The Wild Girl

by Kate Forsyth

  Dortchen went downstairs, smoothing her dress with hands that trembled slightly.

  Wilhelm was waiting for her in the hallway. ‘It’s a beautiful evening, and I’ve not left my desk in days. I wondered if you’d like to walk with me?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘I thought we could walk in the park,’ he continued. ‘All the lamps will be lit; it’ll be pretty.’

  Dortchen nodded and went to find her pelisse and bonnet. When she came back, she saw that Herr Schmerfeld was talking with Wilhelm in the hall. ‘I’m just going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  He raised his brows. ‘My dear Dortchen, you are free to do as you wish,’ he answered, but Dortchen sensed he was not pleased.

  Wilhelm and Dortchen walked in silence, her hand in the crook of his arm. Everything seemed washed clean, the sky a translucent green shell, the half-moon bright over the hills.

  ‘You must be a great help to Herr Schmerfeld,’ he said at last. ‘It cannot be easy, being a widower with seven young children. All the servants in the world cannot replace a mother. A loving aunt can come close, though.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘I certainly love the children as if they were my own. Especially little Berthe. She was given into my arms as Gretchen died. I …’ She hesitated, then went on in a low voice. ‘I could not help her. Gretchen, I mean. I ran from her. You know. You were there. I feel I must take extra care of her little one, to make it up to her.’

  ‘You couldn’t have saved her,’ Wilhelm said gently.

  ‘I know. But I can love her baby that much harder for her.’

  ‘What about the father?’ Wilhelm said after a moment.

  ‘Herr Schmerfeld?’

  ‘I think … I think he has a very high regard for you.’

  She was silent.

  ‘Some people think he should marry you,’ Wilhelm said, not looking at her. ‘It’s not entirely regular, you living in his house and caring for his children, when he’s an unmarried man.’

  ‘What of the housekeeper and the maids?’ Dortchen said, letting go of his arm. ‘I am not without a chaperone.’

  ‘Nonetheless.’

  Her chest felt tight. She walked on and he followed. A tumult of emotion filled her. She tried to hold it down.

  ‘I’m afraid he thinks sometimes of marrying me,’ she confessed at last. ‘But he has said nothing.’

  ‘What would you say, if he did ask you?’

  She shook her head dumbly.

  He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘What of me? Have you forgotten me?’ He spoke in a light, teasing way but his gaze was intense.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, looking away.

  He took a deep breath, nodded, then let her go.

  They had come to the end of the park. She looked up at the starry sky. ‘Look, I can see Cassiopeia.’

  ‘It’s shaped like a W – for “Wild”,’ he said.

  ‘And “Wilhelm”.’

  ‘Both our names, written in the stars.’

  He had made no attempt to step closer to her but still she drew away. There was a spark between them that made her uneasy. ‘I had better go home,’ she said.

  As they turned back, Wilhelm tucked her hand in the crook of his arm again. ‘Your fingers are chilled through.’

  ‘Herr Schmerfeld calls me “Frog” because I’m as cold,’ she told him.

  For some reason, that made him cheerful. ‘Poor man,’ he said.

  Dortchen sneaked a look at him and caught his gaze. She blushed and looked away. Unexpectedly, he covered his eyes with his hand and pretended to be blind. ‘I cannot see a thing. I do hope you’re not leading me astray.’

  She could not help but laugh. She had to take his hand to stop him from blundering about. His grip was strong and sure.

  ‘You had better open your eyes now – we’re almost home.’

  His step slowed. He pretended to grope about and found her shoulder and her arm. ‘Don’t let me fall.’

  ‘Please, open your eyes,’ she begged. ‘People will see.’

  ‘What does it matter, if I can’t see them?’

  ‘Here’s Herr Schmerfeld’s house. You have to open your eyes now because I’m going in and you’ll have to find your own way home.’

  He did not open his eyes. His hand slid down her arm, then lightly traced the curve of her waist. He leant close to her, breathing in the scent of her skin and her hair. ‘I don’t want to open my eyes,’ he whispered. ‘They say the other senses are heightened when you’re blind.’

  Dortchen stood very still. A curious sensation had taken hold of her. On the one hand, she did not like his closeness. It made her feel vulnerable and afraid. On the other hand, his touch was so gentle, and his playfulness had delighted her. It was the first time that anyone had come so close to her in a long time.

  His eyes still shut, he pressed his body to hers, bending his head so that his mouth was only inches from hers. If she had lifted her face, they would be kissing. She dared not. Nothing had changed.

  ‘I’ve rung the bell now,’ she said, suiting her actions to her words. ‘You can’t stay any longer.’

  He let her go, opening his eyes. ‘Dortchen,’ he said, softly, pleadingly.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, and was glad when the door to the house opened and she could whisk inside.

  In November 1820, Wilhelm was offered a job as tutor to the young prince, the Kurfürst’s eldest grandson. He gave his first lesson on a raw, wild day, and came, windblown, to have tea with Dortchen afterwards.

  ‘Tell me about the prince.’ Dortchen sat opposite him.

  ‘He had all kinds of books, still all beautifully wrapped, and not one of them opened. The whole time I taught him he did nothing but play with his hair. One of the courtiers tells me he reads nothing but the genealogical tables. I’m not sure I can teach him much.’

  Wilhelm looked unusually elegant that day, with a new cutaway coat of midnight blue over long, narrow trousers of a soft biscuit hue and a blue satin waistcoat. His white cravat was tied in a soft bow.

  ‘But what an honour. You must be pleased to be so marked with the Kurfürst’s notice.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. The Kurfürst is old and ill now, and he doesn’t get on with his son, who has a mistress, you know, and a whole brood of illegitimate children. I think being in favour with the princess means being out of favour with the prince. And he will be Kurfürst when his father dies.’

  ‘Will it be a problem for you?’ Dortchen asked, clasping her hands together.

  ‘I hope not. But what could I do? I’m glad of the extra money, though I wish it were more.’ He paused for a moment, as if about to add something, then stood up. ‘Why don’t we take a walk? I’m sure you’ve been cooped up all day with the children. Some fresh air would do you some good.’

  ‘Very well,’ Dortchen said, a warm glow filling her.

  It was still rough and wild outside. The wind buffeted Dortchen and made her skirts swing. She had to hold on to her bonnet with one hand. Wilhelm strode along quickly, his hand drawing Dortchen in close to his side to protect her from the wind. A carriage clopped past, sending up a spray of icy water, but Wilhelm swung Dortchen round so she was not splashed. She felt breathless and giddy.

  They came to the end of the street and crossed the road so that they could stand on the clifftop, looking out over Aue Island. It lay below them, the golden dome of the orangery the only colour in a world of grey clouds and black trees. Rooks soared high, riding the winds, calling to each other in mournful voices. The wind was so cold that Dortchen felt her toes and fingers go numb. It was as if they were alone at the top of the world.

  ‘Although I am not sure that I can teach the prince much,’ Wilhelm said, ‘I’m glad to be earning some more money. We are much more comfortable now, with both Jakob and I working at the library, and Ludwig beginning to earn some money with his art.’

  ‘You’re looking very fine in you
r new clothes, Herr Doctor,’ she teased.

  He coloured. ‘I could not go to the palace to teach the prince in a coat with frayed sleeves, and shoes with holes in them.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘The new edition of the book brought in four hundred thalers, and it looks as if it might be selling well enough that another edition will be needed soon.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’

  He grinned at her. ‘I cannot deny that it makes me happy. It’s been eight years since we first published it, and at last we seem to be reaping some rewards for all that hard work.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said, pressing his arm.

  ‘I wonder … I mean, what I want to know …’ He turned to face her, taking both her gloved hands.

  She felt a sudden squeezing of her chest.

  ‘Dortchen, things have changed these past few years. I’m earning an income now, and I’m not dependent on Jakob to support me as well as the rest of the family. The war is over. Your father can no longer forbid us from marrying. Dortchen, I—’

  She began speaking rapidly. ‘Wilhelm, Berthe is still just a little baby. I promised Gretchen on her deathbed that I would look after her. I cannot leave her, not yet. It wouldn’t be right. And it’s not just Berthe, it’s the other children too. It’s a terrible thing to lose your mother, you know that. What would you have done without your Aunt Zimmer? The children need me. I can’t let them be brought up by housemaids and governesses—’

  ‘I understand, Dortchen, really, I do. It’s your loving heart and your wish to always do good that I love most about you. And I understand … I know you’ve been hurt. I know you find it hard to trust now.’

  Dortchen pulled her hands away and turned, hunching her shoulder. She could not believe he would speak of it.

  He grasped her shoulders and pulled her back to face him. ‘Dortchen, I need to know if there’s any hope for me. Please.’

  She gazed up into his thin face, his dark eyes intent on hers, the wind playing havoc with his curls. Her heart gave a treacherous lurch. She reached up and cupped his cheek.

  ‘Wilhelm, so much has changed. I … I’m afraid … I’m afraid of so many things. That I’ll hurt you. That you’ll hurt me.’ He started to speak but she laid a finger on his lips. ‘I need to try to make amends somehow. I need …’ Her voice changed, growing stronger. ‘I need to atone for my sins.’

  ‘What sins?’ he burst out. ‘Whatever happened, it was not your fault.’

  She stepped away from him, hugging her arms about her. She was shaking. ‘I have to try to do what’s right. They’re only little children. They’ve lost their mother … they’ll never know a mother’s love … Can’t you see? Don’t you understand?’

  He turned away from her, not speaking.

  ‘I just need time,’ she said desperately. ‘Please.’

  In one quick movement, Wilhelm was beside her, spinning her to face him. His mouth came down on hers. He bent her over his arm, his lips hard and demanding, his hand gripping the back of her neck. Dortchen clung to him, her senses reeling, her traitorous body flaring with heat.

  At last, he drew his mouth away. ‘How much time?’

  She could not answer. She could not breathe.

  ‘Dortchen, how much time?’

  When she did not answer, he kissed her again, roughly. When at last he let her go, she swayed and he had to steady her with both hands. She laid her head on his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. He raised her face and kissed her again, so gently that it brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘Dortchen, when?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I want … Oh, Wilhelm, I do want you.’

  ‘Please don’t make me wait too long,’ he said.

  She bit her lip. They walked back towards Herr Schmerfeld’s house in silence. As they turned into the street, lined with old plane trees, she took his hand and pressed it to her lips. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  His eyes softened. He squeezed her hand. Slowly, she drew her hand out of his and walked up the steps and into the house.

  A HIGH REGARD

  February 1821

  As time passed, the nightmares and flashes of panic that had plagued Dortchen began to come more rarely. She took joy in small things. A robin singing in the bare thorn tree. Berthe’s first babble of words. Jakob writing her name in the family Bible as if she truly were one of the Grimms.

  In February 1821, Wilhelm turned thirty-five. Dortchen made a damson plum cake and took it to the Grimms’ small apartment, which was crowded and merry with family and friends.

  ‘I made it for you with my own hands,’ she told him.

  ‘It smells delicious,’ Wilhelm said, taking the cake from her. ‘What’s in it that smells so good?’

  ‘Cinnamon and nutmeg and damson plum jam,’ Dortchen told him. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to be able to get ingredients again?’

  ‘I haven’t eaten cinnamon in an age. Thank you, Dortchen.’ He drew her close to kiss her on the cheek.

  The cake was a great success, and after supper everyone sang songs and told silly riddles. Then Wilhelm opened up a great pile of presents. ‘Look, Dortchen, Karl has brought me a whole pile of new cravats,’ Wilhelm cried, showing her the package. ‘And Lotte embroidered me some handkerchiefs.’

  ‘A true sign of love,’ Dortchen said. ‘I know how much she hates embroidering.’

  ‘And Ws are hard,’ Lotte complained. ‘Why couldn’t his name begin with a nice easy I, or an L?’

  The Hassenpflugs had brought him a book of poems, and the Ramus sisters a beautiful set of quills, enough to last him several months. Wilhelm thanked them, then drew a small package towards him. It was covered in stamps and addressed in a bold, flamboyant hand.

  ‘Something else from Fraülein von Schwertzell?’ Lotte asked, perched on the arm of Wilhelm’s chair.

  He nodded as he opened the package. Inside was a small grey stone, scribbled all over with strange markings. Wilhelm examined it closely, then glanced at the letter. ‘It’s another of the runic stones her family found on their estate. She tells me I must come again and examine them more closely. She cannot hold off other scholars any longer. Jakob, did I tell you that Professor Rommel has already been? He is convinced they are magical symbols, inscribed by a pagan priest, but I am not so sure.’

  Jakob came to examine the stone, and soon he and Wilhelm were deep in an arcane and incomprehensible conversation. Dortchen pulled Lotte to sit beside her on the couch.

  ‘Who’s this Fraülein von Schwertzell?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

  ‘She’s the sister of an old university friend of Wilhelm’s,’ Lotte said in an undertone. ‘They’re a grand noble family that live in a big old castle on their estate at Willingshausen, two days’ ride from here. She writes to Wilhelm all the time, sending him stories or legends, or these strange stones. Ludwig and I think she has a tendré for him.’

  ‘What is the stone?’ Dortchen asked. ‘Is it really magic?’

  ‘The family found these ancient mounds on their land, with burial urns and such things, and these stones with strange inscriptions on them. She sent one to Wilhelm and asked him to come and visit, to help them dig for buried treasure. He stayed there some weeks and was very intrigued by it all. It inspired him to write a book on the history of runes, partly to set that Professor Rommel straight. Wilhelm thinks they are just random markings on the stones, and not an alphabet at all.’

  ‘Is she … is she pretty?’ Dortchen whispered.

  Lotte gave her a hug. ‘Nowhere near as pretty as you.’

  The Hassenpflugs would not let Jakob and Wilhelm talk about runic alphabets all afternoon. Jeannette sat down at the fortepiano and tinkled a tune, and Marie grabbed Wilhelm’s hands and made him dance with her. Lotte danced with Louis, and the Ramus sisters danced with Jakob and Ludwig. The room was so small that everyone kept bumping into each other, but there was much laughter and teasing.

&n
bsp; Dortchen sat on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her to give everyone else more room. There were not enough men for all the girls to dance. As soon as another song started, however, Wilhelm came and took her hand. He lifted Dortchen to her feet, and she let him put his hand on her waist and turn her about the room, his shoulder strong and square under her fingers.

  Afterwards, she could scarcely breathe and would not dance again. ‘I’m tired,’ she told Jakob. ‘I’ve been up half the night with Friedrich, who’s been sick.’ She lay on the couch and drew her coat over her, watching the twirling couples till her vision was obscured by tears. She shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.

  Sometime later, when everyone was out in the hall saying their goodbyes, she felt a warm, strong hand slip up the sleeve of her coat and find her hand, which was crossed upon her breast. She smiled without opening her eyes, and murmured Wilhelm’s name.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’ he whispered.

  ‘I would know your hand even when there were ten thousand hands,’ she whispered back. He bent and kissed her.

  The next morning, Lotte came to tell Dortchen that the Kurfürst had died in the night. Dortchen had to dig out her blacks again, and put black armbands on the sleeves of all the boys. The funeral procession was a sombre affair, with twelve horses in hooded black caparisons with black plumes on their heads pulling along the funeral hearse with the Kurfürst’s coat of arms on the door.

  His son, Wilhelm II, promptly moved into the palace with his mistress and her brood of illegitimate children. His wife, Princess Augusta, set up a rival court at Schöenfeld Castle, encouraging artists, musicians and writers to visit her there. Jakob, Wilhelm, Ludwig and Lotte were all frequent guests, as were Louis Hassenpflug and his sisters. Dortchen even went once or twice, with Herr Schmerfeld, and was amazed and impressed by the ease and grace with which Wilhelm moved in such grand circles.

  Napoléon died in May. Dortchen could not help feeling a pang of grief. He had been like a comet, beautiful in his dreadfulness. He had changed the world – for the better, many would argue. Certainly people everywhere were jostling for the rights he had once granted them with such a high hand.