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“Well, that is good news,” Johanna said.

Frau Tussaud didn’t smile, but her eyes shone.

“What is good news?” Nanny said as she entered the kitchen.

Johanna started to make herself a coffee. “The weather is apparently going to be warmer today, and sunny. I think I’ll take Astrid for a walk around the garden. Maybe we can have a picnic on the lawn.”

“I can make biscuits,” Frau Tussaud said.

“That will be perfect. Thank you.” Johanna sipped her coffee.

“Can I get you some breakfast, Frau Neumann?”

“No, thank you. I feel like playing the piano for a while.” Johanna finished her coffee, went into the living room, and lifted the lid. She had just started playing when Nanny walked past, heading towards the foyer. “Oh, Hilda. Sorry, I forgot to say Hauptmann Müller sadly died last night.”

Nanny raised her eyebrows, looked towards the kitchen and back at Johanna. “Oh.”

She tinkered with the keys. “Yes, the influenza.”

“Influenza. Of course, Frau Neumann.” Nanny adjusted her dress as if it was an occasion that required neatness and order. “Perhaps I had better keep Astrid upstairs this morning, while everything is being,” she cleared her throat, “sorted out.”

Johanna played a few bars. “Of course. I’ll speak to Schmidt and get Müller’s body removed before lunchtime. Astrid and I will take our picnic this afternoon.”

“Very well, Frau Neumann.”

Johanna had been expecting a retort about whether it was safe outside or not. Instead, Nanny just walked into the foyer and up the stairs.

She played Chopin’s “Military Polonaise”, becoming quickly immersed in the key work required to do it justice. It was a rusty performance but liberating and uplifting. When she finished, Schmidt was standing in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt, Frau Neumann.” He strode towards her, came to a halt, and clicked his heels. “I hear Hauptmann Müller has died.”

She closed the lid over the keys and stood up. “That is correct.”

He pulled back his shoulders, lifted his chin. “I have reason to believe he was killed, Frau Neumann.”

Johanna laughed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Fraulein Brun came from his room last evening and he is dead this morning. He didn’t die on any other night before this one when other people took him his meals. It is clear.”

If that was the case, then bravo to Fabienne. She had done them all a favour. The man was the devil himself and had he recovered he would have continued to terrorise anyone he saw fit to.

Johanna inhaled deeply, held Schmidt’s gaze firmly. “That is an allegation and a leap that could get the fraulein killed. Do you have any real evidence?”

He averted his eyes.

She crossed her arms. “How old are you, Schmidt?”

He frowned. “Twenty-six. Almost twenty-seven.”

“And are you married? Do you have children?”

“Yes, Frau Neumann. Three children, all girls. Nine, and twins aged six.” His face lit up with pride and love.

“So, you are about the same age as Fraulein Brun.”

The light in his eyes dimmed instantly.

“If she were your wife, would you want someone accusing her of something that would get her killed?”