The Reluctant Governess

by Anne Mather

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Victoria smiled. ‘Who? fräulein Spiegel? No, I haven’t seen her. Why?’

  Maria shrugged. ‘She seems to have disappeared, fräulein. She was in to lunch, but I haven’t seen her since. The Herr Baron asked for her almost two hours ago now, but she was not around.’

  Victoria frowned. ‘Indeed?’ She shook her head. ‘Do you suppose she has gone out?’

  ‘But where, fräulein? To get to Reichstein, she would need the car. And I did not hear the car leave, did you?’

  ‘No.’ Victoria bent her head. ‘Do you suppose she might have gone for a walk?’

  Maria shrugged. ‘She might have done. She has taken walks before to get exercise. But she is never out for long. She says it is too cold.’

  Victoria lifted her shoulders doubtfully, and then an awful thought struck her. Sophie had been complaining about Marguerite earlier in the day. Was it possible that she had been naughty again? Could she have devised some mischief in the hope that fräulein Spiegel might be forced to leave? It seemed incredible, but not impossible.

  ‘Is she not in her room?’ she asked now, and Maria shook her head.

  ‘I went there first, fräulein. When the Herr Baron asked for her, but she was not there.’

  ‘Oh!’ Victoria nodded. That disposed of her theory that Sophie might have ransacked Marguerite’s room as she had hers. ‘What about the grounds?’

  Maria shrugged, and began to put out the soup for her husband and Victoria, indicating that Victoria should come to the table. ‘There is time, fräulein,’ she said comfortably. ‘Perhaps the fräulein has forgotten the time.’ It was obvious that Maria didn’t particularly care where she was.

  Victoria applied herself to her soup. Marguerite was not the type to prefer the great outdoors. So where was she? What could possibly have delayed her? She couldn’t have got lost. Unless Sophie had had a hand in it. Could she have taken Marguerite on a guided tour of the schloss and deliberately lost her? In the north wing, for example, her favourite source of imagination? It didn’t seem possible. Surely Marguerite was not the type to be taken in by a child like Sophie. And besides, they didn’t even like one another …

  Even so, all through dinner the idea plagued Victoria’s mind. Sophie was not unused to trying to scare people. Victoria recalled the example of the wolfhound being secreted into the adjoining room to hers and the shock she had had then. And she didn’t always think of the consequences before acting. To her it was a means to an end, nothing more, and she did want Marguerite to leave, didn’t she?

  Victoria sighed. If Sophie had done anything and her father found out about it, he would be furious, and all the good that had been done would be wasted. Besides, he would be bound to take Marguerite’s side against his daughter and Marguerite would revel in that! He might even consider leaving the schloss altogether and moving to the city. After all, the schloss must hold some unhappy memories for him once and for all.

  It was no good. She would have to go and find out. If Sophie had been naughty, then better she should uncover it and be there to shield Sophie from her father if necessary.

  Excusing herself from Maria on the pretext of going to the bathroom, she left the kitchen and walked quickly along to the main hall. Sophie had told her once that the door to the north tower was on the far end of the hall, beneath the gallery, and was seldom used. Victoria just hoped it was unlocked, that was all.

  It was, and as the hall was deserted apart from the hounds, she quickly went through and closed the door behind her. The chill was the first thing she noticed, an icy chill that seemed to penetrate even the warm trousers and thick sweater she was wearing. She ought to have collected her coat, of course, but that would have taken up valuable time, and besides, she did not want to attract anyone’s attention.

  The schloss was very similar in all its four towers, and Victoria, accustoming her eyes to the gloom, could see the hall and turret stairway quite clearly. It was moonlight outside, and the snow gave some illumination, too. It was rather an eerie experience, walking these silent corridors, and she shivered slightly, as much from apprehension as cold.

  Looking about her, she decided to try the turret rooms first. She wanted to shout, but she was afraid someone might hear her, so she opened the door at the foot of the staircase and began to climb up.

  The stairs were damp in places, and she could see evidence of what the Baron told her about deterioration. The walls were running with water in places, and there was a dank smell of dampness. Surely no one, not even Sophie, could lure Marguerite up these stairs. She was just wasting her time, and she might as well turn round now and go back.

  But something stopped her from going back without checking, and in any case, it was an adventure and took her mind off other things. The view from the turret window was of the mountain peaks behind the schloss. It was a magnificent view and it seemed a shame that so little of the castle was in use when people were crying out for accommodation. All the room doors were closed, and she opened them with some degree of distaste. Spiders’ webs brushed her cheeks, and there were weird scufflings in dusty corners as the draught stirred their occupants. She closed the doors quickly and went downstairs again. She was glad to get out into the corridor and close the turret door behind her.

  Only the large apartments at the end of the hall were left, and she walked resolutely towards them. She was quite cold now, although the exercise of running up and down the turret stairs had warmed her a little, and the thought of huge spiders running around up there had brought her out in perspiration of a different kind.

  She reached the door and was about to open it when a strange whining sound came to her ears. She halted abruptly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. It could not be the dogs, they were safely in the hall, but similarly it did not sound like a human voice. She took a step backwards. Steady, she thought, trying to calm herself, there’s a logical explanation for everything. But even so, all the things Sophie had told her about her mother being locked in the tower and every other weird story she had ever heard came rushing to her consciousness chillingly.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ she chided herself aloud. ‘Stop behaving like an hysterical idiot! Open the door!’

  With trembling fingers she turned the handle. But it was stiff. It was obviously many years since it had been opened and the dampness had swollen the wood so that it was jammed in its aperture. It was a struggle, but at last it gave inwards with her weight, and crashed back against an old scrubbed kitchen table, similar to the one Maria used every day. And there in the corner, near an empty fireplace, stood an old cardboard box that was rotting at the sides, and inside the box was a family of kittens …

  Victoria gave an involuntary chuckle. Of all the things, she thought weakly. The mewing of kittens!

  Allowing the door to close behind her, she crossed the room slowly and went down on her haunches beside the small animals. They mewed loudly, and she shook her head.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’ she asked, stroking their heads. ‘Is there another way in here?’

  She stood up and looked about her. The windows were all barred so that nothing could get in there, even the glass was intact. The doors were padlocked, so how on earth did the cat get in and out to attend to her family?

  Then she saw it. It was a hole in the heavy outer door, bigger than a rat hole and big enough for the cat to squeeze herself in and out. The wood had rotted away and it was obvious that it needed attending to or other animals might choose to make their home in the disused wing.

  Satisfied with her moonlit explorations, Victoria turned back to the door. The sooner she returned to the kitchen and killed any suspicions regarding her own whereabouts the better. She would not like to have to admit that she had mistrusted Sophie. Not when she had defended her so often.

  But to her dismay, the heavy door had closed securely again, and as on her entrance, refused to open.

  ‘Damn!’ she said angrily. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’
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  She tugged vigorously at the handle, but she had not the advantage she had had on coming in, that of being able to use her weight against the door. Now she was tugging it outwards, and the handle seemed none too secure. If it should come off in her hands, she would be completely stumped.

  But she refused to even consider such an eventuality. That way lay panic, for unless someone thought to search these empty wings she might never be found …

  She turned away. What she needed was a piece of wood to jam under the door to use as a lever. If she could just use her weight in some way to shift it out of its surroundings, she would stand a chance of swinging it inwards.

  She stamped impatiently round the kitchen. There was plenty of wood about, but none of it suitable for her needs. Besides, she doubted whether any wood she found would not be rotting by now and therefore useless.

  She sighed. Could she perhaps open those shutters and the windows beyond and get out that way? Was it conceivable that the wood on the shutters was rotten, too?

  But of course, it was not, at least not to the extent of crumbling at her touch, and although she tried to dislodge the locks, it was to no avail. Whoever had secured those windows and doors had not meant any intruders to succeed in entering the schloss. Only the animals could come to and fro and she was not small enough to crawl out through the hole.

  Presently she heard the sound of scratching and she saw the mother cat return from her foraging. She bared her teeth at Victoria and Victoria realised that she was completely wild. Charming, she thought, with an attempt at humour. Here she was, locked in a disused kitchen of a disused wing, with only an unfriendly wild cat for company …

  All sorts of thoughts went through her mind. Ideas of tying a note, if she could find something to write with and something to write on, on to the cat’s back and sending it out again in the hope that someone might see it. But that was useless, of course. Apart from any other consideration, this particular female would likely tear her hands to shreds if she so much as attempted to touch her.

  She sighed again. So what could she do? Sit down and wait? Could she do that? Would she be missed? Of course she would. But would Maria think she had gone out to search for Marguerite? And anyway, where was Marguerite?

  Her head buzzed with thoughts. It was useless trying to imagine a way of escaping. If the door refused to open, she was stuck … imprisoned … all the things she had imagined Sophie had done to Marguerite. How ridiculous that was in retrospect! Not even Sophie would risk her father’s wrath and do anything so foolhardy.

  With angry impatience, Victoria tugged fiercely at the door. It didn’t budge, and she kicked it childishly, tears of helplessness coming unbidden to her eyes. Whatever was she going to do? However would they find her?

  She began to shout. It was a vain hope, of course. These thick walls and iron-strong doors were impenetrable. Had she not previously considered such possibilities in the warm cosiness of her turret room? These castles had walls sometimes several feet thick and as her voice came back to her in muted echoes she realised it was not getting beyond her own small domain.

  With a helpless feeling of despair, she considered her chances of surviving a night here. It was so cold, and even if she could find wood to start a fire she had no means of lighting it. Besides, everything was so damp it would never burn. She would probably die of suffocation if the wood smouldered and filled the room with smoke …

  Sinking down on to a wooden settle, she stared blindly at the door. Sooner or later someone would come to look for her, wouldn’t they …?

  About an hour later she got determinedly to her feet. She had realised the dangers of falling asleep in her corner and while she was chilled to the bone she knew that the inviting clouds of unconsciousness were beginning to drift in on her almost without her being aware of it. It would be so nice just to close her eyes and forget her anxieties in oblivion, but would she ever wake from such a sleep?

  Stamping her feet, she began to swing her arms about energetically, shaking off the numbness that had made them seem heavy and lifeless. Jumping up and down on the spot, she managed to restore some semblance of co-ordination to her limbs and she wondered how long she would be able to keep it up. The moonlight showed her that the cat had departed again leaving her kittens to sleep in their nest, and she was tempted to lift one of the small, warm, furry bodies into her arms to feel some communication with other living souls. Amazingly enough, she felt no fear of any supernatural visitors; her days at the schloss had banished all fears of its silence and isolation. It had, for her, a warmth and all-embracing familiarity, a sense of homeliness that was not out of place despite its size.

  With that now familiar feeling of despair displacing her thoughts about the kittens, she wandered round again wearily, wishing she could think of something to do to help herself. After all, it was her own foolishness that had placed, her in this position, and she could imagine the Baron’s anger when he discovered what she had done. Unless, she thought morbidly, she were dead, and then he might feel some vestige of compassion.

  She reached the door and looked down at the hole through which the cat made her frequent forays for food for her kittens. If only it were larger, if only she could get out that way.

  A thought suddenly struck her. The wood was not strong; it had been weakened by years of damp and decay. Surely, if she could find some heavy instrument with which to batter the place around the cat’s hole, she might succeed in making a hole big enough for her to crawl through.

  With rising excitement, she looked about her. There was nothing of any size except the form which she had been sitting on. Frowning, she dragged it over to the hole. It was going to be difficult to get any weight behind anything so heavy, but it was worth a try.

  Lifting one end, she ran towards the door pushing the form ahead of her. But although it thumped against the door with welcome heaviness, it landed several inches above the small hole that the cat used. She would have to turn it on its side and try that way.

  Several attempts later, she felt tears of exasperation on her cheeks. The form was simply too bulky, too awkward to use as a battering ram. With a gasp of dismay, she turned it upright, and sat down on it tiredly. She looked at the door with angry tears in her eyes. Whoever had made this building had built it to last against storm and invader.

  Then her eyes widened in amazement, and she jumped up off the form in disbelief. Her battering might not have succeeded in breaking the wood above the cat’s hole, but it had succeeded in doing something else. While the doors were solid and unyielding, the surround was rotten with damp and the hinges, something she had never examined, were rotted in their holes. Her constant barrage of thuds against the lower part of the door had succeeded in loosening the nails holding the hinges in place, and now they hung half off the supports.

  Thrusting the form aside, she grappled with the upper hinge. Her nails broke in her hurry, but she cared little for her hands. The hinge came off completely, and was left supported only by the door. With speed she tackled the others. Some were harder to do, but her excitement was such that she seemed to acquire superhuman strength and in no time the door was free.

  Opening it was more difficult. There was no handle, for one thing, and she had to tug the hinges to get it to move. Even so, it was easier to release than the hall door because of the crumbling quality of the wood. The wind whistled grimly through the cracks, chilling her fingers to icy members, and she shivered in the bitter night air.

  But no matter, the door was shifting ever so slowly, giving under her hands, and in a few minutes she was able to squeeze outside. Never had the night sky looked so beautiful, or the chill east wind felt so inviting.

  With aching arms and shoulders, she walked quickly through the covered way to the inner courtyard and from there across to the main doors. If they were locked, she would have to go to the kitchen and hope that Maria and Gustav were not asleep.

  But to her surprise, the lights of the great hall gleamed acr
oss the courtyard, and even above, there were lights in many of the rooms. She had never seen the schloss so brightly illuminated, and she ran to the entrance eagerly. Was it possible she had not been missed? It was very late, but maybe she was thought to be in her room.

  She thrust open the hall door, just as Gustav came through from the kitchen, and he stared at her incredulously, almost as though he were seeing a ghost.

  ‘fräulein!’ he exclaimed in astonishment, ‘Gut Gott, where have you been?’ and then he went off into a stream of incoherent German that Victoria had no chance of translating.

  Victoria closed the outer door and went swiftly across to the fire that blazed cheerfully in the hearth. Oh, the warmth was good, so good, she thought, turning about swiftly, warming all sides of her body while Gustav uttered something which didn’t sound very complimentary and turned and disappeared back the way he had come.

  Victoria seated herself on the settle and looked towards the heavy door that led to the north wing. She shivered apprehensively. It would be a long time before she ventured along there again.

  She wondered where Fritz and Helga were. They were not in their usual place by the hearth, and she wondered if the Baron had taken them out for a walk. Unless … unless he was looking for her and he had taken the dogs with him. Surely Maria knew she had not left the castle.

  Suddenly the hall door crashed back and the subject of her conjecture stood on the threshold staring at her with angry, disbelieving eyes. Gustav hovered behind him and Victoria noticed inconsequently that both men were wearing heavy coats and boots as though they had just come in from outside.

  The Baron waved Gustav away with an imperious hand and came striding into the hall, slamming the door behind him. Unfastening his overcoat, he flung it on to the long table and then came across to her, looking down at her with blazing eyes.

  ‘Exactly what are you playing at, Victoria?’ he queried violently, his accent thick and pronounced.