The Reluctant Governess

by Anne Mather

  ‘Has the whole of the schloss been fully used in your lifetime?’ she asked, with interest, and he shook his head.

  ‘Not entirely, although during the war it was taken over by the German forces of occupation and consequently most of the apartments were opened up. But as a mere residency for the Barons von Reichstein, it is something of what you would call—a white elephant.’ He sighed, opening the door into the other wing. ‘The upkeep of such a building is beyond the means of most of us, and I am well aware that to sell the place to some syndicate or perhaps speculate myself and convert it into an hotel for tourists would be more businesslike.’ He shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, I am not by nature a gregarious man, and the prospect of filling the building with chattering holidaymakers, clad in their so-elegant après-ski finery, fills me with horror. So instead we live modestly, without the usual accoutrements of modern-day society.’

  Victoria listened intently, and he regarded her rather cynically. ‘Do you consider that stupid, fräulein?’ he queried, walking down the long hall, past the room which she recognised as being his study, to where a shallow flight of stairs led up to the first floor.

  Following him up the stairs, she refuted his question. ‘On the contrary,’ she said, ‘it’s unusual to find someone who considers some things more important than money. It’s an admirable trait.’

  ‘Are you sure you are not mocking me, fräulein?’ he murmured lightly. ‘Surely money is the religion of the times.’

  Victoria smiled. ‘I suppose it is, although to be fair, most people find it impossible to live under today’s stresses and strains without security, and money does provide stability.’

  The Baron nodded. ‘Yes, perhaps that is so. In any event, the schloss is my home and I am prepared to do almost anything to keep it so.’

  While Victoria digested this remark, the Baron had halted outside one of the doors which opened on to this landing and pushing it open he allowed her to precede him into Sophie’s room.

  It was quite an attractive apartment, with patterned wallpaper on the walls, and a fitted unit capable of containing most of her toys. Her bed, like Victoria’s, was huge, and she looked lost in its depths. She did in fact look rather pale, but Victoria suspected this was because there was a huge fire burning in the room and it was practically airless. Sophie’s expression darkened when she saw who was with her father, however, and Victoria half wished she had made some excuse not to come here.

  The Baron approached the bed and sitting down beside her said: ‘Are you feeling any better, liebling?’

  Sophie grasped his hands, and looked at him adoringly. ‘I am all right, Papa,’ she said softly. ‘You know how bad these headaches can be sometimes.’

  ‘I know.’ The Baron ran a gentle hand over her forehead. ‘You are hot! Stay where you are and I will get Maria to bring you something cool to drink.’

  Victoria, standing by the door, felt de trop, but presently Sophie’s father turned and said: ‘Look, Miss Monroe has come to see how you are. She is most disappointed that you are not to begin your lessons today.’

  Sophie sniffed, but said nothing, and Victoria managed a faint smile. But she still had the distinct impression that Sophie was merely playing for time, and consequently it was difficult to express a sympathy she did not feel. Instead she said:

  ‘It’s very close in here, Herr Baron. Don’t you think a little air would do Sophie good?’

  The Baron released his daughter’s hands and got to his feet. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right, fräulein. It is unhealthily hot in here. Would you like a window opened, Sophie? Maria can always close it again when she brings your drink.’

  Sophie’s brows drew together. ‘You are not staying with me, Papa?’

  ‘No. I am going into Reichstein,’ returned the Baron, with a smile. ‘We cannot all spend our days in bed. There is work to be done.’ He spoke briskly, as though attempting to cheer her up.

  Sophie’s face dropped. ‘Oh, but Papa, you promised to take me with you the next time you went to the village,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I know. But you cannot come today, can you?’ asked her father reasonably. ‘There will be other times, never fear. Now we will leave you to rest.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘I hope the headache is soon better.’

  Sophie pouted, and would not respond, and with a sigh the Baron indicated that Victoria should precede him outside. Once in the corridor again he shook his head heavily.

  ‘These headaches Sophie gets—they are a great trial to her.’

  Victoria hid her exasperation. ‘Has she seen a doctor?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yes. But to no avail.’

  ‘So it’s nothing serious, then. Perhaps she needs glasses.’

  The Baron gave her an amused glance. ‘Such a suggestion would not be popular with my daughter, fräulein,’ he observed dryly.

  No, thought Victoria, with conviction, it certainly would not. Yet she could not help a fleeting sense of compassion for the Baron who was genuinely concerned about his daughter. Sophie might have a headache, indeed in that airless room it was a distinct possibility, but Victoria doubted that it was as disabling as Sophie would have her father believe.

  Later, driving into Reichstein with her employer, Victoria’s spirits lifted considerably. It was a beautifully crisp morning, the sun glinting on the frosted snow, and casting deep shadows among the tall pines that grew thickly over the slopes. The snow-ploughs had been out, and there were deep piles of snow at the sides of the road, narrowing the space between. But there were not many vehicles about, and Victoria appreciated the lack of being hurried along by someone pressing behind. Instead, she was able to enjoy the scenery and from time to time the Baron pointed out places of especial interest. Driving to the schloss in the darkness of early evening had curtailed any chance of observing her surroundings two days ago.

  The area was a series of valleys, some higher than others, with narrow passes between. Once Victoria pointed out a stone-built tower, visible above the trees, and the Baron told her it was a monastery, but on the whole there were few dwellings. The sloping roofs of some farm buildings caught her attention mainly because of the smoke drifting upwards from the chimneys.

  With a frown, she said: ‘Are there many farms here-abouts?’

  The Baron swung the station wagon round a sharp curve before replying, then he said: ‘There are several, but the terrain is such that they are not all visible from the road. During the summer months, you will see a great deal more activity. At present the animals are in their byres, and the soil is lying under several feet of snow.’

  Victoria glanced back over her shoulder. ‘And these farmers? They are your tenants, of course.’ She nodded her head. ‘I should have thought of that before.’

  The Baron gave her a brief glance. ‘It is of no importance. My tenants, as you call them, have a free hand with the land. This is no feudal system where the pick of the crop is naturally given to the overlord. But I am loath to sell the land. So much has already been sold. Once the estates of the Barons von Reichstein stretched for many miles in every direction. It was an empire, ruled with a rod of iron, no doubt.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Those days are gone for ever. Whatever my faults, I believe in freedom, fräulein, and it is as well my ancestors are not here to deal with me.’

  Victoria linked her fingers together. ‘Anyone can rule with a rod of iron, Herr Baron. Fear is a powerful weapon. But strength lies in respect and loyalty and love; not in violence!’

  The Baron’s dark brows arched. ‘You are a philosopher, Miss Monroe,’ he commented wryly. ‘It is gratifying to know you do not consider my attitude a sign of weakness.’

  Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘I would not consider you a weak man, Herr Baron. On the contrary, I feel you have strong convictions about the role you should play.’

  ‘You are right again.’ The Baron changed into a lower gear as they began to descend into the valley where the village had mushroomed. ‘I am afraid some of my contemporaries consid
er my methods rather eccentric. It is simply not done—to till one’s own fields, to feed one’s own animals, to work until one’s back is aching! I am the Baron von Reichstein, and therefore I disgrace my birthright.’ He shrugged. ‘But I am a man, and thank God, a healthy one, and I enjoy my labours. I am not naturally a sybarite, although I have heard it said that I should sell the schloss, the estate, everything!’

  ‘Why?’ Victoria stared at him.

  The Baron shrugged casually. ‘With the money I would get from selling up I could find myself a service apartment in Vienna, or Paris perhaps, and join all the other impoverished barons and baronesses of Europe who haunt the fashionable resorts in the hope that one day they will win a fortune at the tables, which would enable them to buy back their estates and restore them to their former glories!’ His mouth twisted cynically. ‘I cannot see myself in that role. I can only feel pity for their foolishness. We may be poor at Reichstein, but at least we are not in debt. Why should I sell the thing I love most next to Sophie?’

  Victoria was puzzled, not so much by what he had said, as by what he had not said. Never at any time did he mention his wife, the Baroness, and that was strange. Where was Sophie’s mother? Why was her name never mentioned? She couldn’t be dead, or they would have said so. So why all the secrecy? It was most disturbing and Victoria, used to her godmother’s confidence, found it all most intriguing.

  On the outskirts of the village was a small church, whose Gothic spire and arched façade gave it a medieval appearance. However, the Baron said that while the foundations were very old, most of the stonework had been rebuilt and was not original. Even so, it was an attractive example of Austrian architecture which Victoria always thought seemed typically baroque. So much detail and flamboyance of sculpture so often resulted in ornamental excess which happily was not in evidence here.

  The village of Reichstein comprised of a main street, fronted by several shops, and some tall narrow houses with balconies and window boxes. The central point was a square which supported a stone memorial to some obscure saint, and it was here that people gathered to talk. There was a small inn, with a swinging sign, behind a row of bare trees, and a schoolhouse with an adjoining play-yard. It was all very compact and self-contained, and for all its size it had all the attributes of a small town in England.

  The Baron parked the station wagon in the square, and fastening his coat and turning up his collar he slid out. The chill air his departure introduced into the vehicle caused Victoria to turn up her collar too, and she slid out to join him forestalling his intent to open her door. She looked up at him as he closed the door firmly behind her and couldn’t resist saying: ‘I suppose I ought to be opening your door, Herr Baron!’ in an amused tone.

  He frowned however, and said, rather brusquely: ‘I have some calls to make. What will you do?’

  She shrugged, glancing about her, aware that their arrival had aroused a great deal of interest from the passers-by. Most of them spoke to the Baron with warmth and politeness, but they looked rather speculatively at Victoria.

  ‘I’ll look at the shops,’ she said, at last. ‘There are one or two things I need. That will be all right, won’t it?’

  He regarded her intently for a moment, and then he inclined his head. ‘You don’t mind being alone?’ he queried quietly.

  Victoria’s colour deepened. ‘Of course not. You won’t be long, will you?’

  He continued to study her for another suffocating moment and then he shook his head. ‘No, I shan’t be long,’ he agreed. ‘If you meet me back here in say …’ he consulted the gold watch on his wrist, ‘… say forty-five minutes, we could have a drink together before returning to the schloss.’

  Victoria thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. ‘That would be lovely,’ she nodded.

  ‘Sehr gut!’ The Baron gave her a faint bow of his head and strode away.

  After he had gone it took her several moments to compose herself. Whether he was aware of it or otherwise, he had the most disturbing effect on her when he chose to exert his personality, and while she was convinced that his manner was the same to everyone he came into contact with, she was unable to prevent the surge of excitement his presence evoked.

  Shaking her head impatiently, she began to walk round the square. Because of her emotional involvement with Meredith, which had been so summarily ended, she was susceptible to a physical awareness of any attractive male. And the Baron was so utterly different from any man she had ever known that she was doubly sensitive. Even so, she had not felt any disruption of her emotional system when Dr. Conrad Zimmerman had spoken with her, and he was infinitely more handsome than her employer. Maybe it was simply a case of pique because the Baron seemed so entirely indifferent to feminine company. And in any case, like Meredith, he was married, and these speculations were not only stupid, they were dangerous.

  With determination, she put all thoughts of the Baron aside and halted outside a store whose window was filled with a variety of goods. She wondered if she might conceivably buy a present for Sophie, something which might arouse her interest and enable Victoria to persuade her into starting her lessons with enthusiasm. But she was at a difficult age, neither young enough for dolls nor old enough for teenage pursuits, and somehow Victoria didn’t think she would appreciate books which seemed the only sure choice.

  But at the back of the window display there was one item which Victoria thought might appeal to her. It was a sewing basket complete with silks and cottons, tape measure and scissors, needles and pins, and even some lengths of material suitable for making up into doll’s clothes. Under Victoria’s guidance she would be able to produce several small garments and the experience would be useful when it came to making clothes of her own. In fact, it was just the kind of practical instruction Sophie needed to go with her more academic studies.

  The shopkeeper spoke reasonably good English, and Victoria was able to tell her exactly what she wanted. While the woman was wrapping the basket up Victoria wandered round with interest, examining the titles of a fixture of paperbacks, and noticing the wide variety of sheepskin goods that were on sale. She thought she would buy some gloves for Aunt Laurie another time and send them on to her as a surprise. The other customers viewed her with curiosity, and she felt sure she would be the subject for gossip after she had left the store.

  After she had paid for her purchase, she made her way to the post office and bought a letter card to write home. It was difficult to know what to say really. She had no intention of revealing her circumstances to her godmother or it would result in Aunt Laurie demanding that she should return to England at once. And as for mentioning Sophie, she decided to merely state truthfully that she had not yet begun teaching her as the child had been taken ill, but added a rider that she expected to begin tomorrow in case Aunt Laurie thought it was anything serious. She didn’t mention Meredith at all, nor did she mention the mysterious absence of the Baroness, and finished by hoping her godmother was well and assuring her that she was very happy in her new position.

  By the time she had written the address and paid for the stamps, time was getting on, and she posted the letter-card before walking back to the car. The Baron had not yet arrived, and she stood, stamping her feet and hoping he would not be long.

  He eventually arrived, ten minutes late, when her fingers and toes were beginning to feel numb. He came striding towards her looking big and powerful in his thick fur parka, his hair contrasting sharply with the darkness of the coat. He had not the usual fair skin that goes with a fair complexion and his face was quite brown, due no doubt to the long hours he spent in the open air. He seldom wore a hat, and he never seemed to feel the cold, while she felt positively pinched.

  ‘I am sorry, fräulein,’ he said apologetically, as he reached her. ‘But I am afraid I do not normally keep to any schedule and in consequence my associates see no harm in delaying me.’

  He opened the car and thrust some packages inside as he spoke, and at
his suggestion Victoria put her parcel on the back seat also. Then he slammed the door again, locked it, and said: ‘Now—shall we have that drink?’

  Victoria shrugged. ‘Have you time?’ she queried, rather coolly, for his casual assumption that she would understand his unpunctuality annoyed her unreasonably. It was a unique experience for her to stand waiting for any man, least of all in the freezing cold.

  The Baron’s eyebrows lifted at her tone, and he smiled faintly. ‘I see I have provoked you, fräulein,’ he remarked, beginning to walk across the square so that she was forced to accompany him to hear what he was saying. ‘However, it was unavoidable and not intentional.’

  Victoria glanced up at him and encountered his amused gaze. She was behaving boorishly, and she knew it, just as she had done on that first evening when he had been late meeting her train. Even so, she wondered what his argument would be if she brought that instance up as a second example.

  To her surprise the Baron led the way into the inn at the far side of the square, walking along a stone-floored corridor to a comfortable bar parlour where a good fire blazed in solitary state. As they entered the room a man bustled through from the front of the inn and spoke with excited deference to her employer. He was a small man, broad of chest and stomach, and sporting an enormous moustache. He kept glancing towards Victoria with obvious interest and eventually the Baron drew her forward and explained in his own language that she was Sophie’s new governess.

  ‘Willkommen, fräulein Monroe,’ nodded the bartender politely. ‘Ich freue mich, Sie zu sehen.’

  Victoria smiled awkwardly, and the Baron said: ‘He says welcome to our village.’ He nodded to a banquette in the corner by the fire. ‘Go and get warm. I will bring you something revitalising.’

  He came over to her a few minutes later with quite a tall glass of some amber-coloured liquid which she took rather suspiciously. He was having a simple beer, but obviously she was having something stronger.

  ‘There is meat and cheese or sausages if you are hungry,’ he said, indicating that she should taste her drink.