The Wild Girl

by Kate Forsyth

  That night, while she lay awake in her bed, Dortchen could hear her parents arguing downstairs. She got up, went out and sat on the stairs, listening, her stomach twisting.

  ‘Please, no, sir,’ her mother whimpered. ‘I’m not well.’

  ‘A man has needs, Katharina, as you well know.’ Herr Wild’s voice was loud.

  ‘Please, no …’

  Then her mother fell silent, and all Dortchen could hear was a kind of low grunting, like a pig at the trough. Dortchen ran back to her bed, making a cave of her eiderdown, pressing her pillow over her ears. It was a long time before she slept. She felt uneasy and afraid, though she had no idea what to fear.

  The next day – Sunday – was miserable and grey. Sleet gusted past the windows and rattled the chimneys. The Wild family prepared for church as usual. Frau Wild dragged herself from her bed, her thin face pale and sweaty, and dressed herself in an assortment of shawls and scarves. Dortchen knew she would have preferred to stay in bed, but Herr Wild would never let anyone miss church.

  There was only Röse, Dortchen and Mia left at home, for Rudolf had gone off to do his final training in Berlin. They trailed after their parents through the slushy streets, the hems of their gowns growing sodden. The church seemed colder and gloomier than ever, and half the pews were empty.

  One quick glance was enough to show Dortchen that Ferdinand was not present. Jakob and Wilhelm were there, in shabby coats and badly knitted scarves, their thin faces pale. Lotte looked tired and worried. Dortchen felt anxiety roiling in her stomach.

  After the service, everyone met in the church porch to exchange pleasantries. Most of the talk was about the threat of war with Russia, for the Tsar had a month earlier declared that he would no longer support the Continental blockade, the means by which Napoléon hoped to break England.

  ‘The blockade has failed, and the Ogre should admit it,’ Lotte said. ‘As long as England rules the waves, she ships anything she needs from her colonies. It is us who are suffering.’

  ‘He’s calling for more conscripts,’ Frau Hassenpflug replied, one hand on her son Louis’s arm. ‘Please, let him not take our boys.’

  ‘I’d rather blow my own leg off than march on Russia,’ Louis said, tight-lipped and grim. ‘Surely Napoléon cannot think to beat the Tsar?’

  ‘He’s beaten the rest of the world – why not Russia?’ Frau Wild said in a faint voice.

  ‘He’s not beaten England yet,’ Wilhelm said, ‘and they say the war on the Peninsula is costing him dearly.’

  ‘Yes, but the King of England is a raving lunatic,’ Herr Wild said impatiently. ‘They say the death of his youngest daughter tipped him over the edge, and they must keep him locked away. With a mad king at its helm, how can England possibly hold out against Napoléon?’

  ‘Perhaps the English prince will be declared regent,’ Jakob suggested. ‘He’s a grown man, and keen to take the crown, by all accounts.’

  ‘By all accounts, he’s a fat fool more interested in fashion and gambling than in affairs of state,’ Herr Wild responded, barely able to contain his irritation at being spoken to by his two young and improvident neighbours.

  ‘The English prime minister is of sound judgement, though, I believe,’ Jakob replied stiffly. ‘But you must excuse us. Our younger brother is unwell, and I do not wish to leave him alone too long.’ He and Wilhelm bowed and put their tall hats on their heads, then turned to beckon Lotte, who was chatting to the Ramus sisters.

  Dortchen caught Wilhelm’s sleeve. ‘What is wrong with Ferdinand?’ she asked in a low voice.

  Wilhelm shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He seems to want to sleep all day, and complains of a headache all the time. Certainly it’s hard to coax him to eat. He just pushes it away and says he’s not hungry, which upsets Lotte, who laboured to make it for him, and exasperates Jakob, who laboured to pay for it.’

  Dortchen bit her lip. ‘Has he grown thin and pale and listless?’

  Wilhelm’s gaze sharpened on her face. ‘Yes, though he’s been so for a while now. Why? What do you suspect?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. Have you called the doctor?’

  Wilhelm nodded. ‘He bled him and recommended he sniff some smelling salts, and then charged us half a week’s wages. Jakob said he’s more than happy to bleed Ferdinand himself next time.’

  ‘What about you? How does your work go on?’

  Wilhelm’s expression lightened. ‘Slowly, but steadily. Jakob plans to write a pamphlet calling for contributions and send it out through the country. He has asked for old tales and legends, the sort that might be told for children at bedtime or in the spinning room in winter. We hope many people will respond.’

  ‘What of Herr Brentano? Did he like the stories you sent?’

  Wilhelm’s face altered. ‘We don’t know – he didn’t say. We’ve heard nothing from him in all these months.’

  Dortchen could not believe it. ‘He isn’t helping you find a publisher?’

  Wilhelm shook his head. ‘I’m just glad we went to the trouble of copying all the stories before we sent them to him. It was not easy, you know, with paper so hard to come by now.’

  Dortchen nodded her head. The rag-and-bone man was always knocking on the back gate, begging for any scraps of paper they might have; he sold what he could find to the fishmonger and the butcher and the baker, who would wrap their wares in them. The Wilds never had any paper to sell. Dortchen’s father now wrapped his sugarplums and marchpane in old newspaper instead of the pretty gold paper he had once used.

  ‘Come, Wilhelm,’ Jakob called. Wilhelm lifted his hat, smiled at Dortchen and went on his way.

  Dortchen turned back to her family, and realised, with a sudden lurch of her stomach, that her father was watching her.

  ‘I tell you, he’s not for you,’ Herr Wild said in an undertone, grabbing her arm. ‘I see the way you look at him, with those big doe eyes. He’s nothing but a sickly wastrel with no income and no prospects. You’re to stop seeing him, do you understand?’

  ‘He’s our neighbour,’ Dortchen replied. ‘Does the Holy Bible not tell us to be charitable to our neighbours?’

  He squeezed her arm so hard that she gasped. ‘Did I fail to make myself clear?’

  ‘No, Father,’ she answered, dropping her eyes, trying not to flinch as his grip tightened. He snorted and let her arm go.

  THE OPIUM CHEST

  January 1811

  The next morning, Dortchen was washing the breakfast dishes in the scullery when she heard a frantic knocking at the garden gate. Drying her hands on her apron, she hurried out into the garden, which lay brown and bare under a thin dusting of snow.

  Dortchen made a shushing noise as she neared the gate, looking back over her shoulder to be sure her father was not in his stillroom, from where he would hear the knocking and see her go to open the gate. The knocking ceased and Dortchen unlocked the gate, then cautiously eased it open.

  Lotte stood on the other side, dressed in an old gown and apron. She had no bonnet or gloves on, and her face was contorted with tears. ‘Dortchen, you must come,’ she gabbled, catching at Dortchen’s hands. ‘It’s Ferdinand. I cannot wake him. I don’t know what to do. Please, Dortchen, help me!’

  ‘What do you mean you can’t wake him?’

  ‘I called him and called him, then went in and shook him. I’ve shouted in his ear, I’ve slapped his cheeks. Dortchen, he will not wake.’

  Dortchen pressed her hands over her eyes. ‘I don’t know … Have you thrown cold water over him?’

  Lotte shook her head. ‘No, but—’

  ‘Try that. See if it helps.’

  ‘You won’t come?’

  ‘I can’t. Not now. If you really need me, hang your red shawl out your window – I’ll come when I can.’ Dortchen glanced at the house, then pushed Lotte out the gate, shutting it in her face. She hurried back to the scullery and her dirty dishes, hoping she had been unobserved.

  When next she
glanced out the window, Lotte’s red shawl was hanging over the washing line, flapping wildly in the wind. It would be frozen solid soon. Dortchen stared at it unhappily. She took down her basket and put in it a small bag of coffee beans and her mother’s smelling salts.

  ‘If Father asks for me, I have gone to the market,’ she said to Old Marie. ‘What do you need?’

  Old Marie looked at her in surprise. It was not wash day, the only day she had no time to do the shopping.

  ‘I need to get out,’ Dortchen said.

  ‘Be careful,’ Old Marie said. ‘Don’t anger him.’

  ‘I’m just going to the market. Is there not some job you must do that will keep you busy here?’

  Old Marie sighed. ‘I suppose I could clean the silver.’

  She told Dortchen what she needed, and Dortchen put her arms about Old Marie’s plump form and kissed her. ‘Thank you.’ Then she put on her bonnet and gloves, wrapped a heavy cloak about her and went across the alley to the Grimms’ house.

  Dortchen was chilled through even after those few small steps, but Lotte was looking out for her and flung open the door and drew her in. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘I hope I didn’t get you into trouble?’

  ‘No, no,’ Dortchen said. ‘How’s Ferdinand?’

  ‘The cold water roused him a little, but he’s fallen asleep again now. He looks so strange … we’re all so worried.’

  ‘I brought some coffee,’ Dortchen said. ‘That may help. Let’s put it on, then see if my mother’s smelling salts do any good.’

  Once the coffee pot was hanging over the fire, Dortchen went with Lotte into Ferdinand’s bedroom, feeling very self-conscious. Jakob and Wilhelm were both trying to rouse their brother, shaking him and calling his name. Their faces were white and frightened. They had dragged the curtains open, so that the pale winter light struck in through the mullioned windows.

  Ferdinand lay back against his pillows, his dark curls damp, his eyes shut. His head lolled, and his arms were as limp as empty coat-sleeves. His nightgown and pillow were stained with water, and a bucket sat on the floor. As Jakob shook him, Ferdinand’s eyes opened a slit, showing the black edge of a greatly dilated pupil.

  ‘Dortchen, you’ve come.’ Wilhelm seized both her hands in his. ‘Thank you.’ He smiled down at her with such warmth in his eyes that Dortchen felt colour rise in her cheeks.

  ‘I cannot stay long,’ she said. ‘I’m meant to be at the market. Let me look at him.’

  Wilhelm stood back, and Dortchen bent over Ferdinand. She felt for his pulse, as she had seen her father do; it seemed sluggish and uneven. His skin was clammy and cold, though that may have been the effect of the icy water. She bent and smelt his breath. There was the distinctive whiff of laudanum, and she bit her lip in distress.

  ‘I don’t know … I’m not sure, but I think he may have drunk too much laudanum,’ she said. ‘It makes people sleepy. Perhaps, if you drink too much, it makes it hard to wake up.’

  ‘Laudanum!’ Jakob cried. ‘But where would he get the stuff?’

  ‘He’s been buying it from my father for quite some time,’ Dortchen said. ‘I saw Ferdinand’s name in his book.’

  ‘But how could he afford it? It’s not cheap,’ Jakob said. ‘It almost broke our backs buying some for our mother, when she was ill.’ He straightened, looking at Wilhelm. ‘The money tin.’

  ‘Surely he wouldn’t …’ Wilhelm said.

  ‘You blamed me,’ Lotte said angrily. ‘You said I was not keeping my housekeeping accounts well enough, and accused me of buying myself treats.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Jakob began, then looked back at his brother. ‘I cannot believe he would steal from us.’

  ‘You believed it of me,’ Lotte said in a resentful tone.

  ‘No, no, we thought … Well, we simply thought it was a mistake.’

  While they argued, Dortchen was waving her mother’s smelling salts under Ferdinand’s nose. At first, it had no effect, then Ferdinand coughed and his eyes opened, staring blankly before him.

  ‘Ferdinand,’ Dortchen called, bending towards him. ‘You need to wake up.’

  ‘Dortchen,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse. ‘You’ve come to me. Did you know I wanted you?’ His eyes began to slide closed.

  ‘Ferdinand, you mustn’t go to sleep again. Sit up.’ She nodded to Wilhelm, who lifted Ferdinand up. ‘Lotte, go and make the coffee,’ Dortchen said, and her friend flew out of the room, leaving Dortchen alone in the bedroom with three young men. Although this made her feel most uncomfortable, Dortchen focused all her attention on Ferdinand, again waving the smelling salts under his nose.

  He smiled at her mistily. ‘You look like an angel.’

  ‘You need to wake up, Ferdinand. You need to get up and walk around.’ She looked at Wilhelm, who folded back the bedclothes and pulled Ferdinand up. Jakob bent and freed his brother’s bare legs, and drew them around till he was sitting on the end of the bed.

  Dortchen looked away, never having seen a man’s bare legs before. In deference to her embarrassment, Wilhelm caught up a long dressing gown and wrapped it around Ferdinand, doing his best to cover the naked skin. Lotte came back in, carrying a steaming hot cup.

  ‘Coffee,’ Wilhelm said. ‘Dortchen, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘It’s the only thing I could think of,’ Dortchen said. ‘Father will have to drink ground acorns like the rest of us for a while.’

  Wilhelm took the cup and held it to Ferdinand’s lips, but his brother was growing agitated and almost knocked it out of his hand. ‘Dortchen!’ he cried.

  Dortchen stepped back into his line of sight. ‘I’m here, Ferdinand,’ she said. ‘Be still, all is well. You just need to wake up now. Drink your coffee, else we’ll all gladly have it instead.’

  ‘I haven’t had coffee in months,’ Lotte said.

  Dortchen managed to coax Ferdinand to drink a few mouthfuls, then Wilhelm and Jakob together made him walk about the room. His legs were wobbly and his brothers bore most of his weight, but he was awake enough to grumble and to look about, calling for Dortchen.

  ‘Why did you do it, Ferdinand?’ Jakob asked. ‘A healthy young man like you doesn’t need laudanum. Where did you get the money?’

  Ferdinand grew distressed. He struggled to get away from his brothers. ‘You don’t understand … You’re so perfect all the time … I do my best, but it’s never enough for you … I can’t sleep without it … too many ghosts, too many failures …’

  While his brothers struggled to calm him, Dortchen looked swiftly around the room. She saw a small brown bottle that had fallen to the ground – she recognised it as one that her father sold. It was empty but smelt of laudanum. That alone did not prove that Ferdinand had been the thief who had broken into the stillroom. She had to find the stolen opium.

  Lotte was busy trying to persuade Ferdinand to drink more coffee, while his two brothers held him steady. Dortchen bent and looked under the bed, then opened Ferdinand’s clothes chest. Under a few threadbare shirts and cravats, she found a small wooden chest stamped with a strange, exotic symbol. She quickly opened the chest and found, as she had expected, a number of large balls wrapped in dried leaves and petals. The smell was overpowering, sweet yet pungent. One of the balls had been broken open, revealing a lump of sticky brown substance with a hole gouged out of one side.

  ‘What’s that?’ Wilhelm asked, coming to stand beside her.

  Dortchen shut the chest and cradled it against her, turning to face him. ‘My father’s shop was robbed earlier this week,’ she said. ‘His opium was taken, plus all the laudanum he had made up.’

  ‘Are you suggesting you think Ferdinand was the thief?’ Wilhelm demanded. ‘No, I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t break in to your house and steal laudanum. Why would he?’

  Dortchen gazed at him unhappily. ‘Laudanum … Some people come to like it too much, to rely on it.’ She thought of her mother. ‘My father is always complaining about how hard it is to keep up
supplies to some of his customers, who come asking for it more and more often. That’s what Ferdinand was doing. And …’ She paused, upset by the look on Wilhelm’s face. She took a deep breath and forged on. ‘Wilhelm, he came to me last year, asking me to get some for him. I said that I couldn’t, and showed him how the cupboard was kept locked.’

  ‘He couldn’t have stolen it – he’s not a thief.’

  ‘This is my father’s opium,’ Dortchen said. ‘I have to return it to him. We cannot afford to replace it. There’s hundreds of thalers’ worth in this.’

  Her heart quailed within her. Wilhelm was looking at her so angrily, and she could not think how to get the opium back to her father without him realising she’d had a hand in it.

  Ferdinand saw what Dortchen was holding and came at her in a rush. ‘No, you cannot take it back.’

  Dortchen flinched as Ferdinand seized her arms, but Wilhelm caught him and pulled him away roughly. Ferdinand stumbled and almost fell.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ he pleaded. ‘I need it. I need it! It’s the only thing that makes me happy. Dortchen, please.’ Ferdinand came towards her again, hands held out, but his brother held him back.

  Wilhelm was so distressed that he could scarcely speak. ‘Dortchen says he stole the laudanum from Herr Wild’s shop,’ he said to Jakob. ‘She says this chest is her father’s.’

  Silently, Dortchen showed Jakob the balls of raw opium.

  He regarded them grimly. ‘Well, clearly they aren’t Ferdinand’s.’ He looked at his brother. ‘Ferdinand must return them to your father and apologise.’

  ‘Oh, no, please, don’t,’ Dortchen blurted in response. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … he’d be so angry. He already thinks so badly of you all. I’m sorry, but he does. Couldn’t we just return the chest, without him knowing who—’

  ‘You mean, return it on the sly?’ Jakob said. ‘That would be dishonest.’

  ‘Father would have Ferdinand hauled up before the court,’ Dortchen said. ‘Is the penalty for theft not hard labour? It would kill him.’