On the Night of the Seventh Moon

by Victoria Holt

  I had wandered away from the others; no one was in sight. I must watch the time. Pinned to my blouse was a little watch with blue enamel decorations which had been my mother’s. It would not be fair to be late and upset dear kind Schwester Maria.

  Then I started to brood on what I had found when I last returned home: the aunts in possession and my father grown indifferent to what went on around him; and it occurred to me that I would have to go back soon for girls did not stay after nineteen at the Damenstift.

  The mist comes suddenly in the mountainous forests. We were very high above sea level. When we went into the little town of Leichenkin, which was the nearest to the Damenstift, we went downhill all the way. And as I sat thinking of home and wondering vaguely about the future, the mist descended and when I got to my feet I could only see a few yards ahead of me. I looked at my watch. It was time to be going. Schwester Maria would already be rousing from her slumbers, clapping her hands and peering about for the girls. I had climbed a little and the mist might be less thick where she was resting, but in any case the fact that it was there would alarm her and she would certainly decide that we must leave at once.

  I started off in what I thought was the direction in which I had come; but I must have been wrong, for I could not find the road. I was not unduly alarmed, I had five minutes or so to spare and I had not wandered very far. But my concern grew when I still could not find the way. I believed I could be wandering round in circles but I kept assuring myself that soon I would come upon the clearing where we had had our picnic. I would hear the voices of the girls. But there was no sound in the mist.

  I called out: “Cooee!” as we did when we wished to attract each other’s attention. There was no response.

  I did not know which way to turn and I knew enough of the forest to realize that one could be deceived by direction in a mist such as this one. A horrible panic came to me. It might thicken. It might not lift all night. If so how could I find my way back to the clearing. I called again. There was no answer.

  I looked at my watch. I was five minutes overdue. I pictured Schwester Maria fussing. “Helena Trant again!” she would say. “Of course she didn’t mean it. She was just not thinking . . .”

  How right she was. I must find my way back. I could not worry poor Schwester Maria.

  I started off again, calling: “Coo-ee. It’s Helena. Here!”

  But no answer came out of the implacable gray mist. The mountain and forests are beautiful but they are also cruel, which is why there is always a hint of cruelty in the fairy tales of the forest. The wicked witch is forever waiting to spring, the spellbound trees are waiting to turn into the dragons they become when darkness falls.

  But I was not really frightened although I knew I was lost. The wise thing was to stay where I was and call. So I did.

  I looked at my watch. Half an hour had passed. I was frantic. But at least they would be searching for me.

  I waited. I called. I abandoned my decision to remain where I was and began to walk frantically in several directions. An hour had passed since the time for our rendezvous.

  It must have been half an hour after that. I had called until I was hoarse; and then I was alert for the sound of a displaced stone rolling and the crackle of undergrowth indicated that someone was near.

  “Cooee!” I called with relief. “I’m here.”

  He loomed up out of the mist like a hero of the forest on his big white horse. I went toward him. He sat for one second regarding me, then he said in English: “It was you who called. So you’re lost.”

  I was too relieved to be surprised that he spoke in English. I began to talk quickly: “Have you seen the wagonette? And Schwester Maria and the girls? I must find them quickly.”

  He smiled slowly. “You’re from the Damenstift.”

  “Why, yes, of course.”

  He leaped down from his horse. He was tall, broad, and immediately I was aware of what I could only describe then as authority. I was delighted. I wanted someone who could get me back to Schwester Maria with all speed and he gave an impression of invincibility.

  “I’m lost,” I said. “There was a picnic.”

  “And you strayed away from the fold.” His eyes gleamed. They were very bright topaz color, I thought, but perhaps that was the strange light due to the mist. His mouth which was firm and full turned up at the corners; he had not taken his eyes from me and I was a little embarrassed by his scrutiny.

  “Sheep who stray from the fold deserve to be lost,” he said.

  “Yes, I suppose so, but I didn’t exactly stray far. But for the mist I should have found them easily.”

  “One must always expect mist at these heights,” he reproved.

  “Well, yes, of course, but will you take me back to them? I’m sure they are still searching for me.”

  “If you can tell me where they are, most certainly. But if you knew that important fact you would not need my help.”

  “Couldn’t we try and find them? They can’t be far.”

  “How could we find anyone in this mist?”

  “It’s more than an hour since I was supposed to be there.”

  “Depend upon it. They’ve gone back to the Damenstift.”

  I looked at the horse. “It’s five miles. Could you take me there?”

  I was rather startled to be promptly lifted up and set sideways on the horse. He leaped into the saddle.

  “Go on Schlem,” he said in German.

  The horse walked cautiously forward while the stranger kept one arm about me; he held the reins with the other. I could feel my heart beating very fast. I was so excited I had stopped worrying about Schwester Maria.

  I said: “Anyone could get lost in the mist.”

  “Anyone,” he agreed.

  “You were lost I suppose?” I asked.

  “In a manner,” he said, “Schlem”—he patted the horse—“would always take me back.”

  “You’re not English,” I said suddenly.

  “I am betrayed,” he replied. “Tell me what did it.”

  “Your accent. It’s very faint, but there.”

  “I was educated at Oxford.”

  “How exciting! My home is there.”

  “I believe I have risen somewhat in your estimation. Am I right?”

  “Well, I hadn’t started to make an estimation yet.”

  “How wise of you. One never should on a very short acquaintance.”

  “I’m Helena Trant, studying at the Damenstift near Leichenkin.”

  I waited for him to introduce himself, but all he said was: “How interesting.”

  I laughed. “When you loomed out of the mist I thought you were Siegfried or somebody like that.”

  “You are very complimentary.”

  “It was the horse. Schlem. He’s magnificent. And you looked so tall and commanding seated up there, just as he must have looked—Siegfried I mean.”

  “You are well acquainted with our heroes?”

  “Well, my mother comes from these parts. As a matter of fact, she was at the same Damenstift. That’s why I’m there.”

  “How very fortunate.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because if your mother had not gone to this particular Damenstift you would not have come and you would never have been lost in the mist and I should never have had the pleasure of rescuing you.”

  I laughed. “So it is a pleasure?”

  “It’s a great pleasure.”

  “The horse keeps going. Where is he taking us?”

  “He knows his way.”

  “What! To the Damenstift?”

  “I doubt he has ever been there. But he will take us to some shelter where we can make plans.”

  I was contented. I suppose it was that air of authority which gave me the impression that whatever the proposition it would not be too difficult for him to solve it.

  “You haven’t told me your name,” I said.

  “You’ve already named me,” he said
. “Siegfried.”

  I burst out laughing. “Is it really? Well, that is a coincidence. Fancy my hitting on the name. I suppose you are real. You’re not a chimera or something. You’re not suddenly going to disappear.”

  “Wait and see,” he said. He held me tightly against him which aroused in me a strange emotion which I had never felt before and which should, of course, have been a warning.

  We had been climbing a little and the horse suddenly changed direction. A house loomed out of the mist.

  “Here we are,” said Siegfried.

  He dismounted and lifted me down.

  “Where are we?” I asked. “This is not the Damenstift.”

  “Never mind. We’ll find shelter here. The mist is chilling.”

  He shouted: “Hans!” and a man came running out from stables which I discerned at the side of the house. He did not seem in the least surprised to see me; calmly he took the reins which Siegfried threw at him and led the horse away.

  Siegfried then slipped his arm through mine and drew me toward the stone steps which led up to the portico. We were facing a heavy iron-studded door which he pushed open and we stepped into a hall with a big fire roaring away in the grate; there were skins of animals in the form of rugs, over the polished boards of the floor.

  “This is your home?” I asked.

  “It’s my hunting lodge.”

  A woman came into the hall. “Master!” she cried and I saw the dismay in her face as she looked at me.

  He spoke to her in rapid German explaining that he had found one of the young ladies from the Damenstift lost in the forest.

  The woman seemed even more disturbed. “Mein Gott! Mein Gott!” she kept muttering.

  “Don’t fret so, Garde,” he complained. “Get us some food. The child is chilled. Find her a wrap or something so that she can get her damp clothes off.”

  I spoke to her in her own language and she replied in a scolding voice, “We should get you back to the Damenstift soon.”

  “We might let them know I’m safe,” I temporized, for I had no desire for my adventure to end so quickly.

  “The mist is too thick,” said Siegfried. “Wait awhile. As soon as we can get her back we will.”

  The woman looked at him reproachfully and I wondered what that meant.

  She bustled me up a wooden staircase into a room with a big white bed and a great many cupboards. She opened one of these and took from it a blue velvet robe lined with fur. I exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of it.

  “Take off your blouse,” she said. “It’s damp. Then you can wrap this round you.”

  I did so and when I glanced at myself in the mirror I seemed transformed. The blue velvet was so magnificent. I had never seen anything like it.

  “Could I wash my hands and face?” I asked. She looked at me almost fearfully. Then she nodded. After a while she came back with hot water.

  “Come down when you’re ready,” she said.

  I heard a clock strike seven. Seven o’clock! What would be happening back at the Damenstift. I felt sick with anxiety at the thought but even that could not curb the wild excitement which was possessing me. I washed thoughtfully. My cheeks were pink, my eyes bright. I undid the plaits which Mutter insisted were worn and my hair fell about my shoulders; it was thick, dark, and straight. Then I wrapped the blue velvet robe about me and fervently wished the girls in the convent could see me now.

  There was a knock at the door and the woman entered. She gasped when she saw me. She seemed as though she were going to say something but refrained from doing so. It was a little mysterious, but so exciting.

  She took me down the stairs to a small room where a table was set. There was wine and cold chicken with fruit and cheeses and a big crusty coburg loaf.

  Siegfried was standing by the fire.

  His eyes sparkled as he looked at me. I was delighted. I knew it meant that the robe suited me—as indeed it must suit anyone; and of course my hair was more becoming loose than in plaits.

  “You like the transformation?” I said. I always talked too much when excited. I went on exuberantly: “I look a more fitting companion for Siegfried now, than with my plaits and school blouse.”

  “A very fitting companion,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Then let us waste no time.”

  He led me to a chair and very courteously held it while I sat down. I was unused to such attentions. He filled my glass with wine. “I shall wait on you tonight,” he said.

  I wondered what he meant for a moment and then I said: “Oh, servants.”

  “They would be a little redundant on such an occasion.”

  “And hardly necessary when we can help ourselves.”

  “This wine,” he said, “is from our Moselle Valley.”

  “We don’t have wine at the Damenstift—only water.”

  “How abstemious.”

  “And what they would say if they could see me sitting here now with my hair loose, I can’t imagine.”

  “So it is forbidden to wear it so?”

  “It’s supposed to be sinful or something.”

  He was still standing behind me and suddenly gathered my hair up in his hands and pulled it so that my head was jerked back and I looked full into his face. He leaned over me and I wondered what was going to happen next.

  “You do strange things,” I said. “Why do you pull my hair?”

  He smiled and releasing it went to the chair opposite me and sat down.

  “I suppose they consider it would arouse temptation in unscrupulous people. That’s how they would reason. And quite rightly.”

  “Hair you mean?”

  He nodded. “You should keep it plaited except when you are completely sure of your companions.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “No. You are somewhat thoughtless, you know. You wandered from the fold. Don’t you know that in the forest there are wild boars and equally wild barons. One could rob you of your life, the other of your virtue. Now tell me which would you consider of the most value?”

  “The nuns would say one’s virtue, of course.”

  “But I wanted your opinion.”

  “As I have never lost either it is hard for me to decide.”

  “The nuns haven’t either presumably, but they came to a decision.”

  “But they are so much older than I. Are you telling me that you are one of the wild barons? How could you be? You’re Siegfried. No one with a name like that could ever rob maidens of their virtue. All they do is save them from wild boars, or wild barons perhaps.”

  “You are not very sure of that. I sense you have a few misgivings. Have you?”

  “Well, a few. But then if I hadn’t this wouldn’t be an adventure, would it? If it was another nun who had found me it would be rather dull.”

  “But surely you should feel no misgivings with Siegfried.”

  “If it were really he, no.”

  “So you are doubting me.”

  “I think you may be rather different from what you seem.”

  “In what way?”

  “That remains to be discovered.”

  He was amused and said: “Allow me to serve you some of this meat.”

  He did so and I took a piece of rye bread which was hot and crusty and delicious. There was a mixture of spicy pickle and a kind of sauerkraut such as I had never tasted before. This was something more than the usual layers of white cabbage and spice seeds; it was quite delicious.

  I ate ravenously for a while and he watched me with all the pleasure of a good host.

  “So you were hungry,” he said.

  I frowned. “Yes and you’re thinking that I really ought to be worrying about what’s happened at the Damenstift, not enjoying this.”

  “No. I’m glad you can live in the moment.”

  “You mean I should forget about going back and facing them all?”

  “Yes, I mean just that. It’s the way to li
ve. We have met in the mist; you are here; we can talk together while the mist lasts. Let us not think beyond that.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. “Because quite frankly I find it very depressing to contemplate all the fuss there’ll be when I get back.”

  “Then you see I am right.” He lifted his glass. “Tonight,” he said. “The devil take tomorrow.”

  I drank with him. The wine warmed my throat and I felt the color flushing my cheeks.

  “Although,” I said severely, “it is not a philosophy of which the nuns would approve.”

  “The nuns are for tomorrow. We mustn’t let them intrude tonight.”

  “I can’t help thinking of poor Schwester Maria. Mutter will scold her. ‘You shouldn’t have taken that Helena Trant,’ she will say. ‘There is always trouble where she is.’ ”

  “And is there?” he asked.

  “It seems to work out that way.”

  He laughed. “But you are different from the others. I’m sure of that. You were telling me that your mother was here.”

  “It was a beautiful story, and now it has become a sad one. They met in the forest and they fell in love and lived happily ever after . . . until she died that is. There was great opposition to the marriage but they overcame it, and it all turned out so right. But she is dead now and Father is alone.”

  “He has you when you are not far away at the Damenstift or roaming the forest in the mist.”

  I grimaced. “They were always lovers rather than parents. Lovers don’t want intruders and even children can be that.”

  “The conversation is growing a little sad,” he said, “and this is a time for gaiety.”

  “What! With me lost and the nuns frantic and wondering how they are going to break the news to my father that I am lost in the forest.”

  “You’ll be back with them before they have time to send the message.”

  “But I hardly think we should be gay when they will be so worried.”

  “If we can do no good by worrying we should be gay. That’s wisdom.”

  “I suppose you are very wise, Siegfried.”

  “Well, Siegfried was, wasn’t he?”

  “I’m not so sure. It could all have worked out so much better with Brynhild if he had been a little more clever.”