of his nurse.’
Aunt Josephine and I responded to the man’s statement with stunned silence. Eventually Aunt Josephine gathered her will to invite the man into the drawing room and asked Hilda to make tea.
Pan Tyszka stared at the bronze horse on the mantelpiece before sitting down on the sofa. Frip sniffed his boots, then, sensing the danger had passed, sat by me.
Hilda brought the tea and placed it on the table. After she had left, Aunt Josephine turned to pan Tyszka. ‘Well, you had better explain.’
Pan Tyszka, who had refused to give his hat to Hilda and now sat with it clenched in his hands, wasted no time getting to the heart of the story. ‘Doctor Hoffmann has debts. Gambling debts. He lives elegantly, and his wife, who is expecting their first child, and his father-in-law have no idea of the depth of his trouble—that his home and riches are on the verge of being carted away by ruthless debt collectors. The desire to preserve his public image is a powerful motivation for an otherwise decent man to become a murderer. A man might do anything to save his own family, especially if the victim is painted to him as an adulteress and a cruel mother.’
I reached for Aunt Josephine’s hand. She grasped mine. Pan Tyszka had described a world different from the one we inhabited. A place where life was cheap.
Pan Tyszka studied our faces. ‘It looks to me that you have already guessed what I am going to tell you. The girls’ stepfather furnished Doctor Hoffmann’s house, that’s how they met. The doctor needed money quickly if he did not want to find his wife at the bottom of the river.’
The worst I had imagined was now confirmed. I felt ill when pan Tyszka verified Mother’s death had been from an overdose of morphine. He told us that his wife had been so horrified at the deed performed by her employer—which she was unaware of until overhearing a conversation between Doctor Hoffmann and Milosh—that she ran straight to her priest. But her confession and prayers could not bring her peace. Then she overheard another conversation in which Doctor Hoffman was seeking an assassin on Milosh’s behalf.
The idea of an assassin had seemed a fantasy when I thought about it; now it was nightmarishly real. I longed to be a child again, when my world had been Mother and Father, puppet shows and an adorable baby sister. My throat was raw and I found it difficult to swallow. ‘Why?’ I asked, unable to stop the tears falling down my cheeks. I was about to tell Aunt Josephine that money did not matter, that I would give my inheritance away to keep us safe. But what pan Tyszka said next changed my mind.
‘You do not have much time. It is your stepfather’s mistress who is urging him on. She wants this house and hounds him daily about it.’
I imagined paní Benova sleeping in Mother’s bed, pawing over her jewels, sitting in her chair. Paní Benova would not touch any of those things as long as I had breath in my body.
‘Will you go with us to the police?’ Aunt Josephine asked pan Tyszka.
If Aunt Josephine had stuck pan Tyszka with a needle, she could not have made him rise faster. ‘No, that is not what I have come for. That is not what I will do.’
‘But surely…your wife is religious,’ stammered Aunt Josephine. ‘Do you not think God needs to punish the men who killed a mother and now plot to destroy her daughters?’
Pan Tyszka backed towards the door and shook his head. ‘I have got the safety of a wife and four children to look out for. What you do to protect those girls is your business. I came to warn you and I have taken a risk to do that. If you tell the police I said anything, I will deny it all.’
No amount of tears and offers of money could persuade pan Tyszka to change his mind. It was two o’clock in the morning and the snow was still falling when he bade us farewell. ‘I came and warned you,’ he said. ‘My conscience is clear. The rest is up to you.’
I remembered Klara was
Aunt Josephine and I responded to the man’s statement with stunned silence. Eventually Aunt Josephine gathered her will to invite the man into the drawing room and asked Hilda to make tea.
Pan Tyszka stared at the bronze horse on the mantelpiece before sitting down on the sofa. Frip sniffed his boots, then, sensing the danger had passed, sat by me.
Hilda brought the tea and placed it on the table. After she had left, Aunt Josephine turned to pan Tyszka. ‘Well, you had better explain.’
Pan Tyszka, who had refused to give his hat to Hilda and now sat with it clenched in his hands, wasted no time getting to the heart of the story. ‘Doctor Hoffmann has debts. Gambling debts. He lives elegantly, and his wife, who is expecting their first child, and his father-in-law have no idea of the depth of his trouble—that his home and riches are on the verge of being carted away by ruthless debt collectors. The desire to preserve his public image is a powerful motivation for an otherwise decent man to become a murderer. A man might do anything to save his own family, especially if the victim is painted to him as an adulteress and a cruel mother.’
I reached for Aunt Josephine’s hand. She grasped mine. Pan Tyszka had described a world different from the one we inhabited. A place where life was cheap.
Pan Tyszka studied our faces. ‘It looks to me that you have already guessed what I am going to tell you. The girls’ stepfather furnished Doctor Hoffmann’s house, that’s how they met. The doctor needed money quickly if he did not want to find his wife at the bottom of the river.’
The worst I had imagined was now confirmed. I felt ill when pan Tyszka verified Mother’s death had been from an overdose of morphine. He told us that his wife had been so horrified at the deed performed by her employer—which she was unaware of until overhearing a conversation between Doctor Hoffmann and Milosh—that she ran straight to her priest. But her confession and prayers could not bring her peace. Then she overheard another conversation in which Doctor Hoffman was seeking an assassin on Milosh’s behalf.
The idea of an assassin had seemed a fantasy when I thought about it; now it was nightmarishly real. I longed to be a child again, when my world had been Mother and Father, puppet shows and an adorable baby sister. My throat was raw and I found it difficult to swallow. ‘Why?’ I asked, unable to stop the tears falling down my cheeks. I was about to tell Aunt Josephine that money did not matter, that I would give my inheritance away to keep us safe. But what pan Tyszka said next changed my mind.
‘You do not have much time. It is your stepfather’s mistress who is urging him on. She wants this house and hounds him daily about it.’
I imagined paní Benova sleeping in Mother’s bed, pawing over her jewels, sitting in her chair. Paní Benova would not touch any of those things as long as I had breath in my body.
‘Will you go with us to the police?’ Aunt Josephine asked pan Tyszka.
If Aunt Josephine had stuck pan Tyszka with a needle, she could not have made him rise faster. ‘No, that is not what I have come for. That is not what I will do.’
‘But surely…your wife is religious,’ stammered Aunt Josephine. ‘Do you not think God needs to punish the men who killed a mother and now plot to destroy her daughters?’
Pan Tyszka backed towards the door and shook his head. ‘I have got the safety of a wife and four children to look out for. What you do to protect those girls is your business. I came to warn you and I have taken a risk to do that. If you tell the police I said anything, I will deny it all.’
No amount of tears and offers of money could persuade pan Tyszka to change his mind. It was two o’clock in the morning and the snow was still falling when he bade us farewell. ‘I came and warned you,’ he said. ‘My conscience is clear. The rest is up to you.’
I remembered Klara was
Similar Books
