by I. J. Parker
“Do?” Franz did not know what to think. The dying captain had been the son of a senior court official. “I suppose,” he said reluctantly, “I shall have to go to Mannheim to deliver the letter.”
Stiebel nodded eagerly. “Of course, you must. It might pertain to a matter of the highest political importance. In fact, it’s most probable that it does. I cannot like what has been happening. Thieves robbed you in Ulm. Someone broke into my chambers. And then someone tried to kill you.” He shook his head. “That attack makes me afraid for you.”
The way the muffled robber had swung his club could have cost him his life if he had not parried with his cane, but Stiebel’s suspicions were outlandish. “Surely he just wanted to steal my money,” Franz said.
“I don’t know. You did say this dying captain seemed desperate. And he told you to be careful. Would he have done that if it was just an ordinary letter?”
“I was going back to the fighting. I’m sure he wanted the letter to reach his father. That’s quite natural. Perhaps it contains his will. Perhaps he had a wife and children.”
“His will. Yes. Possibly.” Stiebel pursed his lips. “It must be very easy to murder a man during a battle,” he mused.
Franz laughed a little. “Oh, being in the legal profession, you make too much of it.” But as he spoke, a memory nagged. When the captain had galloped toward the generals, there had been the sound of a shot, and Franz recalled turning his head toward the woods behind him. Then the rider had fallen and been dragged away by the horse. Why had he turned his head? No shots should have come from their own troops at that time. Another thought crossed his mind. If someone had fired, he could have aimed at one of the generals and hit von Loe by accident. And yes, the captain had said he had been shot in the back—surely an impossibility if it had been enemy fire. But he must be imagining things.
His face had given away his uneasiness, because Stiebel said, “We will go to Mannheim together. I don’t like the idea of you taking that letter by yourself. And we will be quick about it. I shall hire a chaise for the morning. Meanwhile, keep the matter to yourself. We shall be back within the week. Until then I trust your mother can manage without you.”
11
The Betrothal
As the ancients agree, brother Toby, said my father, that there are two different and distinct kinds of love, according to the different parts which are affected by it—the Brain or the Liver—I think when a man is in love, it behoves him a little to consider which of the two he is fallen into.
Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy
Unlike her brother, Augusta did not sleep. Neither did she eat. Elsbeth knocked on her door later that terrible evening, calling out, “Miss? I brought your supper. Miss? Shall I set it on the floor?”
In a thick voice, Augusta answered, “Take it away. I don’t want it.”
The girl was persistent. “Are you sick, Miss? Shall I go for the doctor?”
Augusta dabbed at her eyes. “No. It’s just a migraine. Please go away.” It was not a migraine, but her head felt stuffy enough after hours of weeping.
Elsbeth left then, reluctantly, no doubt; the girl took the greatest interest in her employers’ private lives. If the scene in the parlor had not been so truly awful, Augusta might have smiled at Elsbeth’s fascination with Franz’s bare legs, but now this interest in Franz seemed prurient. Franz had complained that Elsbeth searched his room in his absence, disturbing his papers, and snooping through his clothing. Such suspicions had never been on Augusta’s mind until her mother and Franz accused her of carrying on a “secret” relationship with Jakob Seutter. Now she felt wretched and unclean.
The memory of the shock and pain on his kind face tore at her. What must he think of all of them? She had lied to avoid a scene, but he must have seen it as a cruel rejection. He must have thought she felt such revulsion for him that she could not admit he had offered her marriage. Her shame for the lie and her pity for him occupied most of her thoughts.
Later she also thought of what her life would be like in the future, now that she had lost the affection of both mother and brother and had no one who cared about her. That was when she wept for herself. She had never been so alone.
After this long afternoon and night of weeping and wringing of hands, she made a decision that had the strange effect of drying her tears and stiffening her resolution.
Since they had all offended Herr Seutter so cruelly, she would go to him. She would make her own apologies and to try to explain away her mother and brother’s ill manners.
As for herself, she would have to make the best of her life in this house. Her mother would be very angry for a long time and would find ways to humiliate her daily. But surely in time she would relent. Franz must be made to understand. She needed his support if she was to continue her life with them.
And so Augusta dipped a towel into her basin of cold water and applied it to her swollen eyes. This took patient reapplication and frequent checks in the mirror, but when the sun came up, she thought her appearance was passable. Putting on her second best dress, she tied an apron around her and ventured down into the kitchen.
Elsbeth was chatting with Max—who had a black eye and a plaster on his cheek. When he saw Augusta, he shot up from the chair.
“Miss,” he said, looking anxious, “are you feeling better? I was that worried when Elsbeth told me you were sickly.”
Augusta was touched. “It was just a migraine,” she lied again with a glance at the round-eyed Elsbeth. “What happened to you, Max? Your face? It looks terrible. And I missed you yesterday.”
He blushed. “Thank you, miss, for caring. I don’t deserve your kindness.” He hung his head. “There was a bit of a fight, miss. Night before last. I had too much beer. The gendarmes ran us in. I do beg your pardon, miss.”
He looked so crestfallen that she only said, “You shouldn’t fight, but I’m glad to see you.” She urged him to continue his breakfast, then asked Elsbeth, “Is my brother awake?”
“Master’s been up and gone this hour, Miss. Slipped out the door, quiet-like. When I went to look, there he was, walking away to his work as usual.”
Augusta frowned. “Oh, dear. He wasn’t well yet.” She smiled at Max. “We seem to be a sickly household of late.”
Max cleared his throat. “I was that sorry to hear about your brother, miss. I wish I’d been there. I would’ve shown that villain a few things. Did he get a look at him?”
Augusta poured herself some milk and cut a slice of bread. “Thank you, Max. No, I’m afraid he didn’t see the man’s face.” A thought came to her. “Perhaps I’d better look in on him at Dr. Stiebel’s to see how he fares.” Her real errand might escape her mother’s notice that way.
Max pursued the story. “Elsbeth says the gendarmes have come. Did they catch the black-hearted swine?”
“No. It was dark. My brother cried out and woke up a woman who frightened the villains away. She was quite unkind to Franz, but perhaps she saved his life.”
Max departed on one of his self-imposed chores outside, and Elsbeth washed the dishes while Augusta ate her breakfast. She had no appetite but was afraid to embark on this errand light-headed from hunger.
Her mother had not yet emerged from her chamber when she left the house, a dark shawl draped around her shoulders and her small straw hat tied on over her cap.
When Maria saw who stood outside the heavy door of the Seutter house, her face became pinched with anger. “You!” she said, her voice low but sharp. “Haven’t you done enough? Go away and don’t come back.” She tried to close the door, but Augusta took a desperate step forward and pushed. An unseemly struggle ensued that brought tears of shame and frustration to Augusta’s eyes. “How dare you?” she said. “You’re a servant. How dare you refuse to admit your master’s friends?”
“You’re no friend, you hussy!” spat Maria, shoving.
But the door was open far enough, and Augusta’s skirts were not very
full. She slipped through the opening and stood in the entrance hall.
“Get out!” shouted Maria, infuriated by the invasion.
“No,” cried Augusta, chin high and eyes flashing.
The shouting brought Herr Seutter from his office. He looked tired and was in waistcoat and shirt sleeves. His hand still held a quill.
“Augusta,” he said, shocked. Then he took in the confrontation between the two women. “Maria, please make some chocolate and bring it to the parlor.”
Maria folded her arms across her starched breast. “I will not. She’s trouble, and I will not have you insulted by people spreading vile gossip. You know very well that she shouldn’t be here. You should never have let her into this house. She may be young, but she’s a slut for all that.”
Augusta gasped. Herr Seutter turned first red and then pale. “Maria, pack your things and leave. You have no place in my house. The rest of your wages will be sent to you.”
Maria’s mouth opened, but no sound came from it.
“Oh, please,” Augusta said, horrified, “please, sir, don’t be rash on my account. Maria was quite right. I should not have come. I only came for a last time to ask your forgiveness.”
He seemed at a loss what to do or say. Shaking his head, he made a helpless gesture with his hands. Then he turned and held the parlor door open for her.
Augusta walked in, pulling her shawl a little closer. This was going to be very hard, but it must be done. Perhaps it would be mercifully quick. She turned to face him, and saw that he still stood by the door as if afraid of her. Then he closed it, his head bowed.
She clenched her hands until the nails bit into her flesh and said quickly before she lost courage, “I’m very sorry for the lie I told. It’s true I was confused at first. But when I told my brother that you had come to court Mama, I knew it wasn’t true. It was cowardly of me. I came to say how honored I was by your offer. How very deeply I feel your goodness and regard.” Oh, dear, tears were filling her eyes again. She blinked, and went on, “My brother and my mother spoke without thinking or knowledge. I would give anything to make those things unsaid.” She stopped because her voice was breaking.
He remained near the door but raised his head to look at her. “It’s very kind, Miss Augusta, but you really shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “They were quite right to be angry, and now they’ll be angrier still. It doesn’t matter about me. I’ll go on as I have been.” He looked around the room sadly. “My money makes sure of that. But you must guard your reputation. In so far as I’ve been the cause of any damage to you, you or your brother need only mention what will satisfy and I shall make amends. And now perhaps…” His voice, which had been quite firm and even cold, stopped abruptly and he held the door open for her.
The moment he had started to speak, calling her Miss Augusta, she felt completely bereft and could not stop her tears. What was she to do? Her family did not want her. Where was she to go? The tall figure of Jakob Seutter swam before her watery eyes, and her knees felt weak. She knew she must leave and was ashamed of her weakness, but he stood at the door and besides she did not think she could walk that far. She tottered to the settee. In a moment she would be stronger, she thought, and blinked her eyes furiously.
“Please don’t cry.” He sounded desperate. “You know I cannot bear to see you unhappy. Tell me what I must do. I’m only a simple man, but I would gladly give my life and all I own to make you happy.”
Augusta sniffled, her heart too full to be rational. “Then marry me,” she said and gasped at the audacity.
He said nothing, but she saw through her tears how shocked he was. She wiped her eyes and swallowed. “Yesterday you came to propose marriage. If you’re still of the same mind, I accept. Only let it be soon. Let it be now. I don’t want to go home. I never want to go home again,” she wailed, covering her face, hoping for she knew not what and afraid that she had made things much worse.
He closed the door and came to sit beside her. “Augusta,” he said gently, “I cannot. Not without your family’s approval. You’re not of age, you see. In any case, I had meant to wait at least until your seventeenth birthday, but I was afraid I might lose you, that you might fall in love with someone else.”
She dropped her hands and looked at him. “I would never do that,” she cried. “But Mama and Franz may lock me up, and then I cannot come to see you ever again.”
His face softened. “Oh, my dear, you don’t need me. Be patient. Surely it won’t be as bad as that at home. I’m sorry that you should have this trouble on my account, but you’re very young, and your whole life is ahead of you. There will be someone else, someone your mother and brother will approve of, someone you can love.”
She looked down at her hands and bit her lip so she would not cry again. Love? She thought of all the nights she had lain in her narrow bed, looking through the window to the night sky above the steep roofs of the houses, and dreamed of love. Dreaming dreams of dashing cavaliers to carry her away with them, and more recently and guiltily of Max’s arms around her and his lips on hers. It now seemed childish and unreal. Jakob was real. Jakob. She tasted the name silently on her tongue. His warm hands had held hers the way a nest held a tiny bird. He had wrapped her cloak around her and held her against him like a mother would a child. That was what love was: gentleness and protection. That was what she wanted.
She raised her head to entreat him again, but he got up and went to the window, his back to her.
“Oh,” she said, her heart breaking. “I see. You ‘ve changed your mind. And why should you not? I’m being foolish. We have all been making demands on you, and now Franz has insulted you so grievously. I…shouldn’t have come.” She got up to escape from this shameful scene.
“No, wait.” He caught up with her, catching her shoulders and turning her to face him, then dropped his hands and stepped back. “Augusta,” he said, looking anxious, “never think that I shall forget you. And never forget that you need only call on me, whatever the case may be. As long as I live, I’m yours to command in everything.”
She stamped her foot, angry and frustrated. “Then why don’t you prove it?”
“Prove it?”
“Hold me, Jakob. I need to feel your strength because I’ve been cast adrift and will surely perish if you don’t save me.”
He put his arms around her then and held her, fiercely, muttering endearments and upsetting her starched cap when he stroked her head. She felt his buttons pressing into her chest, and his warm hands on her back, and felt safe.
It was some time later that they wondered what had happened to Maria and the chocolate, but they decided it was more important to hold hands and talk about the future. Neither knew how a reconciliation with Augusta’s family might be achieved, but Jakob accepted that Augusta had made her choice for better or worse.
And later again, Jakob took her through the house, proudly and nervously in case she should not like it. He told her in every room that she might make any changes she wished, and she said that all was quite perfect as it was.
They came to the kitchen last and interrupted an intense exchange between the servants. Shocked silence fell. Maria sat at the big table with the cook and several housemaids, her eyes red from weeping. Young Hans was in the scullery, polishing his master’s boots while listening to his elders. All of them stared at the intrusion of their master and his loose woman.
Jakob smiled at them all. “I’m glad to find you here. It’s to be a big secret yet, but you may wish us happy, though how I could be any happier I don’t know.” He chuckled and took Augusta’s hand to kiss it. “Here’s Augusta, er, Miss von Langsdorff. She’s just agreed to be my wife, bless her. This house will be full of joy again after all these years. I know you will serve her as devotedly as you’ve served me and my dear Susanna.”
They gaped, then muttered congratulations. Maria’s voice was flat as she spoke the obligatory well-wishes and welcome to Augusta. Augusta thanked them all, and in
Maria’s case she added the hope that the housekeeper would help her learn the ways of a large household. Maria curtsied, casting an uncertain glance at her master, who nodded with a benevolent smile. In his joy, he had evidently forgotten that he had dismissed her.
Augusta went home happy, warm in her new security, touching from time to time the ring inside her bodice. Jakob had given it to her as the symbol of their betrothal, but they had agreed to keep it to themselves until he could make peace with her family. She wore it under her clothes on a fine silk ribbon Jakob had fastened around her neck and then he had kissed her tenderly on the lips. Augusta reveled in her new status, in the fact that she belonged to Jakob now, that she was loved.
And what of Franz and Mama? They would have to accept what they could not change, for if they did not, she would go to her betrothed without their consent. And if they locked her up, Jakob would come and get her. She laughed a little at the thought of him climbing a long ladder to her window and felt at peace.
*
Elsbeth had told Max with considerable relish that Miss Augusta had been caught snuggling with Herr Seutter, and that her mistress had shrieked and fallen into fainting fits, and that Master Franz had come in his night shirt, his poor legs all bare, to vent his fury on Herr Seutter. “What d’you think?” she had asked, goggle-eyed with excitement. “It’ll be a duel fer sure, right? And poor Master Franz a cripple, what with that leg of his. What if they bring ’im home dead?”
Max’s opinion of Franz in a duel was somewhat better than Elsbeth’s, but he cared more about his angel Augusta. How dare that rich bastard lay his filthy hands on her? There was no way an innocent like her would invite such behavior. Max had a good mind to show that dirty dog a thing or two. In that, he was of one mind with her brother. The young were meant for the young. His angel needed his protection.
According to Elsbeth, both mother and brother had turned against Augusta, who had run to her room, “crying her eyes out.” After expressing his outrage that they should reject their own flesh and blood, it struck Max that Augusta’s misery might well push her into his own eager arms.
