‘A school?’ Frau Andersson thought for a while. ‘Ah! They are Frau Adriani’s children. From Läggesta.’ And she pointed to the other side of the lake, where you could just see a large building in a clearing. ‘That’s a boarding school, a children’s home. Yes.’ She had an expression on her face such as I had never seen before. I grew curious. Now, it’s conventional wisdom that it’s better not to ask a direct question – because then you won’t get the answer you’re looking for.

‘There must be a lot of children there . . . are there not?’

‘Yes, a holy mess,’ said Frau Andersson; you often had to guess at her meaning a little, as she probably translated everything directly from the Swedish. ‘There are many children boarding there, but not many Swedish children. Praise God!’

‘Why praise God, Frau Andersson?’

‘Jaha,’ she said and veered away like a hunted rabbit, ‘there are not many Swedish children, ne-do!’

‘That’s a shame,’ I said, thinking I was being awfully subtle. ‘It must be very nice there . . .’

Frau Andersson was silent for a moment. Then, courageously, she took a little run-up. She lowered her voice.

‘There is . . . it isn’t a good woman who is there. But I don’t want to speak evil . . . you understand. A German lady. But not a good lady. German people are so friendly – not true . . . Please don’t mistake me!’

‘You mean the headmistress of the boarding school?’

‘Yes,’ said Frau Andersson. ‘The headmistress. The head-distress is a bad person. Everyone here thinks that. She’s not to our taste. She’s not good with the children.’

‘Well,’ I said, and looked at the trees, whose leaves trembled slightly as if they were shivering. ‘Well – not a good lady then? What does she do wrong? Does she shout at the children?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ said Frau Andersson, and she turned to the Princess, as if this was a matter exclusively for women, ‘she is hard to the children. The headmistress . . . beats the children.’

The Princess gave a start. ‘Doesn’t anyone mind then?’

‘Jaha . . .’ said Frau Andersson. ‘She doesn’t beat them that hard. So the police can’t say anything. She doesn’t hit to make the children sick. But she is unfair, the children are afraid from her.’ She pointed to a castle-like building on a hill behind Mariefred: ‘I prefer to be there than with that woman.’

‘What is that building?’ I asked.

‘That is a mental asylum,’ said Frau Andersson.

‘And so the mental patients are better off than those children?’

‘Yes,’ said Frau Andersson. ‘But I want to see now whether dinner is ready . . . one minute.’ And she went away hurriedly, as though she’d said too much.

We looked at one another. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, well, it happens,’ I said. ‘Probably some demon of a woman, applying the iron rod.’