by Anne Mather
With a gasp, she sat up abruptly in the bed, pressing a hand to her throat to still her racing pulse, and remained absolutely still for a moment, recovering from the shock of her awakening. As full consciousness invaded her mind, she realised that the room was no longer dark as it had been the night before. Light was penetrating the heavy velvet curtains, the brilliant sun-on-snow light that was eloquent of the mountains.
A shiver engulfed her and swiftly she reached for the quilted housecoat she had laid on the end of the bed the night before. Thrusting her arms into it, she saw that her fire was dead, the ashes not even glowing in the hearth, and the room was as chill as a refrigerator. With hasty movements, she fastened the housecoat and slid out of bed, brushing her hair out of her eyes with an unsteady hand. She was still very much aware of the nightmare world of the dream and the remembrance of the explosion which had woken her seemed altogether more substantial than all the rest.
Shivering once more, she pushed aside the velvet curtains and looked out. Last night the landscape had been a white wilderness, but this morning the brilliance of the panorama hurt her eyes. Her window overlooked the rear of the castle, and towering above were the high reaches of the mountains. Closer at hand the pines were loaded with snow beyond a walled garden in which some attempt at cultivation had obviously been achieved. Away to the right the surging waters of the stream could be glimpsed, and she wondered with incredulity how it remained unfrozen in such low temperatures. The surroundings of the valley might account for some shelter, but even so it was very cold.
As normality asserted itself, Victoria turned and lifted her watch from the table by the bed. It was only a little after eight, but she decided she would be well advised to put on her clothes and go and find some heating. She was pulling on thick trousers when a sound at her bedroom door brought her swinging round to face it, grabbing her sweater to hide her chest. The door creaked, halted, creaked again, and finally gave inwards to allow a small face to appear round it.
Victoria heaved a shaky sigh of relief, and swiftly donned her sweater as the girl, for this must be Sophie, came reluctantly into the room. She had the feeling that Sophie had expected her to still be asleep and had not expected to be seen.
‘Guten Morgen, Sophie,’ she said, with a smile, congratulating herself on remembering the simple words, but the girl merely regarded her silently, neither answering her nor attempting to offer any words herself.
As this was Victoria’s first glimpse of her charge she decided to give her a few minutes to get used to her and began to make her bed. The previous evening had been disappointing in the respect that she had seen neither the Baron nor his daughter after her arrival, and when she had ventured down to the kitchen after unpacking her case she had found herself expected to eat at the scrubbed kitchen table with Gustav, Maria’s husband. It had all been part of the strange, unreal quality of the schloss, but this morning she refused to be downhearted. After all, the food though plain had been excellent, and she was little more than a servant when all was said and done. Even so, it was patently obvious that the schloss was no luxury country home and apart from Gustav and Maria there were no other servants. Victoria had plagued her brain with questions long after she had retired and had come to the conclusion that either the Baron was eccentric, or he really was as poor as he had maintained. Of course, if she had had any sense at all she would have suspected something was wrong. Three governesses in as many months, her godmother had said. And that poor creature, the Baroness Theresa; she would hardly live that hand-to-mouth existence if her relatives were rich landowners. Victoria smiled to herself as she spread the coverlet evenly across the width of the bed. Aunt Laurie had had no idea what she was letting her goddaughter in for. She would never have countenanced the idea had she suspected the Baron’s circumstances. And yet, for all that, Victoria found the prospect of her task challenging, and it would do her no harm to have to rough it for a while. She looked across at Sophie’s solemn little face. Well, she thought with insight, it was certainly to be no sinecure.
When the bed was made she straightened and came round to the girl. She was small for her age, with hair several shades darker than her father’s, which she wore in two plaits. She was dressed in a thick woollen dress and cardigan, black tights keeping her thin legs warm. She was not unattractive, but the plain clothes gave her a waif-like appearance.
Victoria rubbed her cold hands together, and said: ‘It’s chilly up here, isn’t it? Shall we go down?’ in a brisk voice. She knew the child understood English. Before her illness she had attended a good boarding academy where English was the second language.
Sophie continued to regard her steadily, making no move towards the door. When Victoria was beginning to feel impatient with her, she said, quite clearly: ‘Do you intend to stay here?’
Victoria was taken aback. ‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘Why not?’
Sophie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Did I say you shouldn’t?’ she asked cheekily.
Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Don’t you want me to stay?’
Sophie’s eyes flickered. ‘You won’t, anyway,’ she replied depressingly. ‘You’ll be like the others. Your nerves won’t stand it!’
Victoria felt a trace of annoyance. ‘My nerves have never troubled me before,’ she asserted calmly. ‘Now, shall we finish this useless conversation, and go down?’
Sophie ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘If you like.’ But she still made no move to leave. Instead she walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up a flagon of perfume that belonged to Victoria. Without asking permission, she removed the stopper and sniffed it suspiciously. Then, with what Victoria afterwards realised were deliberately fumbling movements, she attempted to press the stopper back in place, allowed the flagon to slide through her fingers and drop to the floor. It did not break, it was plastic, but its contents spilled out over the polished floor.
With an exclamation, Victoria rushed across the room and snatched up the flagon with trembling fingers before all its contents could be lost, and turned to Sophie with angry eyes. It was a favourite perfume of hers and obviously it was impossible to replace here, miles from anywhere.
Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, before Victoria could speak. ‘It—it was an accident!’
Victoria opened her mouth to remonstrate with her, and then suddenly closed it again. Of course, that was what Sophie wanted. She hoped Victoria would lose her temper and get angry. It would prove that she was susceptible and capable of being aroused quite easily. And maybe she wanted to find out just how angry Victoria could become.
So with an immense amount of fortitude, Victoria suppressed her annoyance, replaced the stopper on the flagon, and put it back in its place. Then she turned to the girl. ‘That’s all right,’ she said calmly, more calmly than she felt. ‘Accidents will happen. Do you like perfume, Sophie?’
Sophie screwed up her face. ‘No,’ she said violently. ‘I hate it!’
Victoria inclined her head. ‘Indeed. Well now, shall we go?’
Sophie looked mutinous for a moment, and then she turned and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she turned back. ‘You won’t stay, you know,’ she said derisively. ‘You’ll be too scared!’
Victoria took a step forward. ‘What do you mean, Sophie?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘You’ll find out,’ she retorted, and slammed out of the room.
After she had gone, Victoria found that, she was trembling. Certainly she had never come up against such a strange child before, and while her anger over the perfume remained she began to wonder exactly what motivated Sophie’s deliberate antagonism. With a sigh, she combed her long thick hair into place, secured it with combs, and left the room.
Down the winding staircase she smelt the delicious aroma of baking bread, and when she opened the kitchen door a wave of heat hit her. The kitchen was huge, dominated by the long, scrubbed table and wooden forms round it. Strings
of onions hung from the rafters, gleaming pans adorned the shelves, and on the wide fireplace a huge kettle simmered constantly. Maria was busy taking a tray of bread rolls out of the oven beside the fireplace, but she smiled as Victoria entered the room.
‘Guten Morgen, fräulein,’ she said, putting the tray on the scrubbed table. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Victoria relaxed. ‘Danke, yes,’ she nodded. ‘It’s much warmer down here than upstairs.’
Maria folded her arms. ‘It is cold in your room? The fire is gone out?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Do—do I light it?’
Maria shook her head. ‘Gustav will do it later, fräulein.’ She turned away to where a coffee percolator hummed on another stove. ‘You would like some coffee? Or tea?’
‘Coffee would be fine,’ replied Victoria gratefully, seating herself near the roaring fire. ‘Is it always as cold as this?’
Maria spooned sugar into a cup without asking Victoria’s preference, and shrugged, pulling a face. ‘In May the warm days come,’ she said.
‘May!’ Victoria shivered. It was still only March. May seemed a very long way away.
‘You will soon get used to it, fräulein,’ asserted Maria, comfortably, handing the girl a cup of strong black coffee. ‘Wrap up warmly and you will find it is invigorating.’
Victoria sipped her coffee with some satisfaction. At least it was good coffee. She was beginning to feel hungry, too, and the sight of those golden brown rolls was very appetising.
Maria put the rolls on to a wire tray, and began to set a place near Victoria. She put out some of the white earthenware plates they had used the night before, together with a dish of yellow butter and a jar of home-made conserve. Then she indicated that Victoria should sit at the table, and Victoria did so with gratitude.
‘The—er—Baron?’ she began, as she buttered a roll and added some conserve.
Maria frowned. ‘Yes?’ she said uncompromisingly.
Victoria sighed. ‘Does—doesn’t he eat here?’
Maria sniffed. ‘The Herr Baron breakfasted two hours ago, fräulein,’ she retorted, with some disparagement.
‘I see.’ Victoria sank her teeth into the roll and savoured its flavour with real enjoyment. It was strange, you simply didn’t get bread like this in England.
Maria hesitated by the table. ‘Have you seen Sophie yet, fräulein?’
At the mention of the child’s name, some of Victoria’s contentment vanished.
‘Yes, I’ve seen her,’ she replied carefully. ‘She came to my bedroom earlier.’
Maria still hovered beside her. ‘What did she say?’
Victoria frowned. ‘Very little,’ she answered honestly.
Maria twisted her hands together. ‘It is wise not to take too much notice of what she says,’ she said unhappily, ‘Sophie is a strange child. No one can get near to her. She makes up—what you would call—fantasies!’
Victoria looked at Maria curiously, and then the woman’s words found an echo in something she remembered from earlier this morning.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘could I have heard an explosion this morning? I—I believe something like that woke me.’
Maria’s eyes flickered. ‘An explosion, fräulein?’
‘Yes.’ Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘Like a shot, for example.’
Maria looked relieved suddenly. ‘Oh, perhaps,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Gustav was out early with his rifle.’
Victoria digested this, but Maria turned away, apparently willing to let the conversation end there. Victoria ate two rolls, felt pleasantly full, and accepted a second cup of coffee. She was in the process of drinking the second cup when the heavy door at the far side of the kitchen opened and her employer came in.
This morning he was dressed in thigh-length boots, and a thick fur-lined overcoat. A fur hat resided on his head, but he drew this off as he came in and threw it to one side as he unbuttoned his coat, and unzipped his boots. Victoria gave him a fleeting glance, and then returned her attention to her coffee, unwilling to appear too inquisitive as he divested himself of his outer garments. Maria welcomed him eagerly, offering him coffee, and he patted her shoulder warmly, and said: ‘Ja, good and strong, Maria!’ before transferring his attention to Victoria.
‘Good morning, Miss Monroe,’ he nodded, running a hand through the thickness of his fair hair. ‘I trust you have spent a good night.’
Victoria found herself colouring under his brilliant blue gaze like a schoolgirl, and was angry with herself for doing so. In consequence, her tones were sharp, as she replied: ‘Thank you, yes, Herr Baron.’
The Baron’s brows drew together slightly, and he studied her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing: ‘It will be necessary for us to talk this morning, Miss Monroe. I suggest you wait a moment while I have my coffee, and then we will go to my study.’
Victoria lifted her shoulders. ‘As you say, Herr Baron,’ she answered swiftly.
The Baron gave her another studied look before turning back to Maria and taking the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. Warming his hands round its width, he came back to the fire, standing, one foot raised to rest on the settle at one side of the fire, as he stared into the flames. In black vorlagers and a black sweater he was an infinitely disturbing figure, and Victoria couldn’t help wondering where his wife might be. Had Sophie been more forthcoming she might have asked her about her mother, but the child had not been helpful in any way. It was possible, of course, that Sophie missed her mother and that that was why she behaved so badly. But would any woman be able to stand the isolation here all winter long? Had the Baroness merely gone to where there were lights and people and simple luxuries like central heating, for example?
Victoria ventured another look at her employer. He might not be an easy man to live with; there was a touch of ruthlessness about him as well as that sardonic cynicism, and yet she was aware also of a gentleness that showed whenever he spoke of his daughter. He turned suddenly and found her eyes upon him and she quickly looked away, but not before she had encountered the disturbing penetration of those naked blue eyes.
He finished his coffee and put the cup on the bench beside a deep sink, then turned to Victoria. ‘Are you ready, Miss Monroe?’ he asked briefly, and Victoria got obediently to her feet.
At that moment the kitchen door opened again, this time from the hall which led to Victoria’s room, and Sophie came in almost jauntily. Victoria had been wondering where the child was, and now she thought there was about Sophie an air of satisfaction that had not been there before.
‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, when she saw her father, and rushing across to him she wrapped her arms round his hips extravagantly. ‘Wohin gehen Sie?’
‘English, Sophie,’ said her father gently, disentangling himself from her clinging arms. ‘I am going to my study. Miss Monroe and I need to discuss your tuition.’
Sophie turned in her father’s arms and wrinkled her nose at Victoria, but as only Victoria saw her the Baron did not remonstrate with her. ‘I don’t want to do lessons, Papa! I want to come out with you. Can I, Papa? Can I?’
The Baron held her at arm’s length, looking at her teasingly. ‘Would you have it said that Sophie von Reichstein was unintelligent, uneducated, illiterate, Sophie?’ he chided her gently. ‘Don’t you want me to be proud of you?’
Sophie pouted. ‘Of course I do, Papa. But you can teach me all I need to know.’
The Baron shook his head, straightening. ‘No, Sophie.’
Sophie’s face crumpled. ‘Why?’
‘I do not have the time, Sophie.’ The Baron sighed. ‘Miss Monroe will be an admirable teacher, I am sure. Try to be good, to learn! It is no use railing against the inevitable.’
Sophie sniffed, and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t care about me!’ she accused him.
Victoria felt uncomfortable and glanced across at Maria. The old woman was looking anxious and Victoria had the feeling that this was a s
cene she had seen many times before.
The Baron frowned at his daughter. ‘That is not true, Sophie, and you know it. I simply cannot devote myself solely to your education. There is much to do about the schloss as you know. It is impossible for me to be your tutor. Besides, it is better that you have the services of a—qualified teacher—--’ He cast a bleak glance in Victoria’s direction, and she felt sure he had hesitated there deliberately. He had intended to remind her that she was not experienced.
Sophie rubbed her eyes with both hands. ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you any more.’
The Baron regarded her for a long moment, then he turned and with a gesture indicated that Victoria should precede him out of the room. Victoria did so, unhappily aware of Sophie’s eyes on her back as they left.
In the hall, the Baron went ahead, leading the way to the enormous banqueting hall which they had first entered on their arrival. Here there was another huge fire and Victoria reflected that at least there was no shortage of wood to stoke the flames. Only one of the wolfhounds lay before the blaze and at a command from the Baron he did not trouble them as they crossed the hall to another heavy door leading into the east wing of the schloss. Victoria had wondered if the east wing were used at all, but apparently it was and this was where the Baron’s apartments were situated. Here the floors were just as bare, but when the Baron halted before an arched doorway and opened the door into a comparatively small room, Victoria saw that at least here there were some signs of comfort.
The room was lined with books so that it was more like a library than a study, but an enormous desk, littered with papers dominated the central area, and before and behind this desk were two comfortable armchairs of buttoned green leather. The floor was strewn with rugs, and again a comfortable blaze burned in the hearth. Victoria wondered however such a place could be heated without the presence of the pine forests. To imagine such hearths filled with fuel of a harder quality was to imagine untold riches.
The Baron closed the door behind them and indicated that Victoria should take the chair nearest the fire. Then he himself perched on the corner of his desk and reaching into a carved wooden box he produced a thick cigar which he proceeded to trim and light before speaking.