This invitation produced a very deep curtsey and a flush of gratification, but the recipient turned to her lord before accepting it, to inquire his pleasure.
“I fear not to-morrow, gracious Miss,” said the parson, “for it is Good Friday.”
“Ach ja,” stammered Anna, ashamed of herself for having forgotten.
“Ach ja,” exclaimed the parson’s wife, still more ashamed of herself for having forgotten.
“Perhaps Saturday, then?” suggested Anna.
The parson murmured something about quiet hours preparatory to the Sabbath; but his wife, a person who struck Anna as being quite extraordinarily stout, was burning with curiosity to examine those foreign ladies more conveniently, and especially to see what manner of being would emerge from the pile of fur and feathers in the corner; and she urged him, in a rapid aside, to do for once without quiet hours. Whereupon he patted her on the cheek, smiled indulgently, and said he would make an exception and do himself the honour of appearing.
This being settled, Anna said Gehen Sie to her coachman, who again showed his intelligence by understanding her; and in a cloud of smiles and bows they drove away, the school-girls making curtseys, the schoolboys taking off their caps, and the parson standing hat in hand with his arm round his wife’s waist as serenely as though it had been a summer’s day and no one looking.
Anna became used to these displays of conjugal regard in public later on; but this first time she turned to Susie with a laugh, when the hood had hidden the group from view, and asked her if she had seen it. But Susie had seen nothing, for her eyes were shut, and she refused to answer any questions otherwise than by a feeble shake of the head.
On the other side of the village the chaussée came to an end, and two deep, sandy roads took its place. There was a sign-post at their junction, one arm of which, pointing to the right-hand road that ran down close to the sea, had Kleinwalde scrawled on it; and beside this sign-post a man on a horse was waiting for them.
“Good gracious! More rot?” ejaculated Susie as the carriage stopped again, shaken out of the dignity of sulks by these repeated shocks.
“Oberinspector Dellwig,” said the man, introducing himself, and sweeping off his hat and bowing lower and more obsequiously than anyone had yet done.
“This must be the inspector Uncle Joachim hoped I’d keep,” said Anna in an undertone.
“I don’t care who he is, but for heaven’s sake don’t let him make a speech. I can’t stand this sort of thing any longer. You’ll have me ill on your hands if you’re not careful, and you won’t like that, so you had better stop him.”
“I can’t stop him,” said Anna, perplexed. She also had had enough of speeches.
“Gestatten gnädiges Fräulein dass ich meine gehorsamste Ehrerbietung ausspreche,” began the glib inspector, bowing at every second word over his horse’s ears.
There was no escape, and they had to hear him out. The man had prepared his speech, and say it he would. It was not so long as the parson’s, but was quite as flowery in another way, overflowing with respectful allusions to the deceased master, and with expressions of unbounded loyalty, obedience, and devotion to the new mistress.
Susie shut her eyes again when she found he was not to be stopped, and gave herself up for lost. What could Hilton, who must be close behind waiting in the cold, uncomforted by any food since leaving Berlin, think of all this? Susie dreaded the moment when she would have to face her.
The inspector finished all he had intended saying, and then, assuming a more colloquial tone, informed Anna that from the sign-post onward she would be driving through her own property, and asked permission to ride by her side the rest of the way. So they had his company for the last two miles and his conversation, of which there was much; for he had a ready tongue, and explained things to Anna in a very loud voice as they went along, expatiating on the magnificence of the crops the previous summer, and assuring her that the crops of the coming summer would be even more magnificent, for he had invented a combination of manures which would give such results that all Pomerania’s breath would be taken away.
The road here was terrible, and the horses could hardly drag the carriage through the sand. It lurched and heaved from side to side, creaking and groaning alarmingly. Miss Leech was in imminent peril. Anna held on with both hands, and hardly had leisure to put in appropriate achs and jas and questions of a becoming intelligence when the inspector paused to take breath. She did not like his looks, and wished that she could follow Susie’s example and avoid the necessity of seeing him by the simple expedient of shutting her eyes. But somehow, she did not quite know how, responsibilities and obligations were suddenly pressing heavily upon her. These people had all made up their minds that she was going to be and do certain things; and though she assured herself that it did not in the least matter how they had made up their minds, yet she felt obliged to behave in the way that was expected of her. She did not want to talk to this unpleasant-looking man, and what he told her about the crops and their marvellousness was half unintelligible to her and wholly a bore. Yet she did talk to him, and looked friendly, and affected to understand and be deeply interested in all he said.
They passed through a plantation of young beeches, planted, Dellwig explained, by Uncle Joachim on his last visit; and after a few more yards of lurching in the sand came to some woods and got on to a fair road.
“The park,” said Dellwig superbly, with a wave of the hand.
Susie opened her eyes at the word park, and looked about. “It isn’t a park,” she said peevishly, “it’s a forest — a horrid, gloomy, damp wilderness.”
“Oh, it’s lovely!” cried Letty, giving a jump of delight as she peered down the serried ranks of pine trees.
It was a thick wood of pines and beeches, railed off from the road on either side by wooden rails painted in black and white stripes. Uncle Joachim had been the loyalest of Prussians, and his loyalty overflowed even into his fences. Æsthetic instincts he had none, and if he had been brought to see it, would not have cared at all that the railings made the otherwise beautiful avenue look like the entrance to a restaurant or a railway station. The stripes, renewed every year, and of startling distinctness, were an outward and visible sign of his staunch devotion to the King of Prussia, the very lining of the carriage with its white and black squares was symbolic; and when they came to the gate within which the house itself stood, two Prussian eagles frowned down at them from the gate-posts.
CHAPTER VI
A low, white, two-storied house, separated from the forest only by a circular grass plot and a ditch with half-melted snow in it and muddy water, a house apparently quite by itself among the creaking pines, neither very old nor very new, with a great many windows, and a brown-tiled roof, was the home bestowed by Uncle Joachim on his dear and only niece Anna.
“So this is where I was to lead the better life?” she thought, as the carriage drew up at the door, and the moaning of the uneasy trees, and all the lonely sounds of a storm-beaten forest replaced the rattling of the wheels in her ears. “The better life, then, is a life of utter solitude, Uncle Joachim thought? I wish I knew — I wish I knew — —” But what it was she wished she knew was hardly clear in her mind; and her thoughts were interrupted by a very untidy, surprised-looking maid-servant, capless, and in felt slippers, who had darted down the steps and was unfastening the leather apron and pulling out the rugs with hasty, agitated hands, and trying to pull Susie out as well.
The doorway was garlanded with evergreen wreaths, over which a green and white flag flapped; and curtseying and smiling beneath the wreaths stood Dellwig’s wife, a short lady with smooth hair, weather-beaten face, and brown silk gloves, who would have been the stoutest person Anna had ever seen if she had not just come from the presence of the parson’s wife.
“I never saw so many bows in my life,” grumbled Susie, pushing the servant aside, and getting out cautiously, feeling very stiff and cold and miserable. “Letty, you are on my dres
s — oh, how d’you do — how d’you do,” she murmured frostily, as the Frau Inspector seized her hand and began to talk German to her. “Anna, are you coming? This — er — person thinks I’m you, and is making me a speech.”
Dellwig, who had sent his horse away in charge of a small boy, rapidly explained to his wife that the young lady now getting out of the carriage was their late master’s niece, and that the other one must be the sister-in-law mentioned in the lawyer’s letter; upon which Frau Dellwig let Susie go, and transferred her smiles and welcome to Anna. Susie went into the house to get out of the cold, only to find herself in a square hall whose iciness was the intolerable iciness of a place in which no sun had been allowed to shine and no windows had been opened for summers without number. When Uncle Joachim came down he lived in two rooms at the back of the house, with a door leading into the garden through which he went to the farm, and the hall had never been used, and the closed shutters never opened. There was no fireplace, or stove, or heating arrangement of any sort. Glass doors divided it from an inner and still more spacious hall, with a wide wooden staircase, and doors all round it. The walls in both halls were painted grass green; and from little chains in the ceiling stuffed hawks and eagles, shot by Uncle Joachim, and grown with years very dusty and moth-eaten, hung swinging in the draught. The floor was boarded, and was still damp from a recent scrubbing. There was no carpet. A wooden bracket on the wall, with brass hooks, held a large assortment of whips and hunting crops; and in one corner stood an arrangement for coats, with Uncle Joachim’s various waterproofs and head-coverings hanging monumentally on its pegs.
“Oh, how dreadful!” thought Susie, shivering more violently than ever. “And what a musty smell — it’s damp, of course, and I shall be laid up. Poor Hilton! What will she think of this? Oh, how d’you do,” she added aloud, as a female figure in a white apron suddenly emerged from the gloom and took her hand and kissed it; “Anna, who’s this? Anna! Aren’t you coming? Here’s somebody kissing my hand.”
“It’s the cook,” said Anna, coming into the inner hall with the others, Dellwig and his wife keeping one on either side of her, and both talking at once in their anxiety to make a good impression.
“The cook? Then tell her to give us some food. I shall die if I don’t have something soon. Do you know what time it is? Past four. Can’t you get rid of these people? And where’s Hilton?”
Susie hardly seemed to see the Dellwigs, and talked to Anna while they were talking to her as though they did not exist. If Anna felt an obligation to be polite to these different persons she felt none at all. They did not understand English, but if they had it would not have mattered to her, and she would have gone on talking about them as though they had not been there.
Both the Dellwigs had very loud voices, so Susie had to raise hers in order to be heard, and there was consequently such a noise in the empty, echoing house, that after looking round bewildered, and trying to answer everybody at once, Anna gave it up, and stood and laughed.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Susie crossly, “we are all starving, and these people won’t go.”
“But how can I make them go?”
“They’re your servants, I suppose. I should just say that I’d send for them when I wanted them.”
“They’d be very much astonished. The man is so far from being my servant that I believe he means to be my master.”
The two Dellwigs, perplexed by Anna’s laughter when nobody had said anything amusing, and uneasy lest she should be laughing at something about themselves, looked from her to Susie suspiciously, and for that brief moment were quiet.
“Wir sind hungrig,” said Anna to the wife.
“The food comes immediately,” she replied; and hastened away with the cook and the other servant through a door evidently leading to the kitchen.
“Und kalt,” continued Anna plaintively to the husband, who at once flung open another door, through which they saw a table spread for dinner. “Bitte, bitte,” he said, ushering them in as though the place belonged to him.
“Does this person live in the house?” inquired Susie, eying him with little goodwill.
“He told me he lives at the farm. But of course he has always looked after everything here.”
When they were all in the dining-room, driven in by Dellwig, as Susie remarked, like a flock of sheep by a shepherd determined to stand no nonsense, he helped them with officious politeness to take off their wraps, and then, bowing almost to the ground, asked permission to withdraw while the Herrschaften ate, a permission that was given with alacrity, Anna’s face falling, however, upon his informing her that he would come round later on in order to lay his plans for the summer before her.
“What does he say?” asked Susie, as the door shut behind him.
“He’s coming round again later on.”
“That man’s going to be a nuisance — you see if he isn’t,” said Susie with conviction.
“I believe he is,” agreed Anna, going over to the white porcelain stove to warm her hands.
“He’s the limpet, and you’re going to be the rock. Don’t let him fleece you too much.”
“But limpets don’t fleece rocks,” said Anna.
“He wouldn’t be able to fleece me, I know, if I could talk German as well as you do. But you’ll be soft and weak and amiable, and he’ll do as he likes with you.”
“Soft, and weak, and amiable!” repeated Anna, smiling at Susie’s adjectives, “why, I thought I was obstinate — you always said I was.”
“So you are. But you won’t be to that man. He’ll get round you.”
“Uncle Joachim said he was excellent.”
“Oh, I daresay he wasn’t bad with a man over him who knew all about farming, but mark my words, you won’t get two thousand a year out of the place.”
Anna was silent. Susie was invariably shrewd and sensible, if inclined, Anna thought, to be over suspicious, in matters where money was concerned. Dellwig’s face was not one to inspire confidence: and his way of shouting when he talked, and of talking incessantly, was already intolerable to her. She was not sure, either, that his wife was any more satisfactory. She too shouted, and Anna detested noise. The wife did not appear again, and had evidently gone home with her husband, for a great silence had fallen upon the house, broken only by the monotonous sighing of the forest, and the pattering of rain against the window.
The dining-room was a long narrow room, with one big window forming its west end looking out on to the grass plot, the ditch, and the gate-posts with the eagles on them. It was a study in chocolate — brown paper, brown carpet, brown rep curtains, brown cane chairs. There were two wooden sideboards painted brown facing each other down at the dark end, with a collection of miscellaneous articles on them: a vinegar cruet that had stood there for years, with remains of vinegar dried up at the bottom; mustard pots containing a dark and wicked mixture that had once been mustard; a broken hand-bell used at long-past dinners, to summon servants long since dead; an old wine register with entries in it of a quarter of a century back; a mouldy bottle of Worcester sauce, still boasting on its label that it would impart a relish to viands otherwise dull; and some charming Dresden china fruit-dishes, adorned with cheerful shepherds and shepherdesses, incurable optimists, persistently pleased with themselves and their surroundings through all the days and nights of all the cold silent years that they had been smiling at each other in the dark. On the round dinner-table was a pot of lilies of the valley, enveloped in crinkly pink tissue paper tied round with pink satin ribbon, with ears of the paper drawn up between the flower-stalks to produce a pleasing contrast of pink and white.
“Well, it’s warm enough here, isn’t it?” said Susie, going round the room and examining these things with an interest far exceeding that called forth by the art treasures of Berlin.
“Rather,” said Letty, answering for everybody, and rubbing her hands. She frolicked about the room, peeping into all the corners, opening the cupboard
s, trying the sofa, and behaving in so frisky a fashion that her mother, who seldom saw her at home, and knew her only as a naughty gloomy girl, turned once or twice from the interesting sideboards to stare at her inquiringly through her lorgnette.
The servant with the surprised eyebrows, who presently brought in the soup, had put on a pair of white cotton gloves for the ceremony of waiting, but still wore her felt slippers. She put the plates in a pile on the edge of the table, murmured something in German, and ran out again; nor did she come back till she brought the next course, when she behaved in a precisely similar manner, and continued to do so throughout the meal; the diners, having no bell, being obliged to sit patiently during the intervals, until she thought that they might perhaps be ready for some more.
It was an odd meal, and began with cold chocolate soup with frothy white things that tasted of vanilla floating about in it. Susie was so much interested in this soup that she forgot all about Hilton, who had been driven ignominiously to the back door and was left sitting in the kitchen till the two servants should have time to take her upstairs, and was employing the time composing a speech of a spirited nature in which she intended giving her mistress notice the moment she saw her again.
Her mistress meanwhile was meditatively turning over the vanilla balls in her soup. “Well, I don’t like it,” she said at last, laying down her spoon.
“Oh, it’s ripping!” cried her daughter ecstatically. “It’s like having one’s pudding at the other end.”
“How can you look at chocolate after Berlin, greedy girl?” asked her mother, disgusted by her child’s obvious tendency towards a too free indulgence in the pleasures of the table. But Letty was feeling so jovial that in the face of this question she boldly asked for more — a request that was refused indignantly and at once.
Delphi Collected Works of Elizabeth von Arnim (Illustrated) Page 32
