House of Evidence(17)
“Are there any other relatives?”
“There is Kirsten, of course, Jacob’s sister. She lives up north, married to a headmaster. They have a daughter, Elísabet, named for old Mrs. Kieler. She is presently at the university here, studying law. She is lovely, but a little bit unsettled, as the young often are. Kirsten wanted Elísabet to live in Birkihlíd with Jacob Junior when she came south to go to school, but that came to nothing. She does pop in to see me now and again for afternoon coffee.”
Hrefna jotted the names down.
“Why did she end up not living in the house? There must have been plenty of space.”
Sveinborg shifted uneasily. “It wasn’t easy to live with Jacob Junior. He was, of course, very kind to me, but it wasn’t easy for a modern young girl to put up with him.”
“How did that manifest?”
“Oh…” Sveinborg hesitated. “It’s just that he was rather domineering.”
Hrefna understood that the old woman didn’t want to talk about this anymore, so she changed course. “Are there any other relatives?”
“There’s Matthías, of course,” Sveinborg continued. “Matthías Kieler, a cellist. At the moment he is visiting Iceland for a few months. He’s renting an apartment not far from Birkihlíd, and lives there with his manservant.”
“His manservant?”
“Yes, well, Klemenz has his own apartment, I think, in Austria, where they live. They are only here on a visit. The family is settling old inheritance matters.”
Sveinborg had misunderstood Hrefna’s surprise.
“It’s a bit unusual for people to have servants,” Hrefna clarified. “Is he in full employment as Matthías’s manservant…this Klemenz?”
“Yes, of course,” Sveinborg replied. It seemed perfectly natural to her that people should employ servants. “Klemenz has been with Matthías for many years, ever since he went to live in Germany. Matthías is a well-known musician, you see, who has worked abroad ever since he completed his studies. As he never married, he has always needed a servant. Klemenz has stood by him all this time; he’s been very loyal and devoted.”
Diary II
June 30, 1912. Arrived in Tirol and stayed the first night in Kitzbühel. The proprietor of the bed and breakfast informed us that local people were now encouraging tourists to come to the town in winter to pursue the sport of skiing. When he heard that we were “ingenieurstudenten,” he said that constructing cable cars in the local mountains would be a worthwhile project for us. The proprietor tries to speak High German to us, since it is impossible for us to understand the local dialect…
July 4, 1912. We set off on foot early in the morning from St. Johann. Our route followed excellent footpaths that farmers have used throughout the centuries to reach their shielings high up in the mountains, to which they move their cattle in summer…At noon we overtook a group of young people sitting on the slope having their picnic. These people were not dressed like the locals, so we took them to be tourists like us. We didn’t want to disturb them at their meal so we just greeted them with a “Grüss Gott,” and continued on our way. I couldn’t take my eyes off a girl who was standing by the path, and she boldly returned my gaze until I became embarrassed and looked away. Her image has been in my mind all day…
July 5, 1912. It is many years since I have walked such a long distance. The muscles in my thighs and buttocks are sore; the locals call this phenomenon “Muskelkater.” We both had “Tirola Gröstl” for supper. As we were sitting in the drinking parlor afterwards, I saw again the girl whose eyes I had gazed into when we met on the mountain path yesterday. Her name is Elizabeth Chatfield and she is of English nationality. She is nearly eighteen years of age…
July 6, 1912. We met the group from the English school at breakfast, and their tutor, who is their guide, invited us to walk with them today. This makes a pleasant change and it is fun to practice one’s English. Elizabeth asks whether I would like to correspond with her. She says she has a few pen pals, albeit mainly female ones…
Marteinn was in the outer lobby when Erlendur entered with his new companion.
“Good morning to you,” the man in the black overcoat said to Marteinn, taking off his hat and offering him his hand. “My name is Matthías Kieler.”
“Um…Marteinn Karlsson,” the young detective replied, removing the rubber glove he was wearing and taking the man’s outstretched hand.
“You would perhaps be so kind as to hang this up for me,” Matthías said, handing his hat and walking stick to the young man. Marteinn cast a surprised look at Erlendur, who just nodded discreetly.