The Reluctant Governess

by Anne Mather

  The station wagon moved away and again she heard that grating sound. She glanced swiftly at him, wondering whether the vehicle was in need of repair, and as though gauging her thoughts he said: ‘Chains, fräulein! I am afraid our roads are impassable without them at this time of year.’

  Victoria nodded, said: ‘Oh!’ and then turned her attention to her surroundings. The snow partially illuminated the village as they drove along the main street. The chalets with their sloping roofs and smoking chimneys gave an impression of warmth and comfort that was far removed from the misted windows of the train. They seemed to rise in tiers up the sloping pastures of the mountain, and the realisation that people lived and worked here was warming. A feeling of exhilaration replaced her earlier resentment and she felt she had been unnecessarily ungracious.

  As though attempting to reconcile her behaviour, she ventured: ‘I—I really ought to apologise, Herr Baron. I was completely unaware of your identity, of course.’ A smile tugged at the corners of the mouth.

  The Baron von Reichstein looked in her direction for an intent moment, then returning his attention to his driving, he said:

  ‘Do I understand that that is how you treat people who are not your employers, fräulein?’ in infuriatingly sardonic tones.

  Victoria’s colour returned heatedly. ‘Of course not. I’m not a shrew!’

  The Baron shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Nevertheless, you are quick-tempered, fräulein. I somehow do not see you and Sophie becoming the best of friends.’

  Victoria controlled her indignation. ‘Sophie?’ she queried, pleasantly. ‘That is your daughter?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Victoria digested this. So this man was the Baron von Reichstein. Certainly he was much younger than Aunt Laurie had suspected or she would not have been so eager to pack her goddaughter off to his isolated schloss in the dead of winter.

  In an effort to begin some sort of conversation, Victoria tied a scarf over her hair, put up her coat collar, and said: ‘Is it far to your—er—house?’

  The Baron hesitated. ‘Not too far,’ he said at last. ‘However, pehaps I should warn you, it is not a house. It is a schloss, a castle, in fact!’ He glanced her way. ‘Are you a sturdy female, Miss Monroe? The Schloss von Reichstein is no place for greenhouse plants.’

  Victoria compressed her lips. ‘Only for hardy annuals, perhaps?’ she muttered, almost under her breath, but he heard her, and a faint smile touched his lips.

  ‘Indeed, Miss Monroe. We are all hardy who live in these mountains.’

  Victoria sighed. They were leaving the village behind now and the road was beginning to wind through forests of pine trees thickly laden with snow. It was very quiet, very still, and as the snow was no longer driving against the windscreen she could see stars beginning to twinkle in the dark sky over-head. Clouds were rolling back to the west and the chill wind which had gripped her in the station yard became a howling gale out on the bare mountain. The station wagon progressed steadily, grinding over the frozen surface that was lightly powdered with snow. Victoria wondered if sleighs were still used in these remote districts, or were they simply a tourist attraction? Somehow she couldn’t imagine the Baron von Reichstein driving a vehicle that jingled as he went.

  When it became necessary to break the uneasy silence which had fallen, she said: ‘How old is your daughter, Herr Baron?’

  ‘Sophie is nine, almost ten,’ he replied. ‘Are you used to teaching children of that age?’

  Victoria considered his question. ‘Well, I haven’t actually done any teaching before,’ she confessed at last. ‘However,’ she added, hastily, ‘I do have the qualifications. I simply haven’t used them before.’

  There was another long silence and when she glanced across at him, half afraid of his reactions to this statement, she found he was shaking his head rather resignedly.

  ‘Is—is something wrong, Herr Baron?’ she asked, only remembering to add his title as an afterthought.

  The Baron looked at her. ‘Nothing,’ he said, with emphasis. ‘It simply seems that Sophie is doomed to be educationally sub-normal!’

  Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever do you mean? She forgot his title in her indignation.

  The Baron lifted his broad shoulders indolently. ‘You are the third governess she has had,’ he explained patiently. ‘The first was a woman of perhaps fifty years. Experienced with children but unable to stand the isolation, or so she said. She left without attaining her first month’s salary.’ He sighed. ‘The second was a girl like yourself. With three years of teaching two older children behind her she should have found Sophie an easy task. But no! Her nerves would not stand it, that was her excuse. She left also.’ He glanced her way sardonically. ‘And now there is you, fräulein. Your first teaching position. You admit that until now you have had no cause to work. From this one gathers you have been living a socially active existence. How do you imagine you will stand up to the rigours of life at Reichstein when two experienced governesses have failed?’

  Victoria bit her lip. ‘From what you say, I gather the others left because of the isolation. I’m not afraid of isolation, Herr Baron.’

  ‘No?’ He looked sceptical. ‘Not even when this is your first teaching post? Do you not perhaps think you will require some kind of light relief after working all day with Sophie? We do not even have television at Reichstein, fräulein.’

  Victoria gave him an irritated stare. ‘One would almost imagine you did not want a governess for Sophie,’ she commented, with daring.

  The Baron frowned. ‘You do not know me very well yet, fräulein. One should never jump to conclusions.’

  Victoria bent her head and said nothing, but the ready indignation was very near the surface when dealing with this man.

  Presently they reached the summit of a steep incline and now Victoria could see a valley below them. Moonlight illuminated it eerily while on the far side of the valley, above the surging waters of an icy stream, stood a fairy-tale castle, its turrets silhouetted against the backcloth of dark pines. Victoria gasped, and the Baron’s attention was drawn to her once more.

  ‘Picturesque, is it not?’ he queried, half mockingly. ‘An enchanter’s castle!’ He put the car into a lower gear and began the steep slope down into the valley. ‘Unfortunately, no one should judge things, any more than people, by their outward appearance.’

  Victoria frowned. ‘You are cynical, Herr Baron. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

  ‘But beauty, real beauty, is not a one-dimensional quality,’ he observed bleakly. ‘Beauty has depth and feeling. That is not in the eye of your beholder. That is inherent in the thing one beholds.’

  Victoria tried to understand what he was saying. It was strange to realise how complex their conversation had suddenly become. Somehow there was more to his words than mere cynicism and curiosity gripped her for a moment. But as they reached the valley floor and began to climb the frozen track to the schloss a feeling of awe filled her being. It was incredible to accept that she was here, in Austria, miles from London and everything she had known all her life, and almost ready to begin life again as someone’s employee.

  They entered the schloss through a turreted gateway into an inner courtyard lit by lanterns. Obviously in days gone by, this was where the horses were stabled and where the servants had their quarters, but now it looked deserted, the windows blank and shuttered and unlit. Victoria glanced at her companion, but he did not look her way before thrusting open his door and climbing out. He stretched for a moment, and then turned to reach for her case.

  Victoria hesitated only a moment before getting out also and looking about her. She was aware that the Baron was looking at her now, gauging her reactions, and before she could speak, he said harshly:

  ‘Is something wrong, fräulein? Did my cousin Theresa omit to inform you that her cousin the Baron von Reichstein is almost as impoverished as his poorest tenant?’

  At once Victoria was defensive. ‘I ca
n’t believe that a man who can afford a governess for his daughter is a pauper, Herr Baron,’ she countered, quickly.

  He smiled. ‘You think not? Very well, fräulein, we shall see. Come! You are cold, I can see it. At least I can promise you a good fire and a hot supper.’

  Victoria was impatient of his self-mockery and walked ahead of him when he indicated that she should cross the courtyard to the entrance. As she did so, she looked up at the tall mass of the building. It was not a large castle compared to those she had seen in England, but it was considerably larger than an average-sized dwelling. There were one or two lights in the lower windows, but the greater part of the building was in darkness and chillingly desolate beneath the eaves of snow.

  They reached an iron-studded door and the Baron leant past her to thrust it open. For a moment his body was close to hers and she smelt the warm heat of his skin and a faint odour of tobacco, and an awful sense of breathlessness enveloped her. Then he moved back again, and the feeling left her.

  They entered into a wide hall, lit by electric candelabra. It was a nice touch, although Victoria was amazed that there should be electricity here, so far from the city. The ceiling was high and shadowy, but an enormous log fire burned in a huge grate and two wolfhounds rose at their entrance to amble across to greet their master. They sniffed Victoria’s clothes suspiciously, and she remained perfectly still, terrified that they might attack her, until the Baron saw her frozen features and adjured the beasts to get back to their position in front of the fire.

  ‘Are you scared of animals?’ he asked roughly.

  Victoria gathered her scattered wits. ‘Of course not, at least not in the normal way. They—they are rather large, aren’t they?’

  The Baron gave her an exasperated look and then strode across the polished wooden floor shouting: ‘Maria! Gustav! Ich bin hier!’

  Victoria hovered by the doors, unwilling to approach the fire even though she would have appreciated the warmth. She looked about her apprehensively as she waited for some sign that they were not the only inhabitants of this fairy-tale castle, noticing the shields on the walls, the swords and hunting spears, a tapestry of animals and men locked together in a grim battle for survival. It was medieval, she thought in amazement. People actually lived among such things. She turned her attention to the furniture. The only concession to comfort was a high-backed settle by the fire. The long wooden table and chairs were stark and practical. There ought to be reeds on the floor, she thought with an attempt at lightness, not these rugs, although as some were animal skins maybe they were appropriate after all.

  The Baron was shedding his heavy parka; flinging it over a chair and excusing himself, he strode through a heavy door to the right of the staircase which wound into the upper regions. As Victoria’s eyes wandered up the staircase she saw that there was a gallery at the top of the first flight, and even as she looked a shadow moved there, in the gloom.

  An icy shiver ran up her spine, and she took a step towards the door through which the Baron had passed only to be halted by the raised heads of the two wolfhounds and an unmistakable growling in their throats. Sheer panic struck her and she closed her eyes, striving for control. The night, the weather, her unhappy experience at the station, and now this strange and deserted castle were all combining to create within her a kind of nightmarish horror, and for several moments she felt petrified.

  But the moment passed, as all moments eventually do; the dogs were not growling any longer, the fire burned brightly, and there were no shadows when she looked again at the gallery.

  With determination, she began to move towards the fire. If she was to have any kind of a life here at all she must get used to these great hulking creatures. She was not naturally afraid of dogs although she had never had anything to do with them before, and who was it who had said that the larger the animal the gentler it was? She swallowed hard. Obviously they must have been talking of domestic animals, for who could consider a rhinoceros a gentle beast? And after all, these were domestic animals, not ravening wolves from the upper slopes of the Rockies. They looked up again at her approach, but at least they did not growl now and she wondered if that was a good sign.

  The heat from that cheerful blaze was penetrating and in no time she was loosening her coat and jacket and feeling her fingers tingle with warmth. She was shrugging out of her sheepskin coat when there was a sound behind her, and turning she confronted an elderly woman dressed all in black, her skirts almost reaching her ankles. Her grey hair was secured in a bun, but there were roses in her cheeks and she looked friendly enough.

  ‘Guten Abend, fräulein,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Come! You would like to see your room, yes?’

  Victoria was so relieved that the woman spoke English that she nodded enthusiastically. ‘My—my luggage—--’ she began, but the woman shook her head.

  ‘Gustav will attend to that, fräulein. Come! All is prepared.’

  Victoria collected her coat and bag, cast a thoughtful glance at the wolfhounds, and then followed the older woman. To her surprise they did not climb the staircase from the hall, but went instead through the door the Baron had used earlier which Victoria now found led into a wide passageway. At the end of the passage there were lights and the smell of cooking, and she guessed it was the kitchen area. But a little further along the passage was a door which when Maria, as Victoria supposed the woman to be, opened it revealed a winding staircase.

  They followed this spiral staircase up two flights to a narrow landing. There were three doors opening on to the landing and Victoria was tempted to ask who else used this section of the castle but she restrained herself in time. Maria flung open one door and indicated that Victoria should enter. She did so, not without foreboding, for she was not yet rid of that unreal feeling she had experienced, and she had an awful premonition that Maria might thrust her inside and lock the door. But despite her ridiculous fears, nothing unforeseen happened and in fact she found the room quite attractive. In the passageway and coming up the stairs she had not felt the cold, she had been too engrossed with her own imagination, but now she was glad of the glowing logs in the hearth at the far side of the bedroom and moved towards them compulsively, holding out her hands.

  ‘The bathroom is downstairs,’ remarked Maria, with a trace of reluctance, as though she considered it unnecessary to discuss such matters. ‘There’ll be a meal ready for you in fifteen minutes if you come down to the kitchen, fräulein.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Victoria managed a smile. ‘Tell me, when will I meet the—er—Baroness and—and Sophie?’

  ‘You haven’t seen Sophie yet?’ queried Maria, with a shrug. ‘Ach, ach! The child is somewhere about. You will see her in good time.’ She turned to go.

  Victoria took a step forward. ‘And—and the Baroness …’ she prompted.

  Maria frowned. ‘Baroness von Reichstein isn’t here,’ she muttered, with even more reluctance.

  ‘Not here?’ Victoria frowned. ‘Then—who is here?’

  Maria’s features softened. ‘You are here, fräulein, and I am here, and Gustav is here, and the Herr Baron is here.’

  Victoria was aghast. Her godmother would be horrified to discover that apart from Maria there was to be no other woman in the house. Heavens, thought Victoria wryly, she was aghast herself. No wonder the other governesses had found the place isolated. Who would there be to talk to? The Baron? Maria? Or Gustav? Or the child, Sophie? She swallowed hard, and as she did so she realised that since leaving the train at Reichstein she had not once thought of Meredith Hammond!

  ‘Is that all, fräulein?’ Maria was waiting to go.

  ‘Oh—oh yes, thank you.’ Victoria nodded, unable to assimilate these new facts immediately. ‘I—I’ll come down when I’m ready.’

  ‘Jawohl, fräulein!’ Maria smiled and withdrew, and as the door closed Victoria sank down rather weakly on to the bed. As downstairs, the lights were electric, but as she sat there they flickered rather unsteadily for a moment and s
he shivered again. The journey, her arrival, her surroundings, and most of all the lack of people was unnerving to contemplate, and she had the most ridiculous desire to bury her face on her pillow and cry her eyes out. But that would never do. She was not a defeatist, was she? Surely she was allowing everything to get out of hand. At least the bed felt superbly comfortable and after a night’s sleep surely everything would look brighter …

  CHAPTER TWO

  VICTORIA rolled over restlessly, gathering the bedclothes closer about her as her movements caused a slight chill to invade the warmth beneath. She was dreaming and the dream was frightening in its clarity. She was running down a steep, snow-covered slope, pursued by hounds whose bared teeth and slavering jowls were inches behind her. They made awful sounds of heavy breathing, panting in her ears until she ran so fast that she felt her lungs would burst. And then she lost her footing and tumbled headlong down the slope, slipping and sliding, and grappling for something to save herself from certain death. Panic penetrated her being, biting particles of snow blinded her, and she tossed about frenziedly, seeking escape from the disaster ahead of her, and then an explosion somewhere outside her realm of fantasy aroused her to a real awareness of her surroundings.