“Miss Estcourt has not told me so.”
“But she must have quarrelled. Eccentric as the English are, there are limits to their eccentricity, and no one leaves home and friends and country without some good reason.” And Frau von Treumann shook her head.
“She has quarrelled, I am sure,” said the baroness.
“I think so too,” said Frau von Treumann; “I thought so from the first. My son also thought so. You remember Karlchen, princess?”
“Perfectly.”
“I discussed the question thoroughly with him, of course, as to whether I should come here or not. I confess I did not want to come. It was a great wrench, giving up everything, and going so far from my son. But after all one must not be selfish.” And Frau von Treumann sighed and paused.
No one said anything, so she continued: “One feels, as one grows older, how great are the claims of others. And a widow with only one son can do so much, can make herself of so much use. That is what Karlchen said. When I hesitated — for I fear one does hesitate before inconvenience — he said, ‘Liebste Mama, it would be a charity to go to the poor young lady. You who have always been the first to extend a sympathetic hand to the friendless, how is it that you hesitate now? Depend upon it, she has had differences at home and needs countenance and help. You have no encumbrances. You can go more easily than others. You must regard it as a good work.’ And that decided me.”
The princess let her work drop for a moment into her lap, and gazed over her spectacles at Frau von Treumann. “Wirklich?” she said in a voice of deep interest. “Those were your reasons? Aber herrlich.”
“Yes, those were my reasons,” replied Frau von Treumann, returning her gaze with pensive but steady eyes. “Those were my chief reasons. I regard it as a work of charity.”
“But this is noble,” murmured the princess, resuming her work.
“That is how I have regarded it,” put in the baroness. “I agree with you entirely, dear Frau von Treumann.”
“I do not pretend to disguise,” went on Frau von Treumann, “that it is an economy for me to live here, but poor as I have been since my dear husband’s death — you remember Karl, princess?”
“Perfectly.”
“Poor as I have been, I always had sufficient for my simple wants, and should not have dreamed of altering my life if Miss Estcourt’s letters had not been so appealing.”
“Ach — they were appealing?”
“Oh, a heart of stone would have been melted by them. And a widow’s heart is not of stone, as you must know yourself. The orphan appealing to the widow — it was irresistible.”
“Well, you see she is not by any means alone,” said the princess cheerfully. “Here we are, five of us counting the little Letty, surrounding her. So you must not sacrifice yourself unnecessarily.”
“Oh, I am not one of those who having put their hand to the plough — —”
“But where is the plough, dear Frau von Treumann? You see there is, after all, no plough.”
“Dear princess, you always were so literal.”
“Ah, you used to reproach me with that in the old days, when you wrote poetry and read it to me and I was rude enough to ask if it meant anything. We did not think then that we should meet here, did we?”
“No, indeed. And I cannot tell you how much I admire your courage.”
“My courage? What fine qualities you invest me with!”
“Miss Estcourt has told me how admirably you discharge your duties here. It is wonderful to me. You are an example to us all, and you make me feel ashamed of my own uselessness.”
“Oh, you underrate yourself. People who leave everything to go and help others cannot talk of being useless. Yes, I look after her house for her, and I hope to look after her as well.”
“After her? Is that one of your duties? Did she stipulate for personal supervision when she engaged you? How times are changed! When my Karl was alive, and we lived at Sommershof, I certainly would not have tolerated that my housekeeper should keep me in order as well as my house.”
“The case was surely different, dear Frau von Treumann. Here is an unusually pretty young thing, with money. She will need all the protection I can give her, and it is a satisfaction to me to feel that I am here and able to give it.”
“But she may any day turn round and request you to go.”
“That of course may happen, but I hope it will not until she is safe.”
“But do you think her so pretty?” put in the baroness wonderingly.
“Safe? What special dangers do you then apprehend for her?” asked Frau von Treumann with a look of amusement. “Dear princess, you always did take your duties so seriously. What a treasure you would have been to me in many ways. It is admirable. But do your duties really include watching over Miss Estcourt’s heart? For I suppose you are thinking of her heart?”
“I am thinking of adventurers,” said the princess. “Any young man with no money would naturally be delighted to secure this young lady and Kleinwalde. And those who instead of money have debts, would naturally be still more delighted.” And the princess in her turn gazed pensively but steadily at Frau von Treumann. “No,” she said, taking up her work again, “I was not thinking of her heart, but of the annoyance she might be put to. I do not fancy that her heart would easily be touched.”
Anna came in at that moment for a paper she wanted, and heard the last words. “What,” she said, smiling, as she unlocked the drawer of her writing-table and rummaged among the contents, “you are talking about hearts? You see it is true that women can’t be together half an hour without getting on to subjects like that. If you were three men, now, you would talk of pigs.” Then, a sudden recollection of Uncle Joachim coming into her mind, she added with conviction, “And pigs are better.”
Nor was it till she had closed the door behind her that it struck her that when she came into the room both the princess and Frau von Treumann were looking preternaturally bland.
CHAPTER XVII
Axel Lohm was in the hall, having his coat taken from him by a servant.
“You here?” exclaimed Anna, holding out both hands. She was more than usually pleased to see him.
“Manske had a pile of letters for you, and could not get them to you because he has a pastors’ conference at his house. I was there and saw the letters, and thought you might want them.”
“Oh, I don’t want them — at least, there is no hurry. But the letters are only an excuse. Now isn’t it so?”
“An excuse?” he repeated, flushing.
“You want to see the new arrivals.”
“Not in the very least.”
“Oh, oh! But as you have come one minute too soon, and happened to meet me outside the door, your plan is spoilt. Are those the letters? What a pile!” Her face fell.
“But you are looking for nine more ladies. You want a wide choice. You have still the greater part of your work before you.”
“I know. Why do you tell me that?”
“Because you do not seem pleased to get them.”
“Oh yes, I am; but I am tired to-night, and the idea of nine more ladies makes me feel — feel sleepy.”
She stood under the lamp, holding the packet loosely by its string and smiling up to him. There were shadows in her eyes, he thought, where he was used to seeing two cheerful little lights shining, and a faint ruefulness in the smile.
“Well, if you are tired you must go to bed,” he said, in such a matter of fact tone that they both laughed.
“No, I mustn’t,” said Anna; “I am on my way to Herr Dellwig at this very moment. He’s in there,” she said, with a motion of her head towards the dining-room door. “Tell me,” she added, lowering her voice, “have you got a brick-kiln at Lohm?”
“A brick-kiln? No. Why do you want to know?”
“But why haven’t you got a brick-kiln?”
“Because there is nothing to make bricks with. Lohm is almost entirely sand.”
“He says there is splendid clay h
ere in one part, and wants to build one.”
“Who? Dellwig?”
“Sh — sh.”
“Your uncle would have built one long ago if there really had been clay. I must look at the place he means. I cannot remember any such place. And it is unlikely that it should be as he says. Pray do not agree to any propositions of the kind hastily.”
“It would cost heaps to set it going, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, and probably bring in nothing at all.”
“But he tries to make out that it would be quite cheap. He says the timber could all be got out of the forest. I can’t bear the thought of cutting down a lot of trees.”
“If you can’t bear the thought of anything he proposes, then simply refuse to consider it.”
“But he talks and talks till it really seems that he is right. He told me just now that it would double the value of the estate.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“If I made bricks, according to him I could take in twice as many poor ladies.”
“I believe you will be happier with fewer ladies and no bricks,” said Axel with great positiveness.
Anna stood thinking. Her eyes were fixed on the tip of the finger she had passed through the loop of string that tied the letters together, and she watched it as the packet twisted round and round and pinched it redder and redder. “I suppose you never wanted to be a woman,” she said, considering this phenomenon with apparent interest.
Axel laughed.
“The mere question makes you laugh,” she said, looking up quickly. “I never heard of a man who did want to. But lots of women would give anything to be men.”
“And you are one of them?”
“Yes.”
He laughed again.
“You think I would make a queer little man?” she said, laughing too; but her face became sober immediately, and with a glance at the shut dining-room door she continued: “It is so horrid to feel weak. My sister Susie says I am very obstinate. Perhaps I was with her, but different people have different effects on one.” She sank her voice to a whisper, and looked at him anxiously. “You can’t think what an effort it is to me to say No to that man.”
“What, to Dellwig?”
“Sh — sh.”
“But if that is how you feel, my dear Miss Estcourt, it is very evident that the man must go.”
“How easy it is to say that! Pray, who is to tell him to go?”
“I will, if you wish.”
“If you were a woman, do you suppose you would be able to turn out an old servant who has worked here so many years?”
“Yes, I am sure I would, if I felt that he was getting beyond my control.”
“No, you wouldn’t. All sorts of things would stop you. You would remember that your uncle specially told you to keep him on, that he has been here ages, that he was faithful and devoted — —”
“I do not believe there was much devotion.”
“Oh yes, there was. The first evening he cried about dear Uncle Joachim.”
“He cried?” repeated Axel incredulously.
“He did indeed.”
“It was about something else, then.”
“No, he really cried about Uncle Joachim. He really loved him.”
Axel looked profoundly unconvinced.
“But after all those are not the real reasons,” said Anna; “they ought to be, but they’re not. The simple truth is that I am a coward, and I am frightened — dreadfully frightened — of possible scenes.” And she looked at him and laughed ruefully. “There — you see what it is to be a woman. If I were a man, how easy things would be. Please consider the mortification of knowing that if he persuades long enough I shall give in, against my better judgment. He has the strongest will I think I ever came across.”
“But you have not yet given in, I hope, on any point of importance?”
“Up to now I have managed to say No to everything I don’t want to do. But you would laugh if you knew what those Nos cost me. Why cannot the place go on as it was? I am perfectly satisfied. But hardly a day passes without some wonderful new plan being laid before me, and he talks — oh, how he talks! I believe he would convince even you.”
“The man is quite beyond your control,” said Axel in a voice of anger; and voices of anger commonly being loud voices, this one produced the effect of three doors being simultaneously opened: the door leading to the servants’ quarters, through which Marie looked and vanished again, retreating to the kitchen to talk prophetically of weddings; the dining-room door, behind which Dellwig had grown more and more impatient at being kept waiting so long; and the drawing-room door, on the other side of which the baroness had been lingering for some moments, desiring to go upstairs for her scissors, but hesitating to interrupt Anna’s business with the inspector, whose voice she thought it was that she heard.
The baroness shut her door again immediately. “Aha — the admirer!” she said to herself; and went back quickly to her seat. “The Miss is talking to a jünge Herr,” she announced, her eyes wider open than ever.
“A jünge Herr?” echoed Frau von Treumann. “I thought the inspector was old?”
“It must be Axel Lohm,” said the princess, not raising her eyes from her work. “He often comes in.”
“He comes courting, evidently,” said the baroness with a sub-acid smile.
“It has not been evident to me,” said the princess coldly.
“I thought it looked like it,” said the baroness, with more meekness.
“Is that the Lohm who was engaged to one of the Kiederfels girls some years ago?” asked Frau von Treumann.
“Yes, and she died.”
“But did he not marry soon afterwards? I heard he married.”
“That was the second brother. This one is the eldest, and lives next to us, and is single.”
Frau von Treumann was silent for a moment. Then she said blandly, “Now confess, princess, that he is the perilous person from whom you think it necessary to defend Miss Estcourt.”
“Oh no,” said the princess with equal blandness; “I have no fears about him.”
“What, is he too possessed of an invulnerable heart?”
“I know nothing of his heart. I said, I believe, adventurers. And no one could call Axel Lohm an adventurer. I was thinking of men who have run through all their own and all their relations’ money in betting and gambling, and who want a wife who will pay their debts.”
“Ach so,” said Frau von Treumann with perfect urbanity. And if this talk about protecting Miss Estcourt from adventurers in a place where there were apparently no human beings of any kind, but only trees and marshes, might seem to a bystander to be foolishness, to the speakers it was luminousness itself, and in no way increased their love for each other.
Meanwhile Dellwig, looking through the door and seeing Lohm, brought his heels together and bowed with his customary exaggeration. “I beg a thousand times pardon,” he said; “I thought the gracious Miss was engaged and would not return, and I was about to go home.”
“I have found the paper, and am coming,” said Anna coldly. “Well, good-night,” she added in English, holding out her hand to Axel.
“If you will allow me, I should like to pay my respects to Princess Ludwig before I go,” he said, thinking thus to see her later.
“Ah! wasn’t I right?” she said, smiling. “You are determined to look at the new arrivals. How can a man be so inquisitive? But I will say good-night all the same. I shall be ages with Herr Dellwig, and shall not see you again.” She shook hands with him, and went into the dining-room, Dellwig standing aside with deep respect to let her pass. But she turned to say something to him as he shut the door, and Axel caught the expression of her face, the intense boredom on it, the profound distrust of self; and he went in to the princess with an unusually severe and determined look on his own.
Dellwig went home that night in a savage mood. “That young man,” he said to his wife, flinging his hat and coat on to a chair
and himself on to a sofa, “is thrusting himself more and more into our affairs.”
“That Lohm?” she asked, rolling up her work preparatory to fetching his evening drink.
“I had almost got the Miss to consent to the brick-kiln. She was quite reasonable, and went out to get the plan I had made. Then she met him — he is always hanging about.”
“And then?” inquired Frau Dell wig eagerly.
“Pah — this petticoat government — having to beg and pray for the smallest concession — it makes an honest man sick.”
“She will not consent?”
“She came back as obstinate as a mule. It all had to be gone into again from the beginning.”
“She will not consent?”
“She said Lohm would look at the place and advise her.”
“Aber so was!” cried Frau Dellwig, crimson with wrath. “Advise her? Did you not tell her that you were her adviser?”
“You may be sure I did. I told her plainly enough, I fancy, that Lohm had nothing to say here, and that her uncle had always listened to me. She sat without speaking, as she generally does, not even looking at me — I never can be sure that she is even listening.”
“And then?”
“I asked her at last if she had lost confidence in me.”
“And then?”
“She said oh nein, in her affected foreign way — in the sort of voice that might just as well mean oh ja.” And he imitated, with great bitterness, Anna’s way of speaking German. “Mark my words, Frau, she is as weak as water for all her obstinacy, and the last person who talks to her can always bring her round.”
“Then you must be the last person.”
“If it were not for that prig Lohm, that interfering ass, that incomparable rhinoceros — —”
“He wants to marry her, of course.”
“If he marries her — —” Dellwig stopped short, and stared gloomily at his muddy boots.
“If he marries her — —” repeated his wife; but she too stopped short. They both knew well enough what would happen to them if he married her.
The building of the brick-kiln had come to be a point of honour with the Dellwigs. Ever since Anna’s arrival, their friends the neighbouring farmers and inspectors had been congratulating them on their complete emancipation from all manner of control; for of course a young ignorant lady would leave the administration of her estate entirely in her inspector’s hands, confining her activities, as became a lady of birth, to paying the bills. Dellwig had not doubted that this would be so, and had boasted loudly and continually of the different plans he had made and was going to carry out. The estate of which he was now practically master was to become renowned in the province for its enterprise and the extent, in every direction, of its operations. The brick-kiln was a long-cherished scheme. His oldest friend and rival, the head inspector of a place on the other side of Stralsund, had one, and had constantly urged him to have one too; but old Joachim, without illusions as to the quality of the clay, and by no manner of means to be talked into disbelieving the evidence of his own eyes, would not hear of it, and Dellwig felt there was nothing to be done in the face of that curt refusal. The friend, triumphing in his own brick-kiln and his own more pliable master, jeered, dug him in the ribs at the Sunday gatherings, and talked of dependence, obedience, and restricted powers. Such friends are difficult to endure with composure; and Dellwig, and still less his wife, for many months past had hardly been able to bear the word “brick” mentioned in their presence. When Anna appeared on the scene, so young, so foreign, and so obviously foolish, Dellwig, certain now of success, told his friend on the very first Sunday night that the brick-kiln was now a mere matter of weeks. Always a boaster, he could not resist boasting a little too soon. Besides, he felt very sure; and the friend, too, had taken it for granted, when he heard of the impending young mistress, that the thing was as good as built.
Delphi Collected Works of Elizabeth von Arnim (Illustrated) Page 45
