The Wild Girl

by Kate Forsyth

  A few weeks later it was Dortchen’s twenty-eighth birthday. Wilhelm gave her a belt buckle of amethysts that must have cost him a month’s wages. Dortchen wore it everywhere.

  Spring turned into summer. Wilhelm spent a lot of time visiting his friend Fritz von Schwertzell at Willingshausen, working on the book of runes, which he hoped would be published later that year. Dortchen went to help Hanne after the birth of her fifth child, and stayed for three weeks. In October Rudolf married his childhood sweetheart, Sandrine Landré, in the garden. Dortchen made herself a new red striped dress. It was wonderful to be out of mourning again.

  Then, in November, Herr Schmerfeld asked Dortchen to marry him.

  ‘You know I have a very high regard for you,’ he said, standing before the fire in the library. Dortchen was sitting in a chair, a novel in her hands. ‘The children all love you. I cannot think of anyone who I would rather have presiding over my family and my home.’

  When she did not answer, he said, with a faint colour in his carefully shaved cheeks, ‘It would be most suitable.’

  Dortchen could only shake her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s been a surprise. You need time to think it over.’

  She got to her feet, dropping the novel, and went out of the room in a rush. In the sanctuary of her bedroom, she sat on her bed and pressed her hands over her eyes. He was a kind man. She loved his children. She had found peace in his beautiful house. If she married him, she would have everything a young woman could want. Money. Status. Comfort. Affection. It would indeed be most suitable.

  Dortchen opened her copy of the fairy tales and took out the faded linden leaf. She twirled it in her fingers. She got up and paced the room. Again and again she picked up the linden leaf and put it down again. At last, at dusk, she put on her bonnet and coat and gloves and walked around to the Grimms’ apartment. It was cold and windy, reminding her of the night she and Wilhelm had walked to the lookout, when he had asked her not to make him wait too long. It had already been a year.

  The thought of marrying Wilhelm filled Dortchen with dread. He would want to touch her. He would want to probe her mouth with his tongue. He would want to thrust his … his thing between her legs. Horror shook her.

  Yet she loved him. She wanted him to love her. She daydreamed of a little house with a garden. She would cook for him, and darn his stockings, and he would read his stories to her. She sometimes imagined having a baby of her own. It always had Wilhelm’s curls and grave, dark eyes. Now and again, at night, she imagined Wilhelm kissing her, his hand stroking the curve of her waist, cupping her breast, sliding down between her legs. A little bud of warmth would open inside her. At those times she would think, Yes, I’ll marry him.

  Then she would wake from a nightmare, a dark shape lurching over her, holding her down. No matter how she struggled, she could not save herself. She woke in such a sweat of terror and revulsion that she comforted herself by saying, ‘You’re safe. No one will ever touch you again.’

  Dortchen reached the Grimms’ apartment and knocked. Her hand felt so weak that she could scarcely make a sound. Jakob opened the door for her. He was surprised to see her. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’ She tried to smile.

  ‘Wilhelm will be glad to see you. Come in.’

  Jakob led her into the study, where Wilhelm was working away with his quill, a great pile of books and manuscripts around him. Dortchen noticed a line of small pebbles laid out before him, each covered in indecipherable squiggles. He rose at the sight of her, opening and shutting his ink-stained fingers and arching his back. ‘Dortchen, what a lovely surprise. Would you like to stay for supper? Lotte’s out with the Hassenpflugs but she’ll be home soon.’

  ‘No. Tea’s fine. I need to get back.’ She went with him into the kitchen, where he busied himself putting the kettle on the stove.

  He gazed at her keenly. ‘What’s wrong? You look troubled.’

  She sat at the table and laid her head on her arms. ‘It’s nothing. I’ll tell you when the trees are blooming.’

  He did not press her, making her tea and telling her about the book on runes that he was writing, and how he was correcting proofs for the third edition of the fairy tale book. ‘I’m mainly working on the notes now,’ he told her. ‘I’m examining the key motifs, trying to trace where they came from, and looking at different versions of the same story.’

  Dortchen listened quietly. He asked her again to stay for supper, but she stood and said, ‘I must get back. Supper is a handful with so many children.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he answered, and got his coat.

  They walked in silence, her hand in the crook of his arm. He let her be, then, when they reached the end of her road, drew her under the shelter of a tree. ‘Dortchen, what is it?’

  ‘Herr Schmerfeld wants to marry me,’ she whispered.

  He stiffened. ‘He said so?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said no.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t think you should stay there, Dortchen. It’s not … seemly.’

  Her throat closed over. This was what she had been afraid of.

  ‘Berthe is still only a baby,’ she whispered. ‘Barely two years old. She won’t let anyone else button her shoes for her, or put her to bed. She will only drink her milk if I make it for her. I can’t leave her, Wilhelm.’

  ‘But you cannot stay with her forever,’ he answered. ‘You must leave her sometime. We only live a few streets away. You could see her every day.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

  ‘No, I guess not. After all, I see you nearly every day and that’s not enough for me.’

  ‘Don’t be angry.’

  ‘Has he tried to touch you?’ he demanded. ‘Did he kiss you?’

  Dortchen shook her head.

  ‘He doesn’t love you,’ Wilhelm said. ‘He couldn’t love you and not want to kiss you.’

  ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Wilhelm said. ‘I don’t want you staying there any more, Dortchen. He’ll try to woo you. He’ll wear you down with quiet persistence. He’s that kind of man. They say he’s ruthless in business, that he always gets what he wants. Dortchen, don’t go back. Come home with me. I know the apartment’s very small, but we can make room for you. You don’t take up much more room than a mouse.’

  She could not smile at the old joke. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face away. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t. Not now.’

  He straightened his back. ‘I see. Very well.’

  In silence he walked her down the dark, windy street, a yard of space between them.

  DOG IN A MANGER

  December 1821

  Late that year, the Grimms were given notice to leave their apartment at Wilhelmshöhe Gate.

  The prince no longer needed a tutor, and the Grimms were struggling to manage on their lowly earnings. They moved to a small, dark, noisy apartment above a blacksmith’s shop in the Old Town. It was almost an hour’s walk away from Herr Schmerfeld’s house, and somehow Wilhelm rarely found the time to walk the distance.

  Dortchen could call the carriage any time she wanted, and, hearing Wilhelm was sick again, she did drop around with some soup when she could. Seven young children were enough to keep her busy, though, particularly Berthe, who seemed determined to explore the whole world.

  Berthe had begun to talk in pretty, broken sentences. ‘What’s that?’ was her favourite phrase. She wanted to do everything herself, then would throw herself on the ground in a storm of tears when she couldn’t. Dortchen would pick the little girl up and rock her on her lap, till at last she quietened and put her thumb in her mouth. Then she would show Berthe how to button her own boot, or tie her own sash, and watch lovingly as the little girl struggled to master the task.

  Winter wheeled into spring, and then spring into summer, with each week bringing a fresh delight as
Berthe discovered something new.

  Lotte and Louis Hassenpflug announced their engagement and were married in July 1822. Dortchen made Lotte her myrtle wreath, and wept through the whole ceremony. Herr Schmerfeld gave her his handkerchief, which was soon quite sodden and crumpled. Wilhelm could never bear to see anyone cry. He came to Dortchen and put his arm about her for the first time in months.

  She could not help stiffening under his touch. His arm fell away. He turned and walked off, and did not look back.

  That night, Dortchen wept so much that her pillow was damp. It seemed the world was moving along without her. She was like a girl turned to stone, unable to break the spell upon her.

  The rest of the year was swallowed up by scarlet fever. Sophie, the second-eldest Schmerfeld daughter, caught the disease in late July, and Dortchen fought for weeks to save her life. Each day was a nightmare of pain and fever for the little girl, and Dortchen nursed her alone, sick with terror that the other children might catch it too. At last Sophie recovered, but Dortchen was so thin and worn out that she fell sick too, and it was spring before she began to recover her strength.

  The year of 1823 passed in much the same pattern. Friedrich was breeched on his sixth birthday, and Dortchen cried to see the little boy out of his skirts. He was very proud of himself, though, and swaggered about in his new breeches in such a comical manner that Dortchen had to laugh. Ottilie, the eldest daughter, turned thirteen, and Dortchen began to teach her how to cook and what herbs to use for healing. Berthe was three and a half, and full of mischief and laughter. She still would not let anyone but Dortchen warm her milk for her.

  Wilhelm was often away. He had been angry and disappointed when the new Kurfürst had appointed his old rival, Professor Rommel, to the position of court archivist, for which Wilhelm had also applied. To make matters worse, the Kurfürst had ennobled the professor, who then insisted on everyone addressing him as ‘von Rommel’. Wilhelm decided to pursue his research into runes in even greater depth, to prove Rommel wrong, and so he spent many long weeks at the Willingshausen estate. He was also working on a book of German heroic tales; as he told Dortchen, the von Schwertzell family had an old library filled with books that were invaluable to him.

  Dortchen suffered agonies of jealousy in silence.

  In the summer of 1824, the von Schwertzell family decided to visit Cassel for a few weeks.

  ‘I don’t know where they can possibly stay,’ Lotte declared, lying on a chaise longue in her white-and-gold drawing room, a saucer and cup resting comfortably on her burgeoning stomach. ‘I would have them here – Louis says they are very well connected – but I’m not fit to be seen in public.’

  ‘You look perfectly gorgeous,’ Dortchen said, smiling at her friend. Pregnancy suited Lotte. Her sallow cheeks had filled out, and her dark curly hair was more lustrous than ever. She wore a lovely gown of dark red with a low-cut bodice and full sleeves, with a spangled shawl draped about her shoulders.

  Lotte smiled at her. ‘Thank you. I must admit, I’m enjoying being pregnant much more than I’d imagined I would. Louis is in transports of delight. He is sure it’s going to be a boy. I do think it’s bad timing for the von Schwertzells to want to come right now, when I cannot hold a ball for them or even show them around the palace.’

  Dortchen gave a peal of laughter.

  ‘What is it?’ Lotte asked in surprise.

  ‘You just sound so grown-up, talking of giving balls.’

  ‘Well, I am grown-up now, Dortchen, and so are you. Isn’t it time you were thinking of settling down too?’

  An uncomfortable silence stretched out.

  ‘I know you love your nieces and nephews, but you shouldn’t be wasting your life looking after them,’ Lotte said. ‘The eldest girl is fourteen now – that’s old enough to help with the care of the young ones. The baby’s learning her letters and numbers and will soon be going to school. Dortchen, you’re thirty-one years old. It’s long past the time when you should have been married and be thinking of a family of your own.’

  Dortchen plaited together the fringe of her shawl.

  ‘Wilhelm won’t wait for you forever, you know,’ Lotte said.

  Dortchen stood up. ‘He lives with two of his brothers, in a few tiny rooms above a blacksmith’s shop. There’s no room there for me, and Wilhelm will never move away from Jakob. You accuse me of always putting my family ahead of Wilhelm, but hasn’t Wilhelm always put his family ahead of me?’

  Lotte blushed. There was enough truth in Dortchen’s words to sting. She began to speak angrily, but Dortchen was pulling on her bonnet and gloves. ‘I’m doing my best, Lotte, I really am. But my best is never enough for anyone.’

  Dashing tears away, she ran out of the room, leaving Lotte staring in dismay after her.

  Wilhelmine von Schwertzell was not pretty. That was a small comfort to Dortchen.

  She was, however, extremely fashionable in a way that spoke of easy money and trips to Paris. A tall, lean woman, she was dressed in a pink dress with a narrow waist and full skirt, embroidered most lavishly with black velvet ribbon. Her sleeves were puffed from shoulder to elbow, and then were skintight to her wrist, with a dozen tiny black velvet buttons. The same buttons ran down her back. Wilhelmine could not have got dressed without the help of a maid.

  On her head was the largest hat Dortchen had ever seen, decorated with enormous pink bows. It made Dortchen’s simple poke bonnet look countrified. Fraülein von Schwertzell also carried a pink silk parasol, with an ebony handle and black velvet ribbons. It struck envy into the heart of every woman in the Schlosspark.

  She noticed Dortchen was watching her, and smiled. ‘How do you do, Frau Schmerfeld?’ As she spoke, she cast a sharp glance over Dortchen’s gown; it was obvious that it was home-made.

  ‘I am well, thank you,’ Dortchen replied quietly. ‘But I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not Herr Schmerfeld’s wife. I am his sister-in-law.’

  Fraülein von Schwertzell raised both perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘Indeed? I am so sorry. Is not that little girl yours?’

  Dortchen looked down at Berthe, who was hopping along beside her, clinging to her hand. The whole family had come to the royal park to join the Grimms and the Hassenpflugs in showing the von Schwertzells the famous palace and its gardens. Herr Schmerfeld walked ahead, with Jakob and Wilhelm, while the rest of his children ran on, shouting with excitement as they explored the narrow paths through the shrubbery. Above them, Wilhelmshöhe Palace stood on its hill, a fluttering flag showing that the Kurfürst was in residence.

  ‘No, I am not married,’ she replied. ‘She is my niece. My sister died giving birth to her, and I have cared for her ever since.’

  ‘So you live with Herr Schmerfeld?’ Fraülein von Schwertzell found this deliciously shocking.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Dortchen wanted to defend herself against any salacious implication but could not find the words. ‘I care for the children.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘They were all so young when my sister died,’ Dortchen explained.

  Fraülein von Schwertzell looked bored. She twirled her parasol.

  ‘Are you enjoying your stay in Cassel?’ Dortchen asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. I had heard that Wilhelmshöhe Palace was the Versailles of Germany. That, of course, is a gross exaggeration, but it is a pleasant little place and the park is quite pretty, though it’s rather wild, with all those woods so close about. I am used to more formal gardens, I suppose.’

  ‘The garden behind the palace is laid out in a formal pattern,’ Dortchen said. ‘And the water cascades are wonderful.’

  ‘Ah, yes, they run down from the famous Herkules statue, don’t they? Wilhelm!’ she called. He turned and came to her side. ‘Wilhelm, will you take me to view Herkules? I have heard it is the absolute epitome of masculine beauty, magnified a thousand times. Now, that is something I must take a very close look at.’

  As she spoke, Fraülein von Schwertzell laid a hand on Wil
helm’s arm and fluttered her lashes at him in a most exaggerated manner.

  Wilhelm laughed. ‘I’m afraid you can’t get too close, Wilhelmine. Look, that is him up there, at the very top of the mountain.’ He pointed.

  The path had led them out onto the flat lawn behind the palace. Beyond the formal gardens lay a small lake with a tiny temple on its shores. Far above them, on the peak of the hill, stood the Octagon, a large stone structure that looked rather like a palace itself. A narrow pyramid soared from its centre, with the statue of Herkules perched at its tip. Artificial water cascades fell in steps from the base of the Octagon all the way down the steep slope to the lake. It was a most dramatic sight.

  ‘Good heavens,’ Fraülein von Schwertzell said, clutching at Wilhelm’s arm. ‘How extraordinary.’

  ‘The statue is a copy of Benvenuto Cellini’s famous sculpture,’ he told her. ‘You can climb up there, of course, but it is a long way and very steep, and even when you get there you cannot see him easily, since the Octagon and the pyramid are both so high.’

  ‘Could we not drive up there? That is why carriages were invented.’

  ‘Of course, if one is lucky enough to have a carriage.’

  ‘Then we shall do so. Tomorrow, perhaps. Tell me, Wilhelm, is it true that he is quite naked?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Wilhelm answered.

  ‘Then I shall bring my opera glasses.’

  Wilhelm laughed again.

  Dortchen listened in silence. She did not at all like the way Fraülein von Schwertzell called Wilhelm by his first name in such a familiar way, or how she clutched at his arm. She did not like the way she made Wilhelm laugh. Dortchen could not remember the last time she had heard Wilhelm laugh like that.

  ‘Perhaps we could have a picnic up there,’ Fraülein von Schwertzell went on. ‘I will tell the cook to pack us some champagne.’

  ‘I finish in the library at one, but am quite free after that,’ he said.

  ‘Then I shall pick you up in my carriage,’ Fraülein von Schwertzell said. ‘And then you must accompany me to the concert at the palace in the evening. They are playing Gluck, I believe. I last heard Iphigénie in Paris. I’m interested to see how your local musicians measure up.’