by Vance, Jack
“That is well understood, Mr. Lenk.”
“You have no aversion to dogs?”
Wayness shrugged. “I can put up with them.”
Lenk nodded. “In that case, you may come out at once and we will fit you into the routine with as little delay as possible. Now then: your name?”
“I am –” Wayness reflected a moment “– Marya Smitt.”
“Previous employer?”
“I have no references at hand, Mr. Lenk.”
“In your case, I think we can make an exception. I will see you presently.”
Wayness went to her room. She combed her hair straight back over her scalp, drew it tight and tied it with a black ribbon at the nape of her neck. She inspected herself in the mirror. The change, so she thought, made her seem older and wiser, and definitely more competent.
Wayness departed the inn, rode the omnibus to Mirky Porod and, now full of apprehensions and uncertainty, carried her suitcase up the avenue to the side entrance.
Lenk was rather taller and more ponderous than Wayness had expected, and carried himself with the dignity befitting his position. Still, he greeted Wayness with affability and took her into the servant’s lounge, where she met Madame Lenk: a stout woman with graying black hair cut unflatteringly short, strong arms and a brisk decisive manner.
Together, Lenk and Madame Lenk instructed Wayness in regard to her duties. In general, she must attend to Countess Ottilie and her wants, and pay no heed to her cantankerousness, and always be ready to dodge blows of the cane. “It is a nervous reaction, “said Lenk. “She only means to convey a mood of dissatisfaction.”
“Still, I cannot approve the tactic,” said Madame Lenk.
“One time I was bending to pick up a journal she had dropped and without so much as a by-your-leave here came the swish of the cane, catching me broad abeam. I was naturally disturbed and inquired why Her Ladyship had struck the blow. “It was a matter of convenience,” she said. I started to say more but she waved her cane and told me to make a selection on the list of misdeeds for which I had gone unpunished and place a check-mark against the item.”
“In short,” said Lenk, “be on your guard at all times.”
“While we are on the subject,” said Madame Lenk, “I will remark that Mr. Lenk himself is often a bit too friendly with the girls, and sometimes he goes so far as to forget his manners.”
Lenk made a gallant gesture. “My dear, you exaggerate, and you will alarm poor Marya so that she will flee at the sight of me.”
“That is not her only recourse, “said Madame Lenk. She addressed herself to Wayness. “If Lenk should ever forget himself and start to take liberties, you need only murmur the words ‘Hell on Earth.’”
“‘Hell on Earth’? It is a cryptic message.”
“Exactly! But if Lenk does not desist from his efforts, I will explain it to him in detail.”
Lenk showed an uneasy smile. “Madame Lenk of course is joking. At Mirky Porod we work in harmony and live at peace with each other.”
“Except during our encounters with the Countess, course. You must never cross her or contradict her no matter what her nonsense, and never despise her dogs, and always clean their horrid little messes cheerfully, as if it were all great fun.”
“I will do my best,” said Wayness.
Madame Lenk fitted Wayness out in a black uniform with a white apron and a white gauze cap, with wings protruding an inch or so over the ears. Examining in the mirror, Wayness was confident that Countess would not recognize her for Wayness Tamm the importunate student.
Madame Lenk conducted Wayness about the castle, avoiding only the North Tower. “There is nothing there save disembodied sprits, or so it is claimed. I myself have seen none of these, though truly I have heard odd noises which were probably squirrels or bats. In any event, you need not worry about the North Tower. Now then, here is the library. The double doors lead into Count Raul’s old study, which is used but seldom, and the doors are kept locked. Here is the Countess; I will introduce you.”
Countess Ottilie gave Wayness the briefest of inspections, then went to sit in an upholstered chair. “Marya, is it? Very good, Marya! You will find me an indulgent mistress, far too indulgent, perhaps. I make few demands. Since I am old, I require a good deal of running and fetching, and you must learn where I keep my things. Every day the routine is much the same, except Saturday when I play at cards, and on the first of each month when I ride to Draczeny to visit the shops. You will quickly learn this routine, since it is not difficult.”
“Now you must meet my little friends, who are most important to me. There: Chusk, Porter, Mikki, Toop.” As she spoke she pointed a crooked forefinger. “There: Sammy, now scratching herself, and Dimpkin, and oh! you naughty Fotsel! You know you should not raise your leg in the house! Now Marya must sop up behind you. Finally, under the chair is Raffis.” The Countess sat back. “Marya, tell me their names, so that I will know you were attending.”
“Hm.” Wayness pointed. “That is Mikki, and that is Fotsel who made the mess; I remember you well enough. Raffis is under the chair. That spotted one is Chusk, I believe, and that one, who was scratching, is Sammy. The others I don’t remember.”
“You have done quite well,” said Countess Ottilie, “even though you have neglected Porter, Toop and Dimpkin: all dogs of reputation and character.”
“No doubt,” said Wayness. “Madame Lenk, if you will show me the mop and bucket, I will clean up the wet at this moment.”
“We find that a sponge is most effective for minor nuisances,” said Madame Lenk. “You will find equipment in the closet.”
So began Wayness’ stint as domestic servant. Every day was different, even though each followed a standard routine. At eight o’clock every morning Wayness entered Countess Ottilie’s bedroom to kindle the fire, even though the castle was adequately heated by ergothermic mechanisms. The Countess slept in an enormous old bed among a dozen large fluff pillows of down cased in pink, pale blue and yellow silk. The dogs slept on cushions in boxes ranged along the side wall and woe betide the interloper who chose to test out another dog’s cushion.
Wayness was next required to draw back the curtains which the Countess insisted should be tightly drawn against any sliver of exterior light; especially she detested moonlight playing through the windows. Wayness next assisted the Countess to prop herself up among her cushions, amid curses, abjurations and cries of accusation: “Marya, can you not be careful! You are hurting me with your hauling and yanking! I am not made of iron, or of leather! Now then, you know I am not comfortable in this position! Push that yellow pillow farther down behind my back. Ah! Relief at last! Bring me my tea. Are the dogs all well?”
“All fit and blooming, Your Ladyship, Dimpkin is doing its business as usual in the corner. I think Chusk has taken a dislike to Porter.”
“It will soon pass by. Bring me my tea; don’t stand there like a ninny.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
After placing the tea tray on the bed and commenting upon the state of the weather, Wayness next rang for Fosco the footman, who led the dogs away for their feeding and a chance to relieve their bladders and bowels in the side yard. In due course, Wayness assisted the Countess with her own routines of the morning, again to the accompaniment of complaints, threats and recriminations, to which Wayness paid little heed, though keeping a wary eye upon the cane. When the Countess had been dressed and seated at her table, Wayness rang down for her breakfast, which was delivered by way of a dumb-waiter.
While the Countess consumed her breakfast, she dictated notes in regard to activities of the day.
At ten o’clock Countess Ottilie used her lift to descend to the ground floor, and took herself usually into the library, where she read mail, glanced at a journal or two and then consulted with Fosco in regard to the dogs, whom Fosco had now fed and groomed. Fosco was required to provide an opinion as to the health, vigor and psychological state of each beast, and often the
discussions proceeded at length.
Fosco never became impatient, nor was there any reason for him to do so, since this was the only task required of him, other than occasionally serving as chauffeur for the Countess when she went off upon one of her infrequent short journeys.
During this interval Wayness was free until summoned by the Countess. She usually passed the time in the servant’s lounge, gossiping and taking refreshment with the other maids and Madame Lenk, and sometimes Lenk himself.
A summons from the Countess usually came a few minutes before eleven. If the weather were raw or gusty or wet, the Countess remained in the library by the fire. If the day were fine, she went out through the library doors, across the terrace and down upon the lawn.
Depending upon her mood – and Wayness had learned that the Countess was a moody person indeed – she might walk out to the table, fifty yards from the terrace, and settle herself: an island of pink flounces and lace and lavender shawls isolated on the face of a smooth green grassy ocean. At other times she might climb aboard an electric cart and fare forth on a voyage of exploration to a far corner of the lawn, with her dogs streaming behind in a line. The most agile first, the oldest and fattest puffing and thumping along at the rear. Wayness was then required to load table, chair and parasol upon another cart, follow, set up the furniture, and serve tea.
On these occasions the Countess more often than not desired solitude, and Wayness would be sent back to the library, to await a tone from her wristband which would alert her to the Countess’ needs.
One day, after Wayness had been so dismissed, she made a detour around to the side of the North Tower, where she had never previously ventured. Behind a hedge of black-green yew she came upon a little cemetery with twenty, or perhaps as many as thirty, small graves. On some of the tombstones inscriptions had been carved deep into the marble; on others bronze plaques served the same purpose, while still other stones supported marble statues in the likeness of small dogs. To the side grew lilies and clumps of heliotrope. Wayness’ curiosity was instantly sated; she backed away and went at a fast walk to the library, to await Countess Ottilie summons. As always, whenever she had the opportunity, she tested the doors which led into the study; as always they were locked and, as always, Wayness felt a pang of urgency. Time was passing; events were in motion which she could not control.
By this time Wayness knew where to find the keys to the study. One hung from Lenk s key ring, a second from a similar key ring in the possession of the Countess. Wayness had taken pains to learn the daily disposition of the keys. By day the Countess often carried them with her, sometimes rather carelessly, so that on occasion they were left somewhere she had been sitting. Thereupon the keys were deemed lost, creating a great scurrying search, punctuated by the Countess’ hoarse outcries, until the keys were found.
At night the Countess kept her keys in the drawer of a cabinet beside her bed.
Late one night, with the Countess snoring among her down pillows, Wayness crept quietly into the room and made for the cabinet, which was visible in the dim illumination of the night-light. She had started to pull open the drawer when the dog Toop awoke in annoyance and startlement, and began to yelp: a tumult in which the other dogs instantly joined. Wayness scuttled from the room, before the Countess could raise up to see what had caused the disturbance. Standing breathless in the adjoining chamber, Wayness heard the Countess rasp: “Quiet, you little vermin! Just because one of you farts, must you all celebrate? Not another sound!”
Wayness, discouraged, went off to bed.
Two days later the footman Fosco resigned his position. Lenk tried to assign the task of dog-grooming to Wayness, who declared that she could spare no time from her regular duties, then to the maid Fyllis, who objected even more definitely: “They can grow hair in a mat two inches thick for all of me! You must do the job yourself, Mr. Lenk!”
Lenk was thus miserably employed for two days until he hired another footman: a handsome young man named Baro, who took to the job with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm.
For a time Lenk’s conduct toward Wayness was irreproachably correct, if somewhat fulsome and urbane. But each day he became a trifle more friendly, until at last he thought to test the waters and patted Wayness on the bottom, playfully, as if in a spirit of camaraderie. Wayness recognized that Lenk’s program must be nipped in the bud, and jerked aside. “Really, Mr. Lenk! You are being quite naughty!”
“Of course,” said Lenk cheerfully. “But you have a most enticing little bottom, just round enough, and my hand became charged, as it were, with wanderlust.”
“Then your hand must be kept under stern control and not allowed to stray.”
Lenk sighed. “It was not only my hand that became charged,” he murmured, preening his mustache. “In the final analysis, what is a bit of naughtiness between friends, after all? Is that not what friends are for?”
“All this is far too deep for my understanding,” said Wayness. “Perhaps we should ask Madame Lenk’s advice.”
“That is an insipid suggestion,” sighed Lenk, turning away.
On occasion, usually in the late afternoon, the Countess would fall into one of her special moods. Her face would lengthen and become immobile; she would refuse to speak to anyone. On the first such occasion Madame Lenk told Wayness: “The Countess is dissatisfied with the way the universe is run, and she is now considering how best to change things.”
Often during such occasions, with little attention to the weather, the Countess would go out to her table on the lawn, seat herself, produce a packet of special cards and proceed to play what seemed an elaborate game of solitaire. Over and over the Countess played the game, clenching her fists, performing wild gestures, peering down in sudden suspicion, hissing and muttering, showing her teeth in what could be either rage or exultation, never desisting until either the cards submitted to her will, or the sun went down and the light failed.
On the second such occasion, a cool wind was blowing and Wayness went out with a robe, but the Countess rejected it with a wave of the hand.
At last, in the dying twilight, Countess Ottilie stared at the cards, whether in triumph or defeat Wayness could not be sure. The Countess heaved herself to her feet and the keys fell jingling to the grass. The Countess was moving away and noticed nothing. Wayness picked the keys and tucked them into the pocket in her skirt. Then she gathered cards, robe and followed the Countess across the lawn.
Countess Ottilie did not go directly to the castle, but off a slant toward the foot of North Tower, Wayness followed ten paces to the rear. The Countess paid her no heed.
Twilight had fallen over the landscape, and a cool breeze was blowing through the ancient pines which grew on the hills. Countess Ottilie’s destination became clear: the little cemetery beside the North Tower. She entered through a gap in the yew hedge and wandered among the graves, stopping now and again to utter chirrups and little calls of encouragement. Wayness, waiting outside the hedge, heard her voice: “It has been long, ah how long! But do not despair, my good Snoyard; your loyalty and trust shall be rewarded! And you, Peppin, no less! How you used to romp! And dear little Corly, whose muzzle was so soft! I grieve for you every day! But we shall all meet again, on some happy day! Myrdal, do not whimper; all graves are dark. . .”
In the gloom behind the yew hedge Wayness bestirred herself; it was as if she were involved in a queer dream. She turned and ran through the dusk, one hand pressed against the keys to keep them secure. She halted by the terrace and stood waiting.
A few minutes later she saw the pale form of the Countess approaching, moving slowly and leaning on her cane. Wayness waited silently. The Countess passed as if she were invisible and, crossing the terrace, entered the library, with Wayness coming after.
The evening went by slowly. While the Countess dined, Wayness furtively examined the keys, and found to her satisfaction that each was tagged with a label. There it was: ‘Study’: the key she had wanted so long and so badly!
After a moment’s thought she went to the scullery where a few tools and oddments were kept on a workbench and where she previously had noticed a box of old keys. Sorting through the box she found a key of the same general type as the key to the study, and tucked it into her pocket.
A shadow in the doorway! Wayness turned about startled. It was Baro, the new footman: a stalwart young man, black-haired, with expressive hazel eyes and features of perfect regularity. He carried himself with assurance, and spoke with an easy flow of inconsequential language. Wayness, while conceding Baro to be an exceedingly handsome young man, thought him vain and glib, and kept her distance from him – a tendency which Baro instantly noted and interpreted as a challenge. Thenceforth, he began to make easy casual advances toward her, which Wayness as easily and casually avoided. It was now Baro who stood behind her. He spoke, “Mayra: princess of all that is delightful, why are you skulking in the scullery?”
Wayness restrained the first tart response which came to her tongue, and said only: “I was looking for a bit of string.”
“Here it is,” said Baro. “Right here on the shelf. “Reaching past her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned his body against hers, so that she felt his animal warmth. He wore, so she noticed, a pleasant fresh scent, mingled of fern, violet and odd off-world essences.
“You smell nice, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” said Wayness. She ducked under his arm, sidled past his body and gained the freedom of the pantry and then the kitchen beyond. Behind came Baro, smiling a vague bland smile. Wayness went to sit in the servant’s lounge, annoyed and disturbed. Contact with Baro’s body had aroused a response in her, and had also sent tingles of fear and revulsion racing along the fibers of her subconscious. Baro entered the room. Wayness became wary, and picked up a journal. Baro came to sit beside her. Wayness paid him no heed.
Baro spoke in a soft voice: “Do you like me?”
Wayness turned him a dispassionate glance. She delayed several seconds before answering. “I haven’t given the matter any thought, Mr. Baro. I doubt if I will.”