by P. G. Glynn
Daisy was not to know in advance that he would go so far, or so fast. He looked so doddery that she had never dreamed the three of them would just disappear. Yes, old Emil Kadlec, Carla and Bobo all seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Yet it had not taken that long – had it? – for her and Karel to finish what they had started. Karel, who worked for the Bergers as an under-gardener, was a great one for getting down to things fast and at the time in question had had his tongue in her mouth and his finger up her arse. So Daisy had been in no position for quite some while to say anything to Mr Kadlec … and, besides, she had liked having him looking on. Cripes, what had she been thinking of? The trouble was, she had not been thinking. She had just been giving in to Karel’s kisses and all the rest of it.
None of the boys in Gilchrist ever kissed like Karel did. They were all wet behind the ears compared with him. It didn’t matter one bit that she didn’t speak Czech and he spoke no English. Love had its own language and with Karel it was always a question of ‘quick, off with your knickers!’ But he knew his way round her breasts as well as her bottom and did wonderful things with her nipples. Fair made her gasp, it did, when he licked and fondled while on top. What a naughty boy he was!
Once he had her pretending to be a dog – or, rather, a bitch on heat while he came at her from behind and gave her a good ’un. He was a proper caution.
Crumbs, here she was thinking of him still when she should be thinking of how to find Carla before Frau Antonin found out what had been going on! Daisy’s life wouldn’t be worth living if it ever got known that she had neglected her post – especially if the old man told why she had neglected it.
Where could he have taken Carla? If he had taken her back to the castle and blabbed on Daisy there would be hell to pay. Karel should have stayed to help her find the baby but had run off once he had had what he wanted. Men were all the same, wanting just one thing and disappearing till the next time they wanted it. Daisy wondered at times why she bothered with them.
That old man could have taken Carla anywhere. These grounds went on forever and Daisy had seen him before, walking in that funny prim way of his and often talking to himself as he explored. He was several pence short of a shilling, which was all the more reason why she should find him and make sure Carla had come to no harm. But was he up in the woods, down by the stream, over in the orchard, or … ?
As, breathlessly, she reached a fork in the path and paused, an anxious voice said: “Ah, Daisy, there you are, at last!” Turning, she saw Mama Berger puffing across the lawn that sloped up from behind the castle. In the next instant Mama was asking: “But where’s Carla?”
“He … he … just went off with her.”
“Who did?”
Daisy said defensively: “I couldn’t stop him. I’ve been searching for them ever since. Mercy me, I never meant this to happen!”
Noting the dishevelled state the nanny was in, Mama said: “We’ll speak later about what you were doing when Emil took Carla. You were referring to my brother?”
“Yes, ma’am. He just came along and … and took her off.”
“In which direction? For pity’s sake, girl, gather your wits and help me find the child before her mother’s return.”
“They aren’t due back for days … are they?”
“They’re on their way – and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll have a valid explanation for Frau Otto as to why you let her baby out of your sight.”
“Blimey!”
“Don’t stand there like a dummy. Tell me … ” There was a sudden rustling among some nearby shrubs and then Bobo appeared, bounding over to Mama and barking agitatedly. “Dear heaven, where is she?” Marta said, starting at once to follow where the dog led and trying to avert a sense of dread. As she ran she prayed to the blessed Virgin that Carla was safe. Emil, for all that his mind was muddled, was caring for her, wasn’t he … and not doing as he had once done when the boys were young … ?
Until now she had forgotten that incident, when he offered her children poisonous fungi for tea. It was so long ago, and as her sons knew better than to eat his offering no harm had been done. But Carla was too young to know. She was still just a baby … at an age of experimentation. Why, only the other day Marie had complained that Daisy had let her put sawdust from the stables into her mouth!
Bobo was leading the way, stopping periodically to ensure that Mama was following him. She was following as fast as her old legs permitted and now guessed where he was heading. She wished her heart did not feel so heavy … wished Emil would appear with Carla, demonstrating that everything was as it should be. But all Marta could finally see was an empty pushchair, parked haphazardly.
The door to the pumpernickel house stood ajar and there was no sound from within. The silence was unnerving.
Motioning to a subdued Daisy to follow her, Mama ducked her head to enter the place where children of several generations had loved to play. Bobo showed her where to find his little mistress, who was lying on the bed that had been Otto’s back in those golden childhood days.
Carla was lying there, peacefully, on top of the bedclothes in her favourite blue dress and was surely just asleep. As Mama approached, slowly and apprehensively, she saw that there were dark smudges on her cheeks as if she had wiped away tears with dirty fingers. Horrible to think that she had been crying with nobody to hear her … nobody but Emil, who would not have known how to comfort a baby girl. Then, as Bobo started whimpering and pawing at the bed, Mama saw something that made her heart miss several beats: in Carla’s tiny hand was clutched a mushroom. Not a friendly mushroom, but one of the deadliest known to man … and part of its green and yellow cap was missing.
“No,” Mama breathed fearfully. “No, dear God, don’t let her be … ”
+++++
Marie had stopped long enough in Prague to buy the promised doll for Carla. Nothing and nobody could have kept her there any longer. Otto had betrayed her and she even hated the car he had bought her with the ill-gotten gains of his betrayal.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asked. “Is that why you’re driving so erratically?”
“Still?” It was beyond belief that he was expecting forgiveness already. “I think,” Marie told him grimly, steering round a hairpin bend above a yawning abyss, “that I’ll stay mad with you over this for as long as I live.”
“That’s a bit over-dramatic, isn’t it?”
“I’d describe it as under-dramatic.”
“But what did I do that’s so bad?”
“If you don’t know, I can’t tell you. We’re poles apart, you and I, and should never have married. Well, we won’t be married for much longer. You might be tied to Bohemia by that contract but I’m not. As soon as I’ve made the necessary arrangements for me and my children, I’m off.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous!”
“I am? That’s rich, coming from a man who’s so greedy for unearned income and so under his mother’s thumb that he does her bidding behind his wife’s back!”
“I did it for us, Marie – for you and me and for our family. I wasn’t doing Mama’s bidding, whatever you might think.”
“So you’ve convinced yourself, have you, of that? I’ll take rather more convincing. I seemed to be listening all night to your excuses and your pathetic reasoning, but nothing you’ve said alters anything. There was I, in my naivety, believing we were a partnership, only to learn from a stranger’s lips just how far from partners we actually are. One of the worst things is that you pretended to be bringing me back to Bohemia because of my grief, yet all your talk of putting a different perspective on things was simply covering up your real motive. The truth is that you probably welcomed Uncle John’s death in that it provided you with a perfect opportunity to do as you and your manipulating mother had already agreed.”
“That isn’t fair!” Otto protested.
“Isn’t it?” Marie gripped the steering wheel harder and started driving still fas
ter. She had to get back to the castle and to Carla. “By my reckoning it is. You and your mother have ruined everything. As for your finesse, or lack of it, in telling Rudolf that Mama had made you filthy rich – did you expect him to be thrilled? I agree absolutely with Marinka that mothers should not show favouritism or be possessive. Such crass behaviour can only lead to trouble – the sort of trouble you’re in. Once I’ve told Mama exactly what I think of her I’ll be removing the Berger heir from Bohemia and seeing how she feels about the consequence of all her scheming.”
“You aren’t leaving without me. I need you three more than I ever needed the money. That can go to Ludwig.”
“You mean,” Marie asked incredulously, “she held that threat over your head? Knowing your hatred of your brother, she threatened that if you didn’t accept them the riches would go to him?”
“Mama isn’t as manipulative as you’re making her out to be. She … ”
“ … is beyond belief. A woman like her is not fit to be a mother … or a grandmother. What was I thinking of, leaving Carla in her care? The trouble was, I wasn’t thinking because of this silly car. Oh God, I wish it wasn’t so horribly far to Schloss Berger! I feel as if we’ll never get there.”
“We won’t, unless you slow down,” Otto said. “At your speed we’re far more likely to end up in a morgue than in Herrlichbach … leaving two orphans for Mama to rear.”
Marie braked, saying: “Then I’ll play safe, since there could be no worse fate for my children.”
+++++
The full horror of events had not hit Marta yet. There had been so much to do – and so much to take in – that her head was still spinning. She didn’t want the spinning to stop for she knew full well that when it did she would be lost.
It had been impossible to save Carla. Marta had arrived too late to save her and must take the lion’s share of blame for the baby’s fate. Daisy, who had already been dispatched from Schloss Berger, was too young and too stupid to have been given sole charge of Carla and yet Mama had handed the child over to her. After assessing the girl as flighty, she should have known better. She also should have known that Emil was a potential danger.
He, poor old thing, could not be held responsible – especially not now that he was in a worse state than ever. When found, he was wandering like a lost soul in the grounds, whimpering and backing from his sister as if she were a stranger to be feared. He had not said a word in his defence. In fact, he had not spoken since Marta told him that thanks to his action Carla was dead. Perhaps he could no longer speak. Perhaps he had retreated to where he could no longer be reached.
Theodor Novak (who had done his best for Carla, to no avail) had wanted to cart Emil off into an institution, but Marta had stepped in and stopped him. Whatever the consequences of his act, Emil was innocent in the sense that he could not possibly have killed Carla deliberately. So he should not be locked up among the truly mad when there was an alternative – and more humane – solution. It would frighten Emil to be somewhere unfamiliar and there was no real need for him to be anywhere but here, kept under lock and key in the empty east wing. In the end Theodor had agreed and now Emil was tucked up in bed with a nurse in attendance. It was to be hoped he would not suffer too much in that other, sad world he inhabited. There was already enough suffering – more than enough, with the worst still to come. Marta dared not dwell on the pain in store for Marie, once she was home.
+++++
Marie knew as soon as she entered Schloss Berger that something was badly wrong. There was an oppressive atmosphere … a tangible sense of loss. Then, after seeing Mama’s expression, without a word spoken she discovered that she was running … running with the speed blind terror lends to limbs, through the long corridors.
She felt bloodless, as if the blood in her veins had turned to water. As for her legs – they belonged to someone else. Whatever had happened in her absence? Marie could not imagine but knew as a fact that Carla was affected. Clutching the beautiful baby doll she had bought for her daughter and cursing herself for having gone to Prague, Marie tried to bargain with God as she ascended the stairs to the Rosenzimmer. ‘Let her be safe and I’ll do anything You want. Let no harm have come to her and I’ll be a better person. I’ll even stay in Bohemia if that is Thy will …’
Otto was calling after her but she did not hear him. She did not see Anna, who was hovering unhappily at the top of the staircase. She was a wild thing, with just one aim: to reach Carla before … before …
Her fears had no form. She must not give them form or they would have existence and perhaps be valid. She could somehow stop them being validated. Having choices, she could choose to ignore all morbid thoughts.
Entering the nursery at full pelt she saw Eva sitting in the far corner. Puzzled, Marie stared at her asking: “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Mama had to hire her in place of Daisy,” came Otto’s breathless voice from behind her, before Eva herself could answer.
“Had to?” queried Marie. “I’ve hardly been gone two seconds and already she … ”
“Daisy’s been sent packing,” he said gently, having gathered the barest of facts from Mama before haring after Marie. “She neglected her duty. I should never have hired her as the children’s nanny.”
Wanting to scream, Marie instead pleaded: “Where are they? Where are my babies?”
“Hugo’s here, asleep,” Eva whispered, gesturing toward the lace-draped cradle that had been his sister’s.
This knowledge was of little interest. It was Carla who concerned her, Carla who … Marie’s frantic gaze having swept the room, it came to rest on her daughter’s cot which she saw with an overwhelming sense of relief was occupied as usual.
Why had she not looked there – the most obvious place after bedtime – first?
A candle burned beside Marie’s darling girl. Carla lay exceptionally still, her long curls spread on her pillow like a dark halo, her thick lashes curving sweetly against her chubby cheeks. The rosebud mouth that smiled so readily in waking hours seemed almost to be smiling in her sleep.
She was wearing a long white nightdress with lace at the neck and there were other similarities between her and the doll Marie held … too many similarities. Her skin was white, like alabaster … and closer, shocked scrutiny revealed that no breath emanated from those tiny nostrils. Carla was not asleep. She was not breathing. She had gone somewhere farther than sleep, farther than dreams. She was no longer in her body.
“Oh, my God,” gasped Marie, lifting her lifeless child and holding her close as if in the hope of instilling warmth and therefore life back in to her, “how could You be so cruel as to take her from me?”
+++++
There was no escape from the blackness of her despair. Marie had never imagined that there could be such blackness, filling her, surrounding her … engulfing her. It was as if she had been sucked into some dark and terrible abyss, with no exit …
Death must be infinitely preferable to this. Death would give her access to Carla and to Pa and to Uncle John. She could be with them and forget her horror … her guilt. Marie couldn’t establish where the guilt began or ended, if indeed there was an end to it. She felt guilty about so many things: having temporarily prized her car above Carla … having forgotten about demented Onkel Emil’s past history with fungi … having entrusted Mama and Daisy with her children’s safety … having failed in her duty as a mother. These regrets churned round and round in her head – but there was another regret, much bigger than the rest.
A long time ago, seemingly in a former life, she had tried to murder her child. Hard to imagine, after meeting Carla and feeling those loving small arms around her neck, that she could ever have contemplated such an act but it was an inescapable fact that she had. Was it because of that attempt that God had now meted out this punishment?
It seemed more and more to Marie that it must be and she consequently crucified herself.
Otto put it to her that he must
take the blame for hiring Daisy who, it now transpired, was a whore of the first order but Marie was deaf to him as she was to everyone. It was of no interest to her that on the day after Carla died a petition had arrived, signed by seemingly half the wives in Herrlichbach, demanding that Daisy be kept from their husbands. Well, she was on her way home to Wales so would be kept from them. Yes, Otto had badly misjudged her character but it was Marie that God was punishing, not him.
In Carla – the child she had created with Charles – she had met the darling of her heart. Carla’s soft cheek against hers had seemed like the touch of an angel’s wings … and had linked Marie to her baby’s father. Now that link was severed and there was devastation where before there had been heaven.
Marie could never hold her daughter again, never see her smile, nor watch her grow and leave childhood behind. Carla would not grow from girl to woman … would not love as her mother and father had loved … would not bear children of her own. She had lived for one year, three months and twenty-one days and would stay a baby always. Not for her growing pains, heartache and old age, because God in His wisdom had claimed her. Thus she must think. Marie would try to concentrate on the things Carla had been saved from, not the things she would miss.
And she would not think back to their parting, as Marie left for Prague. She would not listen to Carla’s echoing cry of ‘Mama stay in Schloss!’ Oh, if only she had stayed … if only she had not gone!
Kneeling beside the small silver coffin in the last moments left to her before its lid was finally closed on her little girl, Marie asked God for reassurance. “Show me,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks, “that Your will has been done. You see, I simply can’t believe that her death can have been necessary.”
Whether immediately or after a lengthy delay Marie could not tell, for she was in a place where time hung suspended: nevertheless demonstrative words floated into her head. The first of these were Khalil Gibran’s but also Charles’s in that he had written them in his parting letter to her: ‘I kiss you with my soul and I hope you will remember me in silent hours’. Now other words from the same source – words she had not known before – entered her consciousness: ‘Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies, but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams’.
