin to Thaisa. ‘Arabella and myself, that is. We’re meeting Nina and Lucek and Helena, and we’ll be staying in Warsaw for about a week. I do wish you’d come with us, Thaisa. It’s said to be a beautiful city, and you could see all the places your … your mother would have known.’
‘I’d like to come,’ said Thaisa, slowly. ‘It would be a big thing for me after the years of … Well, of not travelling, or doing anything much at all. And I’d like to think that in the future I will. Helena has said there’s an open invitation to stay with her – with Lucek’s family. But the thing is, that I’ve had this letter.’ She passed it to Phin.
Dear Thaisa,
I hope all’s well with you after our astonishing time in Causwain. It was a remarkable and emotional few days, wasn’t it? Theo Purslove is already writing it all up, although I daresay I shall have to edit a good deal of what he writes, because he’s very much given to exaggeration and embroidering the facts.
You’ll perhaps recall we had a brief conversation about the music of William Boyce, after I noticed how many of his works you had on CD. There’s a weekend of Boyce’s music here in Durham next month – performances of most of the symphonies and some discussion sessions. I’ve been asked to read a paper on him – only a short thing, but hopefully interesting.
It occurred to me that if you’re free, you might like to come up to Durham and be part of it all. I could book you into the Golden Hind, which is a pleasant and comfortable small hotel, and I think you would enjoy the music and the various (quite modest) events. It’s likely that Theodore will be wending his way north for it too, so there’ll be one other familiar face.
I look forward to hearing soon.
Very kindest regards,
Ernest Liripine.
‘The dates clash with your trip,’ said Thaisa. ‘And since the professor was kind enough to invite me—’
‘You think you should go to Durham,’ said Phin, managing not to smile.
‘Well, I do think I should. Don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Phin, very firmly. ‘Yes, I definitely think you should.’
‘The Street of Music,’ said Arabella, with deep pleasure.
‘Near enough to it, anyway,’ said Lucek, who could hardly get over the delight of having Phin and Arabella in Warsaw, and actually taking them to his and Nina’s coffee house. Nina would be there ahead of them with Helena, so as to secure a nice table for them. She was really good at that kind of thing.
‘This is lovely,’ said Arabella, as they went inside. ‘Oh, and there’s Nina and Helena – oh, it’s so good to see you all again.’
Phin liked the little coffee place, and he liked the obvious closeness between Lucek and Nina. The staff were friendly; they were charmed to hear these were two English friends visiting their city. There were suggestions from a waitress who spoke very good English as to what might be good to eat and drink.
