by Kate Forsyth
Dortchen sighed.
‘But not all men are beasts, you know,’ Old Marie went on. ‘There are good, kind men, just as there are bad men. I always thought Wilhelm Grimm was a good man.’
‘He is.’
‘Then why are you afraid of him?’
‘I don’t know.’
The baby’s screams could be heard echoing down the hall. Old Marie began to measure out the dried leaves and flowers, looking to Dortchen for guidance. Mechanically, Dortchen helped her.
‘Is it fear of the heart, or of the body?’ Old Marie asked at last.
‘Both, I think,’ Dortchen admitted.
‘You can’t protect your heart from hurt – that’s part of living,’ Old Marie said. ‘No matter how hard you try to guard against it, something will slip past and make you love it.’
Dortchen nodded. She had discovered this for herself.
‘And the love between a man and a wife is a beautiful thing, Dortchen. I’d be sorry if you were never to know that.’
They worked together in silence a while longer.
‘I want to trust him,’ Dortchen said. ‘I want to love him. But every time I decide to risk myself, something happens to stop me. He … Father … comes to me again in a dream, or a flash of memory … It’s like he’s there in the room with me, holding me back.’
‘It feels to me like you’re being haunted,’ Old Marie said decisively. ‘Whether it’s his spirit not willing to let you go, or just the memory of him, I can’t tell. But you need to banish him. Tell him to begone.’
‘I wish it were that easy.’ Dortchen managed a smile.
‘It’s times like this I wish my grandmam was still here with us,’ Old Marie said. ‘She knew many an old trick for driving away haunts. I will think on it. But don’t you fret, now. There’ll be a way to drive that old nasty away, don’t you worry.’
Very late on the night of the next new moon, Dortchen went by herself through the dark sleeping streets of Cassel to the graveyard in which her parents were buried. First, she took a handful of dirt from her father’s grave and put it in a small wooden box. Then she went to the elder tree that grew nearby and broke off a flowering twig. ‘Thank you, Lady Tree,’ she said, bobbing a little curtsey, as Old Marie had warned her always to do.
Dortchen then walked out of town, towards the royal palace. It was frightening, being out alone so late. She was wearing a black dress and a black hooded cloak, which she wore drawn down over her face so that no one might recognise her. The moon was so thin that the stars seemed very bright. Bats flittered past, and somewhere an owl hooted.
She reached the last crossroads before the forest. One road ran back towards the town, the other towards the palace, and the road that crossed it led into the forest on one side and the open countryside on the other.
Dortchen took the elder branch out of her pocket. Breaking it into four pieces, she chanted the spell Old Marie had taught her: ‘Break the root, break the hex, break me free from this evil vex.’ She then cast one part of the twig in each of the four directions. Only then did she take out the box of grave dirt. She threw the soil as hard as she could over her left shoulder, shouting, ‘Begone!’
The dirt scattered in the wind and was blown away.
Without looking back over her shoulder, Dortchen walked rapidly home again. She let herself in with her key and ran lightly up the stairs to her room. She pulled back the curtains and opened wide the casements, letting in the soft evening air and the faint light of the moon. She breathed in deeply, then lit her fire and set a silver basin of water to warm before it. Into the water she dropped a handful each of speedwell, eyebright, self-heal, lemon balm, chase-devil, toadflax and foxglove. A sweet smell filled her room. She kindled two white candles and set them on the mantelpiece, one on either side of the mirror.
Then Dortchen stripped off her clothes in front of the flames, and let down her hair till it hung in flaxen waves down her bare back. She stood and looked at her face in the mirror, then, with shaking hands, she read out the second spell Old Marie had told her.
‘He that cast his curse on me
Let him suffer his own curse.
Let these candles be his candles.
Let this burning be his burning.
Let the pain he caused me
Fall upon him instead.’
Then, slowly and thoroughly, Dortchen washed herself with the herb-sweet water, not missing a single inch of her skin. Between her toes, under her arms, behind her ears and up between her legs. Dortchen took her time, imagining herself washed clean inside as well as out. She dressed herself in a white nightgown, then she flung the water out the window and into the garden. She climbed into bed, made up earlier that evening with fresh white sheets, and watched the two candles burn themselves out. By the time the flames were guttering, Dortchen was asleep.
She slept dreamlessly all night, and woke in the fresh, bright dawn feeling like a woman reborn.
CORNFLOWERS
June 1824
Dortchen opened the chest in the garret of the shop that was now Rudolf’s.
Her hands were dusty, and she rubbed them clean on her handkerchief before kneeling and rummaging through the chest. She found her doll, Wilhelmina, which Wilhelm had lowered to her from the window on a string. She had always hoped to have a daughter of her own one day, to whom she could give the doll. She put it aside and dug deeper. She found her old prayer book and opened it to find the squashed brown cornflower that she had hidden there so many years before. There was only the faintest trace of blue left in its dried petals. Dortchen hid it in her bodice. A cornflower worn next to the heart brought love, Old Marie had always said. New love or lost love. Dortchen could only hope it was true.
Then Dortchen searched right at the very bottom of the chest, till she found the yellow silk dress her father had once given her. Carefully, she folded it and wrapped it in brown paper and twine.
Then she drove through the narrow, crooked streets, which were cool even in the heat of the summer day, until she reached the premises of Madame Fleury, the most fashionable dressmaker in town.
‘It is of the silk most luxurious, it’s true,’ Madame Fleury said, as she examined the dress. ‘And the beading is exquisite. It is, however, very much out of fashion.’
‘I thought that a seamstress of great skill would be able to remodel the dress,’ Dortchen said. ‘Drop the waist, add some flounces.’
Madame Fleury stroked the silk. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I’d be willing to sell it to you and put the money towards another dress,’ Dortchen said. She drew out her purse, heavy with the money she had saved from her allowance. ‘I need it quickly, though.’
‘When?’
‘For a pleasure cruise this Saturday night,’ Dortchen said.
‘Do you have a colour in mind, a style?’
‘Cornflower blue,’ Dortchen said.
As she stood before the mirror a few days later, Dortchen had to admit that Madame Fleury had worked a miracle. The dress was the most beautiful she had ever seen.
Made of pale-blue silk, with a low-cut square bodice and a cone-shaped skirt, it was embroidered with stylised cornflowers about the bodice and hem. The short sleeves were extravagantly puffed and ruffled. The dress made Dortchen’s eyes seem very blue.
She made sure the dried flower was safely nestled in her bodice, then carefully pinned a small bunch of cornflowers at her breast. Only then did she go to join Herr Schmerfeld downstairs. He rose at the sight of her. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said. She thanked him, and they walked out to the carriage together. As they rode towards the river, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Dortchen, you know that my regard for you has not wavered. If you should ever wish it, I—’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I cannot.’
He regarded her closely. ‘There is someone else?’
She nodded.
‘Then I wish the both of you the very best.’ He turned and looked out the window.
>
The steamboat that the von Schwertzells had hired for the river cruise was long and white, and hung with coloured paper lanterns from bow to stern. Already it was crowded with people. A quartet of musicians played on a small stage at one end of the deck, while waiters circulated with glasses of champagne. Dortchen accepted one and took a curious sip. She had never tasted champagne before.
Fraülein von Schwertzell was easy to spot, since she was wearing an extraordinary gown of orange stripes, with enormous puffed sleeves. Dortchen thought she looked rather like a bumblebee. Wilhelm stood beside her, elegant and austere in black, but with a snowy-white cravat and waistcoat. Dortchen took a deep breath, gathered up all her courage and walked to him. She said his name softly, and he turned.
His face stiffened, his pupils dilating. He did not say a word, but he could not take his eyes from her. Dortchen heard his breath shorten.
She smiled. ‘What a beautiful evening it is. Do you know, I have lived in Cassel all my life and never sailed on the river before. I am looking forward to it.’
He stammered something.
Fraülein von Schwertzell turned. Her smile died on her lips. She looked Dortchen up and down, noting every detail of her dress. Dortchen smiled at her. The consternation on the other woman’s face gave Dortchen a jolt of fresh courage.
They said all that was polite, while Wilhelm continued to stare at Dortchen. He did not notice when Fraülein von Schwertzell pressed close to his side, taking his arm in a proprietary manner.
Dortchen said to him, ‘Do you like my new dress? It reminds me of that day you told me about Novalis and the blue flower. Do you remember? In the garden.’
‘Of course. You were cutting cornflowers. We had tea in the summer house.’
‘I’ve been reading Novalis lately. I always loved what you told me about him. How we should try to see the ordinary as extraordinary.’
‘Gracious, what a serious topic for a summer’s evening,’ Fraülein von Schwertzell interrupted.
‘“To see the ordinary as extraordinary, the familiar as strange, the mundane as sacred, the finite as infinite,”’ Wilhelm quoted.
‘Yes, that’s it.’ Dortchen took another deep breath. It was very hard to speak in this way to Wilhelm with Fraülein von Schwertzell hanging on to his arm, but there was no other way. ‘My favourite quote, though, is the one you told me the day my father died. You said that love was the “Amen” of the universe. Do you remember?’
‘A long time ago now,’ he answered coolly.
She nodded. ‘Yes. Far too long.’
Fraülein von Schwertzell looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowing. ‘Wilhelm, I love this song! Let’s dance.’
He bowed and offered her his arm, and they moved towards the dance floor. Dortchen watched them go, her heart sinking. Then Wilhelm turned and looked at her. She smiled. Involuntarily, he smiled back.
Dortchen felt a little bubble of warmth inside her. She moved away to join Herr Schmerfeld and some other friends. She was merry and light-hearted, making them all laugh. When Herr Schmerfeld asked her to dance, she rested her white-gloved hand on his arm and let him lead her to the dance floor. She could not help her heart accelerating as he put his arm about her, but she breathed deeply and forced herself to relax, and soon her twinge of uneasiness had passed. It’ll take time, she told herself. I can’t expect never to be afraid again.
Old Marie had warned her that she could not expect the charm to work completely; she might have to repeat it a few times. Perhaps many times. Dortchen was prepared to do it as many times as was needed.
Later, she danced with Wilhelm. Once again, she found it hard to breathe, her heart racing in her chest. It was not fear that caused it to pound so, however, but longing and desire and hope. His arm was strong about her back, and she could feel the imprint of his hand on her waist, burning through the thin layers of silk. If she looked up, if she raised herself on her toes ever so slightly, his mouth would be only a breath away from hers. She concentrated instead on the buttons of his coat.
They did not speak at all, but when the music came to an end, Wilhelm released her reluctantly. She looked up at him.
His eyes were fixed on her face. ‘You can dance now, without fear?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I … I am trying to learn how to be brave.’
His lips flexed and she knew he wanted to kiss her. God only knew, Dortchen wanted him to. They stared at each other till the scrape of the bow over the violin made them realise they were standing still in the centre of the dance floor. Without speaking, Wilhelm held out his hand and she put hers into it. They began to dance again.
‘I need to tell you how sorry I am,’ she said to his shirtfront. ‘I never meant to hurt you. I cannot explain—’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ he said. ‘I understand. I mean, I tried to understand.’
‘I … Wilhelm, please forgive me. I don’t know … I don’t know if you can ever love me again. The way you used to. It’s been so long, and so much has happened, and I …’ For a little while she couldn’t speak. ‘I just want you to know that I have never changed,’ she managed at last. ‘I have loved you for as long as I have known you, and I think I always will. I … I want you to be happy. Even if you marry that horrible woman!’
The last words were unplanned and came out in a rush. He repressed a little smile and drew her closer. They danced on in silence.
At last, he bent his head and whispered, ‘Dortchen, I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried and tried to dig you out of my heart. But just the sight of you is enough to stir me to the very depths of my being. You shake it all up, everything I determine to do, and turn it all topsy-turvy. I hate you for the power you have over me.’
‘I hate you too. For all the same reasons. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d marry Herr Schmerfeld and have a very comfortable life, thank you very much!’ This was not going as she had planned.
He laughed. ‘Dortchen,’ he whispered.
She raised her face and looked him in the eyes, and everything else faded away. He drew her so close that there was not a finger’s breadth of space between them from thigh to breast. She could feel that he desired her. She leant closer, loving the way his breath shortened and his pupils flared.
‘I don’t think you’ll marry that horrible woman,’ she said.
He quirked his mouth ruefully. ‘But I could have such a comfortable life,’ he complained.
She smiled and pressed even closer. He twirled her about. ‘Little witch.’
They could not dance again without causing a scandal, and much offence to their hostess, so when the music finished Wilhelm bowed and left her. Dortchen went to stand at the rail. Her cheeks were hot and her body thrummed. She drank some more champagne. The boat glided along the dark water, reflections of the coloured lights dancing on the ripples. It passed under the arched bridge, and away from the town. The stars were bright overhead, the trees black against the luminous sky.
Wilhelm found her there some time later, looking up at the sky. ‘The music sounds beautiful on the river, doesn’t it?’ he said.
‘Yes. Somehow so much more ethereal.’
‘Have I told you that we are moving house again? Jakob insists we must have a larger place. He has found us the most beautiful apartment near Bellevue Palace, overlooking the park and the river. I’ll be living near you again.’
‘I’m so glad. I know you hated living above the blacksmith.’
‘It was so noisy and smoky and hot. On Bellevuestrasse, I’ll hear nothing but birdsong.’
‘Will it not be very expensive?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but the fairy tale book has begun to do much better. They brought out an English translation, you know, beautifully illustrated, with stories picked just for children. It has been a surprise bestseller. We earned nothing from it, of course, but it has attracted a lot of attention to us, and some new sales of our edition.’
‘I wish that you would bring out a ch
ildren’s edition here,’ Dortchen said. ‘With beautiful pictures that the little ones can look at. I read to Berthe and Friedrich every night from the book you gave me, but some of the stories are not really suitable for them, and they get cross when I won’t read a tale to them. And Friedrich, in particular, loves a book to be illustrated.’
‘I have been thinking of doing a small edition,’ Wilhelm said slowly. He put up his hand and touched her wrist. ‘Dortchen, would you help me choose what stories should go in it? You’d know better than I what tales little children would love.’
‘Well, that’s easy. “Hänsel and Gretel”, and “Aschenputtel”, and “Little Snow-White”, and “Little Thorn-Rose”, and “The Frog-King”, and “Rumpelstiltskin”, and …’
‘Wilhelm!’ an imperious voice called. ‘I want you! Come and be introduced to the Baron von Berlepsch.’
Wilhelm was annoyed to be interrupted, Dortchen could tell. She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps I could come and have supper at your new apartment. We can look at the book, and I’ll tell you which are the ones the children love the most.’
‘I’d like that. When can you come?’
‘Just as soon as you want me,’ she answered.
He bowed and turned to go. She put her hand on his wrist, stopping him. When he turned back to her, she offered him a cornflower from her bouquet. ‘A bachelor’s button,’ she whispered.
He kissed it and put it in his buttonhole, before going to Fraülein von Schwertzell’s side. Their hostess was not at all happy. Wilhelm did not seem to care. His gaze returned to Dortchen many times. She hid her smile and turned away, not wanting anyone to see her glowing face.
EPILOGUE
The True Bride
CASSEL
The German Confederation of Nations, December 1824
When she began her song, and it reached Roland’s ears, he jumped up and shouted, ‘I know that voice. That is the true bride. I do not want anyone else.’ Everything he had forgotten, and which had vanished from his mind, had suddenly come home again to his heart.